#so obviously you want to get all the normal cuts first and then suture the last big cut so that you can start the fight with no wounds

[giddydelphiresearcher]

I beat X-1 Kyriaki! I did it! The patient will be coughing up gel for the next 6 months but that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make!

[survivorsfm]

regardless  of  the  heavy  rain  soaking  their  clothes  and  wetting  even  the  thickest  of  their  shoes,  the  rescuers  safely  made  it  to  the  scouting  point.  the  natural  leaders  of  the  group  organized  their  strategy  with  less  apprehension  in  their  tones  and  commands  than  they  really  felt,  and  the  first  line  achieved  its  goal  of  securing  the  perimeter  around  the  coalition’s  camp  —  snipers  on  trees  and  skilled  short-range  shooters  hidden  in  plain  sight  thanks  to  the  rainfall  and  the  oldest,  sturdiest  trucks’  width  to  cover  those  who  were  chosen  to  do  the  hardest  job:  rescuing  one  of  their  own.   yet  it  was  a  harder  task  than  they’d  imagined,  even  when  they  already  had  imagined  the  worst. by  the  time  the  young  scout  was  rescued  —beaten  and  wounded  and  barely  breathing—  he  was  not  the  only  one.  despite  the  mission  having  no  losses  for  the  sanctuary,  several  rescuers  went  back  heavily  wounded,  some  of  them  falling  unconscious  along  the  way  out  of  exhaustion  or  pain  …  or  both.  but  the  holders  were  ready. warm  blankets  and  broth,  carefully  sterilized  utensils,  anyone  with  the  ability  to  tend  to  injuries,  cut  and  suture,  return  joints  to  their  normal  positions  on  their  feet,  ready  to  do  whatever  was  necessary  were  watchful  in  their  positions,  springing  into  action  the  moment  the  guards  spotted  the  group. heads  were  counted  desperately  by  those  almost  paralyzed  at  the  thought  of  loss,  sighs  of  relief  falling  from  trembling  lips  when  the  number  of  those  getting  back  was  the  same  of  those  who  went  out,  plus  one.  and  it  was  a  lot  of  healing  to  do,  a  lot  to  attend  to,  to  recover  from,  to  plan  for  a  future  that  didn’t—  couldn’t  have  a  peaceful  horizon  anymore,  but  they  were  all  there,  they  were  all  safe  once  more  and  for  now  that  was  enough.

TL;DR    —    the  rescuers  complete  their  mission  successfully,  although  not  without  their  fair  share  of  fighting.  plenty  of  them  get  injured,  especially  those  involved  in  distraction  tasks  and  hand-to-hand  combat.  the  return  to  the  sanctuary  is  challenging  but  they  made  it,  and  the  holders  are  ready  to  receive  them.  all  of  them  are  taken  to  the  hospital,  even  those  uninjured  —  they  need  to  change  clothes,  get  checked,  and  warm.  the  majority  of  them  make  it  out  the  next  morning,  but  those  who  stay  don’t  see  beyond  white  walls  and  blue  curtains  for  several  days.  by  the  week’s  end,  the  only  one  remaining  in  the  medical  wing  is  the  young,  beaten  scout,  being  visited  frequently  by  almost  every  member  of  the  sanctuary.  he’s  slowly  recovering,  but  recovering  nonetheless  and  that  is  what  matters  the  most,  what  makes  them  all  feel  like  everything  was  worth  it.

USEFUL  INFORMATION:

it’s  been  two  weeks  since  the  rescue,  the  scout  is  still  under  observation.  

several  group  one’s  members  ( the  rescuers )  were  injured,  nothing  fatal,  obviously,  but  you’re  free  to  make  your  muse  one  of  those.  have  in  mind  time  has  passed  and  they  are  no  longer  at  the  hospital.

there  are  emotional  and  mental  wounds  too,  after  all,  the  whole  deal  was  traumatizing  and / or  reigniting  some  members’  own  traumas.  feel  free  to  write  about  it  however  you  see  fit.

for  some  of  the  sanctuary’s  survivors,  this  kidnapping  along  with  the  discovery  of  a  coalition’s  camp  so  close  to  them,  awoke  their  anger,  their  desire  to  do  something  about  it  —  people  are  getting  tired  of  the  fear  and  the  submission  and  want  to  fight  back.  they’ll  start  to  bring  the  topic  up  in  meetings  and  discuss  it  with  others  casually  for  now.

you’re  free  to  use  any  of  this  information  to  write  from  now  on  if  you  like,  you  can  also  create  your  own  aftermath  for  your  muse  ( having  triggers  and  banned  topics  in  mind  always,  of  course ),  yet  if  you  won’t  write  specifically  about  it,  we’d  love  to  see  it  mentioned  or  developed  somehow  in  your  writing  nonetheless !

[sky-berrie]

Stitch - Damian

Summary: Another favorite trope - reader patches up a wound. Warning: mentions of blood. 

The window opened behind you and you felt a cool summer night breeze brush against your neck. You didn’t bother to give the intruder any attention because you knew that Damian was the only person who could disarm the alarm and crack lock mechanism with ease. You thought the whole system was overkill but it pleased Damian to have it installed so you didn’t complain.

“Hey, Damian,” you greeted him robotically with your gaze still transfixed to your laptop screen and your back to the window. You were watching the events of the latest episode of your favorite show unfold.

You heard Damian land in your room with a grunt. He was usually quite graceful, however you guessed that his ribs and hip were still sore from the last sparing session he had with his brothers and sisters. That family took everything to a whole other level.

You heard Damian shut the window after himself. The sound of the latch being secured came next. Then you heard electronic beeps as he reactivated the alarm. “You –” he let out a sharp exhale. “You took home economics, right?”

“Yeah,” you replied, nonchalantly with a mouthful of popcorn. You didn’t take your eyes off the screen, but you heard the sound of his heavy boots carry him across your room.

“Good,” he said. A shaky breath infiltrated his normally self-assured voice. “And you remember most of it?” The bed springs creaked under his weight.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Great,” he said. “What grade did you receive?” This wasn’t all that out of character for him. Damian was competitive in all aspects of his life. You wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to compare home economics grades just so he could vaunt his skills.

“I don’t know, Damian,” you said honestly. You turned up the volume, hoping that Damian would get the hint that you wanted to watch your show in peace and quiet. “I think it was a good mark.”

Damian let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Excellent.” His voice sounded less troubled than before.

“Jon did most of my assignments,” you admitted unapologetically.

Damian was quiet for a moment. “Okay, but you attended the classes, correct?”

You didn’t answer right away. You were too focused on the climax of the episode. “Oh my goodness,” you muttered under your breath to yourself as the plot twist unveiled. “Um,” you said, remembering that Damian had asked you something. “Yeah, yeah, more or less.”

“Do you remember how to sew?”

“Sort of,” you told him. You had sewn on a button once. It didn’t look great, but it definitely wasn’t going anywhere.

“Well enough,” he said. “I need you to suture a laceration.”

“What?” you choked out. He said it so nonchalantly that you weren’t sure if he was serious or not, because a sane person would not be so stoic. You whipped around to find Damian lying on your bed in his Robin uniform. It was soiled with a layer of black, like he had been charred. It was so dark that it masked the staining of his blood and you wouldn’t have known he was bleeding if it weren’t for the pool of red soaking through your white comforter. He was holding his side with his hands at an awkward angle.

You had seen him with cuts and bruises and even broken bones, but never with the life bleeding out of him. “Oh my goodness!” you shrieked as panic filled your lungs. Your face contorted into a horrified grimace as you tried to stifle an expression of disgust. The strong stench of metal made your stomach churn and your head woozy.

You immediately felt horrible for not paying attention to him sooner. “Damian, why didn’t you say something? Holy crap! What the hell happened? You need an ambulance!” You turned around to reach for your phone.

“No,” Damian choked out. “Secret… identity,” he said with his eyes squeezed shut.

“What about your brothers and sisters? Your dad? Alfred?”

“On their way. No time to wait. First aid kit,” he implored weakly.

You ran for the bathroom and tore into the cabinet to find the massive first aid kit that Damian insisted you store. You had opened it once or twice to grab a bandage for a paper cut but you never touched the majority of the contents. You didn’t even know what half of the kit was for. You guessed that you might find out today.

When you returned to your room, Damian was moving slowly to unbutton his uniform. You helped him with the rest, trying to do it quickly without jostling anything. You tried to ignore the squishy wetness of the uniform, but your hands came away covered in a layer of crimson blood. Beneath the outer coat, his white undershirt was seeping with blood. There was a large tear in the fabric and a bit of the raw wound peeked through.  

You didn’t have a fear of blood, really. You had no qualms about donating blood or seeing it on TV. This, however, was completely different. You were more terrified than you had ever been in your entire life. You had no idea what to do - everything you knew about CPR and standard first aid had inexplicably disappeared from your brain. Silent tears began to spill from your eyes as your breaths tore in and out of your throat, ragged and shallow.

“Y/N,” said Damian, firmly. Through your blurry, wet vision, you could see him straining to make eye contact with you. “Breathe. Everything is going to be fine. Just follow my instructions.”

Normally you trusted Damian, but this time his reassuring words didn’t have any kind of soothing effect on you. Your whole body was shaking now. You couldn’t find your voice. Instead, you shook your head.

“Yes, Y/N. It is going to be fine, but you must listen to me. Do you understand?”

You tried to take a deep breath, but an uncontrollable sob cut it short. If Damian could lie there halfway to death and still be composed, then you could at least pretend to be calm for his sake. You nodded your head this time, trying your best to even out your breathing. It was no use though. You couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“Thank you. Cut it,” he said, motioning to his undershirt.

You did as he ordered and cut a line right down the centre of his shirt. It was warm and wet and clung to his skin, so you peeled it off to reveal the full extent of a nasty looking wound. Even through your distorted, teary vision, you saw enough to know it was not good.

You felt faint at the sight of his insides. Or maybe it was your hyperventilating making you dizzy.  

“Breathe, Y/N. Breathe and then get the sterile solution to irrigate it.”

You returned with freshly washed hands, a pair of gloves and a jug of irrigation solution. Following his instructions, you squeezed the syringe and expelled the liquid over his wound. It ran down his side and carried even more blood into your comforter.

“Okay,” he breathed out. “There should be a small white packet with a curved need and thread and a pair of suture holders. They look like scissors but without the blades.”

Your trembling hands had a difficult time picking out the items. Once you collected the materials, you looked at Damian for further directions.

“It’s a bit deep so you’ll need to close the layer under the skin first. Can you see it?”

You shook your head. His side was a giant red mess. You couldn’t make out anything except for blood and jagged skin. It was nothing like the clean and clear-cut diagrams you’d seen in class. “This is crazy! I can’t do this,” you cried. People spent years studying and training to do procedures like this. Stitching up a body was not something that a person should wing, and definitely not on their best friend, lying in an unsterile room.

“You can,” he assured you. “Pretend like you’re sewing some fabric. Start with this layer here.” Damian pulled at his skin and pointed to the inside with a pair of suture forceps. You couldn’t help but turn away and shut your eyes as he prodded himself. “Y/N,” he called your attention back. “Make sure the needle goes in like this and comes out like this,” said Damian as he demonstrated.

You were shaking your head. “You are absolutely insane! Sewing fabric is nothing like sewing a wound! Can’t we just wait for your dad or someone?”

“No time,” he said.

“Please, Damian,” you begged. “Let me call EMS.”

“No,” he asserted with what little strength he had.

“Please! I…”

“No,” he repeated. You could tell his patience was wearing thin.

“I understand you have to protect your secret identity, but Damian, come on. There won’t be an identity to protect if you die.”

“Batman…Nightwing…” he said weakly.

“They’ll understand!” you argued with desperation.

“No,” he mumbled. He shook his head.

Without any thought, your next words came flooding out straight from your heart. “Damian, I love you and I don’t want you to die!” Oh. That came as a shock to you. You’d never said anything like that before. In fact, you’d never even had a thought like that, but you knew it was the truth. Your hands almost flew to cover your mouth in regret, but the blood dripping from your hands stopped you.

Damian didn’t seem to notice your confession, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Had you not been utterly distracted by the emergency before you, you might have run away with embarrassment from your sudden proclamation.

“Please try for me, okay?” His eyes were starting to close, but you could see him struggle to keep them open.

You searched his eyes, to see that his once vibrant green eyes had a dull, hazy colour to them. Seeming to find what you were looking for, you conceded. You swallowed a lump in your throat. “Okay.”

It was the worst experience of your life. Damian walked you through the process, but nothing could prepare you for the nauseating feeling of piercing his skin and pulling the nylon thread through the thickness of the tissue. Seeing the inside of his body made you want to vomit but his life was at stake, and you had to be brave for him. Besides, he was the one who should be worried, not you. Your technique was obviously non-existent and you were certain that you were hurting him a hell of a lot more than he was letting on. He hissed and groaned and you apologized profusely but he insisted that you continue.

“Thank you,” said Damian after you tied the last knot. His eyes were heavy and lidded and you could tell he was barely hanging on to consciousness. “Knew you could do it.”

You had no response. Now that the worst part was over, the adrenaline had left your system and you were in shock. His hand lolled out in an attempt to offer you comfort, or maybe to seek comfort for himself. You weren’t certain which is was, but nevertheless, you instinctively clasped his hand in yours.

Then he said something that caught you off guard. His voice was so faint that you barely heard him. “For the record, I love you, as well.”

You weren’t sure if he really meant it. Maybe he was delirious. He did lose a lot of blood. You pondered it for a moment and wondered if you should feel mortally embarrassed when he was fully lucid, but just then, a gentle squeeze on your hand told you that you didn’t have to worry.

[kyidyl]

Kyidyl Explains Bone - Part 2

(these are collected under the KyidylBones tag bc I have the sense of humor of a 13 year old boy.) 

I decided to do this today since the other part was basically like boring intro stuff and that’s not really what you showed up for.  So today’s topic is: 

Human vs. Animal

Anthropology and archaeology departments the world over are often brought random bones people find to ID whether they’re human or animal, so you might be wondering how do we know the difference? Well...it takes practice.  And, honestly, if the pieces are too small we can’t tell without microscopic analysis of the bone structure, but most of the time we can tell.  

Human bone is very unique.  Our anatomy is unique because we’re the only living members of our genus Homo and the anatomical adaptations of Homo are unique among animals.  The weird combination of big brain, walks upright, fine motor control, and used to live in trees is just...weird.  Our internal microscopic structure is different than that of any other animal. We grow differently than any other animal because our young take so long to mature and are born so helpless.  So anatomically...we’re unique if you know what to look for, but fragmentary remains are super common so you can’t do it by anatomy alone.

One piece of info that’s important.  Bone is made of two components: collagen and minerals.  Squishy bits and crunchy bits respectively.  And, yes, if you’re wondering...scientists DO sometimes remove these bits for Reasons (TM).  

Context! 

Where did you find this thing? Was it a single bone in a patch of woods in your backyard? Probably animal, but not always.  In a pit at a dig with burned animal bones? Probably not a human because people don’t toss the remains of their friends and families in with dinner.  Across cultures people treat their own dead differently than their animal dead or their food.  So if you find it with the food? 99% chance it’s animal, even at a disturbed site (tho it’s not *impossible* to find people in with animal, especially in caves, very disturbed sites, or very old sites.  With very old sites you have to get comfortable with the idea that sometimes people were food and it wasn’t even that uncommon.)

Texture! 

I’m doing this one first bc I can’t give you pictures of texture so it can go outside the cut.  That microscopic structure I mentioned and differences in bone growth all lead to a different texture in human bone.  Now, I want to preface this by saying: this varies with the age of the bone and the age of the individual and the environment in which you found it.  But human bone tends to be a bit less....greasy than animal bone.  I don’t know how else to describe this, because understanding the difference in texture is literally something you can only do by handling them, but I’ll do my best.  

See, animal bone found in association with humans is normally put through some kind of alteration process.  Cooking, smoking, etc.  Human bone sometimes is - after all, people cremate their dead or dry them out or mummify them or eat them all the time - but buried bone tends to be drier in texture than animal bone.  Animal bone won’t leave greasy stains or residue, but it will feel smoother - less porous.  As humans (and animals) decay, the collagen goes first and leaves behind the minerals.  This happens at different rates for different organisms in different conditions, but human bone that has been buried will have a different texture than animal bone, and it will be slightly less smooth or greasy (listen bone grease isn’t GREASE grease it’s just like a way of talking about how dried out it is. Older = less grease.  New things will leave like food grease on your fingers.). But after you’ve felt it a few times - buried human bone has a different texture than animal bone.  

Color! 

Human bone is a different color from other kinds of bone.  It’s similar, but not the same.  And! Unless it has been bleached by the sun (something I’ll touch on more when I do the damage post.), it’s not white.  Not when it has been defleshed naturally.  So halloween decorations? Yeah, all the wrong color.  Anyway, this is where we start to get into images, so I’m going to start putting things behind the cut.  

Here is an image of mixed animal bone from my own collection: 

Ooooo so many cool things in this one picture.  There’s burned bone, small bone, big bone, MgO staining, teef!, moar different burned bone...and one of the things that gets mistaken as human most often: turtle shell.  It’s the piece that’s in the top row, fourth from the right.  It looks very much like human skull when it’s fragmentary and is easy to mistake it as such.  It’s flat and the lines look like sutures (place where the bones in the skull fused, and are now the markers of separate bones.), but they don’t go all the way through.  Anyway, this is a good depiction of the wide variety of colors animal bone comes in.  The large piece in the very lower right is close to what I’d consider an average.  

Here’s an image of human femur that has been defleshed, but not buried: 

(Source)

Probably a young adult because the bone is in good condition, and the head has been fused but the suture isn’t completely grown over (obliterated).  

These are also human femurs: 

(Source)

Side note: they all probably had rickets and that center one is a juvenile, and I’ll teach you how to ID that later on.  They were found in a cave, a burial, and an archaeological site respectively.  

This is another femur: 

(Source)

Bottom is the femur, and it has a healed break in the middle.  The top is also a femur but it has....so...so...many problems.  SO MANY.  I could barely tell it’s a femur from this angle.  

Anyway, the color and texture on that front femur is what I would consider like an average color and texture for a human bone.  And it’s tan, sure, but it’s a different color tan than animal bone, especially IRL.  

In short: human bone looks different and feels different than animal bone, even before you take into consideration things like anatomy.  

Regarding anatomy, it’s...well, it’s an incredibly complex topic and I don’t know that I can really cover it appropriately here in my blog.  It mostly boils down to the impact that bipedalism has on our bodies, the impact that a big brain has on our skulls, and the impact that our manual dexterity on our fingers.  The walking thing is especially important because it changes *everything* about our anatomy.  Like...head to toe.  Everything.  

If you’re interested in human bone anatomy I have two resource recommendations for you.  First, The Human Bone Manual.  This is the one I used for school, and it’s the most useful textbook I’ve ever purchased.  I still use it all the time.  The ebook version is around $18.  Second, this app is called Essential Skeleton 4. It’s free, and it’s the most comprehensive skeletal anatomy app I’ve ever seen (and I’ve used a LOT of them.  It’s made by the same people who make essential anatomy - but EA isn’t free.).  Unfortunately, it’s iOS only and I’ve never found a decent alternative for android. :/ 

There is a lot more to telling human from animal, but my hope is that you’ll pick it up as I make the other entries into the series.  My best advice here is to develop an eye for detail.  Be like Elliot Spencer: it’s a very distinctive ___________. 

One final note on anatomy: people almost always do not realize what size bones actually are.  Human femurs are long and they’re heavy for their size.  They’re usually at least a foot or two in length (I mean...obviously...height is a factor.). The head is good and solid, and the shaft is thick with a lot of compact bone, but when the soft tissue is gone they’re hollow.  Most of the long bones are.  Foot bones are larger than most people expect. Skulls vary in size between softball-ish and volleyball-ish.  And human bone has a distinctive density which, unfortunately, you can’t learn the feel of without handling bone.  If you pick up a bone that looks right but doesn’t feel right - you know it.  I handled a human femur that felt like bird bone (bird bone is very light with a lot of spongy bone bc they fly.) because of a pathology (a non-standard but usually naturally occurring thing on the bone.  Breaks aren’t a pathology, but their regrowth can be.  Syphilis damage is a pathology because bacteria is naturally occurring, as are things like bone cancer, osteoporosis, etc.).  Other times it’s because your damned osteology prof mixed in a human-looking animal bone with the box of remains to trip you up because the differences can be real subtle and you need to learn that.  

Anyway, I think that’s it for today.  I’ll seeya tomorrow, peoples! 

[fluffykitty1999-blog]

Dog of the Military- Chapter 5

Lots of whumph here. And a bit of medical care.

Chapter 5- Triage

They got a room on the second floor- as soon as Roy unlocked the door, Ed strode in, albeit shakily. Roy expected the first thing the boy would go for was the bed, but to his surprise, Ed opened the door to the bathroom, turning on the tap and sticking his head under the water, drinking straight from the faucet.

The kid spent a good three minutes just drinking, and Roy realized with a sinking sense of certainty that Ed obviously hadn't been given water in a long time.

"When was the last time you drank anything, Fullmetal?"

"Last night. That lady- the Lieutenant- she snuck me a mug of water."

Ed strode out of the bathroom, falling into the closest bed and letting out a long sigh.

"And the last time you ate anything?"

"Uh... a day or two?" Ed mumbled into the pillow.

Roy felt indignation burn in his chest. "Right. So you get back and Banks threw you in a cell with no food or water for two days?"

"Pretty much."

Roy wanted to kick a hole in the wall. But he didn't. Ed sounded half asleep, anyways.

"Do you have any clean clothes?"

"Back at the fort, I think."

"Right." That was out, then. Roy would have to buy the kid something to wear- the kid's shirt was basically rags anyways.

"What else did he do to you, Fullmetal?" Roy tried to keep the anger from his voice.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

Roy wanted to push the issue. He really did. But he was pulled from his thoughts by a knock at the door.

"Hello?" he pulled the door partially open, only to be met with the innkeeper- a rather homely looking woman- who was looking at him tentatively.

She held a plate in her hands, and a fresh loaf of brown bread was sitting on it, as well as a mug of broth. "I brought you this." Despite the fact she was talking to Roy, her eyes seemed to search the room behind him. Ed really had been a sight- shambling, bloodied as he was, through her lobby a few minutes ago.

Roy looked over the offering, nodding. "Thank you."

He stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. "Is there a doctor in this town?"

The woman nodded. "Shall I send for him?"

"That would be helpful if you could, thank you."

The woman nodded, handing him the plate of food, before she scurried back down the hall.

Roy stepped back into the room- Ed didn't make a move at the sound of his entrance- he was still sprawled out on his stomach on the bed. Roy tried to ignore the blood stains on the back of the boy's shirt.

"Wake up, Fullmetal. The innkeeper was nice enough to bring you some food."

"Hmm?" Ed lifted his head, managing to turn over in bed and carefully sitting up, tearing into the loaf of brown bread as through his life depended on it and finishing the mug of broth in a few gulps before sighing in contentment and laying back.

"We need to talk about what happened to you, Ed." Roy spoke up from where he sat on his own bed.

"Do we really, though?" Ed mumbled. "I got the information, we're going home- that's pretty much what matters."

"Colonel Banks tortured you, Ed. To try and get that information. I intend on filing an official complaint against him for the imprisonment and torture of a state alchemist. If I'm going to do that, I need details on what happened to you."

"I got back and wanted to catch a train to Central asap. Colonel Banks wasn't going to let me leave without giving him the information. That's pretty much all there is to it." Ed said simply.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Roy stood, opening it to find a doctor- a rather careworn man with thick-rimmed glasses a a black medical bag- standing outside.

"Good evening, Sir. I was told you were in need of my services?"

Roy nodded. "Thank you for coming. Come in..."

The doctor stepped inside the room, looking over to see Ed lying on the bed and nodding.

"Good evening, young man."

"Hello." Ed narrowed his eyes, looking at Mustang. "Who's this?"

"This is the local doctor. He's going to check you over- since you refuse to talk about what Banks did to you, someone needs to treat your injuries..."

"I'm fine." Ed protested.

"Then prove it. Let him look you over. Humor me here, Fullmetal."

Ed frowned.

"Let's start by taking off your shirt, if you don't mind." The doctor gave Ed a reassuring smile. He had a kind face, despite his obvious age- the man looked like he'd been in his profession for decades, and probably had several grandchildren. It was different than the sort of young, sterile lab coat clad upstarts Ed was used to in the hospital. Ed didn’t like to admit it, but the man seemed... nice. For a doctor.

Ed sighed, but obliged, unbuttoning his white shirt and shrugging it off, trying to hide his wince as he did so.

Roy hadn't been prepared for the mess of injuries beneath the boy's clothing.

Half a dozen perfect circular burns spotted the boy's left side. Ed's ribs and chest were a splattering of black and blue, violet bruises blossoming on his torso. There was a rather deep cut on the bicep of Ed's flesh arm, in addition to his black eye, swollen lip, and the cut that ran over his left eyebrow and ended just after it crossed the bridge of his nose.

As shocked as Roy was, the doctor took in the scene before him with practiced professionalism, nodding solemnly.

"I'll need to clean these wounds, young man." He pulled a jar and some gauze from his bag, quickly but carefully swabbing the cigarette burns with moist gauze, dabbing them dry, and smearing a salve onto them before he was taping a bandage over them with meticulous but gentle hands.

He moved onto the wound on Ed's arm- it was three inches long, and rather deep, and he frowned, cleaning away the blood. "This will need stitches, I'm afraid."

"I don't like needles." Ed said firmly.

The doctor nodded, withdrawing a vial from his bag. "That's perfectly understandable, son. I'm going to ask you to close your eyes- you'll feel a pinch and a burn, but only for a brief moment."

Once the doctor was sure Ed had closed his eyes, he withdrew a syringe from his bag, drawing up some of the drug in the vial and carefully injecting a small amount of either side of the cut.

Ed frowned, twitching at the sensation. "What are you doing?"

"Just preparing the wound, son." the doctor set the syringe aside, threading a needle with practiced ease and expertly beginning to suture the wound. Ed didn't flinch as the needle pierced his skin, completely unaware. Roy realized he'd numbed the boy well enough that Ed didn't even realized he was being stitched.

"You can open your eyes now, son." the doctor made sure to tuck his syringe, needle and thread back into his bag before giving the boy the instruction.

Ed opened his eyes, looking surprised to see the wound neatly sutured shut. Before he could examine it too closely, the doctor wrapped a bandage around it, nodding to Ed.

"Now that all the open wounds are taken care of, I'd like to feel your chest and abdomen- check for broken bones and such."

"Okay." Ed said, though he narrowed his eyes, looking at the doctors hands. "But if your hands are freezing I'm gonna bite you."

It was such a childish threat that Roy was stopped cold for a moment, but the doctor simply laughed. "Of course, I know- nothing less fun than cold hands and stethoscopes." he rubbed his hands together for half a minute to warm them, looking to Ed for permission. "May I, young man?"

Ed nodded, and the doctor carefully ran his hands over the boy's chest and ribs, starting at the top and working his way down. He moved with a gentle but practiced ease. Still, Ed tensed up, sucking in a breath, when the doctor came across a rather sore area. The doctor saw how Ed tensed up and stilled. "Sorry, lad. It must hurt a bit there, yeah?"

"I wasn't sure if they were bruised or broken." Ed admitted, voice barely above a whisper. The doctor nodded sympathetically, before he continued down the boy's abdomen, carefully feeling his stomach before concluding. "Mostly bruised, one broken." he confirmed. Ed gave a tired nod.

"Any other injuries that need attention?"

"His back."

Ed glowered at Roy, looking betrayed, but he gingerly elbowed his way onto his stomach anyways.

Ed's back was less serious, but still marred by 3 rather large cuts. The doctor cleaned and examined them all, before nodding. "I think the smaller two will heal nicely with just some bandages, but I'll have to suture the deepest one." the doctor nodded to the four inch cut that was rather deep.

"Just get it over with then." Ed groused. Once again, he didn't complain as the doctor skillfully numbed the wound before stitching it, daubing more salve on all the wounds before taping a gauze pad over them.

"Now then, let's see to your face."

Ed rolled onto his back, letting the doctor carefully clean the cut above his eye and dab at his smaller scratches before sitting back.

There was a knock at the door, and the doctor strode over to open it. The inn keeper stood in the doorway, a steaming cup of tea in hand. "Ah, Mrs. Berkley, just as I requested. Thank you."

He pulled a small brown bottle from his bag, putting a splash of whatever medicine was inside it into the steaming mug of tea and handing it to Ed.

"Drink up, son."

Ed took a long sip, snacking his lips and frowning, making an odd face. "Tastes weird."

The doctor laughed. "Yes, it should. It's normally a strong tea, but it tastes better than the medicine itself."

"What medicine?"

"Just something to ease any soreness you might have and help you get some rest. You should drink it all- help to relieve any pain. Especially your chest."

Ed nodded, taking another long sip and closing his eyes, appearing to relax some. By the time he was mostly through with a mug, his eyes had grown heavy, and before long, Ed was fast asleep.

The doctor smiled down at the sleeping boy, carefully plucking the mostly-empty mug from the boy's hands and setting it on the beside table.

The doctor moved to clean his glasses, nodding to Roy. "Any questions for me..." he paused, squinting at the bars on Mustang's uniform "Colonel?"

Roy nodded, looking up from Ed's sleeping form. "What did they do to him?"

"You saw the cigarette burns yourself. Several cuts from a rather sharp blade, and contusions on his chest- I assume the boy was kicked quite hard."

"Will he be alright?"

"With time, I don't see why he won't make a full recovery." the doctor conceded. "Though I don't exactly understand who would inflict such injuries upon a boy..."

"Colonel Banks, the ranking officer at Fort Goldenfield. I'll be filing an official complaint against him, there's no excuse for what he did to my subordinate." Roy's charcoal gaze flared, before he turned his serious gaze to the doctor. "Would you be willing to write a statement in regards to Ed's injuries?"

"Of course." the doctor nodded. He pulled a small amber bottle from his bag. It contained a few pills. "I've given him a dose of laundrum- he should rest well through the night. If he's uncomfortable in the morning, give him two of these every four hours."

Roy took the pills, nodding. "Thank you for helping him. What do I owe you?"

"No need to settle that now. I assume I can send the bill to your military office, as well as the statement regarding Edward's injuries, Mr...?"

"Mustang." Roy quickly stuck out his hand, and the doctor shook it. "Colonel Roy Mustang."

Roy grabbed a pen and paper and quickly wrote down the address for his office in Central, giving it to the doctor.

"Right. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Mustang. I'll prepare the documents and mail them off first thing in the morning. I can stop in to see Edward tomorrow if you'd like, as well."

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't think we'll be in the area that long. We were planning on catching the first train to Central in the morning. If you think he's well enough to travel?"

"Ah, of course. I don't see any issue with him traveling. As I said, if he's uncomfortable give him those pills."

"Thank you doctor."

"Not a problem, not a problem. My number is on the medicine bottle, feel free to call if anything changes."

The doctor quietly left, leaving Roy in the inn room as night approached with a sleeping Edward.

Roy sighed, covering the sleeping blond with a blanket and locking the door to their room, stepping into the hallway to find a pay phone.

He had some calls to make.

Obligatory ko-fi button. Do you like papa Roy’s characterization here?

https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12

[missfluffywriter]

Purple Irises I Mafia Park Jimin x Reader

Author’s note: Hello everyone! God I feel like I’m always screwing up the update schedule. But I have an offical schedule now!! I now update every Wednesday at around 1:00 pm PST. Oof, okay sooo we’re reaching the galaaa I’m so excited. That’s like the part I’m most looking forward to not gonna lie, lol. Oh an I’ll be uploading the masterlist sometime today. Anyway that’s it for me. Happy readings! 

Word count: 9.9k

Genre: Mafia au, doctor au (kind of), florist au (again kind of but not really)

Paring: Park Jimin x reader

(Series) Summary: You were supposed to be delivering flowers, so how did you end up in an operation room digging a bullet out of a mafia boss’ shoulder?

Purple Irises: Royalty and wisdom

Warnings: Guns, violence, language, not much really. 

 Previous chapter I  Next chapter I Masterlist

“Good morn一 Oh? Well, good morning everyone,” You paused mid greeting as your eyes met the seven men scattered around Jimin’s bedroom. Shelty energetically bounds over to the silver-blond mafia boss the minute her eyes land on him. And said silver-blond was more than happy to reciprocate the affection.

Striding to the first-aid box still seated on the table across the bed, a chorus of ‘good morning’s and ‘morning’s resound throughout the room as you sit beside Jimin on the sofa. The mafia boss automatically removes his shirt and turns to give you better access to the bandage clip.

“We got you breakfast,” Jeongguk chirps, directing your attention to the strawberry parfait and the vibrant fruit platter beautifully decorated, on the clear glass coffee table.

“Thanks you guys,” Humming in approval of the healthy breakfast choice, a smile of gratitude curves on your lips as you unwrap the last layer of gauze from the young mafia boss’ shoulder. Your smile widens when you examine the used gauzes. ‘Good, the drainage is lessening,’ The white gauze was nearly stainless, though there were specs of red, the discharge was mostly just a faded yellow stain on the gauze, which meant the wound was healing well.

Carefully cleaning the healing wound with alcohol wipes before applying the antibiotic ointment on and around the bullet wound. Then quickly wrapping Jimin’s shoulder with fresh new gauze and bandage before clipping on the bandage clip.

‘I should show this to Jin,’ He had been wanting to learn the ways of medical science. And what better way than to learn first hand.

Softly calling his name you beckon him to your side whilst putting away the ointment and leftover bandages. “Look, you see this?” You show him the used gauze.

“Uh, yeah?” His answer sounded more like a question, his eyes flickering to dirtied items in your hand then to you.

“You see the light yellow-ish marks on the gauze?” Gesturing to the smudge of yellow on the mostly white piece of cloth. “It’s called a serosanguineous. Serosanguineous is the term used to describe discharge that contains both blood and a clear yellow liquid known as blood serum. Most physical wounds produce some drainage, it’s a sign that the wound is healing,”

“Wait, hold on, hold on. Give me a sec, I need to write down,” Jin scrambles to find any sort of writing tool and surface to write on. With a soft chuckle, you assure the man that he did not have to write this down as everything you had just said was covered in the textbooks you had yet to give him.

You lift the gauze up with both hands for the rest to see when the youngest gives you a curious glance, leaning in from behind to catch a glimpse of what you were talking about. Jeongguk looks inquisitively at the gauze before raising his to meet yours, silently asking you to continue.

Lowering the gauze to sit beside you, a soft smile stretches across your lips, gratefully accepting the cup of parfait Jin hands you. Bringing a spoonful of granola and yogurt to your mouth, you hum, savoring the tart and sweet flavors of the breakfast parfait before diving into a medical lesson. “When you first get a cut or when you bleed after getting a wound that’s called Sanguineous drainage, it is the first drainage that a wound produces. It is the fresh red blood that comes out of the injury when it first occurs. This drainage occurs when a wound is in the first stage of healing, known as the inflammatory stage. It thickens as the blood starts to clot. Though Sanguineous drainage may last longer in deeper wounds.

However, if Sanguineous drainage or drainage that is mostly blood occurs later on in the wound’s healing process that may be a sign of further damage to the tissues in the area. And that’s no good.

And then there is Serosanguineous and that is a different kind of discharge that may happen with larger wounds that require the bandages to be changed regularly, like Jimin’s wound. It’s the clear yellow-ish stuff I talked about. These types of drainage will usually appear in the first few days of a wound’s healing process and then disappear as the wound scabs over. Oh, but that’s for wounds that don’t need stitches or sutures. Sutures like Jimin’s are different, they don’t really scab.

So you see Sanguineous and serosanguineous discharge are all a part of the wound healing process. They help the wound stay lubricated to make healing easier.” You explain, taking breaks between sentences for a bite of your parfait.

Jeongguk looks at you with wide confused doe eyes. As you shifted your eyes to the other six men in the room, they each held a similarly perplexed expression. “You lost me at ‘starts to clot’,” The youngest rapidly blinks, trying to recall any of which you had been speaking of.

“It’s fine,” Chuckling you wave him off, finishing the last spoon of yogurt, granola, and fruit. “So, what are we all here for today? I’m assuming we aren’t having breakfast together just to have breakfast together,” You ask as the men finish their own parfaits.

“Do you remember what Guk said yesterday?” Jimin speaks, shifting to better face you.

“Something about a mafia party?” You ask, recalling the memory from the day before.

“It’s more of a gala or a ball than a party,” Namjoon corrects.

“Yes, and it is the biggest event in the mafia community. Larger mafia families take turns hosting the party each year. This year it is being hosted by the Mae family,” Jimin further explains, crossing one leg over the other.

Raising a questioning brow, you ask, “And you want me to go?” The silver-blond beside you nods, resting his weight on the sofa arm. “I’m sorry, why? I’m your doctor, why would you need me at a party?”

“How can someone be so perceptive yet so dense at the same time?” Jeongguk’s flat tone resounds throughout the room and you could sense the face-palm energy reverberating throughout the room, hearing each man sighing in agreement with the youngest’s statement.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Grumbling, you pulled your legs into your chest, holding onto your ankles.  

“You’re going with us because I said so, do you need a better reason?”Jimin voices as he watches you toy with your socks.

Yes “No,” You mumble your response, still not sure as to why they wanted you to attend the ball. A few beats of silence and the thought you had been meaning to bring up returns to you.

“Jimin?” The mafioso hums at the call of his name. “I was thinking, now that the Yeong know we have control over the prison house. That we should probably bring Jiyoung’s family here. Or at least let him see them,”

“Ah yes, we're actually already on that. As a matter of fact, he will be reuniting with them later today,” Namjoon answers your question before someone else pipes up.

“Well then, we need to get her ready for the party,” Hoseok speaks, coming to stand behind Jimin.

“Get me ready?” Blinking, you question the man in charge as you process the abrupt topic change.

“I guess we could start with self-defense, then firearms training, and etiquette and all that jazz will come afterwards. Oh, and I guess we need to get you an outfit,”

“I need to learn what now?” Jimin ignores your question as he announces the day’s plans.

“We’re going shopping after this,” Casually sliding his hands into his sweatpant pockets, a smile curves onto his lips which was honestly more of a smirk.

“We are?” A breathless response comes from you before Jimin is shooing you out of his room.

“Yes, so go get ready,”

~

“Question,” Your index finger raised. “Why are we standing in front of a Louis Vuitton store?” You ask, taking in the storefront of the luxurious brand. It wasn’t as though you had never seen the building, as a matter of fact, this was a very familiar place, being two blocks down from Kabloom flower shop you had passed this store multiple times on your way to your previous job. But never had you imagined actually going into the place unless it was you were delivering flowers.

“To get you an outfit obviously,” Taehyung says, his forehead scrunching at your question.

“We’re not going in there!” You exclaim, accusingly pointing to the store.

“And why not? Where else are we going to get you an outfit?” Taehyung asks, hands on his hips, trying to understand the reason as to why you were rejecting the store.  

“I don’t know a normal boutique. I can’t afford anything from this place!” You shriek an explanation, the pitch of your voice rising as you spoke.

“You are not going to be, we’re paying. You just pick out what you want,” Jimin calmly speaks as he turns to you.

“I’m not letting you waste money on me,” Eyebrows furring in disapproval, you return the mafia boss’ gaze.

“(Y/n), I’m not asking,” He concludes sternly. Your eyes fell to the floor at the silver-blond’s tone, most would not have caught it, but you could hear the anger or at least annoyance laced in his voice. 

Jimin himself wasn’t exactly sure as to why his temper flared. It was true that he was known to have a short fuse, but this was nothing to be angry about. But for reasons unknown, he felt his anger blaze at your words. ‘Waste money on me,’ He couldn’t help the scowl that made it’s way onto his face.

“Bu一”

“No buts, you heard the boss, now come on. Let’s go in” Jin excitedly tugs into the store, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk on your tail.

The store was luxurious to say the least. The soft golden hues of the ceiling lights reflected on the polished white marbles. Leather round sofa-chairs strategically scattered around the space as seating areas for each section of the store. Handbags and clothing artistically placed around the room. The space was immaculately clean and employees dotted every corner of the store, interacting with the many customers. Though the store wasn’t exactly bustling, quite a few shoppers were roaming the vicinity.

Immediately as you step into the lavish store, you are greeted by a tall man dressed in a navy blue suit. “Ah, welcome Park Jimin-ssi, how may I help you today?” He bowed, his eyes flickering to you then back to the young mafia boss before him.  

“We’re looking for the finest dresses for this young lady here,” Jimin replied, gesturing to your form.

“Of course, please follow me,” The man nodded, leading the group up the staircase that came into view the minute you stepped into the store. Up the curving staircase, he led you to a dressing room separate from the main store.

A large floor to ceiling window allowed natural light to pour into the room. A plush beige carpet beneath your feet as the entire floor was carpeted. There was another door adjacent to the wall you had entered from. Most likely a dressing room for you to try on the dresses that would be picked. You took in your surroundings as and even within the room handbags and clothing were on display around the sofa that sat directly in front of the ceiling to floor window. “Do you have a dress in mind you would like madam?” He asks you as the four men accompanying you sit on the sofas in the room.

“So (Y/n), what kind of design are you looking for?’’ Taehyung asks.

“I don’t know,” An honest response, you had barely ever been to regular parties and when you did you opted for a comfortable pair of jeans and sweatshirt, never really bothering with the way you dressed. Which also meant you weren’t exactly sure as to how you were supposed to dress for a gala.

“You don’t know? Like color preference? Style? I don’t know, glittery? Flashy?” Taehyung throws out options.

“Oo, no glittery. Something simple, but nice,” Your face contorted as you tried to explain what you liked.

“Simple but nice, great description (Y/n),” Jeongguk scoffs with a flat voice.

“Well, something elegant, nothing too frilly or flashy, but not a maxi dress either. Oh, and definitely a long dress. Something simple but elegant,” Your voice quieted towards the end. “And uh… nevermind”

“No, go on,” With an upward tilt of his head, Jimin urges you to continue.

“It’s nothing really,”

“(Y/n),” His voice deep, a warning in his tone.

“Well um, if it’s not too much, I uh, I like soft fabrics. So it would be nice of the dress was made of the something soft,”

“A long dress, simple but elegant, and made of a soft fabric. We will have all dresses matching the description sent here shortly. Until then please, enjoy some champagne,” The man in the navy suit smiles as another employee, a woman, serves glasses of champagne.

“It’s so weird seeing you without Shelty, why couldn’t just bring her with us?” The youngest whines, his bunny face scrunching as he thought about your adorable companion.

“We can’t bring a dog half your height into a store,” Jin counters the younger male, sipping his champagne.

“As much as I miss her, Jin’s right. We couldn’t bring her here. You have to remember that to other people Shelty is basically a wolf. And I don’t think the employees would be very happy if we tried to bring a wolf into a store they are responsible for,” Chuckling, you watch as the brunette grumbled.

Your eyes drifted throughout the room as the eldest and the youngest launched into another banter while the other two had their eyes glued to their phones. As your gaze continued to roam the room they halted when they landed on a particular handbag that sat just behind a large tote bag.

It was a solid black, rectangular handbag that featured a display of leather-wrapped LV Initials on the upper edge of the handbag. The bag had a top handle as well as adjustable straps. It had a clean crisp design, simple yet elegant. Truly a gorgeous bag, and though you weren’t necessarily interested in collecting overpriced leather boxes, this particular bag stirred a strange want within you. Nibbiling the inside of your lip, you examined the exquisite bag, your focus so intent that you couldn’t feel a pair of honey-brown orbs that were keenly observing your every reaction. You hadn’t realized you had been staring, until a well-dressed woman entered the room, a rack of colorful dresses in tow, and you tore your eyes from the bag to her.

“Simple but elegant and made of a soft fabric. I brought all the dresses that matched the description,” The woman wheeled the rack to where the dressing room door was.

“Well then?” Jin cleared his throat. Though not understanding his gesture, you continue to owlishly blink at him. “Go on, try them on,”

“O一oh, okay,” Stammering out a reply, you quickly make your way towards the clothing rack.

Up close, you counted five dresses in total. And from what you could see, at least three of those dresses fit the criteria you had given near perfectly. The dresses were simple but elegant and incredibly soft to the touch.

An excited smile curved on your lips when you felt the texture of the clothing. Never really having had the opportunity to try on so many beautiful pieces of garments, and never having truly shopped with any other intent than the utility of the product. You couldn’t help the small bounce on your heel as you looked to Jimin, who wore a satisfied smile, nodded for you to go ahead.

‘Why’d I do that?’ You paused, eyelids fluttering as you realized you had asked for Jimin’s permission before doing anything else. You knew he wouldn’t have minded or even cared if you had jumped straight to trying on the dress, but the action was so natural. Your mind had automatically thought of making sure Jimin approved of what you were doing before anything else. And your body moved accordingly.

You didn’t exactly like the feeling of asking permission from someone before doing something, but for now, you shake off those thoughts and return to the most important matter at hand. And that was choosing your gala dress.

“Which are you gonna try on first?” Taehyung asked from his position beside Jimin.

“Oo, try on the black one,” Jeongguk eagerly suggests.

“Why not?” You indulge him, entering the dressing room with the black dress.

The dress was a floor-length, v-neckline ball gown dress with silver beading on the neckline, and black tulle around the skirt. It was a lovely dress, really it was, but it just didn’t fit the simple criteria. Viewing yourself one last time in the mirror you walk out for the men’s opinion. A giddy laugh escapes your lips as you did, you were starting to enjoy yourself.

“How do you think she’ll look?” Taehyung asks, gulping down his second glass of champagne.

“Beautiful,” An almost immediate response comes from the man he least expected to come from.

“What?” He blurts, dumbly stares at his frozen boss as he thought his ears betrayed him. He looks at Jin and Jeongguk, who both held the same shocked expression. So his ears didn’t betray him.  

“Did you just一”

“Yes, and?” Jimin cuts off Taehyung. He hadn’t meant to answer. His mouth had moved before his brain did. Although he didn’t exactly regret those words, nor did he really wanted to take them back. He was speaking the honest truth when he spoke those words. Whatever you wore you look absolutely lovely in, whether it be your oversized hoodie you seem to adorably drown in or a thousand dollar dress.

A grin explodes onto Taehyung’s face, a grin that could only mean mischief. Jimin narrowed his eyes at the male. “Not a word,” He warns the chestnut-haired mafioso. The mafia boss’ eyes narrow further as a knowing smile stretches across Jin’s lips, before being ripped from his chain of thoughts by the slow opening of the dressing room door.

All his anger and aggression, forgotten the instant you stepped out of the dressing room. Bashfully walking into the room, you tuck your already tucked hair.

“So, uh, how do I look?” You ask, shyly averting your gaze from a certain silver-blond. You weren’t precisely sure as to where your sudden shyness rose from, but you couldn’t help as your heart thumped powerfully in your chest. And hearing no response from the men, you took their silence as a ‘not very good’. “I一I’ll go try on something el一”

“You look beautiful,” Jimin interjects before you could scurry back into the dressing room.

You didn’t think it possible but you felt your heart pump even faster at his words. A soft red dusted your cheeks as a face splitting grin spread across your face. “Thank you,”

“But, I don’t really think this is my style. So uh, I’ll go try on the other dresses,” You say a little shaky from the rapid pulse in your throat. Hurriedly grabbing another dress from the rack you scamper back into the small dressing room, shutting the door behind you.

Jimin bit back a grin as he watched your back disappear. He didn’t understand the strange warmth that flourished in his chest. He couldn’t express the sheer happiness and satisfaction he felt when he saw the jubilant glimmer that sparkled in your bright orbs and the elated grin that burst onto your lips when you heard his complement. Jimin’s fists clenched as he tried futilely to calm his thundering heartbeat.

“Yong Moon, add that to the cart,” The silver-blonde gestured to the handbag you’d been eyeing minutes prior.

“Of course,” The navy suited man responded, giving a light bow before reaching for the bag, handing it to the woman that had brought in the clothing rack. The woman exited the room with the bag.

Jimin ignored the questioning brow that rose on Jeongguk’s face, and the stupid grins on the faces of the other two. The youngest looked questioningly at his elders, who simply dismissed him with a shake of their heads.

Exhaling a jittery breath you lean against the closed door. ‘He called me beautiful’ You inhale deeply, trying to get your racing heart under control. And even the pain from biting into your lower lip couldn’t suppress the giddy smile that refused to leave your lips. It was a simple compliment, more of an obligatory complement, and yet this inexplicable warm, fluffy feeling had erupted in your chest.

‘I wasn’t even looking when I grabbed this thing,’ Looking down to the dress in your clutches. Your breath hitched as you took in the garment you held. And you hurried to slip into the dress.

‘She’s taking a lot longer than before,’ Jimin shifted in his seat as his gaze bore into the dressing room door.

‘He stares any harder and he’ll burn holes through ‘em,’ Taehyung deadpan expression spoke millions as he watched his boss cross and uncross his legs every few minutes. And the chestnut-haired male could practically feel the moment Jimin forgot to breathe.

“I think I found the one,” In a shy, soft voice you speak as your mirthful eyes excitedly meet theirs.“So uh, what do you guys think?”

The dress was a deep wine red off-shoulder neckline that came together in a v-shape at the chest. A high split in the ball gown skirt that gracefully flowed behind you, making a sort of train. The smooth satin material gently kissed your skin as the dress elegantly hung on your form.

“You look amazing,” Jin is the first to speak up, followed by words of agreement from two other men.

You bashfully thanked the men for the compliment they were showering you with. Although there was still one more that had yet to speak. Jimin hadn’t uttered a single sound since you had entered the room. And the silence was stirring your anxiousness, what if he didn’t like the dress you absolutely adored? Though you doubted he would deny you from choosing what you wanted. You had hoped he would have liked it as much as you did.

“Well then Jimin, don’t you have something you want to say?” Jin cleared his throat as he prompted the young mafia boss to speak.

“Absolutely stunning,” His words flowed straight from his brain to his mouth. Whatever filters he may have had were left useless at that moment. As his cerebrum was far too occupied imprinting the sight before him into his memory. The most gorgeous woman he had ever seen stood before him, shyly asking him for his opinion, technically you asked everyone  his mind simply short-circuited itself. As he drank in your form, his face scrunched into a frown when he saw your expression sadden. He didn’t like that, a frown didn’t suit you in the slightest.

But when a wide smile exploded onto your face at his words, the pure joy and happiness that you held in your smile, he couldn’t help the blood that rushed straight into his cheeks. He cleared his throat bringing his hand to his lips and face, in some effort to conceal his rosy cheeks.

“Thank you!” Your own cheeks flushed a brilliant crimson.“And I think I know the one I want” You declare, looking down to the skirt of the beautiful gown, heart still beating a mile a minute.

“Are you sure? There are three more dresses you could try on,” Jin askes, his gaze flickering from you to the clothing rack then back to you.

“Uh-huh, I want this one,”

“That’s fine, but don’t you want to try another one?” Eyebrows furrowed, he asks, coming to stand beside you. And you shake your head as a ‘no’ 

“But yo一”

“If that’s the one she wants then that’s the one she gets. Yong Moon, please add that to the cart,” Jimin interjects, his gaze shifting to the navy-suited man. “Now for shoes,”

“Jimin-ssi, we thought that the miss would take a liking to that particular dress. So, we brought shoes we thought would go perfectly with it,” His response is immediate as another employee walks in with a pair of black heeled callback sandals. The insoles were a fawn-brown, it had a strap where the vamp of the shoe would have been. And an adjustable strap around the ankle with golden letters spelling “Vuitton”.

A smile curved on your lips as you admired the heels, they had picked this particular pair with your requests in mind.

“Well then, try it on,” Jin urges you.

Snapping your gaze to the older male then back to the shoe, you nod, striding across the small room to where Jin had been sitting.

Delicately you slip on the heeled sandals, adjusting the straps to fit your ankle before standing. Hurriedly tottering to stand before the men, then spinning, giving them a three-hundred-sixty view of your completed outfit.

A quiet hum escapes Jimin’s lips as he watches you twirl, contentment washing over him in waves. He felt a sense of achievement and fulfillment seeing the joyous smile he had brought you. Taking in your form he noticed the bareness of your neck, originally he had all intentions to point out the fact but that was before he had his genius idea, and so he kept his observations to himself.

“Do you like it?” Jimin muses though he was fairly certain of your answer. He simply felt the need to hear it from you. And the shy nod of your head was more than enough for him. “We’ll be taking both,” He says to Yong Moon.

“So uh, how much did it all add up to?” Slinking to where Jimin and Jin were seated, you ask. Considering the fact that you had your dress chosen, you assumed the other two had left to fetch the car.

“The tota一”

“Don’t worry about it,” The young mafia boss cuts off Yong Moon’s answer, waving you off as he signed the receipt.

“Come on, I was just wondering was all,” A frown folds onto your face as you follow them down the stairs and out of the store. “Jimin, please, I don’t see why I can’t know how much you spent on me.” Stepping into the short limousine you had arrived at the store in.

Sighing in defeat, he silently hands you the receipt. Your eyes scan over the piece of paper before landing on the “total” line. A loud gasp left you lips, eyes blowing wide, you snap your head to look at Jimin.

“You did not just spend nearly twenty-five-million won on me!” Voice booming in the car you stare at the mafia who simply shrugged at your words. “That’s like twenty-thousand dollars! Just how much was that dress?!”

“I think the guy said like about twelve-million won,” Taehyung replies thoughtfully, amusement laced in his tone.

“Twelve一 what?! That’s like four times my rent!” You exclaimed. “And the shoes were what? Eight-million won?!”

“You can’t just go around spending millions of won just like that! How could you spend so much! Oh my god, you should’ve told me! I would have picked something cheaper!” Jimin chuckled at your reaction, and this was the reason he hadn’t wanted to let you know of the price.

“That’s exactly why we didn’t tell you,” Jeongguk quips as your brain processed the fact that these crazy nut jobs had just bought you a dress that cost more than your house rent.

“(Y/n), it’s a gala, you have to dress nicely,” Jin laughs, attempting to bring your energy back down to a three.

“Oh my god you guys,” You grumbled, bringing your sweater covered palms to cover your eyes. Your eyes stung as your throat tightened. It was never in you to get emotional over something so trivial as clothes but, this was the first time someone had gone out of their way for you. Sure, it was for the gala, and they wanted you to look presentable, but they didn’t have to.

The smile on Jimin’s lips dissipates when he picks up the soft sniffles that left your throat. “(Y/n)? What’s wrong?” Immediately on alert, anxiously waiting for your answer.

“I’m sorry, it’s一 it’s just… no one’s ever done something so nice for me. To go out of your way, to spend your hard-earned money on a basically a stranger,” You say as tears threaten to fall.  

“What?” Jimin’s frown deepens. You weren’t a stranger, not anymore anyway. 

“You see, I’ve never known my parents. I grew up in the foster care system. And it’s just, I knew, I knew everything they did, they only did because they had to. I knew they never cared, no one cared, and that was fine. I just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible anyway,” You explained. “That was actually one of the reasons I joined the accelerated program. So I could move into the dorms as soon as I finished high school. Sure, I had friends through college but we were just never close. And I just… I don’t know,”

“Just, thank you, you guys,” Jimin’s breath caught in his throat when you lowered your hands onto your lap, giving them a teary smile.

How strange, thanking the men you should be hating. The men that ruined your perfectly mundane life. And yet here you were thanking them for even you weren’t sure what.

“It一 it’s ah, don’t mention it. Hey, hey don’t cry (Y/n),” The youngest stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. The other men stuttering out similar responses, not entirely sure what to do with the information that had just been handed to them.

Seeing your expression Jimin wasn’t sure as to how he should go about comforting you. Or if you even needed to be comforted. Though his dilemma had been put on hold as his phone binged with a notification. Reaching into his pant pocket he pulled out his phone. Eyes running across the text on his lock screen. He cleared his throat before addressing you, “Ahem, (Y/n),” You hummed at the call of your name as soft sniffels leave your lips. “Most of the things you ordered will be arriving tomorrow,”

“Oh? That’s good I’ll start organizing everything as soon as I get them,”

“I don’t think so,” Jeongguk interrupts.

“Huh?”

“Your training with Hoseok officially starts tomorrow, so I’m afraid you’ll be busy with that all day,” Jimin explains, his gaze meeting your confused ones.

“My what?”

“Training,”

~

Excruciating pain shot throughout your body, muscles burning and aching having pushed well past their limits. Gasps leave your lips as you struggle to get adequate amounts of oxygen, your lungs working on overdrive. A sheen of sweat layered on your skin as you pushed yourself farther.

“Come on (Y/n), we’re almost there,” Jeongguk encouraged you as he jogged backwards in front of you. ‘Fit bastard,’ You glowered at the male, barely making it back to where Jimin, Jin, and Hoseok were seated on the lawn. 

It wasn’t as though your own cardio vascular health was poor, it was just, running a lap around the entier back gardens were more than any normal human could handle, especially in sweltering sun, well,  aside from Jeongguk apparently. 

“No one一 ha, no one said一 no one said we were running!” Your voice boomed throughout the otherwise peaceful gardens.

“Cardio is very important (Y/n),” Hoseok smiles, throwing you a bottle of water. Which you barely caught before collapsing onto the grass.

“I’m dying,”

“You’re not dying, now get up,” The youngest chuckles, gleefully running his palm through Shelty’s soft fur.

“Excuse me, are you the doctor or am I the doctor?” Thundering at the male you continue, “That’s right, I’m the doctor. I decide when I’m dying. And right now I’m dying.”

“Alright, alright, time to get serious,” Hoseok claps, helping you stand. “How much do you know about self-defense?”

“Honestly, not much,” Sighing, you answer honestly, huffing as you shift your weight from leg to leg. “I’ve never really had to do much self-defending,”

“Have you ever learned any self defense or did you carry a taser or pepper spray or something?” Hoseok asked.

“No, I didn’t really have to carry anything,” Your gaze drifted to the seventy-pound puppy rolling around on the grass. “Whenever I had to work late into the night, I just brought Shelty to work with me. And well, she’s basically a wolf to everyone who doesn’t know otherwise, and no one really wants to test their luck against a wolf half their size. Besides, I already lived in a good part of the town, so there weren’t many threats, to begin with. So yeah,”

“I see… then let’s start with something simple like disarming someone with a knife,” He says before grabbing one of the wooden knives he had brought with him. “First, always try to use your opponent's movements against them,” He explains.

“Wait, uh before we start anything, can we send Shelty into the house, or can Jeongguk or someone take her for a walk or something?” Running your fingers through the soft black fur of the wolf-dog, you ask the men. You could see the confusion in their expression, but their confusion dissipates into understanding as they recalled the incident with Haewon.

“Right, uh, I’ll take her inside,” Jin offers, standing from his seated position. He dusts off his butt before calling your puppy to him.

Shelty looks at you, and you give her a smile, prompting her to go with Jin, “Go on,” And that’s all she needs to gallop over to the eldest, right after showering Jimin with slobbery wet kisses.

“Here, try attacking me with this knife,” Hoseok calls for your attention, throwing you the wooden knife, he stands in a guarded position.

“It’s alright, I’ll be fine,” Hoseok assured when he saw you hesitate. And your eyebrows furrowed at his words. Of course, he’d be fine, he had been doing this for much longer than you ever had. And it wasn’t him that you were worried about, you were more concerned that he wouldn’t be able to hold back properly and you’d end up getting hurt.

“It’s not really you, I’m worried about,” A flat chuckle leaves your lips.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be holding back,”

“Oh you better,” Huffing a laugh you charge towards him with the knife outstretched in front of you.

“Now you see, when someone is coming at you with a knife, pivot on your foot,” He pivoted on his right foot, letting you pass him. “Then grab the hand with the knife and the back of their neck, twist the wrist until they let go of the knife,” He tightly took hold of your wrist, twisting it out of your grasp. “Bring their arm behind them, push them to the ground with the attacker’s own momentum then pin them to the ground using your weight,” He explained, pinning you on the ground with his knee on your back.

A yelp left your lips when the pressure from his knee became a little too powerful. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” He jumped off of you, then helped you to your feet.

“I’m fine,” Giving him a reassuring smile, you stand.

“Are you sure? Do you need a break?” Another voice pipes in from the sidelines. Turning your head to see the owner of the familiar voice, your smile softens when your gaze lands on a worried-looking Jimin, who was already half on his feet.

“I’m fine Jimin, really. And honestly, a break would be lovely right now,” Jimin opens his mouth to speak, though you cut him off before he could make a sound. “But, if I do take a break I know I’ll never get back to it because I will find some way to escape this. So… let’s just... get started,” Although still not fully convinced, he sits back, letting you continue.

Leaning your weight on your left leg you chuckled, the mafia boss had been, in his own way, oddly clingy with you, staying by your side whenever possible. ‘How adorable,’ Shaking your head you turn back to Hoseok.

“Alright then, we’ll start slow motion, then as you get used to it, we can speed up. Okay?” Nodding to his words you throw him the knife. “Okay, here we go. Remember everything I told you,”  

He moved slowly with the knife in his right hand. ‘Pivot, twist, grab, pin,’ Recalling his instructions you pivot on your left foot, grabbing his wrist and twisting it. You weren’t exactly sure whether you had made him let go or if he had willingly let go, most likely the latter. Before pushing him, for now gently, onto the ground, then using all your weight you pin him to the ground. Though it was more of you sat on him while you held his arm to his back.

“Good job. It was close, but not quite,” He says as you stood, helping him up as you did. “Don’t just sit on me. If the attacker is trained, and most of them are they’ll be out of your hold before you know it,” He teaches you, and you make mental notes. ‘I should really be taking notes,’

“Instead, apply all your weight onto one of your knees, while kind of standing on the other. So if you need to, you can jump away from the attacker quickly,” He explains while you nod in understanding. “Alright, let’s try it again,”

And the process continues, you practiced that one move again and again, though each time the attack speed quickens till the point it was almost at full speed. There were moments where Hoseok would pause the training to give you extra pointers and tips.

Deeming your knife disarming skills decent, he moves on to teaching you to block and dodge attacks, though he says to stick solely to dodging if all possible. The afternoon passes by practicing dodging punches, kicks, and jabs. He also taught you to anticipate the movements of the enemy and to move accordingly.

“Alright, now how about you use everything I taught you and come at me?” Hoseok challenges with a tilt of his head.

“Just go easy on me,” Charging towards him, you stop dead in your tracks right before. Hoseok’s eyes widened, unsure of what you were planning. ‘Here we go,’ Using that fleeting moment of surprise, you throw a punch barely missing his face. He effortlessly dodges, but that was exactly what you wanted him to do. As he lightly leaned backwards, taking a step behind him to balance himself. ‘Now!’  There was always this brief instant before someone balances themselves that they are the most vulnerable to a pin-down.

Just as your fist comes to its destination, placing your other hand onto his upper chest, at the base of his neck, you launch all your weight off the pads of your feet. Almost jumping while running straight into him. And the momentum is more than enough to push him down and just as he taught you pressed your right leg onto his torso, effectively pinning him down. ‘I never thought I’d ever have to use this,’ On your way down you balled your hands into fists, as soon as you landed on the ground, using all your weight grinding your knuckles into his chest right on his ribs.

A sharp cry of pain leaves Hoseok’s lips before he flips you, switching your positions, he pinned your hands above your head and his knee painfully digging into your stomach.

“Hoseok! That hurts! Ah, Hoseok!” Screaming in pain, you call out his name. You shriek when he doesn’t hear you and applies more pressure to his knees. At your howl, the two men standing by jumped to their feet, both calling out the older male’s name.  

“Hoseok!”

“Hoseok hyung!”

“Huh? Wha?” The call of his brothers broke him from whatever trance he had been, as he breathlessly blinks when he looks down and sees you orbs glazed with tears, he immediately jumps off you. “(Y/n)! I’m so sorry! Are you alright?!” He asks you, gently helping you sit up.

“(Y/n), are you okay?” Jeongguk asks, worry enveloping his voice.

“What the fuck happened back there?!” Jimin’s voice thunders as he rushes to your side, pulling you into his chest. Groaning, you wrap your arms around his waist, burying your head into the nape of his neck. Your body in too much pain to register your actions, but instinctually curling around Jimin’s warmth.  

“I一 I don’t know,” He stammers, his eyes flying in all directions as he tried to figure that out himself. “I一 I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry (Y/n), I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just, I’m sorry,” His head lowers.

“It’s okay, I’m fine. It just hurt at the moment was all. I’m fine now,” Your voice, shaky partly from the pain and partly because of the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Jimin’s hold tightens when he hears your shaky assurance.

“Well, make sure it never fucking happens again!” The mafia boss harshly chides the older male.

“I’m sorry (Y/n). I didn’t mean to hurt you,” He apologizes for the umpteenth time. “But uh, what was the move?” He asks, barely meeting your eyes.  

“Oh, I should be apologizing to you too, I’m sorry, it probably hurt didn’t it?” Still tucked underneath Jimin’s head you speak to the older male. And Hoseok nods a ‘yes’ to your question. Not bothering to move from your position you explain to the men where you had learned that move. “It was something I learned during my residency,”

“One time a prisoner who had apparently fainted without reason was brought into the ER, I wasn't stationed there or anything. I was just leaving the hospital when they brought in the prisoner and that’s when one of the ER doctors did what I did to the prisoner,” You say, “It turned out the prisoner tried using fainting as a means to escape, and I guess the doctor knew he was faking it and used that move on him. The prisoner jumped, yelling in pain. So, yeah, that’s where I learned it,”

“Wow, seriously,” Jeongguk’s eyes wide in amazement. 

Jimin relaxed ever so slightly when a soft chuckle left your lips. “Alright, let’s go inside, you’re done for today,” He declares, looking down to you.  

“I’m fine, really. How about a quick break instead?” You suggest.

“No, you’re fucking done for the day, you can get back on it tomorrow, but for today you’re done” The silver-blonde male repeats himself, his tone lower in a warning.

“Fine,” Grumbling, you comply with the male. Hissing in pain, you slowly stand with Jimin’s support. ‘Oh, that’s definitely gonna bruise,’  

“Come one let’s go inside,” The mafia boss calls to the group, already gently leading you towards the house.

“You did really well for a first-timer (Y/n),” Hoseok praises, as the group makes their way back into the house. Thanking him for the compliment, you followed the three men into the living room through the glass door that connected the gardens to the living room.

“So, what do you want fo一”

“(Y/n)! (Y/n)! Where is she?!” A panicked voice booms throughout the room.

Your head snaps toward the direction of the distressed voice. And a distraught Jiyoung comes barreling into the living room with a little girl limp in his arms, followed by an equally distraught woman behind him.

Seeing the motionless child in Jiyoung’s arms, the doctor within you vaults into action, the aches of your muscle forgotten as you attend to your patient. “Put her on the sofa,” You instruct, taking her pulse and feeling for her temperature. Her pulse was much slower than what was deemed normal for a child especially at rest. Her face was flushed and you could see slight swelling on the apples of her cheeks and eyelids. ‘Is this?’ Acting on a hunch you gently examine the skin around her arms and neck. And sure enough, red angry hives dotted her flushed skin.  

“She’s having an allergic reaction. Is she allergic to anything, foods or insects or something?” You ask the two adults that had brought her in.

“I一 I was showing them the gardens and she got stung by a bee. But she was fine right after that, she was crying but awake,” He explained. “And we were heading back to treat the sting when she suddenly collapsed,”

“Is she allergic to bees?”

“Not that we know of,” The woman answers.  

“So, she’s never been stung before?” The parents shake their heads ‘no’.

Then suddenly strangled breaths came from the little girl and you realize the situation had just nose-dived straight into hell. ‘Anaphylaxis’ All the symptoms put together strongly indicate anaphylactic shock.  

“An epipen, I need an epipen,” You say. “Jimin, the order. It was supposed to arrive today, right?”

“Uh, Yes,” He answers, eyes fluttering almost as though he were breaking from a trance.

“Where is it? There should be epipens with them,”

“In the doctor's room, everything you ordered was placed in there,” Jimin responds, his honey-brown orbs flickering to the room up the stairs then back to you.  

“Do any of you know what an epipen looks like?” You ask urgency laced your voice. “Alright, plan B. We’re moving her to the OR,”

“OR?” Jeongguk parrots, a confusion dancing on his expression.

“The doctor’s room,” Clarifying your words, you instruct Jiyoung to carry Min-cha up to the OR. “Okay, we have to hurry but try to be as gentle,”

“Why? What’s wrong? Is she gonna be okay?” Heiran asks you could hear the dread and fear twisting her voice.

“She’s going into anaphylactic shock, it’s a sever form of an allergic reaction and if it’s not treated as soon as possible it can be life-threatening in some cases,” The woman’s face pales at your words. “But we have the medicine needed upstairs, so let’s move her up there okay?”

She gives a hasty nod and you see the panic in her eyes. “Look, I’m going to do absolutely everything I can, okay?” Sucking in a breath she follows as Jiyoung swiftly yet tenderly carries his daughter into the tiled room. The older male muttered soft reassurance to the unconscious child in his arms, and to himself.

“Put her on the table,” You command. “Jeongguk, Jimin, Hoseok help me look for a box of thick, orange pens with a blue cap like thing on one end. It should say epipens on the box,” You instruct the mafiosos as you rush to the four large boxes scattered on the OR floor and try to rip open the cardboard flaps of the boxes, only to fail.

“Here, let me,” Hoseok offers, guiding you away from the box, he pulls out a knife from his back before using it to cut open the duct tape sealing the card boxes shut.

You give a brief ‘thank you’ before the cardboard flaps fly open and you are digging through the box in search of the medical instrument. ‘This is why we always keep epipens close by,’ Hissing to yourself you sift through the container as quickly and as delicately as your hands would allow.

“Did anyone find anything?” You project your voice steadily and calmly. You really didn’t want to waste time calming down two panicking adults.

“I一 I think I found it,” Jeongguk speaks up and your attention snaps to where he stood, a bright yellow box in his hands.

“Good job, Guk!” Hurrying to him, you ruffle his chocolate-brown locks before tearing the box and dumping out a yellow auto-injection, you hand the box to Jimin before hastily returning to Min-cha’s side.

“Hold her still,” Pulling off the blue safety of the epipen, you instruct the parents.

Pushing the pastel-pink summer dress to slightly expose her thighs, you press the orange end of the epipen into her thigh until you hear a soft click then holding the pen there for the next few seconds.

“The medicine should start taking effect in five to ten minutes,” Easing away from the table you inform the group, taking hold of her wrist to keep track of her pulse. And sure enough within five minutes of administration Min-cha’s tense expression relaxed. You could feel her breathing even and her pulse rising to normal levels. The hives along her upper arms weren’t as angry or irritated as before, and her complexion had returned to its natural shade.

“Alright, I think we’re good,” You see her parents visibly slump at your words. “You can take her back to your room, though I suggest taking her in for an allergy test soon just to be safe. But, for now, just keep an eye on her,” A tired smile curves on your lips as you step back from the family. But Heiran’s soft hold on your hand halts your movements.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” She gives you a teary smile, pulling you into a brief hug.

“Of course,” Nodding to her, you stride to the three men leaning against the cupboards.  

“Oow” You wince as you make your way to the men. The adrenaline wearing off from all the excitement, pain shoots through your abdomen. ‘Better grab the ointment now,’ Pulling open the cupboard, you reach for an ointment for bruising.

“Good job,” Jimin praises you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you rest your weight against the cupboard as well.

“Hmm, thank you,” You hum, watching Jiyoung and Heiran leave the room, Min-cah in her father’s hold “We should get going too,”

“That was way too much excitement for one day,” Huffing, you placed the first-aid box on Jimin’s bed.

“You think that was too much,” The mafia boss snorts, slipping off his simple beige sweatshirt.

“Oh? And what exactly is so funny?” Scoffing playfully, you unclip the bandage clip and unwrap the bandages.

“You’ve been in a shootout, made a deal with a yakuza head, not to mention held at gunpoint on multiple occasions and you think today was too much?” Jimin retorts, and you chuckle alongside him.

“Hmm, I’d say a few more days and we can take out the sutures,” You say thoughtlessly, wrapping the fresh gauze around his newly cleaned wound.

Exhausted from the day’s training and the whole incident with Min-cha, you don’t notice the way Jimin’s eyes darken when his chuckle faded.

“You know, we should really get allergy tests done on you guys,” Closing the first-aid box, you put it back where it had been. Jimin simply hums at your suggestion, his honey-brown orbs strangely distant, lost in thought.

An odd discomfort twisted in your chest seeing the somber distance in his usually vibrant eyes. You wracked your brain trying to figure out what could have caused this abrupt change. He was fine just minutes ago, but his mood seemed to sour for reasons you couldn’t name. And try as you might, not a single incident came to mind. Was it something you said or did?

Sighing you decide it’d be best to leave him be for the time being. “Well, good night,” Turning on your heel you intended to speed out the door. But a strong hold around your wrist paired and a gentle yank, pulls you back down onto Jimin’s bed.

“What’s wrong?” You whisper, feeling it inappropriate to raise your voice to anything above that.  

“Your injury, what about your injury?”Jimin says softly, his warm breath on the back of your neck.

A tender smile curls on your lips as you shift to face the silver-blond. “Don’t worry about it. It was just a light bruise, the pain’s almost gone anyway,” You assure him.

“But一”

“I’ll be fine Jimin. The absolute worst that could happen is that it might get a little sore tomorrow, okay?” Moving on pure instinct, you cup his right cheek, delicately running your thumb across his impossibly soft skin. “Okay?” You ask him.

“Okay,” Mumbling, he leans into your touch.

With a quiet chuckle, you part from him, “Good night, Jimin,”

“Good night (Y/n)”

Mindlessly staring at the dark ceiling of his bedroom, Jimin replays his words in his head. ‘Held at gunpoint on multiple occasions, huh?’ It was true, you had been at the end of the muzzle of a gun in many circumstances. As a matter of fact, he himself had held you at gunpoint the first time technically the second time he had met you.

He had held many people at the receiving end of the gun more times than he cared to remember. And more often than not those at the receiving end of his bullet, usually received the bullet. Back then he had been fully prepared to do the same to you, but now he couldn’t even imagine you with a small cut.

When had this started? When did you become someone to him? When had he started caring about you? Was it when he showed you his mother’s garden? When he made lemon balm tea with you? Or was it when you had fallen asleep in his room?

Wetting his lips with his tongue Jimin thought back to the time when Haewon had put a gun to your temple. He recalled the burning rage and the bitter-cold fear that flowed throughout his body, like molten lava and fridge ice both running through his veins at the same time.

His exact memories of the event were fuzzy and hazy, aside from the image of Haewon holding a gun to your head, everything else was nothing more than a blur, moving color in the background. He remembered his brain was working a mile a minute, thinking of any and every way of getting you out of the situation safely, unharmed. He didn’t remember breathing the whole time you had been held captive.

He couldn’t explain it, these inexplicable rushes of emotions. The elation and contentment he felt whenever he would see you happy. The sheer satisfaction he felt when he was the one responsible for the smile on your delicate lips, just as it did when your expression lit up after he had complimented you. This unsettling feeling that twisted his gut when you were upset, like the time you thought you wouldn’t have rose hips for your tea. That brutal fear that ran across his body when you were captured had been the main reason why he had you learning self defense, so you would know how to handle yourself, so he wouldn’t have to feel that fear again. But those weren’t the only incidents of strange feelings. Like today, he recalled the unadulterated rage he felt when Hoseok had brought you pain, a similar kind of anger he would feel if someone were to hurt one of his brothers but somehow different, this was hotter, brighter .

Turning to his side, Jimin clutched at the pillow beside him, resisting the sleep that was threatening him. And though he hadn’t done much, he felt waves of exhaustion crashing into him as he lay in bed. ‘Just what the hell is going on here?’ His last thought resounded in his head as sleep finally pulled him under.

~

“Not bad, (Y/n). If you keep that up, we could probably even start you on firearms training,” Jeongguk comments as you tried to catch your breath.

“Tell me something,” The younger hums acknowledging your words.

“If we had a training room with air conditioning and mats all along,” You say, “Then why haven’t we been training in here?! Why didn’t we train in here yesterday? Or the day before that? Or the day before… the day before?” You raise your voice, not enough to cause a commotion, just enough to get a point across.

“Because,”

“Because?”

“Because it’s good for you,”

“So Hoseok had me running in that kind of blistering heat and was throwing me around on the grass because it was good for me?” Your voice, calm as a peaceful river. Or an ocean before a storm.

“Yeah…” The brunette sweats as he quickly changes the subject. “A一anyways, are you excited for the gala,”

“Hoseok’s a better teacher than you,”

“Why you,” Jeongguk growls as he tackles you into the ground before softly brushing his fingertips along your sides.

Immediately you regret your taunt as Jeongguk mercilessly tickles you. Your laughter resounds throughout the room as you beg for the chocolate-haired male’s forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please stop,” Shrieking a giggle you plead for his mercy. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please. Ha, ha,”

Jeongguk relents with a giggle of his own, moving off of you, he gives you a mischievous bunny smile. As you wipe tears from your little fit, returning his smile with a grin of your own.

“So,” Sitting up you speak. “What are the galas like?” Brushing your hand though your hair, your question.

“It’s nice, I mean the food’s actually really good. And since a different family hosts the gala each year, it became kind of like a competition of who has the better venue and better food,” Shuffling to where you were seated, he plops down beside you.

“Oh? That sounds kinda fun,” You muse, criss-crossing your legs.

“It is,” He continues. “I mean the foods great, it’s the company that’s shit,”

“The company?” A questioning brow rises on your face as you gesture him to continue.  

“Yeah,”. His expression transforms that of disdain. As forgotten anger churns in his gut as he remembers the wench of a woman that had managed to ruin nearly all events Bangtan attended. “Her name’s Hae Seulgi,”

“Does she bother you or something?”  

“No, well, yes. It happened a year ago or so, her and Jimin hyung, well, they used to… have an unofficial relationship,” He pauses to find the appropriate words.

A soft pang stabs at your chest as you listen to the younger male speak. ‘He was in a romantic relationship... Of course, he was in a relationship  Like any normal person in their early twenties. Obviously,’ Nibbling on your lower lip you ignore the sharp prick you felt.

“So like dating?” Running your fingers through your hair you ask. The younger male’s bunny nose scrunches as he thinks of better words to explain their situation.

“Uh, no. It was more, well…” Pausing once again, he says,  “Physical,”

“Friends with benefits?” The pain spreads, like a sunflower blooming at dawn

“Uh, I guess, something like that,” Jeongguk wasn’t entirely sure as to how he would fully explain their somewhat complicated relationship. And technically both parties did benefit, in more ways than one.

“I see, is it like awkward with her or something?” You question, your gaze never fully meeting him. Jeongguk scoffs at your question. He’d be a happy camper if it were so simple.

“No, she’s just a bitch,” His voice flat as he explined. “And clingy, so clingy,”

“Even though hyung ended things.She basically latches onto Jimin hyung every chance she gets,” Making exaggerated movements with his arms, he enthusiastically tells you about this Hae Seulgi character.  

“Oh?”

“Yeah! And she has the gall to order us around like she’s the boss,”

“Well then, seems like we’ll have to give her a present,” An impish grin curls on your lips. If she had caused so much anguish to her dear friend, then it was only right to return the favor, and you had to do it in a way even those who were looking wouldn’t be able to catch.  

“What?” Jeongguk’s head snaps to your direction, and an equally wide grin curves onto his face. “I smell mischief,”

“Oh? I smell flowers,”  

[scatteredcloud]

Top Surgery: What Really Happens pt3 -Recovery

I’m on day 4 of recovery, and it’s been a lot of trial and error as to what works and what doesn’t. Like I said in part 1 and part 2, there’s no one solution, so try to anticipate what works for you but be ready to adapt if it doesn’t. I was pleasantly surprised to have over prepared because my pain level is quite low, but that seems to be the exception not the rule. A lot of the supplies mentioned here overlaps with what I said in part 1, this guide is about logistics.

Getting Ready - Day Of - Drains

-Plan to be sleeping, a lot. I get pretty down on myself when I sleep in, because it makes me feel like I’m not being productive, but what’s productive in the days after surgery is taking care of yourself.

Don’t expect to be back to normal within a few days. The way my surgeon broke it down was this:

1 week post op you’re back to 50%

2 weeks post op, you’re back to 80%

4 weeks post op, you’re back to full capacity.

This is a generalization of course, but recovery starts slowing down after week 2, which is why it’s so important to rest up during the first few weeks (especially because that’s when you take time off) You also have to get used to sleeping on your back, which I don’t think anyone actually does naturally. Weighted blankets are super nice for this if you have one, since it keeps you from tossing and turning. I have to take sleep meds anyways, but the pain killers they give you also knock you out.

-Speaking of meds... This was probably what I was the least informed on going into surgery.

This is my full list of medications and side effects that I’ve experienced. Asterisks next to what I was prescribed, I’ve linked to the drugs.com site for more information side effects and general info.

*Oxycodone- 5mg: as needed, every 6 hrs (painkiller)

Reminder that these are opiates, and appropriate caution should be taken. These made me particularly sleepy, and constipated. They also mess with your eyes, I have 20/20 vision but for the first time in my life I understood what it was like to be far-sighted.

*Cefadroxil- 500mg: every 12 hrs (antibiotic)

Obviously it’s important to eat in general while recovering, but also, antibiotics are the only mandatory medication and trying to take them on an empty stomach makes you super nauseous.

*Ondansetron- 4 mg: as needed , every 8 hrs (anti-nausea)

This was substituted for Zofran, not entirely sure why but I think it was something about interactions with other drugs.

Generic acetaminophen- 500mg, as needed every 6 hrs (tylenol)

You cannot have Aspirin, or any over the counter NSAID. They thin the blood and promote excessive bleeding. Aspirin, Motrin, Aleve, Ibuprofen, Excedrin, and Advil are all off limits.

Sennosides- 15mg- as needed (laxatives)

In addition to constipation from other side effects, it’s also just harder in general to get it out because of how sore your muscles will be. There’s no shame in it, it happens to the best of us.

Diphenhydramine- 50mg- 1 a day (sleep aid) 

-Altered mobility, what’s up with that? There are going to have to be some life style changes you make to enable getting around your space.

This is my set up:

Laptop, water, trash can, meds and extra supplies all within reach

Extra pillows to support my back

Lamp with a on/off button extension cord. I think it was originally for christmas trees but it’s nice to not have to reach up and turn the knob

Power strip with chargers

I’m sleeping on the couch because it’s 1. Closer to the bathroom and 2. My actual bed is a loft which isn’t exactly surgery friendly.

I covered the couch cushion in an extra sheet to make it less scratchy and in case of any leakage (There hasn’t been any though)

The name of the game is accessibility. I’ve been lucky to be able to move around and be up and about, but it’s still better to have everything within arms reach. The only issue I’ve run into with my set up is that sitting up is pretty difficult. Particularly with how wide this couch is, it’s hard to maneuver myself up and out

Also, get used to squatting down to pick things up, instead of leaning over. When you squat, you aren’t engaging your torso at all to reach something, which is ideal here.

Try and stick to chairs that have some sort of back support. I’m used to sitting on stools in my work area and that’s just not sustainable after surgery.

-Hygeine Full stop, you’re going to have to be gross for awhile. This (I suspect) is also why they ask you to go off hormones for awhile before surgery, because I’m definitely a lot less sweaty and gross than I would be otherwise.

You can’t shower until you get your drains out, and the ok from your doctor. This is to reduce the risk of infection and to keep soap out of your sutures. Shower gel is pretty much a no until everything is healed, unless it’s like ultra-sensitive, and unscented.(Double check with your doctor though) My boyfriend came over two days ago to sponge me down and wash my hair. Bar soap works well, because it’s easier to control where the soap goes, and it’s more sustainable. 

Do not try and bathe alone. Period. It’s not worth the trouble or pain, and you run the risk of getting things in your sutures

Washing your hair is going to be a bit of a debacle. If you have longer hair, brushing it regularly will help distribute the natural oils and help prevent them from building up. I personally don’t like dry shampoo, but others swear by it, so worth a shot. I’ve also talked to people who treated themselves to a salon visit, to get their hair professionally washed which also sounds lovely. My boyfriend and I managed with me leaning over the edge of the tub and him pouring water over my head. The important thing is to keep soap from running down to your chest.

For me, washing my face is really important to feeling clean. My skin is naturally oily, and I had to adapt my routine a bit, because my normal method is splashing a lot of water on my face. I’ve been learning to take the more civilized route and using a damp cloth to wash off the cleanser, like probably everyone else was already doing :P

I’ve seen a lot of people recommending wet wipes, to at least pull some of the gross off, and if that works for you go for it. I’ve only used them when I take off my compression vest to get some of the oil off of my chest gently.

-Your new chest Other surgeons wrap their patients up differently, but the only rule for me was not to wash the area, and that I had to have the vest on while I slept. Fingers crossed tumblr doesn’t nerf this one but this is what my situation looks like.

(CW: Stitches If you’re sqeamish, you might want to skip this, I certainly would)

The yellow sponge things are sewn on top of my nipple grafts to keep them in place, and then there are strips of medical tape holding the sutures together. Because they’re sewn to my body, I don’t have to worry about them shifting around, but nudging them even a little bit really hurts. The area on my chest went from super sensitive, to itchy and tender, to itchy and numb, to numb and tender. All of your nerves are either completely fried or severed, so even the most delicate sensations can feel really uncomfortable. My chest wasn’t ever particularly sensitive before surgery, so it’s weird being sensitive (but also not?) now.

When the compression vest is closed, I just have a couple layers of gauze pads on top of the stitches to keep them protected. I don’t really have any bandages, although I’m pretty sure that’s not the standard. The compression helps everything fuse back together correctly and squeezes out the fluids into the drains. (I’m making a post on that soon, I’m waiting to get my drains out first.)

I’ve left my vest unbuckled the past couple days to get some room to breathe, but I kept it closed the first 3 days and that seems to really help with minimizing the drainage. (The less drainage the better)

EDIT: I took my first shower in a week here’s my advice for that

Showers- As relieving as it is, you do still need to take some precautions. My shower is a stall with a fixed shower head, if you have a removable one then you’re in good shape- just get someone to get it down for you first. (No reaching over your head!)

- If your nipple grafts are still healing (which they probably will be if you got them), I highly recommend “transparent dressing covers”. Mine came in the box of extra gauze I got from CVS, but an overlarge water proof bandaid will probably do as well. They’re essentially just cling wrap (saran wrap w/e) for injuries. Theoretically you couple put them over the whole cuts? Imo that’s more trouble than it’s worth, you really can’t feel anything- but do what makes you comfortable.

-As always, different instructions for different procedures etc etc- the goal is to keep soap away from the incisions. Water is ok, but I was trying to avoid that as much as I could too. The good news is that all of the nerves are severed, so the discomfort isn’t as bad as getting a normal cut wet in the shower

- This took some experimenting, but the optimal position for me was back to the wall the dials are on. That way you can lean over (from the waist not the chest!) to get your hair in the water, without risking it dripping onto you. That being said, I have pretty thick, med length hair, so adjust as needed.

- I’ve been trying to switch to bar soap anyways, because it’s more sustainable, but personally it worked well for me. (Definitely make sure you can get a good grip on it though, pain killers can make you clumsy and it’s a bitch to crouch down to get it if it drops) My instructions were specifically to keep shower gel away from the incisions, so I just used bar soap.

- I didn’t do this, but retrospectively, keeping a clean sponge or a wet cloth on hand to get your arm pits would be pretty choice. Since you can’t lift your arms and in trying to keep soap away from your chest, it’s hard to get your under arms damp enough to get soap on, and then harder to rinse out.

- Getting out of the shower, make sure you have towels in easy reach. I’m pretty vigorous trying to dry off, because I hate the feeling of being wet, so I had to consciously slow myself down. Drying your hair goes more or less the same way as washing it, bending from the waist. There’s probably another method (getting someone else to help you ideally lmao) but because your can only really move your fore arms, this is the only thing I’ve been able to find that brings everything within reach.

- If you have a hair dryer, it works wonders for drying off hard-to-reach places. I was having a hard time getting my back fully dry, but pop that baby on and your warm and dry in seconds. 

Please let me know if you have any specific questions, my dms/ask box are always open, and I’m sure I’ve forgotten things.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Playing Games (baon)

Summary: In the aftermath of Internal Disputes, Sans wasn't alone, not when his own thoughts could be haunting him.This wasn't how things were supposed to work, none of it, and there was nothing he would do but wait.

Tags:  Kustard, Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Major Character Injury, Hospitals, References to Collaring

Notes:  Now, I want you to know that I say this with the greatest sincerity possible, but all you people that got me shipping kustard? I hate you all.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

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The hospital chairs weren’t bad when it came to comfort, especially if you ran a little shorter in the pants than average. Not that it would’ve mattered much if they weren’t, Sans was well-trained in how to get to sleep in any and all places, knew exactly how to curl up in a folding chair for maximum comfort, no matter how hot or cold the climate got around him.

Tonight, he was only too tired to sleep. That didn’t matter either, he’d been worse off plenty of times before. Only thing that mattered was that Paps was the one sleeping, and that was enough of a topsy-turvy to make Sans want to check they hadn’t missed an exit and were still in the right universe.

Probably were; from what Stretch said, when you first took a sideways step into another world, you could feel the wrongness of it in your bones. His bones felt shaky and sore, a fine litter of bruises all along his side where he’d hit the asphalt, but none of them were sending out Morse code squawking that the sky was falling, so they were all right there. Chicken Little would have to wait for another day, though maybe he’d check in with Stretch’s little flock, see how their bones were feeling--

Sans ran a weary hand down his face, smelling the lingering smoky char. Fuck, he was tired.

In the hospital bed surrounded by machines and IV’s, Papyrus was lying perfectly still, and it was so fucking wrong to see. Even when he was sleeping Paps usually twisted and turned like he was training for the next Olympics. That little quirk cost Sans plenty of his own sleep when they were kids, nights huddled together for warmth beneath a threadbare blanket and all the while his baby bones bro tried to sleepwalk a watusi up his spine.

Sometimes Sans missed that little kid.

The fancy suit Papyrus always wore when he was playing ambassador was gone, replaced by a hospital issue gown that would give a peepshow of his pelvis when he stood. His old clothes were past the dry cleaning stage, scorched all the way up his spine and yeah, that sight was gonna haunt Sans’s dreams a coupla times in the near future, as was the bitter taste of his own soul in his throat when he crawled over to him, all the dazed moans and screams around them as he clung to his brother, frantically checking him over.

Yeah, let’s close that scene and set the memory box aside for those upcoming dreams to rifle through. No need to re-live the nightmare during the daytime, too.

Sans shifted in the chair, pulling his bare, bony feet up onto the cushion. He hadn’t changed his own clothes yet; about all he’d managed was kicking off his shoes, his filthy socks draped over them like the peels of the world’s most disgusting fruit. His travel outfit was a lil’ different than his bros, a hoodie and shorts were about as fancy as he cared to get, maybe a pair of sunglasses if he was feeling particularly feisty about it.

That getup was fine for someone on security team, something Papyrus very much was not, and Sans was planning to have a nice, long chat about that with him whenever his brother finally woke up.

He was gonna wake up and Sans was gonna be here waiting when he did, thanks.

As if magnetically drawn, a compass endlessly searching for north, Sans’s eye lights slid back to the bed towards his sleeping brother. His skull was still abnormally pale against the pillowcase, a revealing sign of magic drain despite the IV steadily dripping at his bedside. So very pale, except for the fine line of a fresh crack running down the side of his skull. Barely visible, really, someone who didn’t know any better might mistake it for a cranial suture.

Sans knew better.

It’d been a lot worse before Tori started in on it, crawling over to them through the rubble on the tarmac, ignoring shouts to stay down and her normally pristine white fur had been filthy, hands already caked with crimson marrow even as she reached out to Papyrus. The ugly wound Sans could barely stand to look at vanished beneath a thick green glow and that little crack was all that was left, a souvenir of Papyrus’s first trip to California. His brother had slumped to the ground after, those thready, pained moans fading. He’d been unconscious ever since.

He was gonna be fine; both Tori and Blue told Sans’s that over and over on the plane ride home, gonna be just fine. He was out cold was all, used up his magic down to the last dregs generating enough of a shield to cover himself and two other people besides. Right now it was nothing but a waiting game, Sans moving his pawn across the board until he landed on the ‘good morning, sunshine’ spot.

Just fine, sure, and Sans believed them. But he really wished he could roll doubles right now and speed up the process.

Most of his thoughts were either being firmly suppressed or focused the still figure laying on the bed, but Sans did manage to spare one or two leftover balls from the ones he was mentally juggling to wondered tiredly how Stretch was holding up. He’d been eating shit sandwiches himself this weekend, and now honey boy was topping it off with big ol’ slice of disaster pie. At least Sans had the luxury of being with his bro from the get-go. Trying to picture how he’d feel knowing only the bare details of what’d happened sent a cold frisson through his soul. That was enough for him to offer sending Edge out in the first ambulance; at least he was with his brother, Edge and Blue were both stuck in limbo all the way home.

Besides, he’d gotten to see plenty of the show on the flight home in the moments when Edge wavered into brief wakefulness. No wonder he never wanted to smoke weed or even drink much. They’d doped him to the gills without mercy, and now Sans was gonna have to live with an eternity of regret that the loss of his phone meant he didn’t get a chance to record Edge massacring a heartfeltly sung rendition of ‘I Want It That Way’.

Since Tori and Blue were no fun at all and refused to do it either, seemed the best option was to send Edge out and hope Stretch got a front row seat to the second act.

That show had been a helluva lot better than the inflight movie Edge’d given them on the way out. Stoic and distant since the second he’d gotten on the plane, a fuckton more so than usual. Wasn’t until Blue snuck in a whisper to Sans what was up that he got it. Anniversary tomorrow, yeah, husband back home while he got stuck playing lead babysitter with Sans as backup ‘cause Red was off saving the world or catching an early bird sale, some bullshit, anyway.

(not thinking about red, better not to, better to not)

Stretch probably pitched a bitchfit about Edge tagging along without him and Sans hadn’t registered to vote in this election, but he was gonna go with Stretch as his candidate. There was no good reason he could think of to make Stretch stay home past paperwork and pissiness, and the fact that Blue thought his Papy staying home was the better choice told him all he needed to about that.

They’d been Aboveground for a few years now and Stretch was nowhere near as bad off as he’d been back when they’d first shown up on the doorstep back in Snowdin. He’d gone the good boy route, got himself a therapist and everything. He was happy, anyone could see that, and HP issues aside, it was ‘bout time to cut the apron strings let Stretch mess up his own cooking.

Edge was better about it than Blue, but looked like he was still trying to play sous chef ‘cause Stretch wasn’t on the plane. Their fearless leader had put up a good front, but any moron could see he was upset, and Sans wasn’t just any idiot on the street. Whatever his reasoning, Edge obviously wasn’t happy about leaving his honey behind.

Welp, Sans had a feeling Edge wasn’t super eager to add Stretch to the roster now. Not after spending some quality time laying on the crumbled tarmac waiting for a stretcher, banged up and bandaged the best they could manage on the fly while the Human side of the contingency ran around squawking out orders, getting everything on lockdown. Trying to keep everything on the down-low until they could get a proper press release in order, yeah, that was the right procedure.

Sans still didn’t have a single qualm about slipping Edge that phone so he could let Stretch know he was okay. ‘Course he’d probably scared him shitless the way he started rambling on like it was his deathbed confession hour instead of just saying ‘alive and kicking’, oops, but eh, couldn’t win ‘em all.

Sans wasn’t winning a lot of ‘em lately.

The stack of blankets were tucked around Papyrus with generous care, but Sans got up and went over to him, anyway, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles in covers. His hands were beneath the blanket, the better to keep them toasty warm. Probably for the best, it was bad enough having to look at his skull, that single ragged crack. If he had to keep looking at his bro’s bruised, battered knuckles, Sans might go nuts.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was his duty to play big bro, his, he’d taken that on years ago while he was still in his own striped shirt, his very first job. He was the one in Security, he was the one who was supposed to fucking protect, and even if Sans thought maybe he’d fucked that up a time or two before, suspected that there was a memory he didn’t possess, a

(reset)

past that wasn’t theirs. But he’d been keeping up their end of the bargain since his bro decided to be an Ambassador and Paps wasn’t supposed to break it, he fucking wasn’t—

The door creaking made Sans jerk, heat rushing to his fingertips in a heady blurt of magic for an attack that stopped forming the moment he saw who it was. He took a long, slow breath, shaking away his exhausted agitation the best he could, cause he was going to need every wit that hadn’t been blown away in the explosion to deal with this.

Red was standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. The light pouring in behind him cast him in shadow except for the smoldering glow of his eye lights burning out from his sockets.

Sans only ignored his awful horror movie impression and wandered back to his chair, crawling up to settle on the cushion with a weary sigh.

"you done with skulking around trying not to talk to me?" Sans asked. He didn't mean to sound as pissy as he did, but did Red really think he wouldn't notice? On the plane, outside the ambulance, even here, Red'd been all over, watching but not getting close.

No answer came, no sardonic comeback, no angry snarl. Red stepped into the room and closed the door behind him with disturbing care. Probably only playing at kindness for Papyrus’s sake, but something about his expression was unnerving, the lines of his face laid out in a way that Sans didn’t know.

He came close to the chair without reaching, only stood there, hands visibly fisted in his pockets. Crimson eye lights resting on Sans, but more like Red was looking through, like Sans wasn’t even there and Red’s gaze was laser-focused on the wall behind him.

“came to tell you i’m taking off for a while,” Red said, every word filled with deliberate indifference, “dunno how long.”

Sans only nodded. “yeah. thought you might.”

“wanted to see if you’d keep an eye on that fucking cat of mine.” Again, nothing but cool detachment, Red speaking to the wall and expecting answers.

He made no mention of asking Edge and Sans didn’t either. “sure, why not, i could use a few more scrapes for my collection. maybe i can trip over him on the stairs, add a few broken bones to the tab.”

There, a veritable hit; Red winced visibly, the distance in his gaze wavering. It was almost fascinating, really, watching with his own detached interest as Red tried to force it back. Must be a sign of his own shaken control, all of it unraveling, snapping into its proper place as he actually looked at Sans.

Sans had a pretty good idea what Red was seeing. The force of the explosion had thrown them all to the ground in spite of any shields, leaving behind a nice collection of mottled bruises and bloody scrapes to share around. His own pain had been secondary, unnoticed until they’d been shoved back on the plane for a ride straight back home. He’d been sitting next to Paps when Tori came over, watching the metronome precision of the rise and fall of his rib cage like only the force of his will was keeping his brother breathing.

The cold wetness against his skull had stung and it was only then that he noticed his own hurts. He’d sat there and concentrated on keeping Papyrus breathing, let Tori gently clean him up the best that she could.

So he didn’t have any illusions about what kind of eye candy he was right now. Another note of interest that Red didn’t seem to be able to look away, the minute flicker of his eye lights moving as they traced over those bruises and scrapes.

“i need to go,” Red repeated, but that indifference was wavering, seeping away, leaving behind something that was almost pleading. Huh. How about that. “i gotta. this is my fault. i’ve gotta—"

“listen to the ego on you,” Sans snorted. “even you can't know everything.”

“no, you don't fucking get it.” Shattered desperation, like nothing Red ever showed. Seemed like those walls Red kept up weren’t quite as impervious as Sans always thought; words were spilling out of him, vomited out in pained rush. “i didn't have shit going on here. i didn't come along on this trip because i knew you'd go without me and i…i wanted you away. for a couple days. wanted some time to get my head on straight and i didn’t give a shit who i pissed off to get it, i—"

Yeah, Sans could believe that. Fucked over his own brother and Stretch, and why not? It was only to get out of a Security detail that would’ve left him sharing a hotel room with Sans, left them out in the open in front of everyone. Made them obvious in a way that somehow Red didn’t think they’d been before, fooling no one but himself, but it was a lie Red somehow needed.

Knowing that was a different sort of bruise, on his soul instead of his bones, and every word out of Red was giving it a rough press. It was satisfying in a strange way, to know Red was panicking over him, made him want to feel it again.

"all right,” Sans said calmly.

"no, it ain't all right!" Red snarled, his voice cracking, breaking, breathing too heavily. "if I hadn't've fucked off--"

"then you would've been there instead of edge and it would all have happened the same way." He felt oddly serene, floating in his own peculiar calm. "you're one person. even you can't be everywhere and know everything. ‘sides, if that’s your fault, this is mine.” He flung his hand out like an attack at the hospital room, towards his brother lying unconscious in front of him. “’m getting sloppy, should’ve reacted faster.”

Red twitched, stepping closer, grasping that line of thought with eager gratitude, “reacted to what? how did my brother know? toriel ain’t sure and neither was blue—"

“intent.” Sans shivered, remembering the prickle of it washing over him, virulent hate that came a bare second too late for him to react. The memory of it made him remember something else, a delirious question forgotten in the aftermath, “didn’t think edge could beat me when it came to sensing intent.”

Red waved that off. “he’s been practicing ever since andy got turned into a pincushion outside that chinese place. what else?”

Of course he was, Edge probably spent his lunch hour wandering the streets to see how much hate he could pick up, that was a filling meal. “it was coming from the driver. edge was a lot closer to the car, he must’ve felt it before i did. he yelled for everyone to get down but by then, paps already had me face first on the asphalt.” He shrugged, trying not to think too deeply of the wash of vicious heat, the sound of it, the screams, fuck, all the screams— “after that, it gets a little explody. i can still hear it a little, it’s like listening to a seashell lodged in my head. doc said it might take a day or two for the echo to fade out.”

“that it?” Red’s gaze bore into him.

“that’s all i’ve got,” Sans drawled sourly. He turned in the seat, lounging with deliberate casualness, his legs hanging over the arm. “that’s the shit, the whole shit, and nothing but the shit. so that happened and our bros got hurt, yeah, but they’re gonna be fine. so, now, you wanna take off and go headhunting? you go on ahead. play your little game, start following your clues. just remember after paps wakes up and i can see he’s okay? i’m coming to find you.”

Red had been nodding along and Sans could see the moment realization bled through, the indignant rasp as he snapped out, “the fuck you are!”

“the fuck i’m not,” Sans countered, tauntingly. He ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting his own sweat, the bitterness of smoky residue as he goaded, “how are you gonna stop me? ask edge to chase me down while he plays hop along cassidy on some crutches?” Fury was sparking in Red’s eye lights like a firecracker as Sans went on with fractured glee, “he’ll be a coupla weeks recovering, you know. even you harping on him to get up and play protector ain’t gonna change that. gonna tattle on me to asgore, gonna lock me up? tie me to your bed?” Sans tapped a finger against his cheek bone pensively, a mockery of thinking, “or maybe i won’t go after you at all. maybe i’ll see about playing a little on my own.”

Ah, that, that right there. Sans could feel the impotent fury rolling off of Red, about the only time he couldn’t get it up, hands flexing as if he wished there was something in them and for a distant moment, he thought Red might actually attack him and wouldn’t that make for an interesting problem to explain.

Then it was gone, all that anger and frustration swallowed into nothingness. Interesting how Red managed to break without so much as changing expression. Must be a gift.

“you win,” Red said abruptly.

“we playin’ something?” Sans asked lightly,

“only with our lives. ain’t like anything important.” There was a sharp prick of frustrated anger in that, wasn’t all gone, then, only banked. A point Red proved by stalking forward to take Sans’s chin in two sharp fingers, yanked it up. Crimson eye lights searched Sans’s face and he couldn’t begin to wonder what they hoped to find. “you even know what you’re getting into here?”

“i’ve been fucking you for over a year.”

“i ain’t talking about fucking.” Those searing eye lights pierced deeply into him, crawling over the depths of his soul. “do you know?”

Deliberately, Sans lifted his chin more, exposing the bones of his cervical vertebrae. Red’s gaze dropped, lingered over them with hypnotic weight, and his fingers followed, coiling around Sans’s throat like a metaphor.

“if you like it, then you shoulda put a collar on it,” Sans said, soft and singsong. “i’ve been fucking you for over a year, fucking around three times that, you think i don’t know? collar me, claim me. may as well, i ain’t going anywhere, anyways.”

Red shuddered, lurching forward another step and his fingers tightening convulsively, not quite painlessly. “collar you? like you’d be fucking obedient.”

“from what i saw of you wearing one, i always figured the obedience part was an optional add-on. besides, at least i’m housebroken.”

The thin fingers around his throat tightened again, so very close to choking and Sans only shivered, yearning into that grip even as Red whispered with low, virulent intensity, “should’ve known i couldn’t keep dodging you forever.”

Red leaned in, but not for a kiss. His mouth was suddenly hot on Sans’s collarbone, dragging over I, uncaring of the sweat and filth coating him. Sharp teeth nicked tantalizingly against bone and Sans couldn’t hold back a cry, edged with a near sob because he wasn’t supposed to get this, he wasn’t, wasn’t supposed to have this suddenly thrust into his lap like a gift. His magic gave stirring an unfortunate try, but he was thankfully too tired to demo how much his psyche was absolutely going for the sweet threat in that touch.

"i wanna to keep you," Red muttered, mostly to himself, something like desperation curling around every word. Sans answered anyway, mumbling mindlessly.

"okay. okay, yeah."

"wanna keep anyone else from touching you,” whispered against him, a promise, a threat, Sans didn’t know. Red’s tongue was winding around his clavicles, sharp fingertips tearing Sans’s t-shirt, exposing more. “wanna put my collar you, warn the whole world that you're mine."

"yeah," Sans breathed brokenly. His hands move of their own accord, not bothering to ask for permission as they clutch at Red’s shoulders, blunt fingertips digging into the leather of his coat with creaking force.

"That sounds very romantic and potentially disturbing, but may I ask if you could do that in your bedroom and not here in front of me?"

Sans came pretty fucking close to kicking Red to the floor as he jerked up to see his brother’s sockets open, blinking at them owlishly. It wasn’t even a thought to scramble down and go to him; reaching for Papyrus was as automatic as drawing a breath. His brother reached back and if his hands were shaking a little, if there was something tremulous and almost fragile in that touch, Sans didn’t care.

His brother was awake and reaching for him, pulling him up on the bed and into his arms.

“Hush, there’s no need to cry,” Papyrus scolded gently, but he held on to Sans with enough force to get his bruises singing out an Ava Maria. “I’m perfectly all right and even if I’m not, you are, so that’s fine.”

“that is so not fine, paps, it is completely the opposite of fine,” Sans wiped away embarrassing flood of tears, sniveling humiliatingly into his sleeve even as Papyrus flailed and tried to reach for the box of Kleenex on the bedside table. “me and red are the ones working in the security department, we—”

He turned back to the chair, trailing off when he found it empty.

Well, shit.

“know something, bro?” Sans sighed out, even as he settled into his brother’s arms. “that whole vanishing thing is fucking annoying when i’m not the one doing it.”

Papyrus smoothed a hand down his spine, more gentle than not, and if he had an inkling of what he just interrupted, he was kind enough not to ask. “Never fear, brother, you are always fucking annoying whether you’re trying or not.”

Probably true. Hearing his brother swear was always enough to give his soul a seizure, even if he knew Papyrus only did it to get a rise out of him. He needed to go find one of the docs, let him know Paps was awake and there were probably tests that needed to be run, x-rays maybe, who the fuck knew.

It could wait a minute. Right now, the only place his soul wanted to be was right here.

But later, he thought maybe he had some dice to roll. Some asshole in a stupid hat once said the game was afoot and now that he knew there was a chance?

Sans was playing to win.

-finis-

[fadefromthelight]

No. 30 - Ignoring an Injury

Summary:  All the ignoring Lucien’s been doing the past few days has finally caught up to him.

Read on: Ao3

Doctor Holden prides himself with his adaptability, he has to possess this skill if he wants to continue working in the ICU of the best hospital in the capital. But even he’s having trouble adjusting to working with Morgan and Lucien. Most wounds any of the members of the Oligarchy are treated by themselves in their building. The supplies they have on hand is usually enough to handle any wound or illness they come across.

But the distorted burn, he later learns it’s called decay, spread across Morgan’s arm was enough to unsteady him. Then the sight of Lucien’s magic containing it nearly knocked him off his feet. Whatever had happened between the two, who were barely on speaking terms, is something that Holden couldn’t figure out.

The staff in the ER weren’t anymore forthcoming. Lucien had dropped off Morgan, cryptically answered the least amount of questions necessary and left. The assumption was that Lucien was going to fix this but Morgan’s ER doctor was just as stumped at Holden is.

The decay works like an accelerated infection, slowly creeping further into Morgan’s body. The magic Lucien encased it with was effective in lessening the spread but it wasn’t a cure. Morgan’s condition continued to worsen, the distinctive symptoms of lynatheo starting to present. Splotchy bruises bloom across Morgan’s skin, bright against his pallor. Holden feared that the conversation he’d be having was one about end of life treatment.

As cruel as it sounds, Holden had hoped that Morgan’s passing would be quick. Even in sleep, Morgan’s face twists with pain no matter the strength of the painkillers they give. The pain of fighting against one’s magic isn’t something that can be quelled by normal means. If an appropriate time came, Holden considered using suppressants to ease Morgan’s struggle.

Seeing a patient suffer when there’s nothing for him to do is excruciating. It’s the worst aspect of his career.

But Lucien comes back with a miracle, his skin humming with a manic and uncontrollable magic. For a moment, Holden thought Lucien was grasping at straws but he couldn’t deny what he saw.

Despite how much pain it put Morgan through, it reversed the decay. Not completely, not yet, but enough to stop the infection. Holden let his guard down, believing that the worst was to pass.

But it never works like that with him.

The moment Lucien stands from the bed, his legs buckle beneath him. Morgan catches him, unable to hide the wince as Lucien leans against Morgan’s arm. Holden’s at his side a moment later, pulling one of Lucien’s arms around his shoulders and holding him up by his waist. Holden brings him to the chair, laying him on top of it. Lucien’s lighter than he should be. He can feel the weight of Morgan’s concern on his back.

Holden kneels beside Lucien, pressing two fingers to his wrist. He can’t tear his gaze from the dirty bandages peeking out from beneath the sleeve of Lucien’s lab coat. Lucien’s heartbeat is fast, almost concerningly so. How long has Lucien been running around like this?

Holden’s surprised he was able to walk through the front doors of the hospital himself.

Holden pushes Lucien’s sleeve further back. Brown spots of dried blood and the uneven edge of a deep red blood stain greet him. A hand on his wrist stops him before he can assess it further. Holden looks up to see Lucien staring at him, his eyes narrowed to thin slits.

“Lord Lucien.” Holden says, not releasing his hand despite Lucien’s implications. “I need to ensure you’re alright.”

Lucien tightens his grip but Holden can’t ignore how it’s weaker than it should. Fractured magic dances across it. “I’m fine. I just stood too quickly.”

“Just let me look you over. It’ll settle my concern.” Holden removes Lucien’s hand from his wrist and rolls Lucien’s sleeve further up.

Lucien frowns but doesn’t replace his hand. “I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t treat myself.”

Holden hovers a hand over the bandages, taking in the dried spots scattered around the bright red gash in the center. Lucien obviously cut himself recently but Holden can’t fathom why. If the rest of the wounds are from blood drawing, Lucien should have more than enough for the experimenting he’s been doing.

Holden lightly presses against the wound, the blood stickly beneath his fingers. “How did you get this?”

Lucien can’t hide the wince that flicker across his face. “I needed to—”

Lucien tears his hand from Holden’s grasp, cutting himself off with a sputtering wheeze. It evolves into a full blown coughing fit. Holden supports Lucien’s shoulders, keeping him from doubling over. It may give the illusion of quelling the cough, but sitting hunched over can worsen it.

It eventually subsides and Lucien’s breathing is regulated to wheezing gasps. If this continues, Holden might need to clear out a bed for Lucien. When Lucien brings his hand away from his mouth, it’s stained with gleaming blood. Lucien frowns at it with muted confusion. “I can’t lose anymore of that.”

If that wasn’t concerning, Holden didn’t know what was. “C’mon, let’s go to another room. We can figure out how to fix this.” Holden can’t continue this in front of Morgan. It’ll do nothing to assist in his recovery, no matter how much Morgan believes he should be here helping.

Lucien looks up at him and for a moment Holden thought Lucien was going to protest. But he just nods and stands from the chair. Holden has to steady him, practically carrying him. Holden glances to Morgan and gives him a small nod. He’s unsure if Morgan understood what he’s trying to convey but he doesn’t protest.

The moment Holden steps into the hall, he flags down the first two nurses he sees. “Taylor, get another room set up. Alison, check up on Morgan. Lucien reversed the decay but he’s not out of the woods yet.”

Both of them nod, rushing off in opposite directions. Holden takes off in the same direction as Taylor, following him to the new room. Lucien is partially limp in his arms, struggling to put one step in front of the other.

The moment they pass through the threshold of the room, Lucien pushes away from Holden. He stumbles and collides into the cabinets, the sound of flesh against the wood echoing through the room. Holden tries to catch him as he drops to the floor, barely able to stop him from slamming his head into the rim of a waste bin.

Lucien heaves into it, coughing up thick splotches of blood. Holden holds him up, ensuring that he doesn’t tip over when he’s done. Holden looks up to Taylor, who stands a few feet away with an expression of thinly veiled fear. “Set up the EAM and ATS. We need to determine if this is lynatheo or lisatheo.”

It’s most likely lisatheo, given that Lucien injected himself with an apparently highly volatile activant, but the blood loss lends itself to lynatheo. It’s certainly possible that Lucien was suffering from lynatheo prior to the activant and induced a case of lisatheo.

Treating that may prove to be difficult. The abrupt switch between deficiency and overabundance could overwhelm Lucien’s autem. Their functioning could be anywhere between both extremes. Ideally it would have settled at a normal level, but it’s clear that isn’t what’s happening.

If the preliminary observations Holden makes are correct, it appears that Lucien’s body still believes he’s suffering from lynatheo. Dark bruises dots Lucien’s exposed skin, the telltale marker of lynatheo. But Holden can be certain that those are current or from Lucien’s previous case of lynatheo.

Lucien leans back from the waste bin, pressing against Holden’s side. His breath rattles in his chest and blood stains his teeth. Holden carries Lucien to the bed, gently propping him up against the raised back. Taylor returns a few minutes later, wheeling in a cart with two machines.

While Taylor starts setting up the machines, Holden helps Lucien remove his coat. “We need to remove this for now.” Holden says, carefully pulling the lab coat off Lucien’s shoulders. He complies with little protest. “You can keep your shirt but you’ll have to remove that too eventually.”

Lucien nods a few seconds later, disconnected from Holden’s own words. He watches Taylor set up the machines around him and attach electrodes to different surfaces of his skin. Taylor hikes up Lucien's shirt to attach the ATS electors against his ribs and Holden can see the stark purple bruises that bloom across his back.

Taylor attaches the electrodes on Lucien’s wrist, hand hovering over the bandages. Holden gently moves him out of the way to inspect the bandages. He looks up to Taylor briefly. “Tell me the reading when they come out.”

Taylor nods and busies himself with the machinery. Holden unwinds the bandages, taking care not to tear them from the skin where it sticks. Lucien winces when Holden nears the cut but otherwise doesn’t comment.

Holden drops the bandages on the nearby counter, grabbing a square of gauze from the cabinet. The cut on Lucien’s arm is already seeping blood, slow but steady enough to be concerning. The edges are smooth, obviously made with a sharp knife. It’s most likely deeper than what Lucien intended.

Beside the cut are small circular wounds, the faint imprints of bruises bordering them. Presumably they’re from when Lucien withdrew his blood, but Holden’s not certain. “How did you get these?” Holden asks, pressing the gauze to the cut. He’ll need to stitch it. It’s unlikely it’ll stop bleeding on it’s own.

Lucien drags his gaze from the machinery to Holden, peering down at his arm. “Mostly from drawing blood. One of them is from the activant.”

Holden nods to show that he’s listening, pressing harder on the gauze. Lucien flinches but says nothing. Holden glances to the door, gesturing to one of the nurses hovering by. “I need the suture kit with the anesthesia.”

The nurse darts off. Holden returns to Lucien’s wound and replaces the gauze. It’s already soaked. “Don’t put epinephrine in.” Lucien says, an edge present in his voice despite its weakness.

“I won’t if you don’t want to.” Holden says. He doesn’t look away when the nurse returns with the kit. She places it on the counter and leaves. Holden steps away and opens the kit. He grabs the syringe, lidocaine and sodium bicarbonate. “You never did tell me how you got the cut on your arm.”

Holden can hear Lucien shift against the bed, the fabric of his clothes rustling against the sheets. “I needed a sample of my blood to test the activant on. So I wouldn’t kill myself if it was too strong.”

Holden extracts a small amount of the sodium bicarbonate and then a larger amount of lidocaine. He returns to Lucien’s side and removes the gauze. “Any reason you couldn’t draw it the normal way?”

Lucien frowns, watching Holden poise the syringe above the cut. Holden was to advise him not to watch, but he doubts that Lucien would be phazed considering he’s been withdrawing his own blood frequently.

Or that he would listen.

“I didn’t have the time.” Lucien says as if that’s the most obvious explanation.

Holden presses the syringe into Lucien’s skin and pushes down on the stopper. He pulls it out and replaces the gauze. “I’m sure you could’ve thought of something.”

Lucien shakes his head but doesn’t respond. He grits his teeth together, the muscles in his throat taunt. Holden grabs the needle, forceps and thread. He threads the needle, holds it tight in the mouth of the forceps and removes the gauze. He sets to work, rhythmically inserting the needle into Lucien’s flesh. Lucien watches with detached curiosity.

About halfway through the wound, Taylor breaks the silence that has fallen between them. “EAS reading of 48.50 over 20.21 and ATS reading of 873 mels.”

The aterial EAS and ATS values are abnormally high but the venular EAS value is relatively low. As predicted, Lucien’s displaying signs of both lynatheo and lisatheo. But they need to stabilize the ATS value before they attempt to treat the underlying lynatheo.

The activant triggered Lucien’s autem to make more magic after they were already on high alert. The lack of raw magic from overuse was overridden by the activant. Holden will need to be careful when treating this.

“Retrieve both treatments but prepare the one for lisatheo first.” Holden says, continuing the stitching. Lucien has grown alarmingly silent. Holden assumed that he would have something to say about his numbers. It isn’t a well kept secret that Lucien’s a scientist himself.

Holden glances up and finds Lucien sitting back with his eyes screwed shut. Holden completes the stitching, trying it up and cutting the thread, before turning back to Lucien. Holden speaks as he wraps the wound. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Lucien grits out. He sighs and attempts to relax his features. “Just tired.”

“You can rest.” Holden steps away from Lucien, cleaning up his equipment and putting them off to the side to be disposed of later. “Now that we have a diagnosis, we can treat it.”

Lucien nods slowly, as if considering that option takes too much effort. But he curls in on himself and drifts off to sleep.

A few moments later, Taylor returns with the treatments. Now Holden can get to work.

——

The past day was the longest and more painful one of Morgan’s entire life. He’s not allowed to leave the room until he’s discharged. It was due to the valid concern about decay contamination but it doesn't change how desperately Morgan wants to see Lucien. He’s barely heard a word about him after he collapsed in Morgan’s room.

Holden is tight lipped and Alison will ignore him when the topic is brought up. Other than a guarded mention that he’s still living to quell any ideas of escape, Morgan’s heard nothing about Lucien. It’s starting to concern Morgan.

But the moment he’s discharged, his arm still wrapped tight with bandages, he storms back into the ICU. Lenna disapproves of his actions, feeling that he needs to continue resting and recovering.

He disagrees with her. He can rest well enough from Lucien’s room.

The nurses give him a wide berth as he walks through the ICU. Holden’s nowhere to be found, either not on shift or busy with another patient.

The door to Lucien’s room is shut and the blinds are drawn over the windows. They must have orders to give Lucien privacy due to his title. Morgan’s certain he was given the same treatment.

He pushes the door open, greeted to an inky darkness punctuated only by the light of monitors. He flicks on the lights and shuts the door behind him.

Lucien lays in a hospital bed, dressed in the pale blue hospital gown that serves only to wash out his skin further. White bandages wind around one arm and an IV is tucked into the back of his hand on the other. Blood and a clear medication feed into the tubing. Dark shadows stain the skin beneath his eyes and deep purple bruises creep out from under the collar of Lucien’s gown.

Morgan drags a chair up to Lucien’s bed and holds one of his hands in a gentle grasp. He doesn’t know how much time passes like this, but Lucien eventually stirs. He opens his eyes to slits, wincing against the light. He turns his head, confusion written clearly on his expression. “Morgan? What are you doing here?” There’s the remnants of an accent Morgan can’t place in his voice.

“Waiting for you to wake up. They wouldn’t let me see you until I was discharged.” Morgan tightens his grip on Lucien’s hand as if he’d pull away if Morgan didn’t. Morgan doesn’t know if he could handle that.

Lucien looks to his hand but doesn’t make any move to remove it. Instead, he returns the grasp. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not the one in a hospital bed, am I?” Morgan tries to smile, but it falls flat. “But I am feeling better.”

“That’s good.” Lucien leans back, his whole posture relaxing. “I was worried it wasn’t effective.”

Morgan licks his lips, unable to find the way to address the most prominent question on his mind. “Lucien.” Morgan starts, finding the words to continue that don’t burn in his mouth. “What did you do?”

The question encompasses more than what Lucien did to treat Morgan.

Lucien looks away, his grip loosening. “I created a refined form of an activant. It pushed your magic to the point of being able to over take the decay.”

“And how does this involve you passing out from blood loss with a wound on your arm?” Concern dulls the sharp, pointed edge in Morgan’s voice, an edge that he wishes he could remove.

Lucien swallows and his hand trembles. Morgan grips it tighter. “I needed someone to test it on before I used it with you. Using my blood and body happened to be the most convenient.”

“That it’s illogical and we both know that. What were you doing, trying to kill yourself like that?” Morgan asks the question with the appropriate amount of concern but layered with a tone that besets the extremes of his statement. But at Lucien’s silence, Morgan’s ease melts into shock. “You were trying to die.”

“I wasn’t trying per se.” Lucien tries to tear his hand out of Morgan’s grasp but Morgan won’t let him. He needs to feel the cold touch of Lucien’s hand beneath his skin. “But if that was the outcome, I wouldn’t have argued it.”

“You can’t throw your life away!” Morgan forces his voice to lower, unsure exactly how thin these walls are. “Not like that! Not for me!”

“Everyone has the life that they're supposed to live and I can’t help but feel like I’m living on borrowed time.” Lucien has this haunted look in his eyes, dulling the normally vibrant green of his iris. “I wasn’t supposed to discover decay unscathed.”

“Don’t say that. It doesn’t matter how it should’ve been, it only matters how it is now. We’re both here, alive.” Fractured shards of desperation leak into Morgan’s voice, tearing into soft flesh of his throat. “And I’m not the only one grateful for that. You have your son.”

“How do you know about that?” Lucien’s voice is a brush above a whisper, pulled taunt by emotions that Morgan can’t make out. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

“I couldn’t have spent my whole life with you and not recognize your magic signature.” Morgan tries to smile again, this time feeling more real. “Don’t worry, no one else knows.”

“Thank you.” Lucien sighs, his hand limp in Morgan’s grasp.

“Just promise me that you’ll at least try to live for him?” Morgan picks up Lucien’s hand and holds it against his chest. He knows what this looks like, what this could be implying to Lucien. He can’t ignore the part of him that still wants that. “If you won’t for me.”

Lucien frowns but doesn't look away. He sighs, as if the thought weighs on him. “Alright, I promise.”

[1-1snailxd-art]

The Shield to your Sword

Masterlist ———- Chapter 3

Warnings: swearing, minor injury (please message me if more need to be added)

word count: 4483

Tag Support Team - Thank you for your support 💜

@small-reptile-cake @daflangstlairde @quoth-the-sparrow @it-me-the-phi @soul-of-a-vixen  @the-real-wholesome-bitch  @phe-purple-parade-ts  @littleladynightshade

Summary: Virgil and Roman spend some time in their secluded hideaway in the Queen’s gardens. The hedges shield them from prying eyes….right? .

______________________________

Chapter 4: Not-so-Secret Garden

The chirps of insects and rustling leaves in the garden were disturbed every few moments as Virgil sucked in a shaky breath; working to control the sobs that shook his core. Roman’s hands had been careful to not put pressure on Virgil’s injured arm; unsure of how healed the wound was. Instead, one arm secured the sobbing man in his lap, while the other held his shoulder and his thumb shifted up and down with his breathing; encouraging Virgil to breathe in time with the movement.

Leaning his head back, Roman stared at the wall opposite them. If he got closer, he was sure he would see their names scratched into the stone along with runes for friendship and forever. The boys had often escaped the outside world by sneaking into their little hideaway. It was the closest they got to an escape before Roman could request trips out to the town or the forest beyond the city’s outer barrier. A smile crept onto his face as he recalled the time he stole a whole cake from the kitchen and Adara had chased him and Virgil all through the castle, only to lose them in the maze of his mother’s garden. They had  feasted in the hollow oak until their stomachs ached. In his mind, this was a place just for the two of them; free from expectations and watching eyes. A place he and Virgil could be equals. A place he could admit his struggles with writing and reading runes. A place to just be.

 Glancing down, Roman saw Virgil’s eyes sit half open as his breathing finally seemed to steady and move in time with his own.

“I know you can’t recall your nightmares,” Roman kept his voice soft;  thumb still keeping the  pace for their breathing, “but you should know you are not alone. I have them too; nothing like yours obviously, but nightmares all the same.”

Virgil didn’t respond, eyes unmoving as he kept his gaze locked on the scene before him. Roman sighed and continued talking, needing to get his own thoughts out.

“I had a nightmare last night. It was so real I swore I was awake and facing the dark sorcerer in my chambers. He looked like half his face had merged with a snake and claimed I would die or meet the same fate as my brother or something crazy like that. I threw a knife at him and nothing happen. He just stood there with a knife in his head like it was nothing.”

“You don’t have a brother.”

Calm washed over Roman at Virgil’s response. Talking was the first step in him ‘waking up’ after a nightmare.

“That’s what I said. He claimed it was a message from the fates, but, A, I don’t believe in them, and B, I have no siblings.”

“Sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“It’s ok, sleepyhead,” he shifted his body slightly as Virgil’s weight started to make his legs go to sleep, “you’re here now.”

“I’m meant to help  you, not the other way around.”

“Says who?”

“Your-“ Virgil cut himself off, almost letting the truth slide from his mouth like melted butter. “Says everyone.”

“Not me.” Virgil tilted his head to look up at Roman; taking in his hazel eyes with gold flecks ringing his pupil. “I would never say that, nor do I believe it to be true. We help each other. Regardless of what others think, you don’t have to do anything for me. Heck, if you wanted to leave, I wouldn’t stop you.”

“Really?”

“Really, really. I mean, it’s not like I own you or anything.”

Virgil’s eyes widened and Roman found himself lost in their smoky design; a mix of blue-grey and a golden brown. It was almost impossible to truly describe their colour and being so close he took in every change in pigmentation. Virgil stared back with a similar intensity, mind holding onto Roman’s words and trying to force Rupert’s cruel comments aside.

 “I… I don’t want to leave.” Virgil finally managed to make his mouth move, becoming aware of just how long they had been staring at each other in silence. A dull ache crept into his chest as the potion started to wear off and his heart raced with the emotional intensity of the situation.

“I don’t want you to either,” absently Roman’s hand repositioned on Virgil’s shoulder and slowly shifted down towards his wound. “Though I would love to leave the city more often. Would you join me if I did?”

“That’s a stupid question. You know I wou-“ Virgil hissed and snapped his eyes shut as Roman instinctively pulled him closer and pressed his wound.

“Crap, sorry.” Roman reacted as though he had just burnt himself, quickly pulling his hand away. “I’m sorry. Shit, I got you bad, didn’t I?”

“It’s fine, Princey.” Shifting off Roman’s lap, Virgil carefully moved his arm as the pain radiated back to the source. He silently wished he had more magic to spare so he could reduce his discomfort.

 “Can I see?”  The question left them both with reddening cheeks; Roman quickly averting his gaze. "I-I just thought, I could, maybe, well, help? I did cause it."

Nodding, Virgil slowly removed his vest before slipping the deep violet fabric over his head; exposing his pale frame. It always confused Roman how someone so thin and frail in appearance, could be so strong and nimble. Roman’s broad shoulders and solid figure were never overlooked; while many visiting fighters had learnt the hard way to not judge a book by its cover when it came to his smaller friend.

It made it hard for Roman to see his arm a flurry of colour as he pulled the basic bandage away, though the gash itself was barely visible now; sutures completely faded away.

 “I didn’t realise I got you that deep,” Roman looked down; even more aware of how his actions had affected his friend.

“It’s fine,” Virgil assured, fingers gently running along the fine scar line. “I was tired and used more magic than I should have. This wouldn’t have even been an issue if I had been more cautious with my own magic. You are not to blame.”

The lie caused his heart to ache and throat to tighten. Part of Virgil desperately wanted to admit the trauma King Rupert had afforded him, while the other wanted to scream at Roman for being an idiot and not keeping his guard up.

 “It was foolish of me to act so rashly to impress my father.”

Virgil’s head snapped up, “Roman, no. Don’t-”

“It’s the truth though,” crossing his legs, Roman tucked clenched fists into his lap and kept his gaze locked on the ground. “I should have held back a bit. I knew you were tired. It wasn’t fair.”

Virgil scoffed and reached out a hand to grip the prince’s shoulder.

 “Life isn’t fair, Ro.” Roman looked up, hair just obstructing his vision as he met Virgil’s eyes. “The real world won’t hold back. This just means that we need to keep training so I - no - we, can protect each other.”

Scooping his hair back, Roman mimicked the half smile on Virgil’s face and nodded. “Two Together?”

“Four forever.”

They both chuckled at their childish saying as Roman reached for his satchel and pulled out a round container; unscrewing it to reveal a clear waxy substance.

“Put that away, Roman.” Virgil whined as the Prince shifted closer. “You shouldn’t waste your healing gels on this.”

“Does it look like I really care?” He replied; moving to Virgil’s side and carefully cradling his arm in one hand while the other used two fingers to massage the ointment into his skin.

Virgil scrunched his face up at the action before he felt Roman’s soul magic penetrating his skin and soothing the throbbing in his arm. Eyes closing, Virgil focused on feeling every move Roman made; picturing golden strings of magic weaving through his muscles and blood vessels to restore them to their normal state. His magic was different to Logan and Haefen’s; it was warm and made his skin tingle with electricity.

Roman’s brow furrowed as he barely sensed Virgil’s magic at all. “You weren’t kidding about overdoing the magic, huh?”

“Would I lie?” Virgil opened his eyes and glanced to the side lazily.

“No.” That hit Virgil harder than the weight to his chest; blood chilling instantly. “I guess this means we won’t be going outside the city this afternoon.”

It took a moment for Virgil to generate enough saliva to soothe his dry throat and get his words out. “I-I didn’t know we – ahem –  had an outing booked.”

“Oh, there’s none of that anymore,” Virgil’s widening eyes matched the beam that spread across Roman’s face. “Father has finally approved my request to travel freely and take on missions further afield. We’ve got our freedom, Virgil.”

 On the outside, Virgil joined Roman in expressing their excitement for traveling and taking on bandits and invaders; but his true feelings were kept under wraps. Sure, the watchful knights that followed them were judgmental and rude to him whenever Roman’s back was turned, but they were their safety net. Any trouble they came across, the knights stepped in and took majority of the heat of battle. Without them, Virgil would need to defend the Prince solo. Colour seemed to drain from the world as he was overwhelmed with thoughts of what could possibly happen while out alone.

“Virgil? Hey, Virgil?”

Snapping fingers brought the world back into focus and Virgil shook his head to clear his thoughts.

“You okay? You’re looking paler than usual.”

“I’m fine.” Rustling leaves drew Virgil’s attention to the shifting shadows. “The afternoon is slipping away.”

“And?” Satisfied with his efforts, Roman offered Virgil his shirt; bandage obviously no longer required.

“We should be at the training ground or,” he slipped his shirt back on, “crafting, or visiting the kitchens or something-.”

Virgil went to stand, but Roman grabbed his hand and fixed him with a stern look. “Uh-ah; We are staying right here.”

“But-“

“I felt your magic, Virge. We’re taking the afternoon off.”

As the Prince laid down on the fallen leaves, Virgil sighed. “Can we get food at least?”

“Got ya covered,” he gestured to the satchel and Virgil reached inside to retrieved two apples. “Lay with me, Vee. Adventure can wait for another day.”

 The sloping ground in the hollow, paired with the layer of leaf litter, made the firm ground bearable to lay on. Side by side, they munched on their apples; Roman rambling about all the places he wanted to visit, the people he imagined meeting and the eventual unit he and Virgil would construct. It seemed nothing was going to deter him; a fact the pleased and terrified Virgil all at once. He did his best to keep his mind focused on Roman, but he couldn’t stop his thoughts from straying down a negative path on occasion. As exhaustion took hold, he focused solely on the sound of Roman’s voice; not the words, just the sound, until his eyes slid shut and he was asleep. Roman paused mid-sentence as he heard a sigh from beside him and couldn’t help but smile at the peace on his friend’s face. Words failed to describe the pleasant feeling that sat on his chest as he shuffled closer until he could slip his hand into Virgil’s; instinct allowing their fingers to intertwine.

“I’ll always protect you,” Roman whispered, allowing his own eyes to slowly close. “I promise.”

 *click here to see art from this scene* 

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

 Perched on the stone wall, a crow stared down at the unlikely pair. It watched the frail one cry. It heard the taller one speak. It examined their reactions as a shirt was removed and continued to stare until the pair were asleep and content. The wind ruffled its black feathers; wings opening to use the draft to quickly take flight. After a final circling of the hidden pair, the crow took off towards the eastern side of the city; sunlight revealing deep green runes patterning its wings.

Swooping down, the crow nipped at some villagers’ hats before crashing through reeds that covered an already broken window. The man inside snatched a blade from his dressing table and thrust it towards the chair the crow had perched itself on; surprise quickly replaced by annoyance.

“What do you want?” He reached for a red cloak with white banding and the guards crest and began fastening it around his shoulders. “Haven’t you broken enough of my stuff already?”

The animal appeared to almost smile, tilting its head with a soft caw before flying over to the guards table and pecking at a stained wooden box.

“Piss off.” Slamming his blade down, the guard turned away and  began securing his belt around his waist. “Fly yourself home, I’ve got too many shifts to be wasting my magic on you.”

Not liking the guard’s tone, the crow flew over to the table and sat on their sword handle.

“Hey!” As the guard waved the bird off, it revealed the mess of droppings it had left on the hilt and table. “Fucking little shit!”

Cawing in delight, the crow avoided the guards waving hands until the man’s eyes glowed and a surge of air forced it to the ground. Strong hands pinned the bird’s wings to its sides as the guard collected it from the floor.

“Look who’s laughing now,” he beamed.

The moment of victory was short lived as the crow pecked his ungloved hands, causing blood to quickly well from the cuts its beak had caused. Letting the crow go, the man hissed and shook his hand before inspecting the long thin cuts.

“Fine, I’ll send you back.” Grabbing a cloth, he wrapped it around his hand and turned to the table; the crow quickly returning to peck at the wooden box again. “This is the last time though.”

Bowing its head, the crow cawed softly before looking back up as the man retrieved a complex rune on fresh parchment from the box. The paper looked frail and brittle; the material not suited to holding such a large amount of magic from the rune cast to it. Taking a small scroll from the box as well, the guard  secured it to the bird’s leg before it carefully hopped onto the runes centre.

“If I see your face again,” the man growled as he braced his hands on the papers edge, “I won’t hesitate to gut you.”

The crow let out a final caw before the guard activated the rune, causing the bird to vanish before the paper burst into a puff of smoke.

  Coughing and gasping, the guard slipped to the ground; spent from using the large quantity of magic in one burst. Though they appeared to not be beyond their twenties; in truth they were nearing their ninetieth birthday. Both a blessing and a curse of being a sorcerer, a youthful look that took longer to fade.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The front door of the house shook with the force of the knocks from the other side.

“You ready yet, Damien?” Came a stern feminine voice from the other side. “The King is conducting assessments this evening and I’m not showing up solo.”

Damien carefully stood and dusted off his uniform. “Just a moment, Angelica.”

“Hurry up.”

 Damien looked in the mirror at his tired eyes; sunken and darkening from his sudden exhaustion. Regardless of how his body felt, his heart had a weight lifted. His debt was paid. His secret was safe. He would have at least a few more years in the city before needing to move into solitude as his body would inevitably shift rapidly to match his true age. The sorcerer ban had been tough for the man to endure, but he was one of few to accept it as a natural order of the kingdom. It meant he kept his life; be it a tough one pretending to have limited magic.

 Exiting his house, Damien walked with his partner through the city streets towards the castle. He wondered what information the crow had gathered this time and how the information would be used. After three years of being harassed by the creature, he still questioned what its masters end goal was. No action against the kingdom had been taken in three years, which seemed odd considering the amount of information he was sure the bird had recovered over that time.

“Did you take on an extra patrol or something?” Angelica questioned, slightly annoyed with Damien’s slowing pace.

“Not an official one,” he lied, pushing his legs to move faster and catch up to his partner.

“You better wake up by the time the King comes around. I can’t afford a pay cut because you got greedy.”

“Don’t worry. The assessment will be a piece of cake.”

The two guards continued in silence; both minds now focused on the assessment and how the King would choose to test them that afternoon.

 ******************************

 The sun was beginning to speed up its descent when Virgil stirred and slowly slid his eyes open, turning his head to see Roman sleeping next to him. It took a moment for him to realise they were holding hands and he resisted the urge to pull away in fear. It wasn’t that he didn’t have feelings for the Prince; it felt like he always had, but he knew it wasn’t an option. The King would never allow their relationship to be anything more than what it already was; he’d made that very clear to Virgil directly, and with the many young royals that were invited to visit the castle since Roman turned 16. It was almost comical to stand by and watch ladies, lords and non-binary royalty try and win his Prince over. Roman was an absolute flirt during all meals and planned outings, but the moment guards were out of earshot he set them straight. He had no interest in marriage for the sake of kingdom relations, and nothing was going to come from a three-day visit and the offer of an alliance or treasures. Honestly, a small part of Virgil relished every suitor Roman turned down; while the rest of him feared what King Rupert would do if the Prince continued to deny the advances of young royals.

 Hands still entwined, Virgil savoured the moment of tranquillity before rational thought returned and he attempted to pull away.

“Uh-ah,” Roman squeezed Virgil’s hand and smiled over at his friend, “don’t try and sneak away now.”

“I wasn’t sneaking away.” As he sat up, Virgil was pleasantly surprised to find his chest didn’t protest the movement at all.

“Then what were you planning?” Roman questioned, sitting up and refusing to release the others hand.

“I was only going to get some dirt to rub on your face. Would be a major improvement.”

Laughing, Roman stood up before carefully pulling Virgil onto his feet; hands never letting go. “Jealous of what you don’t have?”

“Thankful is more like it.”

Roman grasped at his chest like he had been struck by an arrow. “Oh, you wound me, Virgil.”

“Save the dramatics for your suitors, Princey.” Finally pulling his hand free, Virgil searched the area for his satchel. “We should get back and get ready for dinner. Where’s my bag?”

“You didn’t have one.”

Virgil scraped his hand down his face and groaned, “I must have left it at Haefen’s.”

“Why the long face?” Roman questioned, pulling his satchel over his shoulder and following Virgil towards the bushes that concealed them.

“Nothing. Let’s just go. I’m starving.”

Virgil held the bushes aside for Roman this time and they quickly hurried towards the physician’s quarters before they started to lose light.

 .

.

. 

A smile pulled at Alexandra’s cheeks as she spotted her two boys weaving through the garden from the window in her chambers. Chest slightly looser thanks to Clara’s meticulous work and consistent care throughout the past few weeks. Guilt pulled at her heart strings as she watched them disappear from view, and she tried to catch a glimpse from the other window.

“Is everything alright, your highness?” Clara stepped back into the room with a tray of  bowls and set them down onto a nearby table.

“Fine thank you, Clara.” Realising the boys were out of sight, the Queen moved to sit in the padded chair by the table. “I just saw Roman and Virgil in the garden, is all. I haven’t been able to see them in a while; especially Virgil. He looks like he’s grown.”

“Children do grow fast.” The maid commented, helping the Queen loosen her gown to expose her chest. “My Logan has certainly turned into a fine young physician and I swear they are different every time I have a chance to be with them.”

Alexandra nodded and sat patiently as Clara stuck a rune parchment to one side of her chest, which had a fine thread that ran from that parchment to a second rune submerged in a warm bowl of liquid. A similar set up occurred on her other side, only the stringed rune sat in an empty bowl.

“My heart just longs to be with them again, Clara.” Leaning back, Alexandra sighed deeply and tucked a loose brown curl behind her ear. “I know Rupert is more protective these days, but I’m beginning to feel like a prisoner in my own castle.”

 Clara kept her gaze down as she mixed herbs into a cup of warm water and passed it to the Queen. In truth, Rupert had given orders for no unnecessary visitors to the chambers and Clara was instructed to not give the Queen permission to leave unless she was certain of her health. With her family at risk, she had taken no chances in letting the Queen out; but looking at the sad woman before her, she couldn’t keep her locked up any longer.

 “Why don’t we see how this treatment goes,” Clara offered. “If you feel up to it, you can attend dinner with your family.”

The joy that shone in the woman’s eyes was worth the risk, as she accepted and thanked her maid repeatedly. As the runes started to glow with Clara’s soul magic, the Queen relaxed into her chair; runes pulling the warm solution from the bowl to clear building mucus from her lungs. By the time the procedure was over, the once empty bowl was full of a yellowing liquid; thankfully it was paler than Clara expected, and she was happy to note there seemed to be less than their previous treatment.

“Some positive signs here, your majesty.” Alexandra was quick to redress herself while Clara packed up. “Seems you are on the mend.”

“That is brilliant news,” she beamed, meeting Clara’s eyes with a request obvious in her own.

Sighing, Clara gave her a knowing nod. “I’ll inform the King and kitchen of your attendance to dinner. Rest for now and I’ll return to help you change.”

  As the room filled with the soft glow of sunset, Alexandra rested soundly on her bed. Clothes for the evening were laid out in preparation and Clara hurried home to prepare a wax for burning in the dining room to keep the air clear. The maze of inner halls were well worn by Clara and she reached home in record time, panting slightly as she hurried inside.

“What is it this-” Logan turned from their position at the mixing table, half expecting it to be Virgil bursting in again, only to be shocked by their mother’s breathless entrance. “Mother? Is everything alright?”

“I need a cleansing wax,” she moved forward and placed a greeting kiss on their cheek. “Do you have any made?”

Twisting their lips to the side, Logan glanced around their mass of cupboards and calculated current supplies in their head. “We have one full candle and enough supplies for  three more.”

“I should only require two for tonight, but if you have the time to spare, I would appreciate the extra being made.”

Nodding, Logan tidied their current project for the frost lilies and set about retrieving supplies for mixing the healing candles. It was rare their mother returned home so early in the evening; Logan often retiring to bed before her return. They relished in the moment to work together, even if it was rushed and mostly silent.

As their mother slowly stirred the liquid wax, strands of greying hair framing her face, Logan held out a mug of tea.

“I can finish it off, mother. Savour the opportunity to take a break.”

“You are a blessing, Logan.” She willingly took up the mug and stepped aside for Logan to take over; tired eyes filled with gratitude. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately. The Queen has required constant attention.”

“No need to apologise for completing your duties,” they smiled and gestured towards a waiting chair. “Now, please, sit and rest while you can.”

 The ageing woman complied and sipped silently at her tea as she watched her child work, in awe of just how skilled they had become. A stumbling child they were no more, now a capable adult and a physician growing in skill. Pouring the wax into a prepared mould, Logan set the candle onto a cooling rune to quicken the setting process.

“It shall be ready in a few minutes, and you can return to the Queens side.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Standing, Clara pulled Logan into a tight hug; suddenly aware of her much shorter stature as she rested her head on their chest. “Words cannot express my love and adoration for you.”

“Your actions speak volumes, Mother. You needn’t worry.”

 Haefen opened the front door and was pleasantly surprised to see his family in an affectionate embrace.

“Well isn’t this a pleasant scene to return home to.”

Logan laughed and extended an arm. “Care to complete the picture?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He chuckled and wrapped his own arms around his family, planting a gentle kiss atop his wife’s head.

 The love the physicians shared was without description. Each parent passing their strengths and wisdom onto their child and watching in awe as they grew beyond their own skill levels. Logan didn’t quite understand why, but they had a feeling moments such as this would be even harder to come by soon. It unsettled them greatly and made letting their parents go even harder; but Clara had a job to return to and they had more items to craft. Watching their mother collect the candles, Logan hated the feeling sitting heavily in their gut. They committed the farewell kiss and goodbye from their mother to memory; still unsure as to why they felt moments like this wouldn’t happen again.

 ______________________________

End Note:

Oh, hello again. Nice to see you. Hope your day/night has been pleasant. I was going to add more to this chapter, but then I remembered I wasn’t going to make this a long one and quickly cut back. It was nice to give the boys a happy moment together; all be it only a brief moment.

So, I’m looking to get some more art done because the Remy and Patton one just turned out so well. I’m looking forward to working with an artist again to bring the commission to life (just had to fight the internet bank lords first before I said “hey, can you please bring this cute scene to life.”) 

As per usual, I won’t give an exact timeline on the next chapter. I’ve got Father’s Day this coming weekend (might get to see my fam) and then I may be preoccupied with work stuff (or I will procrastinate from work by writing more of this. Who really knows?).

Anyway, happy timezone friends 💜🐌

Next chapter 

______________________________

What else has Snail done?

The Perfect Ring (oneshot -analogical proposal)

You Promised (oneshot - prinxiety angst/injury/near death)

Sides of a Hero (Completed Fic - sides are fusions of impulses and aspects of Thomas. Virgil has a depressing past that he is forced to face thanks to Deceit and Rage. Was canon compliant at the time of completion)

Libraries are for Meetings (ongoing WIP - Human/University au with Royality and developing Analogical. Slow burn and heavily focused on a grieving group of friends that Virgil slowly becomes a part of to better himself.)

Check out my other blog for random fandom reblogs and stuff @snail-giggles . Always happy to interact and chat on that blog too 💜🐌

[mandelene]

First things first: wow you are allergic to literally fucking EVERYTHING. Good thing is that you're a pretty strong person. Best wishes to you. Next: maybe you can upload the image on imgur if you're fine with showing it to us? I am morbidly curious. Also: can you explain why steroids (aka that prednisone thing) help with pneumonia and itching? Never knew that steroids can be used to like, fix non-man parts or man related stuff. I'm medically illiterate 😅😅. Last: good luck for this semester💕!

Yep, I'm really allergy-prone. That's why when I get an allergic reaction to something, I don't want to immediately blame others. I'm not gonna sue them. An allergic reaction is a nuisance for a week or two but not worth the legal fees lol. It'll heal and I won't have lasting damage or "substantial harm" as lawyers say. If my surgeon cut one of the nerves in my wrist or nearly killed me during surgery -- that'd be a different situation lol. I will likely file a complaint though.

To give the full story and clarify since I only clarified in the comments of the last post, when my surgeon came in yesterday and asked how I'm doing, I said, "I was totally fine until I noticed I'm having an allergic reaction to something. I think maybe it's the tape."

He was like, "What tape? We didn't put any tape on you. You have an allergy to Steri-strips, don't you?"

And I said yes, and before I could say anything else, he was cutting me out of the cast and bandages and was pretty exasperated when he saw the tape. That's when he said, "Wow, you're really allergic. I'm so sorry" and explained that it should have never happened and that it should be in my chart that I'm allergic to Steri-strips so why would anyone put any medical adhesives on me?

And I wasn't sure if he did it and was just playing dumb or trying to mislead me, but he sounded genuine and genuinely pissed off and confused. I consulted my mom later and she confirmed that doctors typically don't do the dressings: nurses or physician assistants do. The doctor just puts the sutures in. And I didn't have any tape put on me after the first surgery -- he put Steri-strips on me only after I had my stitches taken out, and that was when I found out I was allergic to adhesives in the first place. So I find it hard to believe that he would just randomly decide to put tape on me directly after surgery this time, with my stitches still in, for the same exact procedure with the same kind of incision, especially since he brought up my Steri-strip allergy without even looking at my chart and without me bringing it up, so he obviously remembers.

When he gently tried to rip the tape off, part of my skin peeled off and I was ready to die. Kudos to my surgeon for being very calm and attempting to be reassuring about it. I was ready to burst into tears lol.

Once I feel better from all of this, I can think about filing a formal complaint with the hospital. I was asleep before everyone else even came in so idk who else was in the room besides my surgeon, the anesthesiologist and one RN (and I remember what she looked like). I just want to make sure no one else gets hurt in the future so at least my suffering isn't in vain. The person who did it should know they fucked up so they can be more careful with others -- that's all I want. I'm not out to get anyone.

So yeah, I had adhesive on me for 12 days and now I look like I have a bad second degree burn. I've been itchy since the first few days after surgery, but I figured it was just from the incision healing and that it was normal. NOPE, adhesive was eating my skin and giving me a chemical burn lol.

I don't mind posting a pic on imgur. Here's the link. http://imgur.com/a/vpQrQzT

This was after Benadryl and Prednisone so it actually looks a little better here believe it or not. The tiny red, blistery hives were the ones that were going up to as far as my shoulder. A word of warning that it might be a little upsetting and graphic. I didn't want people to have to see that on their dashboards. You can't even really see my incision -- the blister/sore covers most of the bottom part of it.

Prednisone is a steroid that's used to primarily treat inflammation, so you can use it to decrease inflammation in the lungs during an asthma exacerbation or pneumonia. It's also used in low doses to treat joint pain/arthritis. And, you can also use it for bad contact dermatitis.

Thanks for the well wishes! 😘

[creator-zee]

190

       Fymeh and Zughei found themselves celebrating another job well done in a tavern in a nearby town. They had once again found a table tucked away in the back. And, once again someone was approaching their table. It was hardly the normal drunken horny oaf though. It was someone dressed similarly to Fymeh, except their arms were completely exposed. Their face was covered by a hood and cloth wrappings that made up a mask. They also wore a long cloak, although it was strange and not like one either of the two mercenaries had seen before. 

       The person didn’t seem drunk - they didn’t smell of drink, but they stumbled into a chair a few feet away from the pair.

        No one else in the tavern seemed to notice the strange newcomer. Zughei glanced at Fymeh and then back at the mysterious stranger.

        “I’m not the only one who thinks that’s weird right?” She asked quietly.

        Fymeh nodded in agreement. “It’s weird.”

        Nix noticed the two glancing at her, but couldn’t be brought to care. She just needed to be in a crowded place with people, so no one could attack her unprompted. Even so, she tugged her hood forwards with one hand, while the other maintained pressure on the cut on her leg. Someone had jumped her in the alley out back. They had only managed to graze her leg, but it was enough. The blade had been poisoned and now she was cut off from her magic. No magic meant no disguise and also less defenses at her ready. She could still hold her own, but she didn’t want to risk it. 

       A wave of fatigue washed over her and Nix propped one elbow on the table to help support her. She hoped the poison had only cut her off from her magic. Without her magic she couldn’t tell any other effects. The irony was not lost on her. A wave of nauséabonds the fatigue and she bent over, trying to avoid throwing up and attempting to relieve the feeling. Her eyes darted to the two strangers, feeling their gazes on her. Dammit. She hoped they didn’t ask questions.

        Suddenly, when she heard footsteps approaching, ahe straightened up, watching carefully as the bulky human approached. 

        She unfortunately recognized him from her academy days.

        He slammed his hands down on the table in front of her, ending over and leering at her. “What’s a freak like you doing in my tavern?”

        “It’s a public place.” Nix spat back.

        “It’s a public place in the wilds, which means no police, so my law stands. And I say no freaks allowed.” He said, cockily.

         “It’s in a town.” Nix spat back.

         “I keep this town alive with the money I bring in.” He gloated. “They listen to me, so out!” He commanded, pointing to the door.

          Nix sighed, but knew she wasn’t winning this fight. She would have to figure something else out. She stood, one hand still on her leg and shuffled past him. As she walked past he reached out with one finger and pulled her hood off, revealing her calico cat ears that poked out of her short brown hair. Nix felt it the moment the hood started to fall. 

       She turned to the perpetrator in anger, quickly pulling her hood back up, hoping no one was watching,  but with the ruckus the man had caused everyone was looking.

        “I was already gonna leave.” She growled. “You didn’t need to do that.”

        He laughed, arms crossed. “Oh, but I did.”

         “Well then.” Nix smirked, although he couldn’t see. “I need to do this.”

         She brought one fist up and slammed it into his face. He growled and uncrossed his arms immediately returning a hit. But, he was out of practice. Despite going to the same academy, he was no match for Nix even without her magic. 

        She quickly had him pinned to the table and hissed in his ear. “Do I need to remind you what happened to the last idiot at the academy who exposed my ears?”

         “No.” He squeaked out. He remembered.

         “Still feel like you had to do it?” She asked, her voice quiet but deadly.

         “No. I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me. I want to have kids.” He pleaded, suddenly terrified of the woman currently pinning him.

          “Keep that in mind next time you try to expose someone.” She hissed before slamming his head down and leaving. She made it out the door before collapsing as fatigue washed over her from the poison. She clamped a hand back over the cut as she slumped to the ground, leaning against the wall.

        Zughei and Fymeh watched in confusion. As chaos broke out in the tavern. A person with cat ears. That was unheard of, yes there were the Felton’s but they had fur all over, the stranger’s top half of their face was human or elven. Fymeh was the first to move, she knew what it was like to hide a secret, besides she had seen blood on one of the stranger’s hands during the brief fight.

        “I’m going to check on her.” Fymeh muttered as she stood.

         “Is that a good idea? You saw what she did to the barkeep.” Zughei asked, but followed. 

          “She was bleeding.” Fymeh said. “And you saw her right before the fight she didn’t look so good.”

          “Okay, okay.” Zughei muttered. “Besides we could probably take her.”

         Fymeh chuckled as she opened the door, but it died in her throat when she saw the stranger slumped on the ground only a few feet away.

         The stranger’s eyes shot up to look at them. “Come to look at a freak.” She spat, defensive.

         “No.” Fymeh said calmly, even as Zughei tense. “We came to see if you were okay. You’re bleeding.”

         “It’s just at a scratch.” Nix muttered, glaring up at the two, untrusting.

         Fymeh raised an eyebrow, although it wasn’t seen. “Really?”

          “Even if it was more I’m not foolish enough to trust two random strangers... especially since you, you know.” Nix said, starting firm, but fading off at the end.

          “Hey, I know what it’s like to be called a freak.” Zughei cut in, she ruffled her wings to make her point. “I get not wanting to trust us, but you’re not looking so good and some of those people in there have less than good intentions. Just let us patch you up, that’s all we’re saying.”

        Nix weighed her options, it was risky, but so was staying out here. “Fine.” She grunted and struggled to her feet, keeping one hand firmly on her leg.

        Fymeh reached into one of her many pockets and pulled doit some bandages. “I can fix it up better later, but for now?” Fymeh offered.

        Nix nodded, still leaning against the wall. She moved her hand away as Fymeh tied the white cloth around her leg. 

        Nix took a deep breath and stood. Whatever was in that poison was really taking a toll. She took a step forward and nearly fell. This was bad. 

        Fymeh, who was closer to her height, looped Nix’s arm around her shoulders to help support her as they made their way down the road. 

         “What happened?” Fymeh asked.

        “Poison.” Nix grunted. “I thought it just cut me off from my magic, but obviously that’s not the case.”

        No one spoke for a while, but Zughei eventually broke the silence. “Okay, I’m gonna bite.”

        Fymeh sent her a warning glare, but Zughei continued. “What’s with the no arms?”

         Nix chuckled, that was certainly not what she was expecting.

          “I mean seriously.” Zughei continued. “You cover everything else, but not your arms. Why not just go the whole way like Fy?”

         “I used to.” Nix said, smiling despite everything. “But one day one sleeve got ripped off, so instead of trying to repair it or find a replacement, I just cut both sleeves off. I figured I don’t need to cover my arms so what’s the point.”

         “Fair enough.” Zughei shrugged.

         Nix glanced at the half dragon. “Why do you not wear shirts?”

          “Not the shirts thing again.” Zughei grumbled good-naturedly. “They just don’t fit.” She sighed.

          Nix stumbled again, as the poison continued to work through her system.

          “Almost to our campsite.” Fymeh reassured her.

          “Do I need to carry her?” Zughei asked.

          Nix shook her head. “I can manage.”

          “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” Zughei said as Nix stumbled yet again, only Fymeh’s firm grip keeping her upright. 

         “You’ll hurt me.” Nix muttered, her tail swishing nervously beneath her cloak. 

         “I can be gentle.” Zughei said, slightly offended, not realizing that Nix was talking about her tail. Zughei didn’t know she even had a tail. 

          Fymeh stumbled with Nix the next time, she couldn’t support all of the other mercenary's body weight.

          “I’m sorry.” She apologized. “I think Zug is gonna have to carry you.”

          “Just be careful.” Nix grunted.

          Zughei nodded, and carefully picked Nix up. Despite herself, Nix leaned into Zughei.

          Zughei glanced down concerned. “You’re burning up. What kind of poison was it?”

         “If I knew, I wouldn’t be here.” Nix snarked back.

         “She does have a point.” Fymeh said.

         Zughei groaned, glaring at her partner. But her expression immediately shifted back to concern when Nix involuntarily let out a whimper. 

        “When we get to our campsite we should really get you out of that cloak to help cool you down.” Zughei said.

         Nix shook her head. “No, cloak stays on.”

         “We already know.” Fymeh gently reminded her.

         “Cloak and mask stays on.” Nix repeated, somehow forceful despite being struck so weak by the poison. 

         “How are we supposed to deal with the fever?” Fymeh pressed, trying to convince Nix, but understanding her request all the same. She would want hers to stay on as well.

        “I’ll fight it off.” Nix muttered. “Eventually.”

        “Fine.” Fymeh sighed.

        Zughei opened her mouth, but Fymeh cut her off with a look. Zughei closed her mouth. She would trust Fymeh on this one. 

        Soon enough they reached their camp and Zughei carefully laid Nix out on one of the bedrolls. She had fallen into a fitful sleep at some point due to the poison. Fymeh knelt next to Nix on her left side. She unwrapped her nasty bandage from before and took a closer look at the wound. She took a swab of the cut and collected some of the blood - hopefully she could use those to figure out the poison and maybe find a cure. It was just a graze, not worth suturing up, so Fymeh just cleaned the wound, rinsing it out thoroughly although the poison had probably already been mostly absorbed, dried it, and bandaged it up.

       By the time she had finished, Nix had fallen into a deeper, more restful sleep. Fymeh turned to begin working with the samples but Zughei gently guided her to the other bedroll.

       “You need sleep too.” She reminded her partner. “I’ll watch over her and wake you in the middle of the muggy so we can switch.”

         Fymeh went to argue, but Zughei stopped her with a look. She relented and laid day. She fell asleep much faster than she would’ve liked to admit. 

190.1

       Nix slipped in and out of consciousness for the next few days. She was only slightly aware of what was really going on due to the fever that didn’t abate for three days.

       Zughei and Fymeh tried their best to care for her, but Fymeh was unsuccessful in her attempts to figure out the poison used. 

Eventually, though, after three days of a fever-induced haze, it lifted. Nix woke up with her senses about her. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, stopping when her vision spun slightly. She was surprisingly light-headed.

“Easy there.” Zughei muttered, placing a steadying hand on Nix’s shoulder. “You’re still weak.”

“I’m not weak.” Nix reflexively growled, then sobered up immediately. “Sorry.”

“You still need to rest.” Fymeh added, crouching near Nix.

As Nix reoriented herself she tugged on her hood, making sure it was in place. She also realized that she was sitting painfully on her tail. She went to shapeshift and realized that she still couldn’t reach her magic. It felt so foreign being separated from it, and for so long.

“Hey, woah, calm down, your okay.” Zughei began muttering reassuringly.

Nix hadn’t even realized that her breathing had increased.

“I can’t - I can’t use my magic.” Nix stuttered. “I can’t shapeshift. I can’t heal. I can’t do anything. I need my magic. I still can’t reach my magic.”

“I sincerely doubt that you're helpless without your magic.” Fymeh said, as Zughei continued to rub Nix’s back, comforting her with physical touch, or at least trying. She didn’t know how much it was helping.

“For one, I saw you in the bar fight that asshole off.” Fymeh pointed out. “And two, you have muscles. The witches I know that completely rely on magic don’t have muscles, not like that.” Fymeh pointed to her arms. “And three, you carry swords. Witch’s purely reliant on magic don’t know how to use those and don’t bother.”

“You don’t understand.” Nix pressed, flinching slightly as Zughei’s hand drifted lower, closer to her tail. “I need to be able to shapeshift.”

“Why? To hide your ears?” Fymeh asked gently. “You have your cloak.”

“Besides, it’s not that weird. I mean, the Felton exist. They’re full on cat-people.”

“It’s not the same. They are natural, I’m not. I’m a freak.” Nix argued, rendered more vulnerable than she had in a while because of the potion.

“So are we.” Fymeh said calmly. “At least some people have called us that at some point.”

“I’m sorry.” Nix muttered. She crossed her legs under herself and sat more forwards, her tail curled around her waist, still mostly hidden by her cloak. But the end was visible.

Fymeh caught sight of it, and startled slightly. She hadn’t realized that Nix had other feline parts. But, her mask and cloak helped hide the blatant surprise on her face. Zughei noticed it though, although Nix, who was staring at her lap, remained oblivious. She shot Fymeh a questioning look, but Fymeh shook her head minutely - not now.

“Can I have some water?” Nix asked quietly after a length of silence.

“Of course.” Fymeh said, and quickly moved to grab some. Nix followed her motions and noticed for the first time the makeshift alchemy set up.

“You're an alchemist?” Nix asked, curious.

Fymeh nodded as she grabbed a canteen. “I was trying to figure out what the poison was. I was unsuccessful. But that means that your magic might come back; you just have to wait it out. The cut on your leg still hasn’t healed, and you do still need rest.”

Nix nodded, knowing that the alchemist was probably right. She just had to wait it out. But, she felt so vulnerable without her magic. Fymeh handed her the canteen, and Nix realized that she would have to remove her mask. She would just be careful not to open her mouth too much. She carefully pulled the mask down, and pressed the canteen to her lips, drinking in the water.

“Why hide the scar on your mouth? You have plenty on your arms.” Fymeh asked, the question out of her mouth before she realized that it was rude.

“Not the scar I’m hiding.” Nix mumbled, not opening her mouth much.

“Oh.” Fymeh muttered, unsure what to say.

Nix set the canteen aside and pulled her mask but up into place. “I don’t know how to repay you. Normally I give people a favor in the form of a magical string that when cut will trigger a spell that will guide me to the string to help the owner, but without magic... I can’t do that.”

“Just stick around for a bit?” Zughei suggested. “Once you’re healed up then we can figure something out or you can just stick around and help us. Like Fymeh pointed out, you clearly know how to fight.”

“But, you’ve already done so much for me - you saved my life. I don’t want to be a burden.” Nix argued.

“Like Zug said, you can pay us back by helping us out.” Fymeh added, sitting in front of Nix. Her eyes kept glancing to the small part of her tail showing. She didn’t want to stare, but she was curious.

“Can I ask you something?” Fymeh asked.

“I don’t promise an answer.” Nix replied, having a feeling she knew what the question was going to be.

“What are you? A hybrid?” Fymeh asked, hesitantly.

Zughei glared at Fymeh from Nix’s left. How could she just ask that?

“No answer.” Nix said plainly. She knew that her saviors would be curious, but she didn’t want them to know truly how much of a freak she was - the result of a freak accident.

“She shouldn’t have asked that.” Zughei said quickly.

“It’s fine.” Nix brushed it off. “Curiosity is a thing.”

They fell back into silence again. Nix broke it. “I’ve kept you guys in one spot for long enough. If you want to get back on the road don’t let me stop you. I’m healed enough to walk.”

“Oh, really?” Fymeh asked, skeptic. She stood, and gestured for Nix to do the same. Nix stood, her leg slightly painful, but manageable. 

“I stand corrected.” Fymeh said.

Zughei stood, and began moving around, packing things up. She handed Nix her things and Nix began strapping everything back in place, while the duo efficiently packed up their camp with practiced motions. Nix felt slightly useless standing by. She found herself tugging on her head more than usual. And she constantly lost her battle to try and stop her tail from swishing nervously. And her ears kept flicking, trying to locate sounds, no matter how much she tried to keep them still. She never spent this much time in her true form, not if she could help it.

Zughei and Fymeh each had a horse. Nix normally just shifted for longer stretches of travel. That obviously wasn’t an option without access to her magic. Zughei and Fymeh had reached this dilemma as well.

“You can take my horse.” Zughei offered. I can fly or walk alongside you guys no problem. I have a lot of endurance.”

Nix opened her mouth to argue, but Zughei sensed that and cut her off. “You’re injured too, and should still be resting. Just take the horse.:

Nix realized she wasn’t winning this battle and swung up into the saddle. She shifted, uncomfortable. It had been a long time since she’d ridden. Her tail ended up laying near her leg. She tugged on her hood again. 

“Ready?” Fymeh asked.

Zughei nodded, and Fymeh nudged her mare into a walk and led the way. They were travelling at a walk, so Zughei had no problem keeping pace with them. Zughei and Fymeh easily fell into a conversation about nothing really important, joking about previous missions, or alchemy mistakes.

Nix couldn’t follow most of it, not having context. As the day stretched on she also realized how unconducive her outfit was for her true form for long periods of time. Her ears were becoming irritated at being trapped under the fabric of her hood. She was unused to how expressive they were. She really didn’t like the constant rubbing against her hood. But, she really didn’t want to take it off and reveal her ears for everyone to see. Damn, she really wished she could shapeshift.

Nix shifted, uncomfortable, both just in general and also because she wasn’t used to riding for so long.

Fymeh and Zughei, who had fallen into a lull in their conversation noticed.

”You good?” Zughei asked.

Nix nodded, and regretted it slightly as it caused her hood to rub on her ears yet again.

”You sure, you winced?” Zughei pressed. “We can take a break.”

“No it’s not that.” NIx said, and then admitted quietly. “I just don’t spend much time in my true form.”

“Is your hood rubbing on your ears?” Fymeh asked. It seemed oddly spot on, but in truth she had just had a lot of time to think while on the road and Nix was very much a mystery that she was trying to unravel.

“How’d you guess that?” Nix asked, so surprised she didn’t think about the fact that she had confirmed Fymeh’s guess.

”Lucky guess.” Fymeh shrugged. “If it’s bugging them, just take it off. We’ve already seen them.”

“Briefly.” Nix pointed out. The idea was pretty appealing, but she still hesitated.

“Trust me. Comfort is worth any odd looks you might get.” Zughei added. “That’s why I don’t bother with shirts anymore. They rub my wings and irritate them.”

Nix sighed, and the two dropped it, figuring the battle was lost. But, a few minutes after they both turned away and picked up a conversation again, Nix slid her hood down. She had to admit it was nice and felt much better. Her ears certainly appreciated not being smushed down. It was much more comfortable.

Once she got over the fear that Zughei and Fymeh would suddenly look back and start commenting, she found that her increase in comfort improved her moos considerably, and she found herself enjoying the ride more as she glanced out at the countryside. It looked different than she was used to. She realized as she closed on eye and then the other, that it was because of her brown eye that was more like a cat’s despite looking human. It saw different colors than her left one. And combined, it led to an odd picture. Not the one she got with two human eyes.

She could also hear much better. Her cat ears were much more sensitive than her human ones and she could hear much more going on in the seemingly empty plains than she normally could. She found herself so enthralled in enjoying this new perspective that she didn’t realize that both Fymeh and Zughei had glanced back and done double-takes.

She did notice however when Fymeh took another glance back a few minutes later. She instinctively reached for her hood, and Fymeh immediately looked away, wanting Nix to be comfortable.

Zughei looked back, not long after, though. “We are almost to the next town on our stop. We’ll set up camp outside of it, then head in to find a job or just get some drinks.”

“You just leave your camp unguarded?” Nix asked, surprised, but what did she know. She never set up a camp, except right when she needed one to sleep, and then ‘camp’ was used very loosely.

Zughei shrugged. “It’s generally well hidden, and we haven't had any trouble yet. Besides what would they steal. The common thief can’t do anything with bedrolls and Fymeh’s odd collection of ingredients and equipment. It’s much too heavy to be worth lugging around to sell.”

Nix grunted noncommittally. She supposed that made some amount of sense.

They reached a spot that Fymeh found satisfactory and dismounted. Nix winced slightly as she stretched out stiff muscles. Zughei took over, grabbing the gelding and working on unsaddling him and setting up her bedroll. Fymeh was doing the same, and yet again Nix felt out of place.

She was watching Zughei as she waited for Fymeh to finish. She grabbed her canteen and opened her mouth wide dumping the water in. Nix noted with some surprise that her teeth were also sharper and bigger than a normal human’s. She was a half-dragon after all.

Fymeh finished and turned to see Zughei gulping down her water. “Can’t you drink like a normal person?” She asked, but it held no real menace.

Zughei swallowed and laughed. “I’m not normal so no.”

Fymeh rolled her eyes. “Let’s just head into town.” She glanced at Nix. “Coming?”

Nix nodded, and pulled on her hood. She wasn’t going to risk leaving it down in town. It did feel rather stuffy though, and she wished yet again for her magic to come back.

Once they reached the tavern. Nix gratefully slumped into one of the chairs. She hadn’t realized how tired she had been. The poison hadn’t fully left her system yet, and was cutting her endurance a bit short. It was another reminder - other than her lack of magic - that she still wasn’t back to a 100%.

Zughei and Fymeh noticed her exhaustion, but didn’t comment on it. Zughei remembered her early snappy comment. Zughei wasn’t hurt by it, Nix had apologized, but she realized that at some level Nix felt that she couldn’t be weak, so Zughei didn’t say anything, just providing a shoulder to lean on - not that Nix took it. She was stubborn, and seemed to only want to accept help if it was life or death. Another odd sign. What - or who - had made the mysterious stranger feel like she couldn’t accept help, and couldn’t be weak. Was it related to her ears?

Zughei knew she wouldn’t get any answers, so she tried to put it out of mind. But her curiosity refused to let that happen and even when they had returned to the camp and fallen asleep for the night - Nix sleeping just in her cloak, refusing to take one of their bedrolls - the questions still swarmed around Zughei’s head.

Questions about Nix also bothered Fymeh as she struggled to fall asleep, but they were different. More focused on trying to figure out just what Nix was. She could be a Felton hybrid, but she seemed different from them. She was calico for one, she didn’t know any calico Felton’s. They tended to be one color or striped, not often spotted, if ever.

[sariasprincy-writes]

Where it Happened - 012

Part i   Part ii    Part iii    Part iv    Part v    Part vi    Part vii    Part viii    Part ix   Part x   Part xi    Part xii (here)    Part xiii

Where it Happened part xii

There was a mass casualty - an office building fire. Which only meant one thing in a hospital: All non-emergency surgeries were pushed. Sakura’s included.

That was how she found herself in the Emergency Room, bouncing from one patient to the next as she assessed and treated injuries. Most patients were non-surgical, even less non-critical, but she continued to help suture wounds and order scans as she and the rest of the staff tried to clear some beds for the patients that were still coming in.

Using her handheld light pen, Sakura flashed a light across her latest patient’s eyes and studied the way their pupils reacted. She frowned minutely when the response was slow and sluggish. “Let’s get a head CT and page Neuro when you have the results,” she ordered a resident. The younger doctor nodded before Sakura moved into the nearest trauma bay.

Kakashi was already there, studying an x-ray, and he glanced at her when she stopped beside him. “Oh, good. You’re here,” he said.

“What do you have?”

“Thirty-three year old firefighter fell from a ladder trying to rescue a couple of people stranded,” Kakashi told her. “Neuro already cleared his C-spine but he fractured a couple of ribs and his ankle. Ortho is on their way, but there’s another trauma inbound in a few minutes I need to take. Are you able to examine him for me?”

Sakura nodded. “Yeah, I can take him until Tenten gets here. You go.”

The older surgeon flashed a smile at her before he left. As soon as he was gone, Sakura turned back to the patient. She went through her normal routine, asking him what hurt as she did her exam and if it hurt more or less when she pressed in certain areas. Fortunately it seemed his injuries were minor and she wrapped up just as Tenten arrived.

“How’s it going in here?” the brunette asked.

Sakura stepped aside to give her room before she reached for the patient’s chart. “Just a broken ankle and a few fractured ribs but his chest scan came back clear. He’s all yours,” Sakura said.

Tenten nodded before she spoke to the patient. Sakura listened absently as she updated his chart and added her own notes. Just beyond, the usual noises of the ER drifted by and she picked her head up when she heard the trauma room across the way open. A handful of hospital staff stepped out, pulling an obviously injured patient out after them. Itachi was quick to follow but it was the person with him that made Sakura take a second glance.

Was that Shisui?

It was, she realized incredulously. There was no mistaking it. But what was he doing here? Had Itachi known he was coming? Sakura was likely one of the few people here that knew how close the cousins were. She knew Itachi missed his best friend even if he hid it well and while she was happy that Shisui had surprised him with a visit, her stomach also twisted into sharp knots. The last time she had seen Shisui, he had convinced Itachi to jump on a plane back across the country.

Silently Sakura watched them disappear down the hall, mixed emotions warring back and forth within her, but she wasn’t given any longer than a few moments to stare before another trauma burst in through the doors.

“Incoming trauma!”

Tearing her eyes away, Sakura dropped the patient’s chart onto the tray and hurried to meet the paramedics. Kakashi had met them outside and was already collecting all the information about their patient. “Thirty-three year old pregnant female. She got trapped under a piece of debris when trying to escape the fire. Crush injuries to the upper extremities and a deep head lac. She was stable in the field but pressure is dropping.”

“Let’s get her stable and up to CT. And someone page Uzumaki-.”

“Yumi!”

Sakura cut off abruptly and turned towards the shout to see it was the firefighter who had called the woman’s name. He was sitting up on his gurney, one arm supporting his ribs, as he tried to get a better look. His eyes widened as he recognized the injured woman.

“You know her?” Sakura asked.

“That’s Yumi! That’s my wife!” he exclaimed, trying to push himself out of bed.

Leaving the woman in Kakashi’s care, Sakura hurried to the firefighter’s side quickly before both she and Tenten tried to keep him in bed. He struggled weakly against them, his eyes still fixated on his wife as Kakashi wheeled her into a trauma room.

As soon as she was out of sight, his irritation grew. “Please, I have to go see her. I need to know she’s okay.”

“Sir, I need you to calm down and lay back,” Tenten said gently but firmly.

His struggles didn’t ease. Sakura understood his fears and even sympathized with him but there was nothing he could do for her now and if he pushed his body too hard, he would only agitate his own injuries.

“Please,” he tried again.

“There’s nothing you can do for her right now,” Sakura reasoned. “Now I need you to calm down so I can go help your wife, but there’s some things I need to ask you and I can’t get those answers until you sit back and relax.”

It seemed that was enough to calm him for he ceased his struggling and allowed the two surgeons to help him recline back against the bed. As soon as he was settled, Sakura began asking him everything she needed to know. Then she bolted for the trauma room.

Inside, Kakashi and Naruto were working quickly to access the damage. Sakura slipped on a pair of gloves before she joined them. “She’s twenty-three weeks pregnant. No medical history the husband knows of and she’s not currently taking any medication.”

Naruto didn’t look up from the portable ultrasound he was studying but he nodded, silently conveying he had heard her. Kakashi moved aside to give her room as he pulled his stethoscope from his ears. “I have decreased breath sounds on the right and her pupils are sluggish.”

“Baby’s showing signs of distress,” Naruto informed them.

The instant the words left his mouth, alarms began going off. Sakura looked up sharply, noting that her heart rhythm were becoming more erratic and irregular. “Her pressure is dropping,” Kakashi said. “Where are those chest x-rays?”

“I have them here!” a trauma nurse called as she ran into the room.

Turning away from the patient, Sakura peered at the scans as the nurse held them up to the light for her. Her eyes widened when she realized what she was looking at. “She has an intercostal arterial bleed.”

“What?” Naruto asked. “Are you sure?”

Normally Sakura would want to run more tests to confirm there was a tear in the artery behind her heart but the patient was unstable and the baby was already in distress. She didn’t think either of them would live that long. Besides, Sakura had seen plenty in her time; she was already completely sure at what she was looking at.

“Yes,” she said.

The blond frowned. “Well we can’t just open her up. The baby wouldn’t survive and a premature baby this young doesn’t have great odds.”

“I know that,” she told him, her mind already racing through the options.

“So what do you want to do?”

Sakura didn’t answer. She studied the scans a moment longer and then the monitor before finally speaking, “What about an endovascular embolization?”

Naruto blinked. “You want to stick a catheter up her femoral artery to embolize the bleed? She’s pregnant!”

“It’s rare to perform on a pregnant woman but not unheard of. I do this or I open her up,” Sakura said with a note of finality.

The pediatric surgeon stared at her for a long moment, inwardly weighing the risks, but eventually he relented. “Fine. Do the procedure. But I’ll be monitoring the baby the entire time.”

She just smiled as the trauma nurses prepared the room. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

##

Plastics was a delicate speciality. It took concentration and patience. A lot of patience. Something that one wouldn’t think Shisui was capable of on first impression. However, Itachi had watched his cousin debride a burn for hours without a break, had watched him sit with a patient through an entire night just to talk to distract them from the pain. If there was one thing Itachi would say Shisui was good at, it was patience.

Which is why it was hardly surprising it took Shisui longer to finish with their patient. Itachi had closed the woman’s chest nearly an hour ago and had since been waiting for his cousin behind the nurses’ desk across from the surgical board, his mind reeling.

With all the critical injuries that had come in that morning from the office fire downtown, Itachi hadn’t had the chance to learn why his cousin was here. Itachi hoped he was just visiting. He was sure had something happened to his mother or father or brother, Shisui would have said something by now. But Itachi still couldn’t rule the possibility out.

When Shisui finally appeared nearly half an hour later, it took a great deal of self control for Itachi not to immediately jump out of his chair. “How is the patient?” Itachi asked. It wasn’t his most pressing question but he would always put his patients before himself.

“Good,” Shisui said, pulling his scrub cap from his head. “Her burns were pretty deep. I expect she’ll probably be hospitalized for a while, but as long as everything goes according to plan she’ll survive.”

Itachi nodded but didn’t reply as he studied his cousin. Nothing seemed off but Shisui was surprisingly hard to read when he wanted to be. Like the time he had eaten the apple pie Mikoto had baked for a dinner party and then blamed it on Sasuke. His brother still brought that up every argument.

Shisui seemed to sense Itachi’s burning question for he redirected the conversation. “You want to know why I’m here.”

“Did something happen back home?” Itachi asked.

To his relief, his cousin shook his head. “No, I have a case here. Something you would know had you bothered to check any of the voicemails I left you last night.”

Confused, Itachi pulled his phone out of his pocket. His morning had almost immediately begun with chaos and it had slipped his mind to even check any of the text messages and phone calls he’d missed when his device had died the night before. Sure enough, there were a few voicemails from Shisui still sitting unread.

“I was in a fourteen-hour surgery last night.”

This time it was Shisui’s turn to be surprised. “Oh. Well that would explain it.”

“Did you think I was ignoring you?” Itachi asked dryly.

“New city, new job,” Shisui listed. “I figured you would have found yourself a new cousin by now.”

Itachi shot him a look but he let the comment slide. He was just relieved all was well back home. Unlocking his phone, he quickly read through his text messages. None immediately needed his attention and he stored the device again as he glanced at Shisui. “So what case do you have here?”

“Hyuuga in Neuro has a patient with brain tumors that also suffers from craniodiaphyseal dysplasia. His disease has caused a build up of calcium in the skull, leaving him...disfigured, to put it bluntly,” Shisui explained. “I’m here to see if I can remove some of those growths to give the patient a more normal appearance.”

“That’s a risky surgery,” Itachi said half-concerned, half-impressed.

A smirk appeared in the corner of the plastic surgeon’s mouth. “I assume that’s why Hyuuga called the best.”

Itachi sighed but there was a smile of amusement playing on his lips and he glanced past his cousin when he caught sight of Sakura. Her back was to him as she read over the surgical board but she turned around when he stood from the chair behind the nurses’ desk and called her name.

She smiled when her eyes landed on him. Itachi tried and failed not to remember how comfortable he had been with his arms wrapped around her this morning. He still wasn’t exactly sure how they had managed to end up in that position in their sleep but he couldn’t bring himself to complain. Well except for perhaps the fact Kakashi had woken them up.

“Hey,” Sakura said, looking at him and then Shisui. “I thought I saw you in the ER this morning. How’re you doing?”

“Better now that I got to see your beautiful face,” he grinned.

Leave it to Shisui to say something entirely inappropriate. Itachi nearly sighed again as Sakura laughed good-naturedly and smiled. Only it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Well, that was strange. Itachi had been under the impression she and Shisui were on good terms. Friends even.

“Are you heading into surgery?” Itachi asked, watching her a little closer than before.

Sakura ran a hand through her bangs and shook her head. “No, I just finished an endovascular embolization on a twenty-three week pregnant woman.”

“You did?” Shisui asked slightly awed.

“Yeah, she had an intercostal arterial bleed,” she explained. “I would have rather opened her up but the pregnancy makes things a little more complicated. I’m hoping the embolization worked but we won’t know for a little while.”

“In that case do you want to join us for coffee?” Itachi asked.

Sakura didn’t immediately answer. Her gaze briefly flickered to Shisui and she opened her mouth but before she could answer, her pager suddenly sounded. Pulling it from her hip, Sakura read the massage only for her entire presence to tense. A sharp curse left her lips and in the next instant, she turned and sprinted down the hall without another word.

As soon as she had disappeared around the corner, Shisui glanced at him. “Well that can’t be good. Guess that’s a no for coffee. You still want to get one?”

Itachi nodded silently before he joined Shisui as they headed down the hall, his thoughts distant. He got the feeling that Sakura had been about to decline his offer. And not because of him. But because of Shisui.

Had something happened between the two he didn’t know about?

##

It was another couple of hours before Itachi saw Sakura again. He had just wrapped up his cases for the night and had intended to slip inside the attendings’ lounge to grab a few things from his locker when he saw her. She was sitting on the very couch they had dozed on that morning with her elbows resting on her knees and her head in her hands. She didn’t look up at the sound of the door but he could just as clearly see her exhaustion in her body language.

Itachi approached slowly. “Hey.”

At the sound of his voice, she picked her head up to look at him before she straightened. “Hey,” she parroted with a small, fleeting smile.

“How’s your patient?”

Sakura released a long breath before she answered, “She didn’t make it,” she said quietly. “Naruto did an emergency c-section. He has the baby right now, but I’m waiting for an update before I go talk to the husband.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. And he was. Some cases were easier than others and even after all the death they seen over the course of their job, there were still a few that struck a nerve. He could tell Sakura wasn’t unaffected.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently.

Sakura looked up at him again and smiled. It was small - just barely there - but it seemed to lighten her mood, if only a little. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

That single look relieved the small knot of tension he hadn’t realized had formed in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know what had happened on her case, but that smile told him she would be okay. Maybe not right now but she would be in time for the next patient.

“Did you still want to get dinner tonight?” Itachi asked.

“Dinner?” Sakura repeated, her brow furrowed in confusion. Then her eyes widened. “Oh no, I completely forgot. I’m so sorry. I just got so wrapped up in this case-”

“It’s alright,” he said before she could feel too guilty. He couldn’t deny he wasn’t disappointed but he understood. It was easy to forget the rest of the world when there was someone’s life at stake. “You should go home rest when you’re done. Shisui asked me earlier about meeting up anyway. Maybe tomorrow night we can go out then?”

Sakura paused briefly before she nodded gratefully. “Yeah, tomorrow is fine. Go spend time with Shisui.”

But her words were lacking conviction and his earlier suspicions came to the forefront of his mind again. He wanted to ask but he bit them back. Sakura had had a rough day and it wouldn’t be fair to him to bring up something that she might not want to talk about.

Instead, he took a backward step towards the door. “I’ll see you in the morning then?”

A small smile was her reply before Itachi turned around.

In all honesty, he had every intention of leaving, of finding Shisui and grabbing dinner so they could catch up. But just as Itachi reached the doorway, he hesitated. Because he knew that no matter how hard he tried, his mind would still drift back to Sakura, wondering what it was that had upset her. If his cousin had said or done something, Itachi wanted to help fix it if he could. His curiosity got the better of him before he could stop himself.

“May I ask you something?” Itachi said, glancing back at her. When Sakura nodded, he turned to face her fully. “Did something happen between you and Shisui?”

To his surprise, her brow furrowed and she shook her head. “No. Why do you ask?”

Her tone was so genuine that Itachi almost wondered if he had imagined the whole thing and he prodded carefully, “It just seemed like you weren’t very pleased to see him here.”

“I like Shisui. He’s an excellent surgeon, and I know he’s your family and best friend,” Sakura said.

But there was a tone in her voice like there was something more she wasn’t saying and he pressed, “But?”

She was quiet a moment, as if she was trying to chose her words carefully. “But the last time he showed up here unannounced, you left for two months and almost didn’t come back. I just…” Sakura trailed off slowly and looked away to gaze down at her hands, like she couldn’t quite bring herself to met his eye.  “I just don’t want you to leave again.”

Itachi stared, somewhat taken aback. Is that what she thought Shisui was doing here? That he had come to try and persuade Itachi to go home again? He guess he couldn’t entirely blame her. For that had been exactly what happened last time. It was suddenly only too clear why she hadn’t welcomed Shisui with open arms.

Wordlessly Itachi crossed the room before he lowered himself onto the coffee table to sit directly in front of her. Her eyes were still downcast but she looked at him when he cupped her jaw and angled her face up. There was a shy hopefulness in her eyes that made his chest swell with an emotion he dare not name and he met her gaze evenly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Leaning forward, Itachi pressed his mouth to hers. It was quick but sweet, a silent promise that he meant every words. And it seemed it was just enough, for Sakura was smiling with a pretty blush on her cheeks when he pulled back. It eased some of the sadness that had been looming over her like a dark cloud and for a moment, neither of them moved as Itachi brushed his thumb along her cheekbone.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told her quietly.

Sakura merely nodded, her smile still lingering, before he stood. Her eyes followed him as he left the room, only turning away after he had slipped out into the hall with a last smile thrown over his shoulder.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, feeling better than she had all day. Her heart was full in her chest and in that brief instant in time, it seemed like everything would be okay. But the moment didn’t last long and she glanced towards the door when it opened again.

It was Naruto, and judging by his face he was looking for her. “Have you spoken to the husband yet?” he asked.

“No,” she said. Then she read his expression and her heart, that had been nearly bursting a moment ago, sank. “The baby didn’t make it, did she?”

Naruto shook his head sadly.

Without a word, Sakura looked forward again. She stared unseeingly out the dark window and took a deep breath as she prepared herself to deliver the worst news any person could ever hear. Then she collected her emotions and stood to meet Naruto at the door. “Let’s go.”

##

Sakura couldn’t sleep. Her mind was still running in circles in her head, trying to go over every possible option, every other alternative she could have done that may have changed the events of today. She knew there wasn’t anything anyone else could have done, but the little voice in the back of her head kept whispering ‘what-if’ and the more she tried to push it from her mind, the more it seemed to sit at the forefront.

After tossing and turning in bed for near that of an hour, Sakura gave up. She kicked the covers off and wandered out into the living room. For a little while, she simply cleaned, piling paperwork together and straightening things out. She hoped the physical activity might wear her out enough to sleep but by the time she finished, she didn’t feel any less restless.

And so she did what she normally did when she needed a distraction. She turned on the television and flipped through the channels until she found something that vaguely caught her attention. She stopped on a cooking competition and watched on blankly, trying to focus on absolutely anything else. It worked. Sorta. But the minutes ticked by like hours, and she had half a mind to get dressed and go back to the hospital just to do something when a knock suddenly echoed on the front door.

Confused, Sakura glanced at the clock. It was already past midnight. Who would be on her door at this hour? She began to wonder if she was just imagining things when she heard the faint knock again and she muted the television before she stood to answer it. Her eyes widened when she saw who it was.

“Itachi?”

He was still dressed in the jeans and jacket he had been wearing earlier, and Sakura gave him a quick once over only to grow more confused when she saw other than being perhaps a little breathless, he looked completely fine. More than fine. He was downright handsome. And he wasn’t even trying.

“What are you doing here?” she asked not unkindly.

“I wanted to see how you were doing,” Itachi said, his expression softening. When Sakura shook her head in confusion, he added softly, “I heard the baby died.”

She blinked, a little at a loss for words. “You came all the way out here just to check on me?”

He inclined his head. “You sounded upset earlier. I just wanted to make sure you really were alright.”

Unable to find her voice, she simply stared at him. But then the tension drained out of her as that same emotion that had filled her to nearly bursting earlier returned. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she smiled. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Itachi matched her smile before he held a container out to her. “Here. I brought this anyway. Just in case you needed it.”

Confused, Sakura took it from him only to find it was cold. Turning the label around, she nearly laughed when she realized what it was. Chocolate ice cream. The very same she had brought him when he had been dejected after a case all those months ago.

And just like that, all Sakura’s concerns and anxieties faded, and she bit back a wide grin as she stepped aside, a silent invitation to come in. “Do you wanna stay for a little while? Ice cream is always better when it's shared.”

A warm smile spread across Itachi’s face before he slipped inside. “I would love to.”

to be continued... 

[kayleepetey]

Of Sutures, Spilled Juice, and Sticky Notes (Olicity AU fic)

So, after what I know has been a TERRIBLY long dry spell from me with my lack of writing and posting, things have just been busy and tiring in real life, here I finally have a story! This is the first part in a series of one-shots for a new Olicity alt-'verse, The Paramedic and the Vigilante. I have no idea how it came to me, literally I woke up one morning with this world and the versions of our beloved characters in my head and I had to write it. I hope you guys like it!

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING, I am not receiving anything in the production of this story, it is purely for fun and entertainment.

Thank you to my beta and wonderful dartie, @agentsassydirewolf! Thank you for all the help, advice, and even for egging me on! ;-) You're the best!

>>>------------>

Of Sutures, Spilled Juice, and Sticky Notes

Tommy was right. Oh, how it pained Oliver to admit that; he hated being wrong--the Army shrink had rambled on and on about that particular "trait" (read: issue)--and hated admitting to it even more--oh, had the quacks ever had a field day with his bucket-load of issues...

Two years ago Oliver Queen's 12-year, decorated career in Army Special Forces ended after 9 months held captive by the enemy resulted in two fused vertebrae, a knee replacement, complete burnout, and a psych diagnosis of PTSD. The Army (and a few other government agencies he would never be able to name because the ops were unlikely to ever be declassified) and the United States of America extended their most heartfelt thanks for his service, operated on and rehabbed him, then gave him an early medical retirement.

Naturally Oliver's one-percenter, semi-absentee parents had been thrilled that that "nonsense" was over; they'd assumed this meant he'd take up his "rightful place" with his father at the family company and among the Starling upper-crust society. They even planned how to spin his "patriotism" into positive PR for the company, as well as responses (read: smoke screening) to questions about his business qualifications—or more accurately the lack-thereof.

Oliver instead had taken his G.I. Bill and become a paramedic--he'd briefly considered also going on to become a fireman so he could work out of the Fire Department, but nixed it due to an...incident in Kandahar that he and his Army buddy and mentor, John Diggle, still didn't talk about to this day, no matter how much the shrinks had prodded them; that was a place neither of them ever wanted to revisit. Oliver had immediately volunteered to work on the worst side of town, the Glades, much to his parents' further dismay, and quickly proved himself as the coolest head and most fearless--his friends called it "reckless" but Oliver preferred "fearless"--which were vital traits in many cases. And since he was rather perpetually single--it had to be some form of the universe getting karmic revenge after his playboy past: him being seemingly unable to have a woman stay with him for longer than a couple of dates now that he'd actually might want that--Oliver often took on extra shifts for coworkers who got sick, whose kids got sick, or who went on vacation with their family--his friends and sister accused him of using work to distract himself and avoid dating, but who could blame him after of the last three women one never called him back after the first date, another stalked him, and the third got shot by said stalker?

Suffice it to say that his workaholism--or avoidance tactics, according to his sister, friends, and his last shrink before he fired him--were the reason behind him now having to do something he hated: conceding to someone else being right.

Oliver had started out working his standard shift, then done a double when Charlie had called in because her daughter, two boys, and life-partner were all sick with the stomach flu; that had then rolled into a triple because of a 20-car pileup. He'd just dropped off their last patient when his oldest friend, Tommy Merlyn, ER surgeon-extraordinaire of Glades Memorial, stole his keys and forced him to go to one of the empty tea treatment rooms to rack-out for a few hours before going home, pointing out that after working for so long he had no business driving home on basically no sleep. When he'd sensed Oliver not quite giving in he went in for the kill: "I'm not going to let you go out there and become car accident victim number 21 for the night."

Rolling his eyes, Oliver reluctantly agreed to stay for at least four hours--negotiated down from the original six--and trudged through the familiar halls to the room his friend had indicated.

The further he got from the ER the quieter the halls became and the activity less frantic; he smiled and greeted the orderlies, nurses, and doctors as he made his way through--he was more or less familiar with everyone who worked there, it was a small, understaffed hospital, so everyone knew each other. Oliver checked in with the desk nurse--a sweet mother of two named Jenny--to let her know that Tommy had ordered him to use the room in her ward, to which she'd laughed and said she'd note it on the board for the room not to be disturbed unless necessary, doctor's orders.

Exhausted--and part of him wishing he was ten years younger--Oliver pushed open the door to the small room.

Which was already occupied.

The member of the trio of Starling City vigilantes dubbed by the police and media as "The Hood"—dumb name in his opinion—was standing by the counter, holding a wad of gauze of her left, black leather-clad shoulder, eyes visibly wide behind her signature hood and mask, even in the dim room, lit mostly by moonlight filtering in through the open window.

Oliver was frozen for but a moment—longer than it normally would be but he was coming off a triple, so he figured he could be cut some slack—before he closed the door and locked it behind him. "Gunshot wound?"

Hoodie--yeah, nevermind, he was not gonna call her that--blinked. "What?"

"Your wound." He gestured to her shoulder. "Is it from a gunshot?"

"Umm...yeah..." It sounded more like a question than an answer.

"Is it a through-n-through?"

Her mouth open and closed a couple of times before saying, "I feel like I should know what that means, but I'm kinda distracted from my bleeding to death and your general, extreme hotness." The dark-haired vigilante's teeth audibly snapped shut and her eyes squeezed tightly closed, embarrassment obvious.

Oliver found himself fighting a grin--where the hell had that come from?! He hadn't found much of anything amusing in  years, and this girl managed to amuse him within 60 seconds of meeting her?!--before stepping forward and clarifying, "Is the bullet still in your shoulder?"

"No, no bullet. I mean, there was a bullet, obviously, but it didn't stay in my shoulder, it went right through-- Thus...the through-n-through you mentioned. Yeah...it's been a night." Her perfectly straight and perfectly white teeth bit her full, dark fuchsia lower lip.

The fair-haired paramedic had reached her side and pulled the gauze away from her shoulder. All he could see was a bloody hole in the black leather. "We need to get this off." He tossed the used gauze into the medical waste bin before beginning to tug on her long coat.

She complied with his urging, unbuckling her belt then working the leather over her good shoulder with ease, while muttering, "Usually I wait until the third date before I let a guy start taking off my clothes." Her eyes again went comically wide.

This time Oliver could not quell the amused smirk that quirked his lips. "Better track record than I have."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see her mouth hanging open, while she stared at him, he probably felt overly-proud at being able to so shock one of the women who had the scum of the Glades running scared. The coat came off to reveal a, in his opinion, sensibly long sleeve top--who the hell would go fighting knife, gun, and other weapons-wielding criminals in short-sleeves or sleeveless tops?! He tugged at the sleeve. "This too."

"Now we're really getting into third date territory." This time he was pretty sure it was intentional on her part, she seemed to be watching him closely to see how he'd react.

He helped her with the clasps on her top that her wounded shoulder made a struggle. "You can buy me a drink later if it'll make you feel better."

"Oh, it should definitely be the other way around," she quipped back.

When was the last time Oliver had had this much fun bantering with someone? "Really?" Peeling back the leather top revealed a simple black tank, and a ragged gunshot wound, which he closely inspected using his penlight.

"Yep." She sucked in a sharp breath when he gently prodded the edge of the wound, shooting her an apologetic look before returning his attention to the injury. "Actually you should spring for an entire meal. I'm not a cheap date."

"Noted." He moved behind her so that he could take a look at the corresponding wound--notably the entrance wound, some fucking coward had shot her in the back--noting that both would only require a few stitches. "I should be able to close these fairly quickly, and the bullet missed the artery."

She twisted her head at a slightly awkward angle to look at the wounds. "Are you sure? It's bleeding a lot."

Oliver just barely managed to suppress a smile, nodding and leading her over to the bed. "I'm sure. If they'd hit an artery, you'd probably already be dead, and definitely would be unconscious." He drew her to a halt before him.

She managed to cock an eyebrow above her mask. "Well, you're a cheerful one."

He smirked. "Always." Then he grasped her around the waist and lifted her to sit on the bed.

"Oh!" the startled sound escaped her on a gasp, her lips parting into a delicious "o" that Oliver forced himself to ignore, along with how perfectly the curve of her waist fit in his hands, and that she smelled of freesias and violets.

Oliver withdrew to wash his hands before turning to the supply cabinets, quickly searching through them until he uncovered the items he was looking for, then set them all on a sterile tray and returned to her side, pulling on nitrile gloves. "We'll need to clean the wound first which isn't going to be pleasant."

The masked woman visibly swallowed. "I can take it." She was trying to sound tough, but Oliver could hear the tiniest quaver in her tone. The front wasn't necessary in his book, he already applauded the strength and bravery she'd shown thus far and did so every night on the streets.

He cleaned the wound as best he could, pretending he didn't hear the occasional gasps and whimpers that escaped her. Finally it was satisfactorily clean and, picking up the suture, he turned his gaze on her again, this time very apologetic. "I'm sorry, but they don't keep any anesthetic, even local, in the rooms. So this is going to hurt a lot."

Swallowing hard, the dark-haired woman tried to give a nonchalant shrug, spoiling the effect with a full-body flinch and grimace at moving her injured shoulder, saying, "It can't hurt worse than the bullet did, right?"

Technically, no, a gunshot was more painful, however the stitches were going to take time so the pain would be more sustained. But Oliver wasn't going to tell her that. "Just keep breathing. Don't want you to pass out."

"You suck at this bedside mannnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeer-- Ow ow ow owowowowow OW!"

He cast her an apologetic look from where he'd begun the stitches. "Well, there is a reason I'm a paramedic and not a doctor or nurse."

"Do paramedics even do stitches? I mean, are you even trained to do this?!" Her voice was becoming higher pitched and edging towards hysterical.

Oliver needed to head off that hysteria. "As a matter of fact I have been trained in sutures and have quite a bit of experience with them. I was Special Forces and trained in some field medicine." He kept his voice calm and soothing, his tone turning a little teasing as he continued, "And are you really gonna complain about the qualifications of the man helping you, no-questions-asked, Hoodie?" The name he'd thought of earlier popping back into his mind.

"What did you just call me?" she gritted out through her clenched in pain teeth.

Bingo. "Well, it's better than 'The Hood,'" he used a mock foreboding tone on the moniker as he moved to her back. "Dumb name, 'The Hood.' You should get a better one, Hoodie." Keeping her mad was good, anger kept hysteria away and would help keep her from passing out.

"Call me Hoodie again and I'll kill you," the dark-haired woman snarled. She kinda reminded Oliver of a feisty, little kitten, he liked her spirit; she and Thea would get along famously...he should probably make sure they never met. For many, many reasons.

"Considering I can bench press you, I think I'm okay with taking my chances, Hoodie." Most people would think he had a death wish, taunting one of the Starling City vigilantes, but after all he'd been through and done his fear threshold was set rather high, not much of anything fazed him at this point. And besides, even if she really could kill him he didn't think she actually would...probably. At least not until after he'd finished patching her up first. And besides he was growing fond of the nickname Hoodie.

"Then I'll ruin your life! You have no idea what these fingers can do!"

He raised an eyebrow at her, lips twitching. "No, I don't, but I'm sure I'd like to find out, Hoodie."

She frowned for a moment, thinking back on what she'd said before squeezing her eyes shut and groaning. "With a computer! Not...other stuff. Not that I'm not good at that other stuff, I mean, my last boyfriend said--" She clenched her jaw shut and then began counting down through her teeth," 3... 2... 1..."

"Done." Oliver snipped off the excess from the last suture.

Her head whipped around to look where he'd been sewing up the hole in the back of her shoulder. "You're done? Already?"

"Yep." He picked up a couple of large bandages, gently applying them over the stitches on each side of her shoulder, ignoring--or trying to--how soft her skin was under his fingers, even through the gloves, as he smoothed the adhesive edges down.

The vigilante narrowed her eyes at him. "Nice distraction technique."

"Worked in the field." Oliver gathered up everything and tossed it along with his gloves into the med waste bin. "Though I did nearly get my ass kicked once. ASA guy, my partner literally had to tie the guy's hands together behind his back. Still got socked in the jaw afterwards." He picked up her discarded top and gently began to help her pull the sleeve up her injured arm. "So, you're gonna want to keep those sutures as dry as possible, and try not to use that shoulder much, you do have a hole in it so it's gonna need some time to heal and recover, and you don't want to tear the stitches out either. You have someone who can take them out for you in a couple weeks?"

"Yeah, my partners can help me." She fumbled a bit with the fasteners on her top, so Oliver reached over and began to help her with them again. "I'm a big girl, I can dress myself, thanks," she grumbled a bit.

"Seemed to me that you needed a little help. And my mother raised me to be a gentleman and to help a lady when she needed it," he drawled sardonically, before gripping her waist and lifting her down from the bed.

"Yeah, I'll bet. Especially when it involves helping a lady out of her clothes? And why is it you keep picking me up and moving me places? I'm not a doll, I am perfectly capable of moving myself, thanks," she snarked back.

He snorted at her comment about him helping women out of their clothes. "Humor the man who just put the stitches into your shoulder and would rather not see them get ripped out immediately thereafter," Oliver wryly asked her, holding out her coat to help her slip it on.

Rolling her eyes, she allowed him to assist her, pointing out over her shoulder, "You realize that when I climb out the window and down the fire escape that's gonna be substantially more strenuous than hopping off a bed?"

"Thus why you're not going out the fire escape," he easily countered her, already moving towards the door.

Her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. "Is that so?"

"Yep." Oliver cracked the door, checking the hallway.

"And exactly how am I going to get out of here unseen?" Out of the corner of his eyes he saw her start to cross her arms, but then wince and let them drop back to her sides.

"The cameras are out on this floor, and just two doors down there's a stairwell that has an exit into the alley behind the hospital." The paramedic looked back at her. "That's how you're going to get out."

She blinked a couple of times, before joining him. "Well, if you want to be all logical and safe about it."

He smirked. "That'd be my preference." Quickly he scanned the hall, making sure it was clear. "Okay, let's go." Placing his hand at the small of her back, he urged her out of the room and down the hall, head on a swivel, ready to duck out of sight if someone came. They then reached the door to the stairwell and he held it open for her. "Down these stairs you'll find the exit, the one for the alley is the one without a window. Can you get yourself to safety from there?"

"Yeah." She nodded, eyeing him closely. "Why are you helping me? I'm wanted by the police, and you, y'know, work with the police."

Oliver was acutely aware of the hall at his back and that someone could appear at any moment and find them, but he considered his words carefully before answering, "The Glades need help. And you and your friends are among the only people actually trying to make a difference. Trying to do good. And you are." He heard the sound of faint footsteps approaching. "Go, and be careful."

"Thank you!" she managed to say just before the door closed.

Oliver nodded in acknowledgement through the tiny window, before forcing himself to turn and head down the hall back to the room, not wanting anyone to see him at the stairwell and it get back to Tommy that he attempted to "escape" or something. He nodded and smiled tiredly to the nurse he passed in the hall before ducking back into the room; he did a quick visual sweep to make sure there wasn't any evidence left that Hoodie--she'd probably would  kill him if she knew that he now thought of her as that--had been there, but aside from the blankets on the bed being slightly wrinkled, which wasn't an issue, everything looked perfectly normal.

As he breathed out a relieved sigh a new wave of exhaustion washed over him, his body screaming abuse at him, and the sigh turned into a grumble. Locking the door again--he did not need anyone getting in the room unexpectedly if his mind decided to revisit one of his nightmares; the last time someone had surprised him while he was having a nightmare he'd nearly killed his mother--Oliver moved to the bed, toeing out of his shoes before basically collapsing face first onto the cheap crappy mattress, though his sleep-deprived body thought it felt like the most amazing bed ever at the moment. Finally he gave into his exhaustion, his mind slowly sinking down into sleep, the scent of freesias and violets drifting from the blankets and following him pleasantly into his dreams.

>>>---------->

One Week Later

Felicity gritted her teeth as her shoulder throbbed beneath her pink blouse, the asshole she'd passed on the way to her desk had slammed into it, not even bothering to apologize. Jerk. She forced herself not to rub it, as was her first instinct, knowing it would do more harm than good. Sara had assured Felicity that the person who patched her up did a great job. When her bo-staff wielding compatriot asked who it was that'd helped her, Felicity had told her that he hadn't given his name. Not a lie, because he hadn't, but who in Starling City didn't know Oliver Queen? All these days later and Felicity still didn't know why she hadn't told Sara who it was that'd helped her.

Unconsciously her fingers rose to lightly rest on the stitches, remembering his gentle touch as he bantered with and teased her, amusement shining through the shadows in his bright blue eyes. Felicity honestly hadn't ever expected to meet the heir to the Queen empire, so she hadn't really had any set expectations as to what he'd be like. At least she'd thought she hadn't, but when she met him he'd surprised her at every turn. The second she'd thought she had a handle on who he was and how he'd react, he'd done something she completely didn't expect. He'd completely and utterly shed the playboy persona of his teen years, his serving in the Army for over a decade alone proved that, and he had a sardonic, self-deprecating sense of humor she wouldn't have predicted. Above all, she'd learnt that Oliver Queen cared, deeply. He could have just taken the easy path offered to him by following his parents' plans for him, but instead he chose to enlist in the Army, where he'd volunteered for the truly dangerous jobs, while also lending a helping hand where he could--she may or may not have hacked his file, and while some of it was too heavily protected for her to risk attracting attention by digging any deeper, what she had been able to find told her a great deal about the kind of person he was.

After the hell of his captivity--even just reading the debrief of what had happened to him and his fellow soldier, John Diggle, and the resulting injuries had Felicity cringing in her seat--no one would have faulted him for choosing the easier life his family wanted for him, but instead he'd chosen a profession that was dedicated to helping others and to do so in the roughest part of town and that was most in need. Oliver had a big heart, possibly the biggest Felicity had ever encountered, one, she was beginning to suspect that even from their brief encounter, he hid under sarcasm and a façade of professional distance--that, and him trying to keep her calm while doing his job, had better be the reason why he called her freaking Hoodie. Whatever else Oliver Queen might be, he was definitely a good man.

"Felicity Smoak?"

And "he" was apparently standing in front of her cubicle.

Frack.

Felicity had automatically looked up at her name being called, and if there ever was a "speak of the devil" moment, this was it. But what a handsome devil he was... Frack, her brain.

He gave her a charming, but distant, smile. "Hi, I'm Oliver Queen."

Yes, yes, he was. In all his muscle-ly, perfectly scruffy glory; his forearms strained against the rolled up sleeves of his blue plaid shirt, and his jeans clung very nicely to his strong thighs--and probably perfectly formed to his unbelievable ass.

Felicity didn't realize she'd been staring until he cleared his throat, startling her out of her stupor. Gods of Google she hoped that for once she'd managed to not babble all of that.

The smirk on Oliver's face and the amusement dancing in his eyes put a damper on that hope.

"I'll take all of that as a compliment."

And now it was DOA. Double frack.

Blushing furiously, Felicity pushed her glasses up her nose and cleared her throat. "Mr. Queen, please accept my apologies for those utterly inappropriate statements--"

"Oliver," he easily cut in.

"What?" She blinked up at him from behind her square frames.

"It's Oliver. Mr. Queen is my father."

"Of course he is. Because he's my boss and that's his name. But it's your name too, and it's on the side of the building--" Felicity forcefully snapped her jaw shut, trying to keep herself from digging an even deeper hole.

He shifted on his feet, for the first time in their short acquaintance actually looking uncomfortable. Felicity noticed the fingers of his right hand were rubbing together rapidly, her mind for some reason taking note of the tiny gesture. "Still, I'd rather you call me Oliver." There was nothing flirtatious about his tone, in fact it was rather flat and firm.

This was important to him; she didn't really understand why--yet--but it was obviously something he felt very strongly about, and Felicity would respect his wishes on this. Slowly, she nodded. "Okay, Oliver, what can I do for you?"

Gratitude washed over his face--Felicity pretended not to feel the warmth that flooded her heart at the expression--before a somewhat sheepish look overtook it. He lifted up a laptop he'd been carrying at his side and set it on her desk.

When Felicity placed her fingers on it she immediately noted a sticky substance coating it; she pulled her hands back with a grimace. "What happened to this…" she eyed the computer, noting how it was several generations old, "poor dinosaur?"

"Hey!" He jabbed a finger at her, a teasing note threading his offended tone. "That dinosaur has served me well! Survived multiple deployments."

"And it should have been enjoying a nice honorable discharge to the back of your closet, not whatever travesty has befallen it instead," she countered, matching the teasing in his tone as she reprimanded him.

Bashfully ducking his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets, Oliver shrugged. "I kept meaning to get a new computer, but it ran fine so I just put it off."

She cocked an eyebrow. "So, what happened to Dino?"

He slowly raised his gaze to hers. "I was watching my goddaughter and apparently sippy cups aren't as leak-proof as they make them out to be..."

"Or maybe there was a user error? And by that, I mean you, not the child."

Grinning wryly, he shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time. They call these things kid-friendly and then make them impossible to operate. It took me three hours to put her swing thing," he made some odd gestures with his arms, apparently supposed to describe the object--and Felicity found it far too adorable, "birthday present together last month."

She ducked her head to try to hide her twitching lips. He probably didn't realize just how much the simple statement said about him. Good gods of Google, it truly was unfair for a man that good-looking to be so sweet and actually kinda...adorkable...

Felicity quickly shook her head, trying to get rid of those thoughts. "So, What exactly can I do for you? Because I'm pretty sure not even I can help this poor unfortunate soul."

"Well, as long as the it doesn't cost my voice, I was hoping you could get the files off the hard drive," he teased back.

She felt her eyebrows shoot up.

At her surprise, Oliver shrugged. "The Little Mermaid was my kid sister's favorite growing up, and now Sara, my goddaughter, likes to watch it every time she comes over to my place."

Frack. How the hell did this guy just keep getting more and more attractive?! He's your boss. He's your boss. She tried to keep the mantra up, but a unhelpful corner of her mind slyly threw in, He's your boss...sorta. Not really... He doesn't work here at all, he's just the son of-- Shut up! Great, and now she was having arguments with her own brain. Felicity shook all that away before turning back to Oliver with a smile. "Let me take a look at it and see what I can do."

Oliver smiled. Gods of Google help her, he really smiled. It was brilliant, it lit his too-old eyes in such a breathtaking way, brighter than she'd seen them either in the media or in person. "Thank you, Felicity."

She'd never heard someone say her name like that, lingering over each of the syllables, as if savoring them. Frack, this man was unreal.

He snagged one of her sticky note pads, the green one, and picked up her red pen, scribbling quickly. "Here's my number, just call me when you're done." He grinned at her again, handing her the pad and pen back.

"Of course!" Felicity pushed her glasses up her nose with her free hand. "It should only take a couple of days."

"No rush," he assured her as he stuck his hands in his pockets. An oddly knowing glint entered his eyes, a smirk touching his lips. "See you around, Felicity."

"See you." She watched him until he turned the corner out of the IT Department, then shook her head to banish the very appealing images of Oliver Queen. She finally looked down at his note, preparing to pull it from the pad and stick it by her screen, but froze, eyes going wide as she actually read what he'd written below his phone number:

Just in case you need some more medical assistance, Hoodie.

Her first thought was: I'm gonna kill him for calling me Hoodie!

Her second thought was: Fuck.

>>>----------->

So, I will definitely be doing more in this 'verse, I'm having TONS of fun with these versions of Oliver and Felicity! XD

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think and if you want to see more from this AU!

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Vital Signs, pt6

Word Count: 1939 Tags: @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 and @outside-the-government, @jimfromsales, @donnaintx

I checked in with the chief attending and waited to be yelled at. Which he didn’t.

“Dr. Richmond, sit.” He gestured toward a chair in the student lounge. I sat.

“I’m really sorry, Dr. Jameson. I fell asleep watching a movie and hadn’t set my alarm. Not that there are excuses, but that’s all I’ve got to offer.” I had a bad habit of picking at my cuticles when I was nervous. I was definitely picking.

“I understand you must be exhausted. We’ve been pushing you exceptionally hard because of what your employer has requested of us. But I think maybe too hard. Dr. Johnson says you were here for six days in a row before these days off. Without going home.” It was a question, not a statement.

“Yes, sir,” I nodded.

“We’re cutting back your floor hours. Your boards are significantly more important at this point, and in light of your previous experience, I’m comfortable with your skills.”

“But I need the hours to qualify-“

“Your hours in New Mexico count,” he interrupted. He handed me a revised schedule. They weren’t cutting my hours by much, but enough that I might not drop from exhaustion before boards. Both our pagers went off. Back to work.

“Make sure you get changed before you come to the ER. Wouldn’t want to ruin your date outfit,” Dr. Jameson winked at me. I flushed and headed to the locker room.

There had been a gas leak or something in the subway, and we were getting loads of people coming in with respiratory issues. Fortunately, it was just respiratory issues, so the all-hands-on-deck call was kind of unnecessary once we got the first few patients managed.

“I’m leaving you in charge, Dr. Richmond. Do not hesitate for call for assistance if anything changes,” Dr. Jameson patted my shoulder and left the floor. It didn’t really change anything about how the ER ran. The triage nurses were so good that as a doctor, all I really needed to do was pick up the top chart on the pile when I was ready to see another patient.

Despite being a manageable disaster, the subway accident pushed patients to us for at least another 12 hours. It was ridiculous that whatever was causing the respiratory issues was not resolved within the first few hours, but at the same time, a lot of people went through the station early in the day and were just noticing their symptoms as their days progressed. As the New York Transit Commission couldn’t tell us what had leaked, we had been running labs on everyone all day to ensure it wasn’t something more sinister. Everything came back clear though, so we just kept giving ventolin and oxygen and sending people home as they were feeling better. It wasn’t a mentally difficult day, but I was physically exhausted by the time we sent the last subway patient home. I flopped into a chair at the nurse’s station and sighed.

“So who was the hot guy the other day?” One of the nurses, Kim, asked.

“Oh, just a guy I know from my old job.”

“Where you were a nurse?” She asked. I nodded. She smiled at me.

“Did you have to take care of him? I would have happily given him a sponge bath,” she leered. I laughed. The nurses I worked with now knew they could make those jokes because I understood that the naughty nurse stereotype couldn’t be further from the truth.

“He is definitely easy on the eyes,” I admitted.

“He was super polite when he came in too. He just kept saying, ‘I’m supposed to ask to see Alexandra Richmond.’ What do you suppose that means?” She asked. I laughed.

“Steve is new in town. Our boss probably told him to come here and find me when he got hurt.”

“Do you have super special healing powers?” Kim laughed.

“No, but Steve has some health issues that I am aware of. The kind that can affect the kind of care he gets.” It was hard to explain, obviously. I figured making him sound sicker was probably better than announcing he was a super soldier.

“What kind?” I should have known Kim wouldn’t let it go. She was a great nurse, and being vague with her was kind of like suggesting she wouldn’t understand.

“Well, without blowing patient confidentiality, he was in the army and deployed overseas. He’s got some ghosts that haunt him,” I lied. It sounded way better than saying he was essentially a super hero with super powers. Kim nodded and didn’t asking any other questions. I finished off some charting and then headed out to the lounge to study.

“Hey, new girl. Did it suck being stuck in the pit today?” The resident’s name was Smith, I think. I hadn’t bothered spending a lot of time getting to know my colleagues. I wasn’t going to be around long enough, and they were, for the most part, quite resentful of my being shoehorned into their residency program to meet my board requirements. Smith was the nicest of the bunch, but he struck me as the guy who fit in the least with his cohort.

“It kind of did,” I admitted. He nodded and sat down across from me.

“You seem more worried than the rest of us about boards.” He pointed at the stack of books that nearly constantly surrounded me.

“I took a couple years off.”

“Look, Lexy, you’re better than all of us. You’ve proved that about fifty times since you came here.”

“Please don’t call me Lexy, Smith,” I flinched. He rolled his eyes and got up to refill his coffee cup. He topped mine up too.

“Then stop calling me Smith. My name is Jamie. You might fit in better if you learned our first names.”

“Jamie, what are you going to do when you finish your residency, and pass your boards?” I asked.

“I’m staying here. I’ve already been hired,” he shrugged.

“I’m not. This sounds so epically bitchy, but I can’t afford to make friends and get comfortable with all of you. It would be heartbreaking to leave. I’m trying to maintain professional courtesy, but I think maybe I’m failing at that. I’m used to a much more structured, formal work environment.”

“Yeah, you’ve come from some branch of the military, haven’t you?” He questioned.

“Something like that, yeah. I’m sorry I’m not more sociable, but the expectation is that once I’ve passed boards, I’m heading back from whence I came, which means it’s not likely I’ll see any of you again. It would suck so much to get close and then have that torn away. I’ll try to be friendlier,” I offered.

“I think that’s the most you’ve spoken to any of us since you arrived, Lexy,” He smiled.

“Please. Please don’t call me Lexy,” I requested. He laughed and grabbed my study deck and started quizzing me. It was kind of nice to have a study buddy. Even if he stalwartly refused to stop calling me Lexy.

After yet another all-nighter studying, I climbed the stairs to my apartment barefoot. Those boots were not made for walking. They were made for standing in one spot and looking pretty. I didn’t excel at either of those pursuits, in general. Steve was headed down the stairs with a laundry basket and smiled broadly when he saw me.

“Hey, how’ve you been?” I asked.

“Good. I think I need to visit you to have my stitches out.” He pulled up his shirtsleeve so I could look. The wound looked good, and I nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, gimme a half hour to get a shower, and then pop over. I’ll leave the door unlocked.” I felt decidedly more comfortable in my building once I had clarified that it was indeed entirely occupied by SHIELD staff.

The hot shower was exactly what I needed to wash the funk of the ER off. All I needed to make my day complete was a hard run, and I would be completely relaxed. I toweled my hair off and got dressed. I was sitting on my couch, brushing my hair when Steve came in. He looked around the apartment and then looked back at the door.

“Where’s your bedroom?” He asked.

“You’re standing in it.”

“You have no bed.” He looked completely confused.

“It’s a fold away,” I laughed. I finished brushing my hair and braided it quickly, “Sit, I’ve got to find my suture kit. There’s beer, water and Coke in the fridge, help yourself.” Steve turned toward the fridge and opened it, fishing out a bottle of water.

“I don’t drink beer.”

“No?” I was digging in a drawer in my entertainment unit for my suture scissors, and some other supplies.

“Doesn’t affect me anymore.” He sat back down on the couch, “I also don’t really understand the obsession with bottled water.”

I sat down beside him and put some supplies in his lap. I cleaned the wound, and set about removing the sutures in his arm.

“I never understood it until I drank the water here. And then I totally understood,” I admitted.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you were from here.”

“I’m not.” I finished removing the stitches and rubbed some vitamin E on the scab.

“I don’t recognize your accent.”

“Because I don’t have one,” I laughed.

“But you do. You say some words differently than I do.”

“Maybe you have the accent.” I was being coy, but it really wasn’t that important.

“Where are you from, Lex?” He looked puzzled. I sighed.

“Canada.”

“Some of the best soldiers I fought with in the war were from Canada.” He looked nostalgic. Except it probably wasn’t really nostalgia, considering it probably felt like yesterday to him.

“So, put some of this on the scab every day until the redness starts to go away.” I handed him the small bottle of vitamin E.

“What does that do?”

“Makes the scar less noticeable.” He pocketed the bottle and stood up, awkwardly.

“Thanks for the assistance.”

“Hey, Steve, do you want to go for a run?” I asked. I enjoyed his company. Even when we didn’t say anything. I didn’t normally enjoy having a running companion, but I thought he might be okay. He nodded.

“Sure. I’ll meet you downstairs in about 5 minutes.” He headed back to his apartment. It was refreshing to run with someone, and while I suspected that Steve slowed his pace to allow me to keep up, he seemed to enjoy it too. I made the concession of not running with my music, since he didn’t seem to have figured out that he could use his phone for that yet. We ran in silence, our pace set by the rhythm of our feet and breathing. We rounded the corner to our apartment about 45 minutes later. I was right, going for a run had been the last key to complete relaxation. I felt relaxed from the first time in ages.

“Thanks,” I said as we headed back into the apartment. I needed another shower, but it was worth it.

“Tomorrow?” He asked.

“Sure, early? I have to be at the hospital at 0700.” It was so refreshing to use the 24 hour clock with someone. He nodded and continued up to his apartment. I really liked him. I was going to have to be careful I didn’t lose my heart to him. I somehow didn’t think that I would be Captain America’s type. And from what I heard, there’d been a girl before the plane crash.

[kristie-rp]

More To This (Than Stored Aggression)

Everybody’s coming at me, And everyone treats me like some kind of freak. And everybody’s telling me I need to believe In something that’s bigger than pulling the trigger They tell me I’m lost because I’m strange and odd And everybody says it like I got a disease So is there a treatment for social resentment?

“I’m going out to lunch with Claire.”

“Who?”

“Claire. She’s cool. She’s this kid from the big sister program. I think her dad’s going to be there as well, we’ll go for Chinese or something if Qiao doesn’t freak.”

“You’re hanging out with some girl and her dad?”

“Since when do you care?” is Ikari’s final question, before she goes on to say, “Yeah, they actually act like a normal family. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” With that hanging in the air, she flounces out of the room without looking up from her phone.

Nano watches as Rikku’s jaw tightens, something in her nearly crimson eyes that catches his attention. She gets up and leaves her place on the couch at his side and slams the door she goes into down the hall. I’m not angry – why would I bother? Anger is pointless, is what she’ll say if he confronts her. It wouldn’t be the first time. But he plays back the footage anyway, caught in the corner of his eye, and then directly – mutes it to avoid readdressing the offensive commentary made by their daughter.

Rikku was tense at the start of the conversation (confrontation). She’d never had the same interest applied to her, and now had no idea how to express it properly. It got worse as it went on, shoulders creeping upwards before she forced them back into the straight lines she preferred to maintain.  A small furrow forms in Nano’s brow as he watches her face again. There is hurt there, and she’s clearly upset, but as she left she suppressed it, as she does. Nano sighs, considers leaving her – it’ll be what she says she wants, but he has learned better in the time he’s known her. After all, she dragged him out of Herontesuto Laboratories all those years ago; clearly there is some sympathy in her, some emotion. He expects there would be more if more people bothered to show her any.

He knocks twice on the door before he enters, knowing better than to startle her while she is in the gym. “Rikku,” he greets.

She doesn’t look at him, intent on pummelling the bag before her. Nano’s concern for her grows; she prefers training with her katana and throwing knives, and only rarely works on hand-to-hand. “Either make yourself useful or get out,” she instructs. He manages not to sigh at her predictable temper – not angry, well, he’ll believe that, because he knows this is her channelling something she doesn’t want to feel, raised to believe emotion is weak – and moves to brace the bag she is methodically tearing apart.

He doesn’t speak until he can feel the bag starting to split between the both of them. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” But she spits it, and he raises a brow at her. She delivers a swift, forceful kick, and the material tears through the end of the bag, the stuffing inside trickling to the floor. He waits to make sure she’s done – it wouldn’t be the first time she continues tearing apart something already destroyed – and moves when he hears her footsteps, her canvas sneakers light on the floorboards.

“You’re not,” he informs her gently, because he’s learned that being sarcastic in the face of one of Rikku’s moods is a terrible idea, ending in more bruises and fractured machinery.

It’s because he’s watching her so closely, and knows her so well, that he can interpret her microexpressions and her gestures, stilted though they are. Rikku is used to hiding herself, the parts of her that aren’t deliberately destructive. Nano, though, is used to her – she’s the first person who seemed to put value on him in years, dedicating time to learning about him beyond the tech tested with his physiology; the least he could do is attempt to learn just as much about her.

He still can’t pinpoint the moment he fell in love with her, but he remembers the moment he realised. He hadn’t known what she was out doing, but she came back with her blood – red streaked with black, which she has never explained to him – pooling and her right arm half way to severed, cut to the bone from one side. She clutched it, did everything she could to hold it in place until she could get there, and then, when he tried to tell her she needs a doctor, she shook her head. “I trust you, not some doctor.” So he’d figured it out – sutured  the muscle, the flesh and skin, and, when she complained later about weakness, had done the research to introduce nanites into her system that would return her to her natural strength – and while she’d been sleeping off the stress, he’d been unable to take his eyes off her, worried she’d disappear. If you left, I wouldn’t have anything, he had thought, and then caught himself, startled. What, he’d wondered, and then retreated to clean up, to dwell on it. Obviously, things hadn’t gone badly, once he’d decided to act on it, but. But. He couldn’t forget that moment.

Rikku stares at him for a long moment before she huffs, standing near the bench they keep in the gym, and starts unravelling the bandages from her hands. “So what?” she says at last, apparently deciding it’s worth pursuing.

“So, I’d appreciate you telling me what’s going on. Ikari has had that mouth on her for years – I’ve never seen you react like this.”

She tightens her jaw again. “This – this Claire person...”

“Claire Jiang. She’s Chinese-American,” Nano sits on the bench while he’s reading off the information, projected to him and him alone. “Four years younger than Ikari, a bit of a troublemaker. Harmless.” But Rikku’s lip twists, and she’s clearly  not reassured by this. She’s not even looking at him. Whatever it is that’s bothering her, it’s not this. “That’s not it, is it?”

She doesn’t answer right away, picking at the bandaging on her left hand. She removes it more slowly than she typically does, and then methodically folds it. The entire process takes several long minutes, and Nano waits patiently through them all before she finally shakes her head, a nearly microscopic movement.

“Rikku, I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

She huffs, then, as close to a bark of laughter as she gets when she’s in a bad mood. He thinks it developed as a reflex, a consequence of finding things amusing in some morbid way while she needs to be stealthy. He cannot prove it. “You can’t help if I don’t talk? How are you planning on helping if I do? Are you going to take control of me until I don’t feel like this whenever our daughter mentions how much of a burden it is to be related to us? Control her so she stops saying it?”

He blinks at her, lips parting slightly. He’s not – there is no surprise that it upsets her; he has wondered for a long time if that’s the case, analysing discussions so many times that he is certain that is the only common factor. He’s surprised that she’d finally admitted it, after seven years of this happening. Seven years at least.

“I can understand seeing me as a terrible parent – I’m not made for this! I knew that when we decided to keep that baby, I know it now, I don’t need it repeated over and over again. You, though – you deserve better. You’re the only reason she’s not in agony all the time now, you with your technology and your knowledge and your skill and your patience, you saved her. And the way she talks about it, or doesn’t talk about it, you’d think she preferred you’d left it the way it was, like we didn’t have to listen to her crying way back then, like it doesn’t hurt to know we created something that got that much pain just from living, like we only ever meant her as the sort of experiment Herontesuto approves of all the time –”

She cuts herself off, and Nano extends his human hand to her. He takes her hand in his, pulls her closer, but it’s her face he’s watching. He was worried before, but now he feels awful for bringing it up, or for not bringing it up sooner. Rikku doesn’t do emotions, she doesn’t talk about her problems; she deals with them. Only there’s no way to deal with the version of Ikari they’ve raised, not in a way either of them are willing to.

And it’s hitting her now, obviously; as he watches she rubs angrily at her eyes with her free hand, scrubbing away – for the first time in his memory – tears. Rikku has never cried, not in as long as he’s known her. He doesn’t know if she’s always been so stoic, or if it was learned from something in the childhood she never talks about. He doesn’t need to know; what’s important is that she trusts him enough to do this in front of him now; and what else is important is the knowledge that he hates it. Rikku – the Rikku he loves – is strong and distant, not too proud and not too much of a pushover; seeing her in tears over anything, it cuts him.

So he takes her hand and he pulls her close, wraps his arms around her. If they were anywhere else in the house, he’d pull her onto his lap; the best he can do here is twist in the seat and pull her against his chest, rub her shoulder gently – long since healed – and try to figure out how he ought to comfort her. He settles for gentle physicality, hugging her in the way she doesn’t let anyone else; holding her close and pressing his lips against her temple, an extended kiss just to remind her she’s not alone in this.

She goes through sobbing, a horrible foreign, heaving sound, ripped from her in gasps before she manages to control her breathing enough to fall in line with soft hiccoughs. She calms, eventually, the tears coming to a slow stop. She hasn’t pressed her face into his shirt the way most people tend do when they’re comfort; he does not think she is proud, but she is definitely too proud to smear something she considers a weakness all over him, even if they are each the person the other trusts most in this version of reality. When she’s done, he knows better than to expect her to bow her head; instead, she holds it high, proud, like her eyes aren’t rimmed with red.

“I’m sorry,” he says at last, quietly. She huffs.

“What for? This isn’t your fault.”

“I raised her as well, Rikku. I know how words can cut.” He curls his metallic hand into a fist; closes the metal shutters of synthetic eyelids over his violet eye. It’s an old hurt, the sting of failure. He felt it with a younger sister, before Rikku, before Heron; he feels it now, when Ikari ignores offers of dinner, even when it’s her favourite. When his – their – daughter makes it obvious she has time for people she considers normal but never for them; when he is discriminated against and stared at every day for being so obviously different, when the stares don’t hurt until they carry the familiar weight of a loved one with them. “I can’t regret what we did. I don’t regret her – not for a second. And I don’t regret sparing her pain. She can’t remember what it was like; she was too young, but it’s better to be judged than to be suffering.”

“She considers the judgement suffering in itself,” Rikku mutters, the wound fresh still. Maybe it’ll be fresh as long as they’re alive, when every conversation with Ikari ends with a reminder that she can believe she’d rather be alone than affiliated with the freaks who raised her. And they can’t excommunicate her, they can’t distance themselves; they worry too much, both too aware of all the ways their world is a danger.

“Maybe,” Nano murmurs, lips barely moving. But – he’s saying the truth. He’s felt guilty for the pain Ikari must have faced, somehow finding the only kids in Port Lyndon who wouldn’t find something technological instead of supernatural cool, but he cannot feel guilt for providing the source of them. He tells himself, over and over again, that this is better, this is for the best, and most of the time, he can convince himself.

“Maybe not,” Rikku utters, getting to her feet in a clear indication that this conversation is over. “I need a shower.”

Nano doesn’t move, staying on the bench. He’s in an odd position, because he was leaning back to get a better look at Rikku’s face as they spoke, but other than that, their bodies were pressed together. He’s lost in thought until a familiar hand enters into his periphery, and he looks up to find Rikku looking at him expectantly.

“Are you coming or not?” she asks, gesturing to indicate the hand she’s offered.

He blinks at her, once, before he takes her hand, letting her pull him to his feet to come with him. She’s still upset – still in pain – but she’s obviously decided to push it down for now, the old coping mechanism he knows too well. He’ll figure out a way to help, somehow. A way to lessen the sting, one way or another.

For now, though, even if their daughter cannot love them the way they need, the way that will avoid these wounds – so easily reopened even when everything seems healed – they are safe in the knowledge that they love each other.

I’ve been waiting Can’t you fix me? If so, give me something Make my mind forget this Solve my issues Help my raw contentions Make me normal It’s not my fault, my mind’s at fault –

                                                          Hollow Vessels  – Lifewalker