#whumperless whump event day five: wheezing

[seth-whumps]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 5

Wheezing - whumpee Morrigan - 978 words

CW: panic attacks

--

There is something in their lungs.

Morrigan is not programmed to panic. Unless it's on command, or necessary for the sake of appearance, they are not supposed to freak out. A level head and calm tones are perfect for dangerous situations. It is part of what keeps them away from the company–that they function as intended. 

However, they are panicking. 

It feels like… spiderwebs. Like something has built a nest in their artificial chest and all of the fans and cooling systems have become cluttered with the dust of its new resident. It feels like they are choking.

Which is why they're now standing in front of Jace's apartment, with the key he gave to them not even a week prior.

They knock. An error flashes onto their vision. It's a warning, low oxygen content. Soon enough, their cooling system are going to start complaining too. Overheating is a problem.

This whole thing is a problem, and the feeling of discomfort in their chest is making their hands shake as they push the key into the lock.

Morrigan has no god but the ones that put them together. But they pray to whatever is out there to let Jace be at home.

“Woah, hey, terminator, what's–Morrigan? What's wrong?” Jace's face drops the moment he sees them. Concern is a rare expression for him, when he's speaking to them in particular.

They must be genuinely panicking now. “I can't breathe.”

“What? Come here, sit down, is it a technical thing? Why did you come to me?”

They are guided to the bed and the next breath they take is a horribly mechanical wheezing thing. But they run yet another diagnosis and their lungs are undamaged and unencumbered and they don't understand, they don't–

“Hey–Morrigan, you're psyching yourself out, you gotta relax.”

“I'm not supposed to–” they try to say, and their voice is glitched and wrong and they can feel Jace flinching away from him. “Sorry, I don't–know what's wrong.”

“You're alright. I think you're freaking out, is there something else? Did you check for, I dunno, a virus or some shit? Or–”

“No. Not a virus. Just.”

There’s nothing left to do. There are no errors. No abnormalities within their lungs, no differences in their cooling systems, but they cannot breathe and the only person there to help is someone who hates them more than anything else in the world.

Something grabs their hands.

At first they flinch, but the grip is strong and unmoving and grounding. Jace’s. He’s there. They are not alone.

“I don’t know how you breathe but I’ll give it my best shot, in for four beats, I’ll count. Come on. Hey. Breathe in for four.”

They try to follow. It catches, and wheezes out all in one breath, in one horrid mechanical jerk.

“Again. Let’s try again. One, two, three, four, good, you’re doing great, now hold it for seven counts. It’s okay. It’s alright.”

They don’t make it to seven, it rushes out of their lungs, but something in their head is clearing, somehow, and Jace doesn’t seem afraid anymore. Just concerned.

Concerned for them. That’s… new.

“Let’s go again. Good. Hold for seven counts, then breathe out for eight. You’re doing fantastic.”

The cycle continues. Jace’s hands stay tight around theirs, his eyes level and calm, his voice soothing something inflamed deep in their chest. He… cares. Cares enough. Why does he care? Jace has no stake in this, could have just let them die, let them suffocate at his doorstep like a broken machine.

“--why?” they finally say, once his calm demeanor has shifted to something more like pride.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he grins, all freckles and dimples and sunshine. “Why what? Why couldn’t you breathe? I think it was a panic attack, I get ‘em sometimes. It’s fine. Counting helps.”

“Why are you helping me?” 

It stumbles out like the wheezing of their breath, disjointed and hardly human. Jace doesn’t look away. He seems… the crook of his eyebrows, downturning of his shoulders, slight flush on his cheeks, he seems ashamed. Guilty. “I wasn’t gonna let you suffer, Morrigan. I’m not that bad.”

“You hate me,” they say, simply. 

He huffs. “No, I don’t. I’m just… human. Messy. Complicated. I don’t like change, you’re a new thing, it’s complex. I’m sorry I made you think that.”

They try to see past the lie. To put together the pieces of the past, the glares, the imbalance, how Morrigan would push down their own posture to give him the head of the scene, to give him all of the power in play, but for all of their training, they cannot deny the truth. Jace Vela Journey is telling them the truth.

“I’m sorry I scare you,” Morrigan manages. “I don’t–I tried not to, but it’s not easy when people know what I am.”

“It’s fine. You just came into my house hyperventilating. Seems pretty human to me.”

Morrigan can’t help the eyebrow raise. That’s the first time anyone has referred to them as human-like outside of the purpose they’re built for, the tool they have to be. “If that’s human, I am sorry for every single one of you.”

Jace just laughs. “So are we, Morri. That’s pretty universal. You should take a break though, it’s not like you’re fine now. Just relax.”

“What did you call me?” 

“Uh.” Jace winces. “Morri? Like Morrigan shortened? If that’s not cool, I get it, I’ll go back to giving you robot nicknames–”

“It’s fine,” Morrigan is quick to reassure. “I don’t mind. It’s new, but not unwelcome.”

“Cool. Call me JJ, then?” 

It feels like a truce. A contract. When their alliance breaks a little bit from tenuousness and into something stronger. “Alright, JJ. Thank you.”

He grins, flashes a thumbs up. “Don’t mention it. Take your shoes off, stay a while.”

--

a teensy insight into their rocky relationship starting to fix itself. also origin of the nicknames!!!

[comfort-questing]

"just let yourself be sick so you can get better"

for @whumperless-whump-event day 14, the continued adventures of Kaveh and Alhaitham following their recent scare...

-

Alhaitham wasn't sure whether to be reassured or unsettled by the urgent, quiet efficiency of the Bimarstan nurses - but in under a quarter of an hour Kaveh was tucked into a cot in a small, curtained side room, a needle and tube set in the crook of his elbow for fluids and an Anemo-infused mask for him to breathe into, pillows propping him up to ease his coughing. the blue-gray tinge of his lips was starting to brighten up again to something more natural, and the desperate look in his eyes fading.

this was not a familiar place for him, waiting at a sickbed. he wished he'd brought something to read, or something to do, so as not to be watching so intently the shuddery rise and fall of Kaveh's breathing. but at the same time he knew he wouldn't have been able to look away.

anyway, Kaveh needed him. Kaveh couldn't get words out between his coughs when the doctor arrived, but only nodded to Alhaitham, and that was enough. no known exposures - no recent travel - five days of gradually worsening symptoms - putting it into simple straightforward words seemed to make it all more distant, less frightening. still, the doctor's face was grave when he finished examining Kaveh, and he gently replaced the Anemo mask before turning back to Alhaitham.

"I want to keep him overnight here at least, and probably until tomorrow night. I'm fairly sure this is from this year's influenza variant. it shouldn't be serious for someone his age and condition, but he's obviously not been taking good care of himself."

if Kaveh heard that, he gave no sign of it, eyelids closed in shadowed hollows as he struggled for breath through parted lips. Alhaitham nodded.

"he usually doesn't."

the doctor's mouth quirked at one side, ever so slightly. "fluids, getting some air properly into his lungs, and rest above all, and he should be improving soon. I'll check back in the morning, and the nurses will be in easy call if anything changes with him before then."

they were alone after that, the two of them - Alhaitham rubbing his sleep-heavy eyes, listening to Kaveh's ragged breaths and the footsteps of nurses passing back and forth in the hallway, and the brush of window-curtains in the draft. he had sharpened the controls on his earphones, not wanting to miss anything, even if the thousand small sounds itched at him. he watched his roommate's flushed face relax into half-drowse and then finally real sleep at last, bright head slipping sideways at a slight angle onto the pillows.

he fell asleep himself at some point in the night, though he'd not wanted to. but he knew there was no sense in exhausting himself further and catching whatever Kaveh had no doubt been spreading to him for days now. one of the nurses had brought him a dense-woven linen mask to wear, and its weight over his face was an obscurely comforting touch.

daylight woke them both, and brought a nurse to Kaveh's bedclothes and help him sit up on the edge of the cot. Kaveh was awake enough to protest further indignities and, with the nurse's help, make his unsteady way to the washroom and back, though the effort set him coughing again.

"ah - blast - how much longer - " Kaveh got out, between wheezes, glaring at the Anemo mask that the nurse held waiting next to him.

"the doctor said probably until tonight," Alhaitham said, stretching his stiff shoulders out. the chair hadn't been kind to his muscles and bones. "you didn't rest early on, and just like I said, that's made everything worse."

"I can't. I have - so much - to do - " Kaveh swiped a hand across his mouth, blood and phlegm trailing it. "there are people depending - on me."

"well, they're going to have to wait, just like they'd have to wait if anyone else got flu pneumonia in the middle of a project." Alhaitham took the Anemo mask from the nurse, its surface chilly and pale green-tinted beneath his fingers, and directed it towards Kaveh's open mouth; his roommate blinked, but didn't flinch as it settled onto his face again. "breathe, you impossible numbskull. let yourself be sick so you can get better."

the nurse side-eyed Alhaitham a little, but nodded appreciatively as she made her way towards the door.

"I - I can't," said Kaveh, muffled beneath the mask, "I need - to tell - " then fell silent, chest heaving, tears starting to gather in the corners of his eyes.

"we'll tell everyone who needs to know," Alhaitham said, as patiently as he could. he took a seat on the edge of the cot - anything was an improvement over the chair by that point - and helped Kaveh sit up further against the pillows. the bones of his shoulders were starkly present beneath the skin. (all the more reason to believe his suspicion, that Mehrak did most of the claymore lifting on a daily basis.) "now rest, or I'm going to ask the doctor for sedatives for your own safety."

"you're - incorrigible," sighed Kaveh, and leaned his head onto Alhaitham's arm, next to him. "fine. but - get Mehrak from - the house, so I can - "

"only if I receive permission from the doctor when he comes in. perhaps you should ask him about it."

Kaveh glared at him, till another fit of coughing interrupted; his skin was fever-hot even through Alhaitham's sleeve.

"oh - all right," he said, hoarsely, and leaned back on the pillows, closing his eyes again at last.

and Alhaitham stayed next to him, though his arm was starting to go pins-and-needles at that angle in the pillows - partly to give his back a rest from the chair, and partly because it seemed best not to interfere with a situation of truce, however temporary.

[teine-mallaichte]

Trivium list

Strife - "My anxiety’s clawing out from deep within me"

Fenders

I'm combining this with day 5 of @whumperless-whump-event - Wheezing / light-headed / "I'll count you just breath." A bit of pre-fenders with Anders having a panic attack for @dadrunkwriting

Fenris could hear the rapid, shallow breaths echoing through the small cave, behind him each one punctuated by a strained wheeze. His gaze flicked towards Anders, the mage had stopped and was now crouched against the rough stone wall, eyes wide and face ashen. A knot tightened in Fenris’s stomach. He swore under his breath, glancing back along the passage to gauge how far away the others were. They were too far; he was alone with this.

He’d witnessed Anders have these attacks before. Everyone knew the mage was claustrophobic, but he’d never been the one to handle it. Hawke, Varric, Isabella—everyone else seemed more suited to the task. Fenris’s heart pounded in his chest, a mirror to the erratic rhythm of Anders’s breaths. How hard could it be? He’d seen how others manage it, how they navigated Anders through these moments. Surely he could replicate what he'd seen?

He knelt down in front of the panicked man, “Mage,” his voice coming out more tentative than he intended. He hated how uncertain he sounded, but he needed to get this right. “Anders, look at me.”

Anders’s gaze flickered toward him, unfocused and frantic. Fenris could see the raw panic in his eyes, and it sent a jolt of fear through him. His breathing was ragged, each gasp a harsh reminder of how out of control the situation was. Fenris’s own breath hitched, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out hesitantly, extending a hand and placing it gently on Anders’s shoulder. The mage flinched at the touch, but he didn’t pull away. His entire body trembled slightly under his hand. “Anders,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “You need to focus on your breathing. Take deep, slow breaths.”

Anders’s breathing grew even more rapid, each breath coming faster and more erratic. His eyes continued to dart around the cave, desperately searching for a way out that simply wasn’t there. “I—I can’t,” Anders’s voice was strained, his words coming out as choked whispers. “I can’t breathe—”

“Anders!” Fenris’s voice rose slightly, the urgency and frustration evident. He winced at the sharpness of his own tone, realising that his approach might not be helping, “Listen to me," he tried again, calmer this time, "You need to focus"

Anders’s fingers clawed at the rocky ground, as though it might offer an escape. He tried to curl into himself, his body trembling. Fenris glanced back up the passage again, feeling the pressure of the small space. Maybe he should have gone to get someone else.

"Anders," Fenris spoke again, fighting to sound calm and remember what the others tended to say, "try to listen to my voice. Focus on me. You're safe here, you're not on your own."

Anders's breaths were still shallow and quick, but he seemed to be attempting to heed Fenris's words. His eyes met Fenris's briefly, searching desperately for reassurance amidst the darkness of the cave.

"You're alright," Fenris continued, trying to keep his own rising anxiety in check. "Just focus on your breathing. In… and out. Slowly."

Anders’s breaths were still shallow, but he met Fenris’s eyes, searching for reassurance. Hawke had guided Anders through most of his previous attacks. The key, Hawke had said, was to create a rhythm, to give Anders something tangible to focus on amidst the panic.

"I’m going to count for you, alright? In for five, and then out." hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

Anders nodded jerkily, his eyes squeezing shut as if that could shut out the tightness in his chest. Fenris felt a rush of relief at the small sign of compliance, and he steeled himself to guide Anders through this.

“In for five,” Fenris began, his voice steady and rhythmic despite the tightness in his own chest. “One, two, three, four, five. Now out… one, two, three, four, five.”

The mage’s breathing faltered but slowly began to align with the count. The shallow gasps began to lengthen into something closer to a normal rhythm.

"In for five," Fenris continued, his voice unwavering. "One, two, three, four, five. Out… one, two, three, four, five."

Anders’s breathing grew a bit more even, and though his eyes remained shut, a hint of colour began to return to his ashen face. The panicked edge in his breathing was replaced with a more controlled effort, his breaths now coming in measured intervals rather than frantic gasps.

"In for five," he started the cycle again.

Anders’s fingers slowly relaxed their death grip on the ground, his body no longer trembling as violently. His breaths were still slightly unsteady, but the worst of the panic seemed to be easing.

Fenris continued to count, unsure exactly when he was meant to stop, "Out for five… one, two, three, four, five,"

He was starting to feel a bit awkward doing this now that the initial urgency had passed. Every few seconds, he glanced back up the dark tunnel, worrying about two things: the possibility of someone walking in and witnessing this scene, and the fear of being left behind if the others got too far ahead.

"…two, three, four, five,"

After what felt like an eternity but was likely only a few minutes, Anders’s breathing had settled to a more normal pace. His eyes fluttered open slowly, still wide but no longer frantically searching. He turned his gaze to Fenris, a mix of gratitude and residual fear in his eyes.

"Out for five… One, two," he stopped as he turned back to look at the mage who seemed to have regained most of his composure.

"I… I can breath now," Anders muttered, looking slightly embarrassed.

Fenris nodded before standing, "Next time I'm getting Hawke," he said with a hint of annoyance. Despite his words, he remained close, watching Anders carefully as he got to his feet.

[whumperless-whump-event]

Whumperless Whump Event Day Five

STEALING THE BREATH FROM MY LUNGS (GIVE IT BACK): Wheezing / Light-headed / “I'll count, you just breathe.”

Tag this account ( @whumperless-whump-event ) to have your prompt fills reblogged here!

[imsorryithurts]

Whumperless Whump Day 5

*Arrives running with a piece of toast in my mouth* Wait! Wait! I brought new fics to post!

Since I was already running late for the event, I decided to post them all at once. I expected to post them yesterday, but I was busy!

As always, thanks to Seth for hosting the event. Visit @whumperless-whump-event to read more works!

-x-

This one is about Rose and Lucas, you can have a primer on them and my other characters here [x]

Rose is a mech pilot, and while most of her story is about her adjusting to life after she stops being one, this happens while she's still doing missions. I have more works written for her, but I believe I'll post them outside the event!

This one is inspired by a piece of microfiction by Rounderhouse, but I cannot find it right now.

-x-

Day five: Stealing my breath (give it back):

Wheezing / Light-headed / “I'll count, you just breathe

Word count: 1951

Content warnings: Blood, broken nose, struggling to breathe, similarities to drowning.

-x-

Someone had once said, back at the academy, that if you managed to walk out of your cockpit on your own instead of by getting pulled out by your arms, you didn't do enough.

Rose didn't remember who said that. Probably not the professors, they were not legally allowed to say such things. They could imply it, however, if it was true.

Thing is, she quickly learned it wasn't true. If you're fresh out of academy and show that you can't handle the easy missions, they switch you out with another one who can, or at least that can walk out unassisted after. There are hundreds of people lined up for the position, and medical staff's time costs money.

However, if you were one of the good ones, one of the unique ones, you could go all out.

Maybe, if they were desperate, they could find someone else who responds well to the more challenging things, like the enhancing drugs, or even the implants, but they wouldn't find another pilot who could be submerged in the breathable fluid without breath support to pilot the Libelle Blanche. At least not in this territory.

Anyone can be trained to pilot, to endure g-forces, getting through the installment, connection and use of a neuro-interface, to get past the overstimulation of the implants blasting every kind of messages directly in your optic nerves, even to breathing oxygen from a liquid instead of the air.

But all at once? Flawlessly? You are special if you can pull that off.

And that's what goes through Rose's mind whenever she maxes the jets, turns the throttle, feels the IV dripping adrenaline into her veins.

I am special.

I am special, and you can't replace me.

I can do my best, because you. Can. Not. Replace me.

Just pure, maniac bliss.

Except this time, she didn't have time for anything to go through her mind before the force of the impact of her mech being tackled transferred to her head, darkness consuming her vision.

-

Lucas hurried with the stretcher towards the hangar, dr. Ortiz swiftly pushing the other side. 

He had had a bad feeling about today, but then again, he never had a good feeling whenever Rose was dispatched with her mech. He had a bad feeling  when she decided she'd be a pilot, and every time she got dispatched.

It's not that he didn't trust her capabilities, but as a medic, he had seen the many ways a pilot could end up in his care. The implant malfunctions, causing things from slight headache to irreversible catatonia, the overdoses or liver failure from the drug cocktails, the accidents that ranged from broken arms to being sliced into barely recognizable pieces of flesh.

And when Dr. Ortiz got called urgently to the hangar, he could vividly see Rose in each of those scenarios.

The wheels on the stretcher squeaked to a stop as they reached the platform lift that would take them to the mecha’s hatch.

The robot itself was still stepping into place, either on autopilot or remotely controlled. Lucas hoped Rose wouldn't look as banged up as the mech did.

The platform lurched to a stop just as three assistants pulled Rose’s limp body by the arms out of the hatch. They didn't want to waste time by waiting for the immersion fluid to be drained, so her entire body was soaked, dripping to the floor, and her figure looked even more slender with her hair plastered to her neck.

Lucas had had bad feelings since before her eyes became sunken and her hands bony, before her gaze became unfocused from reading the information delivered into her line of sight.

How could he not have bad feelings now, as the assistants practically drop Rose’s body on the stretcher before him?

They were back on the floor level and Dr. Ortiz pulled the stretcher before Lucas could process the sight of his friend. It wasn't until they reached the medical room that he snapped back to reality.

“Lucas.” Dr. Ortiz called for his attention dryly, signaling for him to assist in moving the patient to the bed.

“R- Right.” He took the handles on the straps and moved her. “Right, sir.”

“Plug her in, Mel”, Dr. Ortiz ordered the nurse sitting on the computer beside the bed. Lucas held Rose's head so Mel could easily access the port in the base of her skull with the thick bundle of cables running through the hole in the bed.

When the cables were secured, he gently laid her head back down, wiping the fluid on his scrubs.

He took the time for the information to load to take a good look at Rose.

A big, dark bruise was spreading right in the middle of her forehead. Blood pooling in the skin around her eyes, the color disturbingly contrasting with her pale skin.

Blood had been mostly diluted in the immersion fluid, but faint trails of it still stained her nostrils.

And most disconcerting of all, was the fluid itself, still coming out and back into her nose and parted lips. Like a drowning victim, but still breathing calmly, as if unaware of the liquid filling their lungs.

He remembered having lunch with her, what seemed like ages ago, when she was excitedly explaining the excruciating process of getting accustomed to the transition of air to breathable liquid.

She had mimicked the exercises, described what it was to feel like to learn how to fight the feeling of water in your lungs, to learn how to drown. The agony of getting used to the drugs to suppress the feeling of drowning.

 He tried to ignore the fluid bobbing up and down in her nostrils and lifted her eyelids. Her hazel irises were duller than ever, but the pupil seemed to react to the light.

“Well,” Dr. Ortiz leaned over Rose, gaze fixed on Lucas. “What do you think?”

“I- What do I think?”

“You want to be an actual doctor some day, don’t you?” He gestured to the body in the bed. “What do you think?”

“I- Um.” Lucas took a step back, taking a deep breath to ground himself. “Possible concussion. Um, probable, actually. Possible broken nose and possible enhancement drug overdose. We confirm the concussion and overdose with Mel, x-ray for the nose can wait. Stimulate breathing and heart rate neurons according to results, start her on an antagonist cocktail.”

Dr Ortiz stared at him motionless. The computer beeped, alerting that the connection was finished, and he finally leaned back to listen to Mel, without breaking eye contact, as she read to him various vitals and activity of brain areas Lucas hadn’t yet memorized.

“You’re not wrong” He pointed a finger at Lucas before turning fully to the computer.

The doctor was a pretty good mentor and exceptionally good at his job, but he always had to speak cryptically and never directly point out what was being done right.

“Mel, I want slow sympathetic stimulation. Target pre-Bötc, NTS… Actually, test and target the medulla,” he ordered rapidly. “Lucas, get her started on the antagonist.”

“Yes, sir,” he complied, getting help from another apprentice nurse, who had the vial and syringe ready for him. He measured and injected it into the port she still had in her arm from the mech.

Lucas watched as her breathing picked up, the liquid pooling sickeningly behind her lips to the rhythm of her chest rising and falling.

The doctor leaned on his hands on the bed, watching over her. Not with the same worry as Lucas, but with a far more cold and clinical gaze.

“How’s her brain?”

 “Mild concussion at best. But she should be fine.”

“How long until the oxygen in the fluid is depleted?”

Mel clicked twice on the screen. “Around three minutes, sir.”

Dr Ortiz leaned back and sighed before making a decision. “I'm going to pump air into her.”

“You- What?” Lucas’ mind went to the time Rose was excitedly telling him the process of getting used to transitioning from air to liquid. The breathing exercises, the dedication, and the agonizing pain of feeling like you're drowning, even after coming back to the air.

“I’m not having her hypoxic on my table while we wait for a fresh immersion fluid tank. She dies here or I force a cough response.”

Back then, she had shown him the techniques. The meticulously counted breaths so you don't choke, timed forced exhales to make the full transition. After starting training, she more than once left in the middle of lunch after coughing too much to be able to eat. Sometimes she hadn't shown up at all.

“She- She's not gonna be happy about it.”

Dr Ortiz looked him in the eyes while pulling the equipment. “I like it when my patients get mad at me.” He said, stoically. “Dead people don't get to be upset.”

Lucas opened his mouth to protest, but clenched his fists and stopped himself mid breath. The doctor was right. It was the best option at the moment, one that would hurt, but keep her alive.

The doctor carefully sealed the mask around her mouth and moved to turn on the machine. He paused, still looking at his patient, but directing his words to Lucas. “Don't let your feelings get in the way of your job.” And he flipped the switch.

Immediately as the machine whirred to life, Rose's body lurched, her mouth gurgling with fluid. Dr Ortiz pulled the mask away and Lucas rushed to pull her upright as the liquid burst out of her nose and mouth.

She coughed strongly, barely wheezing in some air before her body spasmed again, ejecting watery fluid, tinted red with blood. 

Lucas pushed her forward until she was fully sat up, coughing into her lap. A nurse handed him a basin which he held in front of her face.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Lucas found himself soothing and rubbing Rose’s back as she struggled to draw breath. 

“Lieutenant Guerra, can you speak?” Dr Ortiz raised his voice, holding the cable attached to her neck for stability. He repeated it louder once she only responded with gasps and coughs.

Lucas pushed her back to keep her leaning forward as she spasmed with each breath interrupted by choking up on liquid.

“LIEUTENANT ROSE GUERRA!” 

“YES, SIR,” She wheezed in an inhale, straightening up as best as she could.

“Do you know where you are?” The doctor demanded, keeping his loud tone.

“I- Emer- Emergency wing of- of-”

“Good enough.” Dr. Ortiz continued barking questions. Full name, DOB, current date… And Rose continued to choke up the answers, face twisted up in obvious pain and distress. Lucas noticed, in the middle of her processing each question, she was attempting the counted breaths she used to show him.

After he was satisfied with the assessment, the doctor disconnected the thick wires from Rose’s skull, and a nurse quickly replaced him at Rose’s side, wiping the bloody saliva hanging from her chin and running down her chest. From the other side, Lucas held the basin closer as she dry heaved from the force of her lungs trying to clear out the fluid. 

“You're alright,” he whispered, noticing now the tightness in his chest. He felt her trying to hold her breaths and force exhales according to her training by the rising and falling of her back where he was resting his hand. “It's ok, just breathe. I’ll count for for you, you just keep breathing.”

He wrapped an arm closer to her.

She immediately shoved him away.

Rose was going to be ok.

He had a bad feeling about the two of them, though.