#why did I torture myself by giving each blog it's own tagging system.

[two-person-job]

hey mutuals who have this blog. whenever I apologize for things maybe not being accurate to your selfships, please know that I don't apply that to things you say about my selfships. every headcanon you may have is canon. I'm putting it in the notes. you're so right that did happen.

[pllandcompany]

Out Loud (Part Two)

Summary: Hospital!AU. The aftermath.

Warnings: talk of gun violence/injuries, mention of blood, mention of medical procedures, life or death situations, mention of anxiety, depression and past suicidal thoughts, mention of past addiction and drug use, flashbacks/PTSD symptoms

Pairings: QPP Moxiety and budding romantic Logince

Tagged: @ziallwarrior @thefallendog @jakesmolbean @a-ghosts @band-be-boss-blog @thecatchat @flyingfreeyt @apologieslogan

Notes: The cliffhanger meets its resolution! (I know, I was evil for that, I’m kind of sorry.) I figured the boys have been tortured enough; let’s let them heal…mostly. The end does get a little intense. Also, I made use of a certain slow-voiced short character....wink wink! As always, please heed the warnings and enjoy!

Roman shifted uncomfortably in the chair across from the therapist’s desk. His bruised ribs were still sore from the surgery to remove the small piece of metal that threatened to take his life. He shifted again, welcoming the pain that came with each movement.

It was a reminder that he won. A reminder that he was still alive.

“Dr. Courtland? Are you all right?” Roman shook his head, the voice jolting him out of his thoughts. “Of course, Nate. I’m here, I’m with you.”

The psychiatrist smiled gently at his colleague. “Now, Dr. Courtland, I know we know each other but you know that here I’m Dr. Christopher,” he intoned in that slow, gentle baritone that seemed to instantly put anyone at ease.

“But that’s such a mouthful,” Roman joked blandly. His affect had been intensely dulled as of late but that didn’t seem to off put the friendly therapist. “Well,” he began, “I suppose we can drop the formality for now. This is our third session. I’m glad you chose to come back in.”

“I’m a neurologist. Of course I value the importance of mental health. And we as a hospital went through a highly traumatic experience so it’s important to talk about how we’re feeling. I fully respect that, Nate.”

Dr. Christopher nodded, slow and thoughtful. “And how are you feeling, Roman? Are you respecting your emotions?”

Roman paused, the question catching him off guard. “I’m definitely feeling. Can’t speak on exactly what judgments I’m making on those feelings though.”

“And what do you feel?”

“Surprised, honestly. After getting the green light here, I was expecting to be antsy about getting fully cleared for surgery but I’m perfectly willing to wait for my physical.” Nate scribbled down a quick note before looking up. “Right, yes, that's the last step for you. Anything else?”

“I’m worried about Logan. Uh, Dr. Taylor, I mean.”

“I understand that you two have been seeing each other lately.” Roman tensed again, wincing when his ribs screamed at him. “Don’t worry, Roman. Patient-doctor confidentiality, remember?”

Roman allowed his features to fall into a gentle smile. “Yeah, we…we have. It’s part of why I’ve kept coming back even after you cleared me. I hoped that if he saw me healing in every sense of the word he’d be…motivated to do the same.”

“Do you think he’s not healing?

“He’s certainly not talking about it! To me, to anyone.”

“Well, he’s not known to be overly public about much of anything. Maybe he’s just the type that heals privately?”

“I’d be inclined to agree with you but he also won’t let anyone clear him for surgery. He just hides in the skills lab all day until his shift is done, maybe he’ll come out for a consult.” Roman sounded slightly panicked now. The astute therapist quickly sensed his distress and signaled him to breathe which Roman complied with willingly. Non-verbal communication of self-care seemed to work best with the neurosurgeon as verbal orders occasionally made him feel patronized. Nate had learned this the hard way in session one and since then they developed a system of sorts that helped Roman to manage his rapidly shifting emotions. Taking his cue from Roman, Nate continued to speak. “I understand your concern. And yes, it does worry me that he’s refusing to operate but as hard as it is, you have to focus on you even when someone you love is hurting. Heal yourself first then you can help him. So I’ll ask again: How are you feeling?”

Roman swallowed thickly, nerves coiling in his belly. He couldn’t avoid the question now, it was too direct. He cleared his throat and shifted once again, the pain jolting through him like lightning. “How do I feel, Nate? I…I’m terrified…all of the time. Someone moves too fast next to me and I jump out my skin. Yesterday, Virgil dropped a chart and I hit the floor. I walk into a patient’s room and if I see their family there, my heart starts pounding out of my chest because I’m afraid to make even the slightest mistake in front of them lest they suddenly pull out a gun. I am a surgeon, I am supposed to be composed and-and strong and dependable but lately I am just…scared. So tell me, Nate,” he leaned in glaring at the therapist, “how do I fix that?” Nate leaned in, clasping both hands in front of him, a sign that he was considering his words carefully.

“It takes time but the first step to healing? You name it. You call the demon by its name. And Roman? You just did that.”

Roman slowly sat back, his glare fading into something much gentler, a fragile and silent hope blossoming in his heart for the first time in weeks.

****

“Virgil Davidson? Patton Parker?” The two doctors’ heads swiveled around in unison, causing Dr. Christopher to chuckle. They walked in hands intertwined, a symbol of both their combined trust and trepidation of this upcoming session. Nate gestured for the two to sit which they did while still conjoined, an action unmissed by the observant doctor. “Well, doctors, it’s good to see you both here.”

Patton chimed in first. “Um, not that I’m complaining but why are we both here? Virgil wouldn’t say much about it.”

Nate smiled reassuringly. “May I?” he asked, indicating towards Virgil who nodded, slow and small. “Well, Dr. Parker, in our last session Dr. Davidson expressed that there is something he’s wanted to ask you for a while but he hasn’t known how to articulate it. I suggested he bring you here to a safe space where we could work through any potential issues that arose.”

Patton turned to look at Virgil, concern and hurt etched into his brow. “Virgil…you know you can talk to me about anything. Not that I mind being here but you don’t have to bring me to therapy to confront me.”

“Is there something you’re concerned would come up in therapy? Something you may not want to confront?” Nate read between the lines of Patton’s reassurance like a book. Patton froze momentarily before breaking into a brilliant grin. “No, of course not! I’m an open book, Dr. Chris.” Nate nodded his face impassive while he notated the stilted manner of Patton’s speech. “Dr. Davidson, whenever you’re ready.”

Virgil took several calming breaths before he actually opened his mouth. “Pat…I wanted to ask you…if you were okay after…you know, after everything that’s happened.” Patton scrunched up his face in confusion. “Of course I am, Virge. You know that. You see me every day.”

“I know but…I’m worried. We haven’t slept with the light off since-“

“I know, Virgil.” Patton sounded suddenly defensive. Nate noted that he had dropped Virgil’s hand. “You know where I was.”

“I do, Patton. But…do you know who you are?”

“What? Virgil, you’re not making sense.” Patton was shaking his leg now, a rare signal of anxiety creeping in.

“Just hear me out, Pat. You delivered a baby by the light of a cellphone. You developed a system of silent communication on the fly. You calmed a panicking resident and saved the lives of everyone in that room. By all accounts, you are a hero. But the way you’ve been acting when you think no one’s looking…it makes me wonder if you think anything of yourself at all.”

The bouncing ceased to a halt. “I…I don’t know what to say, Virgil. I’m sorry.”

Virgil shook his head forcefully. “You don’t have to apologize. Just listen. You told me something afterwards. When that…man banged on the door to your room, you said that there was a point where you thought you would have to give yourself up.”

“Stop it, I don’t want to talk about that.”​ Virgil looked over at Nate in panic but the therapist simply nodded calmly to keep going. He then grounded himself once more and started again. "Pat, just hear me out, please. I only bring it up because I'm scared of how easily you could even consider giving up your life. I mean, did you even think of me?"

Patton's head turned back to the younger man on a swivel. "How could you say something like that? Of course I thought of you. Every second I thought of you. It would not have been an easy choice to make."

"But before-"

"That's not what this is about." Patton turned to Dr. Chris who seemed to be asking a silent question. "Dr. Chris, Virgil is referencing my first couple of years in med school. I struggled with depression and had some...scary thoughts. Never attempted anything and with help, I pulled myself out of it. That dark period...shaped me into the doctor that I am today. It made me value human life so much more, including my own. So no, Virgil, on this one, you're wrong. It's not that."

"Then what is it, Pat?!" The words exploded out of him before he could refine into something gentler. "I mean...I know it's something. You've held me together these past few weeks, sat with me through countless nightmares and anxiety attacks. But anytime I try to do the same for you or talk about what happened, you shut down and pretend that everything is fine when it's not. So please, talk to me. Why are you running from this?"

"Because I don't know how to do this, Virgil!" Patton shouted.

"Do what, Pat?"

"Any of this! I mean, depression I get but this...this fear? This anger, I do not understand how to deal with it at all." Nate perked up at the last thing Patton said. "Talk to me about the anger, Dr. Parker. Tell me the truth of what you're feeling."

There was a long, pregnant pause before the fetal surgeon started again, his voice raising with every word he spoke. "I...am angry for Melody! This was her first child, one she finally got to have after years of sacrificing her desires for her career. It was supposed to be one of the best times of her life but instead she now has this permanent and horrifying memory. I'm angry that her baby was born into violence when they should have been born into a world that's safe for them. I'm angry that some...person with an axe to grind decided to take the lives of thirteen of our friends and colleagues and leave the rest of us terrified for our lives! I'm angry that I'm so scared that I can't sleep without the lights on, that Virgil can't make it through the night without a nightmare, that Roman got shot and almost died, that Logan...I just...I hate what that man has done to our family! I hate him! And I hate myself for becoming the kind of person that hates people but I do and it makes me sick so I don't talk about it. I'm supposed to be grateful. I'm supposed appreciate human life but his life? The shooter? Well...I'm glad he's dead." Patton looked physically ill at that last admission. He turned to Virgil with a look of defeat on his face. "There. I said it. Happy now?"

Virgil sighed, actually looking relieved. He cuddled Patton's cheekbone with his hand and wiped his thumb across his lower eyelid. "Oh thank God," he breathed, "you're finally crying." Patton blinked a few times before he realized the magnitude of what he'd been holding in and finally chose to let go. Nate quickly conjured a box of tissues from the desk behind him and waited for the two doctors to compose themselves. "Damn it Virge," Patton chuckled through his tears, "you're brilliant, you know that?" Virgil shifted uncomfortably. It didn't go unnoticed by Patton. "Honey...were we maybe projecting when you said I didn't think much of myself?" Silence. "Virgil..you helped save Roman as much as Logan did, you know. You kept him alive and safe until he got there. You're a hero too."

"But if I had been able to help him more, Logan wouldn't have had to come at all and he wouldn't have had to go through-"

"Stop." Patton cradled Virgil's face in his hands. "What happened to Logan is not your fault. It is that man's fault. You did nothing wrong. You did everything you could and Roman is so grateful to you for it. You are good, Virge. You're so good. Believe me when I say that, okay?" Virgil nodded, blinking his own tears. Nate chuckled, drawing the attention of both doctors. "Well, you two are so good together, it seems like you hardly need me."

That day, both doctors walked with yellow slips marked with a "cleared" stamp.

****

In hindsight, maybe directly after a shooting wasn't the best time to start a relationship. Roman hadn't been able to resist the raven-haired surgeon who had been by his side since he operated on him, hoping beyond hope for him to wake up. When his eyes finally met with Logan's gaze of tearful relief, the sight broke Roman's defenses down and he'd ended up confessing the depth of his feelings right then and there. He would never forget Logan's earnest reply before the soft, passionate kiss they'd shared: "I don't ever want to be without you." It was the romantic's ultimate dream fulfilled, a beautiful moment born out of such unspeakable tragedy.

Such a shame that honeymoons always have to end.

Roman hadn't anticipated just how unspeakable their shared tragedy had become for his lover. He walked into the foyer of Logan's apartment, greeted by the same heavy silence that had prevailed over these past few weeks. "Logan?" He entered the bedroom to find the cardiologist still under his comforter with his back towards the door, obviously not having moved in quite some time. "You didn't go into work today." A statement, not a question. "I had no consults today. Didn't see much of a point." The monotone response only served to sink Roman's heart further. He sat on the opposite side of the bed from Logan, fighting the urge to deflate and join him. No, he would not sink into the encroaching darkness. He was going to help pull Logan out of it. "I had my physical today. I'm officially fully cleared for surgery.

Silence. Overwhelming silence.

Roman cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm scared to operate too. But we have to try. It's who we are."

"Thirteen people." It was barely audible but Roman caught it instantly. "Logan..."

"Thirteen people are dead because of the last time I operated."

"The last time you operated, one person lived." Roman was fighting back anger now; it wasn't fair for Logan to hurt like this. To hurt so much he couldn't see the good anymore. "You are not a killer. The man who shot those people is the murderer, not you."

"His name," Logan said listlessly, shifting to get up and walk to the bathroom, "is David Bacall." The door closed with such a finality that Roman barely fought the urge to scream. Instead, he sat there helpless, choking on the thickness of his inability to help console his partner. "I'll make us dinner," he said to no one in particular, leaving the room just as empty as he felt inside.

Once Logan entered the bathroom, he braced himself on the sink as the flashbacks began. He looked in the mirror at hollow eyes and sunken cheeks that morphed into the stone faced features of David Bacall in the background, a cold metal gun so close to his face his eyes crossed slightly to focus on the end of it.

"Mr. Bacall. You don't have to do this."

"I didn't want to do this. I came here for two people, not over a dozen. But it was brought to my attention that your beloved Chief Thomas was away on conference and I got...angry."

"Killing people doesn't solve anything. It doesn't help the anger. And it doesn't bring your wife back."

"YOU WOULD KNOW, WOULDN'T YOU?!" He shook the gun wildly, sending Logan's body into internal convulsions from the fear. His face didn't betray him, though, he remained visibly calm and collected. He had to if he had any shot of diffusing the situation. "I am not a killer," he whispered, "I am a doctor. I work to save lives, not end them."

"Oh really? And I quote. '33 year old Lauren Bacall came into Sanders-Stokes Memorial presenting with cardiac symptoms due to a complication from a heart defect. Protocol indicated a long but mostly effective procedure which I initially determined as the surgical plan. However, the chief of surgery took an interest in the case. Upon further research, he found a new protocol being tested at Baylor for the same defect. Recovery and operating times were shorter but the procedure was more complex and risky. The chief strongly recommended that I do the new procedure as he believed it was in favor of the patient. I agreed and adjusted my plan accordingly. Unfortunately, upon attempting the new protocol, the patient became unstable and subsquently died from cardiac failure.' That's exactly what you said at the deposition. And those sharks sided with you. But that's not the whole story, is it? You didn't tell them how you had reservations about the surgery, how you and Chief Thomas fought in your office over it."

"You shouldn't have overheard that."

"Admit it, Dr. Taylor. You didn't want to do the procedure."

"I agreed-"

"Against your better judgment, you chose to the procedure that killed my wife! And now you're responsible for all of this! Admit it! You did this! ADMIT IT! NOW!"

"I am not responsible-"

"YES! YOU ARE! YOU HAD A CHOICE AND YOU CHOSE WRONG! ADMIT IT!"

Logan couldn't find the words over the deafening sound of the safety clicking. Bacall's hands shook violently and Logan couldn't tell if it was from fear or determination. The tears choking his tone indicated both.

"You...killed my wife. Your hands...murdered her."

"No," Logan said weakly. "Her heart was too weak. She could have died regardless of what I did-"

"DON'T YOU DARE BLAME HER FOR THIS! YOU KILLED HER!" Bacall panted, breaths rushing from his lips like an angry dragon. Tears and sweat mixed together and ran down his face. He was unraveling; Logan knew it was any minute now before he snapped completely. Without warning, Bacall's face twisted into a sinister sneer, a look that unnerved Logan to his core. "Dr. Taylor...do you know else you've killed?"

"I have not killed anyone-"

"The thirteen people that were shot here today. You wanna know how you killed them? You see, the day my wife died...I died too. I stopped living. I stopped breathing. I became a shell and the only thing I could focus on was making things right. I had one mission: evening the score. Taking out the people responsible for the death of the best thing that ever happened to me. But there were so many...obstacles and I was so...angry because I couldn't find either one of you...until now. And now I have you right where I want you." Bacall calmly lifted the gun that was wildly gesticulating seconds prior, his grip steady and his aim true. Logan closed his eyes, acceptance breaking his heart into pieces. "So this...this is for Lauren."

A shot rang out in the air and Logan felt something warm spray across his face. He couldn't bear to open his eyes and see the damage Bacall had inflicted. Instead he sensed desperately for the blinding pain at the point of entry. Maybe he didn't fatally wound him, maybe he could get to Virgil...the pain never came. Was he already...no, that's his heartbeat, he's still alive. But why?

"Sir. Sir, are you all right?" Who was that? "Sir, are you hurt? We have to evacuate this part of the building, can you walk or do you need assistance?" Police. He was surrounded by police. He was alive. But why? And who's blood...? He slowly opened his eyes. Bacall's.

"Sir, can you walk? We have to move." Logan stammered before he finally found his voice. "N-no, I can't leave! My coworker is very hurt and I'm the only surgeon on the unit who can save him!"

"You know where he is? I'll escort you to him." Logan nodded and began running in the direction towards Roman, trying to shut out the sight of Bacall's lifeless body as he stepped over the growing pool of blood...

He blinked twice and was back in the bathroom. He touched his face, expecting his fingers to come away bloody. Instead, he found tears that turned into quiet, painful sobs, suppressing the sound with sternum-crushing force. The guilt swiftly stole his voice while the never-ending questions pounded against his brain, demanding answers. Why did he survive? Why didn't Bacall just shoot him? Why didn't he just do the other procedure? Why did he let the chief talk him into the risky surgery? Thirteen people would maybe still be alive if he had any sort of a spine and defended his plan. Thirteen people are dead because of him. He was responsible, he was guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty-

He couldn't take it anymore.

Frantically, Logan swung open the bottom cabinet and searched at the back of his cleaning supplies, finally producing a bottle of pills. He stared at the medicine for a indefinite amount of time, the inner debate growing inside his brain. Sacrificing years of sobriety for temporary relief from pain wasn't worth it. It wouldn't solve anything. He knew this all too well.

It didn't stop him from pouring three pills onto his hand and swallowing them whole.