#tw nasal cannula

[aealrizen]

It seemed at some point they had contacted Crystal through an underground network. It wasn’t an unfamiliar place for them, considering Hesopher used it all the time to contact and hire mercenaries to retrieve materials for Eutoli as a whole that Cerah and Andaopos weren’t supplying for them. It was through working with those clients that they had learned about Crystal, and her ‘rumoured’ time spent helping people with cybernetic parts. However, whether it was because of their stance to remain under alias, or some other reason, Crystal was proving to be unwilling to fully work with them. It had been a rough few days, something had been concerning Hesopher enough to hinder their progress on developing their own method for cybernetic surgery. It was currently late at night, and Hesopher had unintentionally fallen asleep where he had been cuddling Midas. He was fourteen now, and couldn’t sleep because of the usual full body ache from his bones and faulty blood. And that, plus the state his father was in had put him in a sour mood.

He had his father’s laptop on his stomach, staring at the most recent conversation between Crystal and Hesopher. Neither of them were using real names, and Hesopher had been fairly secretive about everything about them and their situation. He didn’t want to be traced back. Yet something about being sleep deprived and irritated made Midas reach out instead of leaving it to his dad as he had been doing.

‘You’re being really annoying, you know? We’re not asking for much. Just a name of a book we can look into about the problem or something.’

He hadn’t been expecting a response, and shortly after he’d sent it he considered deleting it. His dad would scold him for being rude once he saw it, and they didn’t need to piss off their contact to the point of blocking them. But to his surprise a response came back quickly.

‘Who is this?’

Oh, she recognized it wasn’t Hesopher really quickly. Smart lady.

‘The son,’ Midas typed back quickly, blinking hazily in his sleepless daze.

The next response took longer to show up, but it seemed to be both because of length and because Crystal had taken a moment to consider or rewrite her words.

‘Look kid. Being a cyborg is not a good life. People don’t like cyborgs, it’s hard to maintain the equipment, and resources aren’t plentiful. Stop chasing a fairytale, and go live your life.’

It was sensible. Any healthy person would look at the prejudice cyborgs had to deal with, and the resources and potential risks they had, and would turn the option down without a moment’s hesitation. And Crystal was rather noble for trying to keep people away from falling into the darker parts of society, where other city’s laws made living risky.

But Midas wasn’t healthy, and they were out of options.

So after an annoyed huff Midas opened the camera app and snapped a picture from the camera facing him and his exhausted dad. And for good measure he stuck his tongue out and held his middle finger up to it as well. The picture was then sent along with a short response.

‘Ain’t got much of one.’

He didn’t wait for an answer, the budding migraine suddenly making itself fully known and causing his head to throb and the light from the laptop to stab at his eyes. With a soft groan, Midas clapped the laptop’s lid closed and shoved it aside, rolling to bury his face into his dad’s chest. As soon as the light was gone the pain in his head subsided considerably, and he drew a steadying breath and let it out slowly. The pain wasn’t gone, it never truly was. But after a few minutes of complete darkness it dropped back down to a state he could manage. Enough that he ended up falling into a half sleep for several hours.

The next morning they had woken up to a response from Crystal.

‘Your son seems to know when it’s time to pull the empathy card.’

‘You have our support.’

With the responses came a compressed file holding two complete documents containing the research notes on full body cyborgs from one of the original scientists of the past. And through his tears of relief and laughter, Hesopher still made Midas apologize to Crystal for the rude gesture.

____________________________

First

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This one is pretty short compared to some of the others, but the next part is too different and long X'D I really had fun drawing this one too

[aceofwhump]

Liam Sadusky whump in National Treasure: Edge of History 1x06

[its-my-whump]

Medwhump May- Day 9 Alt 15

Broken bones

@medwhumpmay

Tw: absolutely no medical accuracy, sorry, seizing, cpr, being ventilated

Part 9 (all others here)

Her o2 stats were rapidly decreasing, while her heart was picking up speed much too fast. It almost was, like she had long surpassed trachycadia and her heart seemed to be trying to compete against a starting jet.

xxx

"Hold on, hunny!" The doctor almost barked at his seizing patient pushing the syringe in her port. His big hand held her trembling left arm down, so that her skin turned white, where his fingers digged into her flesh. He pushed the plunger down all the way.

A short, but big male nurse had already pulled the nasal cannula from under her nose and just took a hold of the valve bag another nurse was handing over.

The machines were screaming, her heartbeat overturning itself. But her upper chest was hardly moving by itself anymore. The doctor had his stethoscop in his ears, right after he let go of her arm. His big handprint still clearly visible on her shaking body.

The mask of the vavle bag was put over her mouth and nose and the male nurse squeezed, but her ribs wouldn't really expand. "Fuck!"

The chest piece of the stethoscop was moved around, but the doctor's expression just confirmed her decreasing state. He frownd and ordered his staff to keep epinephrine standing by and get the defi ready. "We need to intubate now and get me an OR ready stat!" He barked. A small blond nurse turned on her heels and ran out to organise the operation room.

He pulled the stethoscope out of his ears and put it back around his neck.

Everybody was tensely staring at the violently shaking body for a brief moment, hoping that the diazepam would stop her from seizing, while the grey haired nurse handed her male colleague the laryngoscope.

The fast drumming of her head, hands and heals on the metaltable noticeably slowed, while the short man was already pushing the et tube down her throat.

The screaming sounds of the equipment were filling the room for another few seconds, then she just feel still.

The hectic jumbling zigzag on the heartmonitor fell to a horizontal line.

All staff jumped into gear without an obvious command. The male nurse had started to squeeze the ambu bag, now attached to the et tube in her windpipe. But her ribs wouldn't move upwards.

A tall young nurse straightened her arms and interlocked her fingers. The bruised landmark on the lifeless woman's sternum guided her hands, which she instantly pressed down into her chest. Even though, the blond nurse was tall, she needed to lean forward quiet a bit to summon the needed force and strength to manually pump the unmoving heart by caving the young lady's ribs in.

The grey haired nurse, that was there, when the lady started seizing, was already pushing epinephrine into the IV line in her left arm.

Ribs being bend in, hands and feet were pushed up against gravity, as her shoulders left the table by every forceful push. Not even half through the round of compressions, a rib shifted again and audibly broke under the tall woman's hands. She huffed astonished, but kept going, as if nothing had happened.

The young man to the patients right, was squeezing the vavle bag every few seconds, but her chest hardly expanded. Her o2 stats not climbing from that devastation low number.

The tall nurse finished her round of compressions and pulled her hands away. She was already out of breath, desperately looking at the monitor, before the doc even could demand a status check.

Nothing. The flateline stayed. "Epinephrine followed by anthrophine." The voice of the man in charge echoed through the room.

He looked at the tall nurse and the short man right after. "Change!"

The man handed her the ambu bag, so she could take it and continue to bag the young woman from the other side of the bed, while he was just about to lay his interlocked fingers on her sternum. Dark bruises in the middle of her chest from her last resuscitation were already there, new red ones had started to form at the edges of at least a few cracked ribs.

The male nurse was smaller then his tall colleague, but his arms were strong and the lifeless lady's ribcage started to carve in harshly.

Another rib just broke, but he kept going.

Until he reached the full 30 compressions, the sound of cracking or breaking ribs repeated itself a few times.

"Status?" The doctor yelled, when the nurse had finished, his strong hands stayed on her lifeless upper body. He could already feel her chest shaking under his hands, before someone even spoke up. "We got a shockable rhythm!"

"Lets roll!" The doc barked and with a more soothing, but still loud tone, he added. "You're not dying today, hunny!"

->Day10

My masterlist

[aswallowimprisoned]

Restless far from a Wine Dark sea - Sedation

Nurse Brunel checks in on a post-sedated vampiric merman to find their captive with significantly fewer inhibitions than normal..

Tw captivity, sedation, medical whump, drugging, injury, Dead Dove Jewish vampiric whumpee, religious whumpee

RestlessffaWDs' timeline is going off piste for @medwhumpmay

masterlist

≪ °❈° ≫

set maybe a month or two into Nathaniel Fogal's captivity. This is the first snippet that features Dr Elias Freid, a psychologist/therapist who is Nathaniel's main interrorgator alongside Logan.

≪ °❈° ≫

“This is Nurse Ivan Brunel, Post Sedation check on the merman known as Fogal, mer patient #3.” Ivan went through the familiar recording of medical protocol. “Due to the negative after effects of thiobarbiturates on the wellbeing and mood of the patient, anaesthesia for this set of tests was achieved using Propofol.” He snapped on fresh blue gloves as the pneumatic doors hissed open to reveal the sleeping form of the merman bound to his hospital bed. “It has been 30 minutes since the cessation of anaesthetics and removal of airway support, so patient is expected to be still experiencing significant sedative effects… And our resident mer psychologist Elias Freid is in observation bay to assess behaviours and provide therapeutic guidance if required...”

Ivan gave one last check of the monitor displaying the mermans blood oxygen, before unhooking the oxygen mask from his face and replacing it with nasal cannulas. Within moments, the sea monster’s face crinkled with the start of wakefulness at the smell of a human in the room, and he rolled his head to regard him, blinking sleepily.

“Glad to see you awake Fogal. We put you to sleep for a while, and I know you are probably still pretty sleepy.” Ivan kept his voice soft and calm, a familiar routine for waking patients from their deep sleep. Fogal murmured something unintelligible.

“I am just going to flash a light in your eyes now,” Ivan gently steadied Fogal’s head in his hand as he checked his responses. The merman’s pupils were blown wide, barely reacting to the light shone on them.

“Pupils are dilated and slow to respond to stimuli, but he seems both semi-aware and calm.”

Fogal closed his eyes and pushed his head into the palm of Ivan’s hand, chittering softly.

Ivan stalled for a second, before brushing his fingers though the young man’s hair. No - Fogal was not a young man, he was an ancient bloodsucking sea monster who just looked like a young man. And who, going from the delighted whirring noises, really liked getting skritches.

“Is this ok?” Ivan asked, more to the psychologist on the other side of the 1 way mirror than to the snuggly merman.

“Yes,” Elias’ voice came through Ivan’s earpiece, “Though still be careful with those teeth. Drugged means unpredictable. This behaviour is fascinating to watch. Even if he would not normally engage in such displays of affection with any of the staff here, it does suggest that he may exhibit this behaviour towards loved ones in a less stressful environment.” Elias was contemplative, "I wonder if he would be the same with someone he doesn’t like, say Dr Rana?” He was tapping information into the computer, the keys audible over the comms. “I mean, we know mer live in groups, so he is likely to be… touch starved. I do hope we can allow the captive mer to have social bonds sometime later in the project, but allowing touch when semi-sedated may be a good sign he trusts you to some degree...” 

 “I guess someone really likes Propofol.” Ivan smiled softly, “It is nice to see him calm. Even if that calm comes out a bottle.” Ivan moved to stroke the top of the merman’s head, and he let out another slew of chittering squeaks, drooling effusively.

“Indeed.” Elias hummed, “Do you reckon he is going to remember this next time he wakes up?”

“Vaguely. The levels of sedative in his system shouldn’t be high enough for complete memory loss, even if they have affected his behaviour...” Ivan replied.  

“Ok Fogal,” he raised his voice, and the merman focused his gaze on him, “Do you think you can describe how you are feeling right now, and if you are in pain?”

Fogal frowned comically before slurring out an affirmative noise.

“Ok…” Ivan swiped the merman’s doll out of the box at the end of the bed. The communication doll was one of the first tools Elias had introduced when he had started as the merman’s therapist, “Can you point on the doll where it hurts?”

Fogal groped clumsily at the doll’s arm, where Ivan knew the merman had a comminuted fracture to the ulna , then poked all round the top of the toy’s tail, mirroring the placement of the stab wounds on his body. All areas where he was expected to feel pain, but maybe some pain medication might not go amiss.

“Ok. And do you feel sick? or dizzy?”

A low hum for both assured Ivan that negative side effects of the Propofol seemed minimal. 

 “...And do you feel like you want to hurt anyone or yourself right now?”

Fogal shook the doll’s head. Then he started to stroke the stuffed merman’s hair. Ivan had to stifle a laugh as he ruffled his hair. “Good job answering questions, I just have a few more things to do, you can just doze off if you want.”

“That was good non-verbal communication!” Elias sounded impressed, “Propofol is looking good for the retention of awareness and reduction of anxiety.”

Ivan smiled as he put on his stethoscope and listened to the steady beat of the mermans heart. Fogal didn’t mind the cold metal, concentrating instead on wiping the plush merman doll’s head against his hip, crooning gently at the soft material against his bare skin. Ivan enjoyed the quiet - Fogal didn’t always wake up so calmly, the thiobarbiturates they had been using for anaesthetics triggering what appeared to be quite intense PTSD flashbacks. He peacefully allowed Ivan to use the tympanic membrane temperature probe, check his urine output into the box on the side of the bed, and other post-anaesthetic checks. 

“All done and looking healthy, Fogal. You can go back to sleep now. Can you give me the doll?”

Fogal looked up at him with watery eyes, glancing down to his doll then back up at Ivan.

“P’ease?” the merman asked hopefully.

“Dr Freid? Please advise.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Allow him to keep the doll Nurse.” There was a determined note to Elias' voice. “Unlike the previous situation where he tried to take something, the doll is not a choking hazard and has been requested fairly politely. Though this shall be discussed with Logan as his other handlers, I believe that having a possession will aid in a sense of security, and that the doll has great potential for further use as a communication tool."

Ivan gave the merman's hair one last ruffle. 

"Ok Fogal, you can keep a hold of it. Now let's get you back to sleep, ok?"

--888--

Nathaniel awoke theto the heavy tread of Nurse Brunel. Memories came back in dregs. Dr Rana had put him to sleep, so they must have done something to his body, though there were no new spots of pain...

“Hey Fogal, how are you feeling?”

His hands hadn’t cramped up as much as usual. They were clamped around something soft and thick, far better than the thin sheets he usually balled up in place of seaweed. He creased his brows and held up the item as best he could with his wrist still bound to the bed. 

The stupid rag doll stared back at him.

Nathaniel cocked his head in confusion, and looked up questioningly to his favourite nurse. 

“We sedated you for some tests, do you remember?”

Nathaniel nodded slowly, then wiggled the doll at him questioningly.

“When I went to check on you afterwards, you really wanted to keep a hold of the communication doll there. And Elias thought it may be useful for you to have him with you anyway.”

Nathaniel looked down at the soft little plush merman. His tail was the same pleasant deep red as Nathaniel’s own tail, his sewn-on expression one of peaceful neutrality.

He squished the doll’s head gently. A strange half memory rose of petting the doll's hair, and then of gentle fingers carding through his hair. Nathaniel scowled.

What would his interrogator think of him if he saw Nathaniel wanted to keep a toy?

- I. no. need. stupid. Communication doll. - He signed, trapping the doll under his wrist to form the words. 

“That’s ok too, Fogal.” Nurse Bruel spoke peaceably, “And you can let me know if you change your mind. Can you keep a hold of it while I check your eyes?”

Nathaniel nodded, and Nurse Brunel stepped forwards with a tiny bright light. Nathaniel surreptitiously shuffled Little Fogal under the sheet. He could barely see the little lump the doll made under the covers. He tucked it into the fabric and rested his hand back by his side. 

“Looking good, no post-sedation signs. I can take your oxygen mask off now.” Nurse Brunel took the bulky plastic off his face. Nathaniel wiggled his jaw.

- Thank you - He signed.

“No problem, Fogal. I’ll let you pray now, and Elias will be through for a session once you are done…”The nurse glanced down to Nathaniel's empty hand next to the little doll shaped lump, and the slightest smile appeared on his face. Nathaniel watched him warily, but all the nurse did was give him a swift gentle pat on the wrist before turning to leave the room.

Nathaniel squeezed his new possession once, and settled into prayer.

[miss-celestia13]

Memories and Echoes

TW: Loss, grief, hints at bad mental health, hope.

Before I learned to love myself

I knew your love

We never spoke it aloud

But I felt it, I saw it

When you looked at me

In the crinkles of your smile

And the crease between your brows

In the touch of your hand

Wiping salt from my damp cheeks

Later, in the sound of your voice

Unyielding but somehow gentle

As you coaxed me out of destruction

The nasal cannula framed your mouth

Life-saving air, strapped to your back

When you marched me out of hell

As you brushed soot from my skin

Ash from my hair, you said,

“Life won’t ever play fair, live anyway”

Painkillers, oxygen, countless other pills

You rattled when you moved

Wrestled for every breath

Still, you healed me

Taught me how to be

When you fell to rest

And I couldn’t follow

I swore never to squander

This life you preserved

Six years gone by

Like the leaves of a homesick book

I still know your love

Though I can’t see it now

I have your laugh, your war forged heart

Your sharp, dry-witted tongue

The slow deepening crease between my brows

An echo of yours

Your fierce refusal to let life break you

Lives in me

And I have your name

I keep it safe in the middle

Our twin grins live on

In a wildflower frame

~*~

- For my grandmother. She would laugh, roll her eyes, and call me a blithering eejit if she saw this 🤭 but I was always happy to make an absolute fool out of myself just to make her smile, and I hope she’s still laughing at me now.

[shion-yu]

Wait for Tomorrow

My entry for the spot “Hospital” for @hurtcomfort-bingo. 2,271 words, TW for hospital, chronic illness, discussion about potential death of a parent. Ft. OCs Cliff (toyhouse) and Al (toyhouse), plus their respective partners Elliot and Theo. 

The organ transplant unit reeks of hope and loss. There’s always someone who has just received something new and life changing, a very tangible second chance which is only thanks to someone else’s great sacrifice. There’s a little room that always has coffee and snacks, a room for meditating, a little gym, and a room that’s just for crying in. A huge window stretches across the entire end of the unit looking over the city providing sprawling views of the outside world: a world that people like Cliff needs to stay away from because it’s full of germs that could kill him.

Cliff’s thirty-one. He hoped he’d have more time to delay this, but he’d contracted aspergillosis at Christmas, right before Mia’s third birthday. Instead of celebrating his happy and healthy little girl on her special day, Cliff had been unconscious in the ICU, intubated. He’s only gotten to see her in person twice since waking up and it’s March now. Kids aren’t usually allowed on the unit because of the risk of infection. The doctor had let them break that rule twice, and Cliff knows he should be more grateful for it but he isn’t. He wants more, always more.

He misses his daughter more than he can stand. Elliot visits nearly every day and calls at least twice per day. He sends Cliff plenty of videos but it isn’t the same as being there. He watches Mia say new words only second hand through recordings and he’s not there to clap for her as soon as it happens. He’s not there to read to her and kiss her pudgy little cheeks goodnight. He wants to be there for everything, but instead he’s stuck here in this negative-pressure hallway. It’s a beautiful new unit, nicer and sunnier than any Cliff's ever been on before, and yet it feels like a prison.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels the couch he’s sitting on dip and Al silently hands him a tissue. Cliff mumbles a thank you and removes his oxygen to blow his nose, coughing into the tissue afterwards.

“Ugh. I hate crying,” he sniffles to Al. Al pats his back to try and comfort him, but doesn’t tell him it will all be okay. They’re both realistic enough to know that’s not always the case. 

“Me too,” Al says. “Hate getting snot in my oxygen.” He smiles knowingly with a humor that only someone experiencing the same thing as Cliff could really muster. Cliff laughs wetly, dries his eyes and puts his nasal cannula back in. He clears his throat and tries to remind himself that things could always be worse.

Al is waiting for his second set of lungs while Cliff waits for his first. Al got new lungs fifteen years ago, he says, which was a pretty good run of it. They’re not doing so well anymore, but he tells Cliff that he believes the medications are so much better these days. Al never had any kids, but Cliff can see that Al’s wistful about that fact. He acts almost like a father figure to Cliff while they’re stuck on this ward together, although age wise he’d be more like Cliff’s older brother. Cliff thinks it’s funny - when he was nineteen he did a summer internship with Al’s partner, Theo, at Theo’s law firm. He vaguely remembers seeing pictures of Al back then and Theo mentioning his partner was on the transplant list, but it hadn’t really meant anything to him at the time. He’d just said sorry and never thought about it again. He hadn’t known back then how privileged he was to have that mean nothing to him.

Theo recognized him when he came to visit Al, shortly after Cliff had left the ICU and was moved to this floor. Cliff was being pushed down the hall by Elliot when they heard a voice say, “Cliff Barrows?!” It was then that they made the connection that the new patient Al had made friends with was the same person Theo had once been a mentor to. Cliff mostly remembers Theo as unabashedly gay, something he didn’t think was possible for a lawyer at that time. He looks the same now, Cliff thinks, just a bit older and his hair’s starting to go gray. 

Theo asked Cliff if he ever became a lawyer. Cliff laughed and said, “No, I got sick and became a stay at home dad instead.”

Theo grinned at him the same way he had back when he was a teenager. “A dad!” He exclaimed. “Even better than a lawyer.”

Being a dad was better than being a lawyer, Cliff thought to himself. Being a lawyer was his dream and losing it had been incredibly painful at the time. Now, though, he can see it made way for other things in his life. He got back together with Elliot, they got married, and they had their beautiful daughter. Cliff wouldn’t have it any other way - except for the part where he’s stuck here, now. There’s no silver lining to this part, he thinks.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Al asks him gently. He has a way of saying this that makes it easy to confess everything, but also easy to say no if Cliff wanted to. He’s so calming and impartial. Cliff thinks he feels far better after his chats with Al than he ever did after therapy.

“Mia is going to pre-school in the fall. Elliot’s out visiting a few right now to see which one fits her. Both of us should be there, but it’s only him.” Cliff’s voice breaks sadly at the end of the sentence and he can’t say anything more.

Al nods. “That must be really hard,” he says gently. “I’m sorry you can’t be there too. I’m sure Elliot will make a great choice though.”

“Oh, definitely,” Cliff says. “I know that. But it’s not fair that he has to do it alone.”

“I understand,” Al says. He doesn’t have kids, but Cliff thinks he’s probably the closest person to actually understanding so he nods.

They stay there a bit longer just watching the sunset until they know they have to be back in their rooms at 7pm-8pm for shift change. Cliff doesn’t see the point, because every nurse on the unit already knows them and their details intimately, but nevertheless they insist on bedside report every twelve hours. Sometimes Cliff pretends he’s sleeping just so they’ll do it in the hallway so he doesn't have to hear all the depressing details one more time. He feels like nothing ever really happens, anyways. Sometimes he has good days, sometimes bad. He doesn’t feel the need to summarize further. Either way, he’s been here for months and won’t be going anywhere until they find him a pair of new lungs.

The idea that some poor stranger has to die for him to live bothers Cliff immensely, but since he’s had Mia he no longer questions if it’s the right thing to do. It’s not that he’s no longer morally confused, he is. But he’ll do anything to see his little girl grow up now, his role as a husband and a father the most important things to him in the world.

When Mia was born, that was the first time Cliff was actually happy to be in the hospital. She was so tiny, Cliff asked if something was wrong with her. No, they told him, she was perfect. He agreed. She was absolutely perfect.

Fatherhood suited Cliff far more than he had expected it would, considering his own parents had never been good examples. But as the stay-at-home parent and a perfectionist, Cliff naturally made it his job to do everything right. And in the process, he found he loved every moment with Mia, even the difficult ones. He kept her close to him and was always hyper vigilant about her wellbeing. He read many, many books. And every afternoon he’d tie up Rosie, their rescue dog, to the stroller and take a slow walk down the street. While their home was located in a nice neighborhood in Brooklyn, Cliff didn’t think New York City pollution was very good for either his own or his child’s lungs. However the socialization was important (for both of them) and more importantly, he wanted Mia to grow up to love people. He never wanted her to hide away from society like he had. And he never wanted her to doubt that her fathers didn’t love her and wanted to spend time with her.

He’s nursing a bad headache in bed when Elliot calls him to say goodnight. Cliff answers because he always answers Elliot no matter what. Back when they were younger Elliot barely left Cliff’s side when he had to spend long stretches in the hospital, but with their daughter it had to be different. She’s their priority, not Cliff, and they had promised to give her as normal of an upbringing as possible. Even with a chronically ill dad and famous papa. They had been doing a pretty good job of it, Cliff thinks. Sure she’d spent a lot of her early childhood in recording studios and doctors offices thanks to her dads, but she was happy and loved. That’s what mattered. It’s still what matters, but it’s so much harder when she doesn’t understand why one of them is suddenly nearly missing from their home, only available through video calls each night.

Elliot’s face pops onto the screen of Cliff’s phone. His black curly hair looks long and messy. He has dark circles under his eyes and Cliff’s heart aches knowing it’s his fault that he has to be a single parent right now. Still, his tone is cheerful and he smiles when Cliff answers. Mia is sitting in her chair at the dinner table behind him. “Hey babe,” he says. “It’s all dark, do you have the lights off?”

“Yeah, hang on,” Cliff says. He reaches over to turn on the lights even though they’re way too bright for his aching head. He squints at his family and puts on his reading glasses.

“Headache?” Elliot asks automatically. They’ve been married - been dealing with Cliff’s illness - for way too long for him not to know exactly what to expect. Cliff nods. “Aww, that sucks,” Elliot says. “Here, Mia will make you feel better.” 

Elliot moves around so that Mia is in full view and can see Cliff on the camera. Her face is messy with grains of rice stuck to her cheeks. Cliff chuckles. “Hi baby girl. Dinner’s kind of late, isn’t it?”

“Daddy!” Mia squeals happily. “Rice and chicken and peas.” Cliff assumes that’s what was on the menu for tonight. It’s what looks like is stuck to her hands, anyways.

“I got home late,” Elliot explains, “Haven’t even showered yet. God bless Paula.” Their nanny, always willing to stay later than planned when she needed to. She was brilliant, but Cliff felt sad every time he remembered she was doing the job he was supposed to be doing.

“Lion!”

“Yes, Mia, good girl,” Elliot says, poking the lion on her bib that she was wearing. She laughs. God Cliff misses that laugh. It sounds entirely different in person - in person it’s like he can feel it with his whole body. “Cliff? Hello? Anything new?”

Cliff realizes he’s been zoning out for several seconds and shakes his head. “No. Nothing new. Same old boring hospital.”

“Boring’s not a bad thing,” Elliot reminds him. Yeah, Cliff thinks. He could be in a coma still, that’s true. But he’d rather be at home fostering Mia’s newfound love for lions this week. They talk for a few more minutes but Cliff’s head hurts a lot and Elliot can tell, even though Cliff doesn’t say anything. He and Mia blow kisses to Cliff through the screen. Cliff closes his eyes and pretends he can feel them hugging him.

Elliot moves to the living room for a moment to ask Cliff privately, “Are you okay?”

“I just really miss you guys,” Cliff said. He takes a shaky breath. He doesn’t want to cry again.

“I know,” Elliot says. “We really miss you too. But we never know what might happen tomorrow! Or the next day.”

Cliff nods. He’s not an optimist like Elliot is, but he listens to his husband. It’s the only way he can continue on here when there’s so much waiting for him at home. “I love you,” Cliff says. “Thank you for everything.”

Elliot’s brow furrows in concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? Why are you thanking me?”

“No special reason,” Cliff says, forcing a tired smile. “I just want you to know it.”

“Okay,” Elliot says slowly, a bit puzzled. “Well... thanks.”

“Don’t thank me for thanking you. Then I have to double thank you.”

Elliot laughs. Cliff’s relieved he took that worried expression off Elliot’s face. He doesn’t want to make Elliot worry about him more just because Cliff’s missing home while Elliot is working so hard to hold everything in their family together. “Goodnight, Cliffy. Go to sleep. I love you and so does Mia. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you too.” Cliff hangs up and he thinks about tomorrow. Another day of phone calls and the hospital and being far away from his family. He doesn’t know how long he can keep doing this, but he has no other choice. He’s never been so determined to stay alive. Mia’s growing up with two dads, not one, he tells himself. So he’ll keep waiting, forever if he has to. 

[writersmorgue]

Febuwhump Day 20 - alt. "I love you"

Inspired by this art

TWs in tags || read on Ao3 || wc: 698

BNHA manga spoilers below

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He remembers seeing Kacchan’s lifeless body on the grounds of UA. He remembers how his chest was torn open and his blood was splattered feet away from him. He remembers seeing the All Might card lying at his boyfriend's feet, the one they'd opened together a decade prior.

He remembers the way his mouth was open, the ghost of his last breath still coated in blood on his lips. 

Kacchan's body had rustled unnaturally, Edgeshot's needle-thin body occasionally visible as it moved. 

He remembers seeing red, pitying the man who dared put Kacchan on the ground and laugh at him. 

His hope for Shigaraki’s rehabilitation was obliterated the second the villain killed his best friend. 

The rest of the fight was a blur; Hearing Kacchan’s first breath, pulling the boy into his arms, and wiping Shigaraki’s blood from his face. 

And suddenly, he’s in a hospital, four hours post-operation, arguing with the nurse. 

“You are in no position to get up, Midoriya-san. You definitely shouldn’t be trying to use the stairs!” He gripes, tugging at Izuku’s gown like a bratty child. 

“Fine, I will take the elevator.” 

“SIR!” 

Izuku turns, glaring at the man, “If you will not take me to Kacchan, I will take myself there.”

The nurse sighs, “Bakugo-san is not ready for visitors yet. You can visit him when you’re both ready.”

“I don’t need to visit him, I just need to see him. No one has even told me if he’s stable! I just assumed and you didn’t correct me!” Izuku throws his hands up, refusing to wince at the ache in his ribs. He leans back against the hallway wall, tugging his IV stand with him, “I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

The nurse shoots a quick glance down the hallway as if expecting to be reprimanded for even letting Izuku past the door, “I know it must be hard, I saw the fight on TV and I can’t even imagine how it was for you actually being there, but I can’t let you stay out here any longer.”

Izuku rubs his forehead, avoiding the staples, and walks the few steps over to the elevator. 

“You misunderstand. I am going to see Kacchan whether you allow me or not. So you can either tell me where his room is, or I find it myself and slowly bleed out in the hallways.” He smiles kindly, dark eyes betraying his irritation. 

The nurse gulps, even being several inches taller than Izuku, looks rightfully threatened. “He’s in a room on the 5th floor, directly above yours.”

Getting to Kacchan’s room was the easiest part of the excursion. 

Finally, he shuts the door behind him and takes in the room. 

The curtains are partially open, allowing moonlight to filter into the room. Kacchan is centered in his bed, nasal cannula and a new scar similar to Kirishima’s the only evidence of his fight to the death with Shigaraki. 

Izuku knows his nurse is outside the room, pacing. He disregards the warnings and moves to sit on the edge of Kacchan’s bed, the room silent aside from the hum of an oxygen machine and the grind of wheels on the tile floor. 

He lets go of his IV and takes one of Kacchan’s hands in his own. He knows Kacchan would call him sappy if he were awake, but he knows the blond is just as bad when Izuku isn’t looking. 

The boy looks so beautiful, even pale as he is, with eye bags that rival Izuku’s own. He can imagine those deep red eyes meeting his own. Kacchan would curse him to hell for being awkward, but Izuku only ever wants to commit that color to memory. 

His lips are chapped and there’s a little dried blood on his chin, but Izuku wants to kiss him more than anything. 

Kacchan’s hair is getting long, the blond spikes pushed back with a headband. His forehead is making a rare appearance, smooth and unmarred by the battle. 

Izuku leans down and places a gentle kiss to the skin there. 

The hand in his is a heavy, reassuring weight. 

“Hey Kacchan.”

I love you. Thank you for living.

[veneataur]

Whumptober 18/31

prompt: let's break the ice

fandom: Star Wars

words: 490

tw: wound cleaning but nothing graphic

a/n: This again is a continuation of the last day, day 17. The link is here for that. The story starts on day 15.

General Kenobi is a stubborn man, but Kix thinks he might have met his match in Commander Tano. Following their rescue from the prison complex, both had been residents of his infirmary. He’d released the Commander, though, after a couple of days of treatment and observation. The General, however, was still on a cocktail of powerful antibiotics to try to clear him of the infection that was ravaging his whip marks. It was compounded by pneumonia that had settled in his lungs, malnutrition, and the man’s own stubbornness.

Kix wishes it had just been some broken bones. Then it’d be a trip in the bacta tank, a little bit of physical therapy, and the General would be on his way. The deep infection took bacta treatment off the table. Not even now could he put bacta-infused bandages on the wounds to speed up healing. At least they were down to just a few rounds of wound cleaning a day.

Kenobi gasps when Kix starts working on a particularly deep cut. Kix keeps an ear out for further problems but doesn’t stop working. He also steadfastly ignores the glare he gets from Commander Tano. She’d had the option to leave but refused. According to what General Skywalker said Kenobi took the punishment for her. He’d found her holding onto Kenobi as he was struggling to breathe.

“Steady breaths, Master,” Tano says. She’s got a hold of one of his hands, the one without the IV. Kenobi’s breathing was shaking and shallow. He was on supplemental oxygen but having to lie on his chest during the cleaning and still fighting off pneumonia put a strain on his ability to breathe without issues.

Kix keeps working, forcing himself to remain careful and methodical despite the increasing gasps and quickened breathing. This infection has proved stubborn and as much as he’d like to stop to give his patient a break, he knows that Kenobi would rather he just get it done.

Then he hits a spot, one that he doesn’t think is particularly bad but Kenobi jolts and cries out. He instinctively pulls away from Kix, rasps turning into painful, wet coughs. Tano almost moves faster than Kix in getting Kenobi turned over. She settles in behind him, carefully pulling him against her chest as he coughs. Kix changes out the nasal cannula for a mask and checks Kenobi’s vitals.

Kenobi’s cough grows weaker, and Kix can see him leaning more into Tano. They’re on top of the pneumonia, but it’s going to take some time for his lungs to heal.

Tano starts talking to him, saying something quietly in his ear. Kix can’t quite make out what she’s saying but it seems to cause a bit of a stirring in Kenobi from his struggle to breathe. Kix sees him reaching a shaky hand out towards Tano, finding one of her hands where it’s helping to support him and giving it a light squeeze.

[whumpty-dumpty]

Political Animals (Mini-Series 2012)

GIF 1 - 4 + 8 - 9: S01E04

GIF 5 - 7: S01E01

GIF 10: S01E05

- requested by anon

[reyesstrand]

#9 for Tarlos please 🥰

thank you for the prompt! i hope you enjoy!! 💗

feel free to send me a number from this list. also available on ao3!

((tw: minor description of blood/injuries caused by a car accident)) 

Ever since he was a kid, he knew that it was hard to leave some calls at the scene.

Sometimes they lingered on the trip back to the firehouse, where a silence fell over the whole crew as nothing but dead air passed between their headsets. Other times, they dug in deeper, as if they were physical things with claws and teeth, refusing to be shaken off until something worse occupied their minds. He saw it enough with his dad when he was still a little too young to understand why he had to work such long hours; he saw it when the towers fell, and it was like he had to grow up overnight, practically set aflame at the thought that he could’ve lost his dad, like other kids lost their parents in a single moment.

TK doesn’t let that stop him from giving his all, though, even if that means he becomes too personally wedged into rescues.

It seems like it’s going to be a standard day, when they get the call from dispatch about a motor vehicle accident. The rest of the team seems to think the same thing—given the fact that they seemingly have no qualms about pushing him for the juicy details on his date night last night, only spurred on by the fact that Carlos had picked him up at the station yesterday afternoon and dropped him back off this morning.

“Come on, aren’t we supposed to be professionals here?” TK says, though he can barely get it out without smiling.

Immediately, voices erupt around him through his headset, all of them essentially calling his bullshit. Marjan smacks him in the shoulder. 

“Hey!” TK laughs, nudging her in the side with his elbow in retaliation. 

“If you spilled the details, maybe I’ll go easy on you,” Marjan says, cocking a brow, and TK rolls his eyes and barely suppresses a groan. 

“There’s nothing to tell?” TK tries, though he knows his lie is evident to all of them. 

“That hickey says otherwise,” Judd pipes up, and TK shoots him a glare. 

“Come on now, children,” his dad says, and TK huffs a little laugh. 

And then he looks out the window as the rig slows. 

“Shit,” Paul says, following TK’s line of vision. And, well, yeah. Because the road is a mess, various vehicles piled up. But it’s what’s at the heart of the accident that catches all of their attention: a semi-truck, tipped onto its side, with a dull grey car trapped underneath. 

“Okay, everyone, all hands on deck,” Owen says, all of them out of the truck the moment it comes to a full stop. They’re the first to the scene, only a few police cruisers trying to set up a barrier, and so he hears his dad yell to him that he’s on point for checking on the car driver. It’s all he needs to hear to immediately jump into action, even as his dad keeps shouting orders for Paul and Judd to grab the jaws and deal with the truck driver. 

He and Marjan move into a jog, hiking their gear up high on their shoulders. 

Once they get to the driver’s side of the car, TK knows it’s going to be a tough day. 

The driver is completely crushed under the weight of the steering column, the whole front of her car folded in like an accordion. There’s blood dripping from a gash on her forehead, and what looks to be a broken arm, and TK has only barely set eyes on her and he already doesn’t like the way she’s trying so hard to breathe. 

“Ma’am? My name’s TK, and this is Marjan, we’re AFD,” TK starts, the spiel coming out of his mouth without a second thought. Marjan clears the window of the sharp shards of broken glass, giving them more room to work; he meets her eyes and she nods, reaching down for her radio to call for the jaws and some extra hands. “Can you tell me your name?” 

“Rachel,” she gasps, and TK nods, pressing his fingers to her wrist that looks mostly uninjured for a pulse. It’s weak, but he tries to school his features so she can’t see his worry. 

“Marjan, we’re going to need to secure her neck, and once medical gets here we’re going to need to get her on oxygen,” he says, before meeting Rachel’s eyes. “Okay, Rachel, we’re getting you out of here. We just need a minute to secure you.” 

“Hurts to—breathe,” she stutters, and TK clenches his jaw. Marjan opens the backdoor of the car with a few good tugs, and slips into the seat, reaching around to place a neck brace on Rachel. 

“TK, tell me what’s going on.” 

His dad’s voice pulls him from listening to Rachel’s shallow breathing, and he responds: “Female driver, she’s completely pinned, Cap. Weak pulse, low BP—I need medical here now.” 

“They’re coming, maybe a minute out,” his dad says, sidling up to him. He looks through the car and meets TK’s eyes, both of them knowing how time sensitive this rescue is going to be. 

TK feels a little relieved when he sees Mateo arrive with a backboard, and Nancy and Tim trailing just steps behind him. Judd’s voice crackles through the radio, informing them that the truck driver’s only a little banged up. 

“Hey, Rachel, the paramedics are here now, okay?” TK says, though when she latches onto his arm, he squeezes her hand. “I won’t leave you.” 

She nods, looking at him with wide, scared eyes.

When Nancy gets the other side of the car open, pulling a nasal cannula from her bag and talking with Tim about her ABCs, TK keeps her looking at him. She looks like she’s going to drop any second, tears sliding through the grime on her cheeks, her breaths still too weak. 

“Hey, just talk to me,” TK says, his only thought to keep her awake. 

Rachel just starts crying harder. 

TK meets Nancy’s eyes from across the car, and feels Marjan at his side. “Hey, hey, Rachel. Listen to me. Do you have someone? Someone waiting for you at home?” 

“Lena,” she sniffles, her voice growing weaker. “We’re—we’re getting married in April.” 

“Tell me about her,” TK says, eyes pleading, barely registering the murmured conversation around them as a plan forms. 

“She’s always worrying about me, calls me a danger magnet,” she laughs wetly, and neither of them mention the blood that stains her lips. 

“Sounds like my boyfriend,” he tells her, and she meets his eyes, something hopeful presented in her gaze. “I got shot last year and burst my stitches a week later. He tells me all the time that I’m not allowed to go to the hospital again unless I want to send him to an early grave.”

Rachel smiles at him, faintly, and squeezes his hand. “She—she’s my best friend. I just want to see her again.” 

“You will,” TK says, before he can even think about what he’s promising. 

He steps back for a moment, being pulled into the plan from his dad. He’s left with the job of talking to Rachel, considering he’s made the most significant contact with her. 

TK takes a deep breath, and returns, frowning at her pained expression. “Okay, Rachel. We’re going to have to use some equipment to get you out, and I won’t lie to you, it’s going to hurt. But think of Lena, okay? I promise you that we’ll get you back to her.” 

“But my chest,” she groans, trying weakly to move against the weight pushing her down again. Both he and Nancy immediately reach out to settle her, hands on her shoulders. “I think I have a concussion, and—and it hurts. Everything hurts.”

“You’re going to see her, so soon,” TK promises, imagining what he’d want to hear if he were in her place. He thinks of Carlos, and knows he’d do anything if it meant getting home to him. “I swear to you. I will make sure you get home to her.” 

“TK,” Marjan whispers, and he meets her gaze before his eyes flit away. He knows what it means, to make impossible promises. But he fully intends on keeping this one. 

“Now, I’m going to count down from three, and me and my team are cutting you out of here, okay?” TK says, and she nods, eyes closing tight. “Think of Lena.” 

It’s a bit of a mess, once Owen starts them on the routine procedure, using the jaws and every tool they have to remove the driver’s door; to wedge her out from the steering column. Once she’s on the backboard and lifted onto the stretcher, they start losing her, and Tim immediately starts on compressions. 

TK holds his breath, staggering back against the car. Marjan squeezes his shoulder until they hear Nancy declare that she’s got a pulse. They rush her to the ambulance, and that’s supposed to be it. TK knows it. 

“Take a breather,” his dad says, cupping the back of his neck. TK nods, feeling exhaustion ache deep in his bones. “You did good, kid.” 

TK just nods again. Marjan knocks her shoulder into his before giving him some space, heading off to check the few witnesses still standing around for any superficial injuries. He ends up walking to somewhere private, which ends up being the back of the ladder truck, where he can lean against the paneling and keep himself upright. 

He doesn’t realize how out of it he feels until there’s hands gently cupping either side of his face, carefully tipping his head up. 

“Carlos?” TK’s voice sounds weak even to his own ears, and his boyfriend nods, looking concerned. 

“TK, are you okay?” Carlos asks, and it’s only when he drags his thumbs across TK’s cheeks and wipes away the tears there that TK realizes he’d even been crying. “Sweetheart...”

“I’m okay,” TK says, sniffing hard. “I swear. I’m just exhausted.”

He leans into Carlos’ touch, though, because he’s got his boyfriend here and doesn’t want to have to let him go just yet. 

He voices his desire, barely audible to anyone but his boyfriend. “Stay with me for a minute? I just need to—to get my head on straight.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Carlos whispers, and TK sighs and drops his head to rest against Carlos’ chest. 

“Just—just a rough call,” he murmurs, mostly into Carlos’ uniform. He feels a hand carding through his hair, and settles under the touch. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I’ll be wherever you need me, Ty,” Carlos says, ducking down to press a kiss to the crown of TK’s head. “Always.” 

[doctorthreephds]

Synapses: Part 5

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 2.7k

TW: Hospitals

Summary: You finally find the courage to confess your love. And then some. 

A/N: Just a note! This is the last part! Thanks so much everyone that’s been along for the ride. Enjoy <3!

Masterlist

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @green-intervention @eevee0722​ @jessicarabbit09​ @nazifa94​ 

The darkness surrounds you in a comforting blanket as a ray of light shines brightly, compelling you to walk toward it. At this point, you aren’t controlling your body as you’re sucked into the light, finding yourself at the small apartment in Paris that you lived in growing up. Cars beep outside the open windows as the warm summer air blows into the room.

“Mom?” you call out and walk into the living room, seeing your mom sip on a glass of wine by the window.

“Ah, my love. Come sit with me,” she says and you frown, taking a seat across from her.

“Am I dead?” you ask, looking out the window to see the Eiffel Tower shining bright above the city.

“No, you’re just healing. You came close though, it was stupid of you to stray away from that handsome boy of yours,” she winks at you as you turn to take her all in. She is as beautiful as the day she died and you take a sip of water from the other glass on the table.

“Spencer’s not my boy. He’s just a friend,” you state and shake your head.

“Ah, that’s not what I heard when you were on the phone with that tech friend of yours,” she puts down her glass and turns to look at you full on. For a moment, you’re able to imagine that you’re back in college, home for the summer after your Freshman year and enjoying the lovely Parisian summer. 

“If I’m not dead, then why am I here? Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you,” you smile and take her hand the feeling of her touch grounding you in the moment. 

“I’m here because I need to tell you that it’s time to live your life, my dear. Don’t let fear and grief hold you back from loving Spencer to the fullest. He’s just as scared as you are, but the two of you can have a beautiful life together,” she says and you feel tears begin to form in your eyes. You missed this, you missed her. The motherly wisdom that she could always impart on you, you missed everything about her.

“I’m scared,” you mutter, your voice cracking as the tears begin to fall down your cheeks.

“I know. But you’re not alone, you’re never alone. Don’t isolate yourself, you deserve more than that,” she takes your hand and places a kiss on the back of it as something begins to beep in the background.

“I love you!” you tell her before everything disappears. But it doesn’t matter. You know she loves you. 

A constant beeping wakes you from your sleep. As you take a deep breath, there is a soreness in your chest but no pain. Opening your eyes, the bright halogen lights blind you for a moment before your pupils adjust. You make out a figure sitting beside you, the familiar view of your father as he writes in his little black notebook. 

“Hi, Dad,” you croak out, your throat dry from the day before.

“Piccolo mio,” he stands up and walks over to your bedside, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Welcome back,” Dr. Kimura says as she walks over to stand in front of your bed. 

“Did you get the guy?” you ask and slowly try to sit up in the bed, your father nodding. “How’s Abby?”

“She’s on the mend. So are the three others. The strain and its cure are getting locked up in containment at Fort Deitrick. With all the other bio-agents people don’t know about,” Dr. Kimura states as you nod, feeling the warmth of your father’s hand in yours.

“I don’t want to know what else they might have locked up in there,” your father states and you shake your head at the thought. After studying toxicology for years, you knew that there were countless harmful substances that the government had to know about. It was inevitable. 

“I’ll leave you to rest. You should be able to be discharged soon once we monitor your progress and ensure you’ll be okay with the antibiotics,” Dr. Kimura smiles and leaves to tend to other patients while you look back at your dad.

“Where’s Spencer?” you ask.

“Send him to go take a shower and eat some decent food, he’d stayed all night,” your dad tells you and your heart warms in your chest as the aforementioned person walks through the ICU door. 

“You’re awake!” Spencer’s eyes light up as he sees you and walks over to the other side of your bed, a tray of coffee in hand.

“I’ll let you two talk,” your dad says as he grabs a cup from the tray and walks out, taking a sip.

Spencer gently hands you a cup, the tepid drink helping to warm your hands. Taking a sip, you deeply inhale all the smells and spices in the drink, lighting up when you realize it’s your favorite coffee from the cafe by the bookstore.

“It’s my favorite,” you remark and shyly smile up at Spencer who looks away bashfully.

“I wanted you to have something comforting when you woke up,” he mumbles and takes his own cup, sipping on it. There is a blanket of silence and comfort as your memory surfaces. You were ready to confess your love to Spencer as you were dying, but you were alive and well and he didn’t know. 

You think back to the countless days of eating together at his desk during lunch or traveling around to bookstores all over D.C. to try and find first editions. It wasn’t only these things that made you love him, it was his passion for learning. He was always learning and adapting, his mind working overtime like a computer that never turned off. 

Spencer also had a heart big enough to fill stadiums full of love, he cared so deeply for people even if he didn’t know how to show it. But, even if people don’t understand him, he shows his love in many ways. With this coffee, with the way that he brings treats to his friends when they are under the weather or sharing jokes and facts that make you laugh in a tense moment. There was so much to love about him, his mismatched socks and the fact that he could read several books in a day. The fact that he loves watching all sorts of movies and dresses like an old man but takes his coffee with the sweetness of a child’s palate. He is afraid of germs but doesn’t mind holding your hand when it’s cold or hugging you after you spend a Saturday together. Perhaps it was finally time you cemented your love for him.

“I love you,” you state and look up at his face, taking another sip of your coffee. Spencer freezes in place and your palms begin to sweat. Did you judge him wrong? Maybe he only loved you as a friend.

“Say it again,” he says and puts his coffee down, only to take your hand in his.

“I love you,” a smile grows on your face as he cups your face and places a big kiss on your forehead. A laugh bubbles out of your chest as your heart soars.

“I love you too,” it feels as if a weight lifts from your chest as you wrap your free arm around his waist and hug him tight. It’s a little bit awkward with all the wires attached to you and the nasal cannula, but no ounce of discomfort can match the joy that fills your entire body. 

“Ah, bravo. The two of you finally got past all your pining,” your father enters the room and you blush, hiding your face in Spencer’s chest. “Don’t break her heart because I could kill you and get away with it.”

“Dad!” your eyes widen and you stare at your father in shock as he shakes his head.

“I’m kidding. There is no better match made in heaven than the two of you nerds. Took you long enough, though. I married your mother and divorced her in the timespan that the two of you were dancing around each other,” he says and checks his watch. “I have to get to my reports, but I assume you can take her home when she’s discharged?”

Spencer nods and your father bids the two of you farewell, kissing you on the forehead before leaving. Humming softly, your eyes begin to droop as the medicine continues to course through your veins. 

“Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up,” Spencer plants another kiss on your forehead as you lie back and succumb to the alluring pull of sleep.

A couple of months later.

Waking up on the morning of your birthday, you try to bite back the disappointment of no messages and no calls. You expected something from your dad at least, an exciting text talking about how he had a bottle of wine with your name on it, but nothing. Shaking your head, you look out to the beautiful D.C. skyline and bottle it all up. You would be mad later. For now, you could enjoy being a year older. 

After grabbing a cup of your favorite drink from the local cafe and getting onto the metro, the day appears to be going alright, if not a bit disheartening. The air was beautifully crisp and your outfit was empowering so it was enough to get a jumpstart on your day. 

When you finally arrive at the Bureau and take the elevator up to your floor, your phone still not buzzing or ringing. It was fine, you had work to do anyway. You work swiftly and quietly to yourself, getting in the zone as you look at some evidence and analyze a couple of things in the lab. Working through reports, you find yourself forgetting about the fact that your genius boyfriend had forgotten your birthday. You guess that even people with eidetic memories can forget sometimes. Even with the distraction of paperwork, there was a small sting in the back of your chest. 

Snacking throughout the day, your stomach growls once you pack up and feel your emotions begin to boil over when your phone is void of any notifications. Birthdays tend to be disappointing mostly because of the expectation associated with them, but you didn’t expect to so disregarded. Just as the tears begin to form in your eyes, you get into the elevator and feel your phone vibrate in your hand.

From Spencer (6:36PM):

I’m waiting in front to pick you up. <3 

As you wipe a few rogue tears from your cheek, you frown and exit the elevator, walking out to the front entrance. Just where he said he would be, Spencer is sitting in his car looking out to you with a goofy grin on his face. You smile slightly and open the car to see a small package waiting on the passenger seat.

“What’s this?” you ask and climb into the car, placing the present on your lap.

“You didn’t think we forgot, did you?” he asks and reaches over to place a sweet kiss on your lips. You take his hand in yours and kiss back, pulling away slightly to look at him for the first time today.

“I mean, I didn’t get any messages,” you mumble and smile a bit sadly.

“Penelope would never forgive me,” he says before turning back forward and beginning to drive. “Now let’s go before we’re late.”

“Where are we going?” you ask and look over at him.

“It’s a surprise,” he states and you shake your head, looking out at the window as you get onto the freeway.

“Can I guess?” 

“Of course you can, but I’m not going to tell you,” he glances over and squeezes your hand before turning back to the road.

“Is it my dad’s house?” you ask and watch as Spencer licks his lips. “It’s totally my dad’s house, you just licked your lips.”

“What?” Spencer lets go of your hand to place both hands on the wheel. “That doesn’t mean yes or no.”

“No, but you’re nervous and that’s what you do when you’re in deep thought, so it’s totally my dad’s house,” you state smugly and readjust yourself in the seat, a huge grin on your face. The rest of the ride is filled with your bickering as the dulcet tones of Beethoven playing in the background. It’s oddly picturesque, but your chest is warm with the idea of this being the rest of your life. Spencer was it for you.

As you drive through your father’s neighborhood and make it to his mansion, you feel nervously excited seeing all the cars in the driveway. You could make out almost everyone’s car, sans JJ. She probably had to go see Will and Henry or was on her way with the two of them.

Stepping out of the car, Spencer’s present in hand, he moves to walk behind you with his hands in front of your eyes.

“What are you doing?” you ask as he carefully guides you to the front door. 

“What do you think the radio silence was for? It’s a surprise!” he remarks as the door swings open in front of you.

“Surprise!” several voices ring out as Spencer’s hands wrap around your waist. In front of you is your father, Derek, Penelope, Emily, and Hotch. Your father walks forward and wraps you in a huge hug, squeezing you tight.

“Happy birthday, piccolo!” your chest hurts a little from how tightly he squeezes you but he is quickly replaced with the loving arms of Penelope. Her hugs are the warmest and the tightest so you feel like your lungs might collapse.

“Happy birthday!” she says and you shake your head, looking around.

“Why all the cloak and dagger? I kind of assumed we’d all be spending it together,” you look around at everyone as you and Spencer step into the foyer.

“You’ll see,” Penelope’s eyebrows wiggle as she loops her arm around yours and drags you to the kitchen. There, a whole meal is laid out as well as a beautiful cake and presents on a small table off to the side. Streamers and banners are hanging all over the house, probably courtesy of Penelope, and everyone fills in around the island.

“Bon appetit!” your father announces and everyone begins to dig in and find their way to the table outside in your dad’s backyard. The night was clear and everyone makes small talk as you enjoy your food. 

In the moonlight, Spencer is stunning and you feel your heart skip a beat. He had to have helped orchestrate this entire thing, but you can’t help but wonder why it was all kept a secret. After eating, Derek and Emily bring out the many presents on the table.

Penelope gifts you a beautiful picture frame with a photo of everyone on the night you celebrated your new job and Derek gives you a photo of a bookshelf he built for all the new books you had bought. 

“What’s this for?” you ask.

“You’ll see,” he responds as you open up Hotch’s gift. It’s a larger rug, one that you didn’t need because you had decorated your apartment well. Emily gives you a record player and your father gifts you a wine bottle holder.

“What’s all this for? I don’t have anywhere to put it,” you let out a nervous laugh as your dad points at the small box that is Spencer’s gift.

Glancing over at your boyfriend he smiles nervously back at you as you pick up his present and peel back the brown paper it’s wrapped in. You pull out a beautiful gold key and a little note that says ‘Move in with me?’ As the words process, you are quickly overwhelmed with joy as you wrap Spencer up in your arms.

“Of course I will, you doofus,” you mumble and hug him tightly, your arms wrapped around his neck. Pulling back, you press your lips to his sweetly and laugh as everyone claps around you. If fireworks could go off, they would be sparkling behind the two of you as you bask in his embrace. He is your home, the person you looked forward to seeing all the time. 

This would be the first birthday spent with all of your favorite people and the first of many. You wouldn’t isolate yourself any longer. It was time you relished in the love that you deserved. 

[alstublieft]

TW: hospitals, mentions of blood and death

"i don't want to die"

"that's not going to happen. i'm never going to let that happen. do you hear me? you're going to be okay."

robbe looks at his lover with teary eyes and a splattered blood stained face, a nasal cannula inserted in his nose, pouring oxygen in to his lifeless frame.

sander grips his hand, knuckles turning white from how hard. his own eyes filling with tears as he watches his boy lay in a hospital bed and cough out his fears.

"you don't know that"

"i do robbe, i know you're going to be okay. minute by minute, remember?"

robbe tries to scoff, only resulting in abdominal pain, instead he chokes out "i can't believe you're using my own words against me"

sander leans over and places a soft, warm kiss on robbe's aching forehead, "not against you my love; for you. everything i do, i do it for you."

robbe looks up and sander, somehow he still manages to get butterflies after years of being together. his sore stomach flips and he scans the blonde's face for any sign of doubt; and of course he finds none.

i'm going to be okay, robbe silently repeats this mantra in hopes it'll come true.

he's going to be okay, sander prays, he's never been much of a believer, but for robbe, he'd pray to every god out there.

[its-my-whump]

Medwhump May- Day 22 Alt 12

Shaking

@medwhumpmay

Tw: absolutely no medical accuracy, sorry, unconsiousness, shivering

Part 22 (all others here)

With her last effort, her fingers curled around the call botton and her thumb pressed it down hardly enough, before she slipped into unconsciousness.

A nurse came strolling into the room. When she saw the mess on the bed and machines going haywire, she hit her fist against the emergency button on the wall behind the bed.

While rounding the ladys bed, she yelled for more assistance. Her left hand went for the box on the wall, while she felt for a pulse against the unconsious woman's neck. It was there and it was steady. She put on the blue latex gloves and gently lifted thed lady's head out of the puddle of liquidy vomit. Her face was covered in it too, there was something against or even in her nasal cannula. The blond nurse just pulled the tube from under her nose, while positioning her dangling head on the cushion.

The half opened door was push further, so it bumped into the wall. 2 more nurses, one male, one female and a lady doctor on sight all of a sudden.

The doctor pulled the stethoscope from her neck and got the teinted hospital gown out of the way. The lady stired that exact moment, she was coming around. Her eyes fluttered, but instead of opening them, her body began to shiver. Slight moans left her bloodless, wet lips. Her body began to shake uncontrollably, hands and feet were trembing violently. All hands were on her body instandly. The female doctor was trying to talk to her patient, but the lady was way too out of it, to even recognise, what was going on at all.

"Get me a sedative." The doctor pierced her male colleague with her eyes. It was nothing personal, just her concerns for this particular patient, that kept spiraling down more and more.

His gloved hands left the shaking body and he made 2 brisk steps towards the cupboards by the wall. A drawer flew open and a few seconds later, he filled a syringe from a glass viol, he was holding upside down. He was back another moment later and pushed the plunger of said syringe, emptying the contense into the little thrembling lady's IV line.

The shaking slowed down almost on the spot. Her eyes opened for a brief moment in a visible state of shock and confusion. Then they suddenly rolled back, that only the white was seen and the fragile body fell deadly still under all their hands.

He threw the empty syringe on the floor and took a gentle, but firm hold of her shivering shoulders again.

The lady doctor, the stethoscope was still in her ears, hanging down in front of her chest, lifted the chestpiece and took a listen to her heart and lungs.

The first nurse disconnected the cannula from the wall and exchanges it with a new one, which she hung at a hook on the wall for now. The old flexible hose went into the trash bin.

The male nurse got a wet cloth and was already wiping the lady's vomit covered face.

The female doctor instructed the second female nurse to administer more medication. The woman's vitals were stable, her breathing swallow, but her o2 stats didn't drop to a critical level.

The doctor and the first nurse rolled the unconscious naked body to the side, while the other two exchange the bedsheets, pillow case and cover of the blanket.

The lady was rolled back onto clean sheets and put into a new hospitalgown.

The new nasal cannula set in place under her nose and sneaked around her ears. She was even paler than before, but she was stable and sedated for the time being

->Day23

My masterlist

[kldubois]

Lessons in Looking 11/?

Title: A Chilly Dip

Words: 1439

TW: child in peril

The cold is the first thing she feels when she hits the water and for a second it stops her. She can’t think, can’t move, doesn’t want to because the water saps her strength, bites through the skin. But then she remembers why she’s jumped in: a young boy, maybe seven or eight fell in and couldn’t swim against the current. Marla was there with her, so was Nate, but he was in the middle of explaining something about his research and Evie reacted quicker. It must be her training with Chuck. That training doesn’t help much in the water, though. It’s a few seconds of thinking to keep pushing herself forward until the adrenaline kicks in and she swims without thought of the cold and rushing water.

The boy fights her when she grabs hold of him. He kicks her in the chest and she chokes on water as she gasps for air. When she grabs for him again, she catches him so that his back is against her chest. It makes breathing harder and without her arms, she has to kick more with her feet to keep their combined weight afloat. He kicks and flails his arms, catching her, scratching and bruising where he hits.

She has to get back. They’re already floating further downstream, the rushing water pushing them quickly. Before joining the company and training with Chuck, she wasn’t very strong. She might’ve been able to do a few push-ups and perhaps half a pull-up but now she has more upper body strength; Chuck wrote her up a strict regimen.

Evie shifts the boy in her arms; his kicking and arms flailing is slowing, which means that she can’t dally in working to get them out of the water. With one arm secure around his chest, she uses the other to swim back to shore, kicking with as much strength as she has. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Marla and Nate and some other people that might be police and paramedics. She keeps their shoes in her line of sight, swimming against the current to reach them.

Halfway there, her muscles are burning. Every stroke brings her just a little closer, but it still seems so far away and it takes so long for just this short bit. She thinks she doesn’t have the energy to keep going forward. But then she hears, faintly, her friends calling to her, encouraging her to keep moving and she feels how limp the boy has gotten. Has he lost consciousness? Is he still breathing? Is he even alive? She has to get him to safety. She has to keep going.

So, she does. She forces her burning muscles and her cold body to move, to keep kicking and swimming towards the edge where her friends and safety are.

When she gets there, fighting the current with a grip on a branch, she works to hand off the boy, who is indeed unconscious, which makes grabbing hold of him difficult, especially in the wet clothes that weigh him down. Once the boy is secure, one of the police officers reaches out to grab hold of her, grasping at her wrist when she finds herself taken away by a sudden burst of water.

Taken by surprise and overcome with exhaustion, Evie finds herself tumbling in the water. She goes under often despite kicking and flailing to reach the surface. Quickly, she doesn’t know which way is up and stops the effort of swimming to anything in the hopes that her body will naturally rise to the surface. Besides, she wants to conserve the energy she has for when the current isn’t so strong. In the meantime, the water knocks her into rocks and branches, scratching and bruising her as she struggles to catch her breath in the chaotic movement.

As sudden as it starts, it seems, it’s over when she’s slammed against a large branch that’s fallen into the river, the top ending about halfway across. It takes what little air was in her lungs out. Her back ignites in pain and her vision goes black when her head smacks the branch. Faintly, she hears yelling but she can do nothing about it, reeling from the hit as she is. Cold and hurting, taking her next breath, forcing her lungs to expand and her mouth to gasp for air, is hard enough, taking all of her concentration. She doesn’t see the man sitting preciously above her under he’s reaching to tie a rope around her waist. It’s awkward and she tries to help but she’s more a hindrance. He gets the rope secured around her, the tightness digging into her already aching chest. Then she’s being pulled, against the current.

At this point, she doesn’t feel the water or the cold. She doesn’t even quite realize that she’s being dragged out of the water until she is. Then it’s a flurry of activity as she coughs and tries to catch her breath. She’s quickly stripped of her outer layers, down to her underwear and wrapped in a thick blanket. One of them carries her to the back of an ambulance where Marla and Nate just manage to jump in before the doors close to keep the cold and wind out. There, the paramedic puts a pulse ox meter on her finger, checks her pulse, and puts a nasal cannula on her to ease her breathing.

She hisses as the paramedic prods her chest and back. He pushes too hard on one developing bruise and Evie starts, pulling away as she curls on her side.

“St…st’p,” she mutters.

“I have to make sure there’s no serious injuries, ma’am,” the paramedic says.

“N… not. F… fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Nate says. “You’ve got some bad cuts and scrapes, not to mention the bruising that looks like it’s starting to develop.”

“H…had to do… it.”

“Of course you did,” Marla says with surprising gentleness given the situation. “Now, would you be a good girl for me and let the paramedic take a look at you. You’ve probably broken something.”

“Though’ ‘bou’ it. H… had to do it.” Evie’s voice is weak with exhaustion and pain.

“I know and right now, you need to let the paramedics get a look at you. I’m not upset.”

“Not m… mad?” At the surprise in Evie’s voice, Marla wonders if she gets too mad, too often to make her friend fear her anger about injuries.

“No, but you do need to get looked at. You’ve got some bad bruises. There might be some broken bones, too. Okay?”

“Okay.” Evie nods and gently turns onto her back so the paramedic can resume his examination. It hurts despite his attempts to be careful. There’s bruising on her back and abdomen as well as cuts and scrapes on every bit of exposed skin. Wrapped in the blanket, she’s a little warmer, but the chill is still present.

“Alright, I’m going to secure you so we can take off. Your body temp is a bit low and with all of your coughing as the bruising, the doctors in the ER are going to want to get a closer look to make sure that you’re okay,” the paramedic says. “You two coming along?” He looks to Marla and Nate.

“Can we,” Nate asks at the same time that Marla says, “Yes.”

“Yes, you can. Just make sure that you stay out of the way.”

“Will do,” Nate says. The paramedic starts securing Evie to the gurney, though she doesn’t notice much having been hit with another coughing fit. By the time they’re taking off, the fit is over and she’s exhausted. The chills and coughing are taking what little energy she had. Marla sees her misery and pulls up the blanket while the paramedic is recording some notes.

“You’ll be fine,” Marla says quietly, brushing some stray hairs off of Evie’s face.

“C…cold.” Evie wants to get back on her side, but the straps have her secured on her back.

“Do you have another blanket,” Marla asks the paramedic. He glances at Evie quickly and then turns to pull a blanket from one of the cabinets.

“This one is heated, but I’m only putting it on a low setting. Warming you up too quickly could be dangerous.” He unfolds the blanket and messes with a switch before replacing her old blanket with this one. Immediately, she feels the warmth and lets out a small moan of content. Marla chuckles lightly at the sight and settles back on the bench next to Nate for the rest of the ride.

[screamlikeroisin-blog]

hello ! shay here and this is my lil’ banshee bb roisin. she has the start of a pinterest board here (x) and has a page for her overall stats here (x). she’s still a work in progress but i love her and i hope you all do too !!!

MADELAINE PETSCH, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER, BANSHEE   / deep in the pacific northwest lives ROISIN ALANNAH WALSH. i heard they’ve been living there for four years and last saw them hanging around the devil’s brew cafe, i think they might’ve been drinking coffee to offset the effects of rampant insomnia. at twenty-five years old, roisin doesn’t look a day over twenty-one.  everyone around here always associates them with lips painted the color of bruised blackberries, the edges of a worn tarot deck clutched in an anxious grasp, and the clear quartz pendulum hung on sterling silver around the sweep of her neck. hope they enjoy their stay !

(TW: DROWNING, CANCER, SELF HARM & ALCOHOL ABUSE)

Growing up, Roisin had it all. The only child of an Irish immigrant father and American mother, she wanted for nothing. While they weren’t rich what they couldn’t afford was more than made up for in love. Her childhood home was a modest tudor situated just a half hour from the New England coastline. Having grown up in Killeen Ireland, her father believed that there wasn’t a malady that couldn’t be cured by sea sprayed caress of the ocean wind. Any malady, that is, until Roisin started transitioning into a banshee at the tender age of 16. Up until then her childhood had been rather uneventful. Highly intelligent, Roisin had breezed through school with high grades and a lengthy list of extracurriculars that would have impressed any parents. Her close knit group of friends had seen each other through from kindergarten all the way to the hallowed halls of high school. Everything was looking bright, until the summer before her sophomore year.

The days of summer vacation were numbered and not wanting to squander a single one, Roisin drove herself to the beach. The ocean was deceivingly calm on that Tuesday afternoon, so much so that Roisin was drawn out further than she realized. By the time that awareness had set in she had already started to panic, her lungs drawing in great gasps of air and her limbs flailing in a desperate bid to save herself. As she slid down into the depths she couldn’t help but wonder at the sight of her copper curls against the sunlit blue of the Atlantic. Her next memories were of salt chapped lips and the push of air through a nasal cannula. The Catholic priest at her bedside whispered to her distraught parents of miracles and her deliverance to the shore with the kind of absolute faith she would come to envy.

Roisin could have sworn that part of her died that day.

That following winter, on one dreary December night Roisin experienced her first vision— one of her mother, paper skin clinging to a wasted body that was surrounded by a chorus of beeping machines and pumping IVs. The cacophony of sound slowly faded until the only noise she could hear was the rattling sound of her mother’s last breath. So frightened by this experience was Roisin that she insisted her mother make an appointment to see her doctor. The news came less than a month later— Constance Walsh had stage four breast cancer. She would not live to see the next year.

The mind she once trusted to solve math problems or buoy her through the valley of grief began to betray her. Roisin was plagued by the onset of nightmares foretelling of all kinds of death and destruction. Even her waking moments were not safe. The once bubbly and precocious girl became withdrawn and hedonistic, her schooling and friendships falling to the wayside as she became trapped in the prison of  her own mind. Seeking solace from these thoughts, Roisin turned to self-harm and alcohol to furnish a temporary escape. The reprieve they offered sustained her through to her high school graduation. Without the familiar structure that school offered or any kind of direction for what she wanted for her future, Roisin’s destructive tendencies amped up. Unwilling to lose his daughter, Breccan Walsh had Roisin admitted to a psychiatric stay. The irritation of being pulled out of her reverie soon gave way to a kindling hope that the doctors would be able to help her. This hope was blighted as she descended into visions of the staff and patients around her. She was released, weeks later, her system laden with prescriptions that left her numb and blank.

As the years went on Roisin started to claw her way out of the dark hole of her mind. While the visions and nightmares still plagued her, she started to find ways of coping that were, albeit marginally, better than what she had turned to before. Reading and a steady caffeine addiction allowed her to combat insomnia. Unable to accept a faith that allowed for such suffering, Roisin turned to atheism. She channeled her clairvoyance and the anxiety that accompanied it into reading tarot cards. Anything that could make her feel some semblance of normal was fair game. In that vein of thought, Roisin started researching her symptoms— a choice that would lead her to move to Arcane Falls at the age of 21.

[shion-yu]

Day 19: “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” (alt)

996 words, Cliff and Elliot fluff with no TWs. @sicktember

Cliff had been coughing for days on end now. It was a wet, harsh cough that wracked his whole body and left him too exhausted to do anything else. Elliot brought him to the doctor, where he was diagnosed with RSV and told to stay in bed as much as possible. Usually, RSV wouldn’t cause a cough like this. But it was Cliff, and Cliff’s lungs already struggled on the best of days. Add in a virus and it was a recipe for disaster.

It started on Thursday night. They were walking Clover after dinner when Elliot first noticed Cliff struggling. His cough seemed a bit worse, more frequent than usual. Maybe it was just the cool fall air, Elliot thought, but then he noticed other things: Cliff was stumbling even with his crutches and his face looked pale, always a sure sign that he wasn’t feeling well. “Cliff? You okay?” Elliot asked.

“Fine,” Cliff said, coughing away. But on the elevator up to their apartment, Elliot could see the glazed look in his eyes that signaled an incoming fever. He wrapped his arm around Cliff and could feel him shaking a little. 

“Cold?” Elliot asked him.

“A little,” Cliff shivered. Elliot stayed close and ushered him into their apartment, where he unleashed Clover and then told Cliff to change into something comfy. Inside the warmer house, a blotchy flush had formed on Cliff’s cheeks. 

Elliot warmed up the hot water bottle and brought it to Cliff in their bedroom. “It’s not that bad,” Cliff said. “Thank you though.”

Elliot rested a hand on Cliff’s forehead anyways, humming in disapproval. “You’ve got a fever,” he said.

“Do I?” Cliff asked weakly. As if he didn’t know, Elliot thought. As if there was any way Cliff wasn’t feeling sick by now. But his boyfriend was so used to pushing through pain and discomfort every day, maybe he really didn’t know. 

That night, Cliff began coughing in earnest. He wasn’t able to sleep for more than a handful of hours without waking up struggling to breathe, so Elliot sat behind him and held him so he could sleep sitting up. He ran Cliff’s nebulizer, humidifier, and made sure Cliff’s oxygen was running at a higher flow than usual. By morning they were both exhausted, and that was when Elliot dragged Cliff to his doctor’s. 

Cliff got scripts for steroids and strong cough syrup, although he already had both at home. The doctor told Elliot to check Cliff’s oxygen periodically, and to go to the ER for anything sustained below 86%. Cliff’s baseline was lower than the average person’s, Elliot knew, but 86% still sounded so low to him. 

At home, Elliot was dutiful in making sure Cliff was taken care of. He checked vitals, kept Cliff as comfortable sitting up as possible, and administered meds on time. “Relax, El,” Cliff told him weakly. “I’m going to be fine.” But it was hard to believe him when he there was an audible wheeze to his breath, and they’d ended up in the emergency room so many times when it was “fine” before.

“You need to sleep,” Cliff told him on the evening of the second day of his illness. Elliot shook his head. How could he sleep when he was so afraid Cliff might stop breathing again? They’d hooked up the continuous O2 monitor by now, which would wake them both up with a shrill beeping sound if Cliff’s oxygen dropped below 89%. But Elliot felt better if he could see Cliff breathing for himself. After all, Cliff had yanked the sticker off of his finger in confusion to make the noise stop when his saturation had been critically low more than once before. At that point he’d usually start pulling his nasal cannula off too, and at worst, wandering. A hypoxic Cliff was a confused Cliff, and when Cliff was confused he had the tendency to get into trouble.

Elliot held out as long as he could, listening intently to Cliff’s labored but present breath sounds until the wee morning hours. He could hear birds chirping outside and the first rays of morning light were filtering through the blinds when he finally fell asleep, his head in Cliff lap.

He woke to a harsh cough. He blinked in confusion, realizing at some point he’d migrated to his side of the bed to lie down properly. Cliff was next to him, attempting to muffle his coughing into a pillow clutched to his chest. Elliot sat up and rubbed his back, still half asleep. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Cliff choked out between wheezy breaths. 

“It’s fine,” Elliot said sleepily. “Here, sit up some more.” He dutifully slid behind Cliff once again, holding the thin and shaking frame of his husband in front of him. “Try and slow your breathing.”

Cliff was trying, but it was hard. Almost too hard, but eventually he managed to wait out the coughing spasm and slumped back against Elliot. “Sorry,” he panted. “You were sleeping so sweetly, too.”

“Was I?” Elliot asked, amused and affectionate as he ran a hand through Cliff’s sweaty hair and tucked Cliff’s bangs behind his ear. “Were you watching me?”

“Maybe,” Cliff said, a smile audible in his weak voice. “You need to sleep too, you know.”

“I know,” Elliot said. He hadn’t always known. He used to stay up worrying over Cliff for so many hours, even when they weren’t living together. But by now he’d realized he couldn’t be a good caretaker if he didn’t rest occasionally. It was a work in progress, and one with a lot of room for improvement, but at least he wasn’t chugging energy drinks to stay awake these days. 

Cliff shifted in his arms, his warm body feeling so light against Elliot. “Try and sleep some more. I’m okay now,” Cliff murmured. 

Elliot kissed the side of Cliff’s head. “If you say so.” He was asleep in seconds.