#also like I’m well aware that with how ultrasound technology was back in the day it’s unlikely that they’d know the baby was a girl

[ally-holmes]

Unseen | ER Dr. John Carter x Reader (ch.1)

Series Masterlist

Chapter Two

Pairings: John Carter x Fem!Reader

Summary of the chapter: John Carter is back from his second escape to Africa, and he's not alone. When he gets to the County General he becomes aware of how much he had missed this, his people, but someone is missing; where is Y/N?

Word Count: 1677

Unseen ER | Chapter One

It was 2004. Ten years ago John Carter walked for the first time through the County General's doors, and here he was, once again, after his time in Africa with the excellent Kim (Makemba Likasu) holding his arm, in America. He'd always been quite the ladies' man. No, really, he could barely remember a year in which he was single. It wasn't a game for him, not like it had been for Doctor Ross until he finally settled with Nurse Hathaway. Carter had put his heart on full display any time; he even thought that he had found his one in Abby. He was going to give her his grandmother's ring, for God's sake! Now, though, he was quite content with Kim. She was extraordinary, fun, brilliant, gorgeous, and pregnant with his child. Of course, he loved her.

He couldn't stop the little pain in his guts when thinking about Y/N and the last time he had seen her.

The hospital was different since he had left for Africa, and there were new people too. Well, at least the new security system seemed sturdy enough to actually protect the patients and professionals inside. He shakes his head, remembering that time he led a strike until Weaver bought metal detectors. Totally unintentional, really! He wasn't a leader that way, no matter how Y/N said otherwise.

Making a beeline, Carter introduced himself to Nurse Taggart, also known as Sam, at the admissions desk and she let them in. Chuny, Haleh, Malik, Frank… God, he had missed them. When Pratt showed up to greet him, he felt suddenly anxious. It was stupid really. He had been well aware that both Abby and Y/N were going to be there — they worked here! —, but he still felt uneasy with the idea of showing up with his pregnant wife, without notice, to where his ex-girlfriend and his– his Y/N worked. Luckily for him, a trauma entered the hospital before he could even walk Kim to the OB floor.

The distraction was welcomed.

He had missed this, too. The thrill. The light. The technology that couldn't be found in the hospitals he had been helping in back in Africa. Oh, yes, baby; Doctor John Carter is back!!

The sight of his baby on the ultrasound was shocking to him. He had seen so many babies and yet his cheeks got heated up; his eyes filled with tears of joy. His baby. His. He was going to be a father. Oh, how he missed his grandparents at the time. They would have loved the little one.

Meeting Abby when he had an arm wrapped around Kim's shoulders and a picture of the ultrasound in the other hand was, in fact, pretty awkward. He awkwardly hugged her, and she responded accordingly. Luka came along to save them from the uncomfortable attempt at a conversation that was taking place.

"If it wasn't for you John and I might have never met," said Kim. Whether it was good or bad, Carter couldn't tell, honestly.

Luka nodded, quite proud of the claim missing the way Abby turned her head, displeased; he saw the picture in Carter's hand, and turned the conversation towards the baby; not a better topic for Abby, that's for sure. John pretended not to notice any of it.

"Well, I should probably… get back to work," Carter stated.

"It was nice to meet you all," Kim smiled at them. "Although it's a shame that I haven't met Y/N yet. John talked a lot about her."

Abby and Luka shared a knowing look; he gave Kim a fake smile. "She's not working here at the moment, I'm afraid."

"She's not?" Carter asked, confused.

"I'll tell you later if you want. Now we all have work."

The day was long and demanding of him until he finished his shift and was able to corner Luka for answers.

"Well? Where's Y/N?"

Luka hesitated, "She's in a mental institute."

The world shattered and collapsed in front of Carter. The questions piled up in his mind, but he was unable to voice any of them. He opened his mouth and closed it again a couple of times. His silence gave Luka enough time to figure out the best way to tell him what he could.

"Do you remember the last time you saw her? The day you left for good? You took some equipment from the hospital and left and she–"

"She followed me. Yes. Um… It wasn't to stop me; she wished me good luck, and– Then I left."

"Y/N never came back to the hospital. She was abducted before she could," before Carter could cut his explanation with questions, Luka held his hand up, pleading for patience and silence. "Apparently her boyfriend at the time was out there. He saw how you two said your goodbyes," he said with a pointed look, and Carter had to swallow a lump stuck in his throat, "and he took her. He kept her for five days. It wasn't a nice experience, he– Fuck, Carter, he tortured her and the moment he saw the police in his building, he stabbed her."

John flinched at that, his lower back suddenly hurting, a ghostly reminder of his own stabbing experience. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Frank called you when we noticed that she hadn't returned and you told him that you hadn't seen her."

"Why the fuck didn't he tell me that she was missing!! I thought that– Shit…"

"Anyway, what's done it's done, my friend. We took care of her in the hospital; no permanent damage on the physical level, but after a psychological exam it became clear that she was strongly traumatized. The psych floor didn't have any rooms at the time, so she was sent home–"

"What? That's not right! I–"

Luka placed his strong hands on Carter's shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "Y/N came to my place and I took a few days off to look after her," that seemed to calm the outraged man, although an ugly tug of jealousy twisted his insides. "There was no need in the end. Apparently, your grandmother liked her very much and Y/N was named in her will. With that money, we sent her to a private mental institute. She's been taken care of. I visit her from time to time, but I usually call and she had made a few good friends. She just can't come to work just yet, it's all too fresh to come back to Chicago."

"She's not in Chicago, then?"

"I'm afraid not. I cannot tell you where she is."

Carter frowned, "Why not? I want to talk to her. I need to see that she's doing fine."

"You need. Of course. But what of what she needs?"

"What are you–"

"She's in love with you and you know it, Carter. Since the beginning, you've known, and you did not correspond her. I'm not saying that you should have. I don't want to get stuck between you two; she just told me how she had always been there for you, longing for your love but quite content with just being your friend."

"Y/N's my best friend," he mumbled.

"I know that. She knows that too. However, she still waited for you year after year until she admitted defeat, then she found herself a boyfriend and you didn't like him."

"Can you blame me for that? I knew that he wasn't good, and look what he did!"

"You still kissed her goodbye."

Silence.

He had done that.

"I'm not saying this situation is your fault, but you must understand that for her to be able to come back to her old life, she needs to give up any remaining feeling she has for you. I'm not going to tell you where she is staying so you can call her just because you need it, Carter. The last time you were here you broke up with Abby without even talking about it, you two simply went in different directions and that was all. Coming back with Kim can be upsetting to Abby, of course, but she was the one who pushed you away that time, did she not? How do you think Y/N is going to take the news? Don't get me wrong, she would be happy for you because she's always happy as long as you're happy. That's not healthy, do you understand?"

He did. He didn't like it, though. Carter nodded all the same and the conversation was over. The Carter manor welcomed him darker and emptier than ever. Kim ran down the stairs to hug him and he responded unable to feel anything.

Suddenly it hit him; it was the first time he was in Chicago without Y/N. It was like the floor had disappeared under his feet in the blink of an eye. He had met her at the County General in his third year of med school, his first time under Benton's leadership. He thought about all the important events in his life since then, and she had been in every one of them to laugh with him, to cry with him, to give him support, to let him vent about something, to– She had always been there for him, and when she had needed him he was flying away from her. Away from her truths and his heart.

Carter didn't notice he was crying until Kim caressed his cheeks with a concerned look in her beautiful eyes. He loved her. He truly loved Kim, and–

"You fall in love way too easily, Carter. Tell me, and be honest with me, did you or did you not start to fall in love with that french nurse that was already with Luka even when you were determined to propose to Abby? Ah, there it is, the hit puppy look I'm immune to. You can't hide things from me, remember? I can see your soul." Y/N's playful but stern tone echoed in his mind.

To be continued… ch.2

#er #er tv show #er tv series #john carter #john carter x reader #dr. john carter #mark greene #doug ross #carol hathaway #luka kovac #abby lockhart #fanfiction #fanfic #fem reader #noah wyle #angst #comfort #kerry weaver

[hargrove-mayfields]

okay so I know it’s been ages (I totally lost this in my drafts. oops!), but a while back I wrote this drabble and @trans-siberian-marching-band left a comment that inspired this follow up!

“When you were growing up, did you ever want siblings?”

They’re out in their backyard, something that still makes the both of them emotional, the fact that they have a space together that they can call theirs, sitting on the porch swing under the stars, just talking.

It’s funny, there was a time when they couldn’t ever do this kind of thing without something to smoke, only ever having these deep conversations because of the Chocolate Thai that Steve used to like so much, but they can’t really do that sort of thing anymore for the sake of Billy’s lungs.

Which, Billy knew well things weren’t going to be the same once he got out of the hospital, and he was okay with that even, after so long a recovery, it just worried him a little, to think he wouldn’t be the same person. But Steve, he had a way of proving him wrong, always showing him that even if things changed, they still had eachother, and that was what was most important to the both of them.

It wasn’t just the photo album thing either, it was keeping up all of their little traditions and habits, different as they may be now, and making dozens of new ones, building a life together and showing him that this was okay.

“More than anything.” Billy responds to Steve’s question, a little wistful. Being a big brother used to be what he would wish for on every birthday candle or shooting star that went past his window.

Steve hums and sits back a little further on the swing, looking up at the sky, “I bet you liked it a lot when Max came along then.”

And he doesn’t mean to, but Billy scoffs, says a bit harshly, “No way, I hated her guts.”

“Oh.” Steve looks over at Billy, a little put off by his answer if the slight frown on his face is any indication, but he shares his own thoughts all the same, “Well I always wanted a little sister.”

“I did too.” Billy admits, making Steve look even more confused as he asks him, a sort of confrontational edge to his voice, “Then what was wrong with Max?”

Billy sighs. The reason is something he’s never shared with a single soul, never scribbled in the pages of his diary, or even mentioned in a prayer. He looks up at the sky with Steve, and tells him, his voice so quiet the emptiness almost swallows his words, “Momma was five months pregnant when she left. I couldn’t stand Max because she wasn’t my real sister. Wasn’t my Raini.”

Billy was eight years old when his momma had told him that she was pregnant, explaining all about what that meant as she was tucking him into his bed each night, when Neil would stay late at work, even later at the bar.

She would take extra care to always tell him how he was going to be such a good role model for his baby sister when she came, and even taught him about all the things you had to do for a baby. He couldn’t have been more excited.

But instead of his family getting bigger, four months before he’s supposed to be able to meet the baby, it gets smaller. His momma, trying to make sure that her husband wouldn’t be able to control her pregnancy or hurt her baby, takes off with most of Billy’s things packed in her car and nothing more than a promise to be back before the end of the month.

Except, that doesn’t ever happen. His dad moves them all the way to the other side of the state before it can.

Little Billy hadn’t known what to do with himself. He was beyond devastated, even more so when he found out over the phone his momma wouldn’t be able to make the trip to come get him like she had initially promised, and that he’d have to live with just his father from then on.

It’s a horrible thing, for a child so young to realize he’ll never see his mother again, never have the things she took with her to cherish, never meet the little girl he was so excited to be a big brother to. Billy honestly doesn’t think Neil ever even found out that his mom was pregnant.

With time Billy would forget a lot of things, trauma blocks and so many months in a coma a major hindrance on his memory, but he could never forget his baby sister.

Steve brings him back out of his head with a simple question, so much concern written on his face it makes Billy’s stomach turn, “You never even met her?”

“Nope. Lost contact with momma before she was even born, so.” Billy says, scrunching up his nose when it burns with tears, the one sure fire giveaway that he’s upset that Steve never ever misses.

“Well you should find her now.” Steve says, but despite the heartfelt nature of his words, the suggestion is immediately turned down with a, “It’s not that easy.”

“Well know her name, don’t you? Raini?”

“Yeah, Raini Mae, but I have no idea what her surname is. She never met Neil so she’s probably not a Hargrove, momma’s maiden name was Ellison, but maybe she got married again after Neil.” Billy explains, frustrated that Steve’s telling him all the same things he’d been thinking about for the last twenty some odd years, “Hell, it’s been so long, maybe Raini’s even married by now.”

“Please, Billy. You have to at the very least try.” Steve says, taking up Billy’s hand in his.

“Why? So I can find one more person who was supposed to care about me and never did?” Billy asks, and they both know that’s unfair, but he’s stubborn, hurt by what happened and terrified of finding out something he doesn’t want to know, “I love you, but I’m not doing this for you.”

But Steve, he isn’t letting this go so quickly. This is the only thing that Billy still kept a secret from him after all these years, this has to be important. He thinks hard about it, and offers hopefully, “Would you let me though? Would you talk to her, even just one time, if I found her for you?”

Billy looks at him, his eyes shining with tears that had been waiting to fall since he was just a kid, and he nods, “Of course I would.”

“Then I’ll do it.” Steve’s says determinedly, his mind made up. He was going to find Billy’s sister, no matter what.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #this is just part one btw! #this’ll be a whole series tracked by this tag —> #billy has a sister! #also like I’m well aware that with how ultrasound technology was back in the day it’s unlikely that they’d know the baby was a girl #but like y’know I don’t really care #also thank you to the people who made maiden name suggestions for Billy’s mom ages ago #I picked my favorite but I tested literally all of them and it was a tough choice

[dailydaydreamings]

Best in the Worst Way, Part 13

The Reader has been having a love affair with two Avengers and gets caught in a sticky situation. She’s suddenly faced with life decisions she’s not prepared for, including who to love, what she wants, and is this all worth it?

Okay, this took way way too long to write. A couple of things. A) language warning. B) I’m not a doctor. C) I hope I tagged everyone who wanted to be tagged! I tried! Lmk if not! D) I am a total knob with technology and I don’t know how to comment on my own posts without using my main account, so I’m not ignoring you I swear!

Just a couple more chapters, do you think they’re having girls or boys (or both)?

Bucky stood in the doorway of your bedroom, a bemused look across his face. His eyebrow twitched upward to say, are you okay with this?

Four weeks ago, the answer would have been a hard no. But you were four weeks into a strict bed rest. Steve spent the mornings at the compound and Bucky spent the mornings with you, and then they switched in the afternoons. You spent most of your time reading or learning to crochet, poorly. You were completely bored out of your mind.

So, you cracked a smile and shrugged a shoulder to let him know you weren’t 100% pleased with the situation.

Bucky’s mouth twitched into a slight smile, “Looks great, Steve.”

Steve looked up from where he sat at the end of the bed, painting your toenails. “You’re doing the other foot, this is a lot harder than it looks.”

You groaned, “How are you still on the first foot?” It had only been forty minutes.

Bucky laughed, “Let me get dinner started, okay? You two have fun.”

Your heart gave a small lurch. Bucky wasn’t okay. Not after your trip to the hospital.

He blamed himself.

You looked over at Steve, who had his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth he was concentrating so hard on your pinky toe. You kicked him in the chest with your other foot.

He blinked in surprise, “What was that for?”

You gave him an exasperated look, “Go talk to him.”

Steve looked down at your foot again, “Babe, he’s fine?”

You kicked him again. Harder. “He still blames himself for what happened, dumbass.”

It was no one’s fault really. If anyone was to blame it was your biology. But Steve had yelled at Bucky about the sex, blamed him for the bleeding, on the way to the hospital. Dr Lawrence had said the sex hadn’t caused it but nothing had been the same since. Bucky hadn’t slept in the same room as either of you since. He came in to check on you and Steve. He cracked jokes, made dinner, but kept his distance.

He was beating himself up for this and you weren’t going to take it anymore.

When Steve didn’t answer, you started to heave yourself up, “If you won’t go talk to him, I will.”

“No, no,” Steve put his hand on your shoulder, forcing you to sit. “I will okay. I’m sorry.”

An hour later, Bucky and Steve came in carrying food. Steve handed you a plate and settled in beside you, Bucky seemed to be hesitant to join. He stood beside the bed, ringing his hands nervously.

Your heart gave a little lurch, he did a really good job at making himself look small.

You opened your arm up to him, “Come sit with me, baby.”

He seemed to rock back and forth on his heels, “Every time I want to touch you, my head screams at me that you’re going to start bleeding again.”

You looked over at Steve, who hung his head slightly. He knew this and you’d beat his ass for it later.

“I’m okay, baby, I swear,” you lied through your fucking teeth. “Come sit with me, please.”

Bucky sat at the edge of the bed, not touching you. This would be a start tomorrow he would scoot an inch closer. In three days you’d be hip to hip. In a week he’d kiss your forehead. It would be okay.

But for now, you started with, “So can someone tell me something interesting please? Facebook can only keep me so entertained.”

———

Four Weeks Ago

Dr Laurence was wearing heels. At four am.

It was such an odd detail, but it was the first thing you noticed when you got to the hospital. You didn’t even make it to the compound. The hospital was closer.

Steve carried you into the ER, yelling frantically for help. You were placed on a gurney, and Dr Laurence was at your side a moment later. She was speaking quickly, but you weren’t sure what she way saying. She looked to Bucky and Steve for answers. She was putting gloves on, reaching for the ultrasound.

You were looking at her shoes. Valentino nude pumps, you’d seen them online two days ago and laughed at the price.

You were barely aware that the ultrasound probe had entered you.

Bucky was petting your hair.

You just stared at her shoes.

The moment you looked away, you would have to start to cope with Steve screaming at Bucky the whole way here. The way your sheets were stained with blood at home. The fact you had a house showing in the morning, and you were going to miss it. The fact you had a million unopened boxes of baby things in your apartment.

Your head just screamed the moment you looked away from Dr Laurence’s shoes, she would tell you your babies were dead.

Your ears rang.

Yesterday, they’d been so active. You were cursing their movements begging for a moment of reprieve. You’d do anything for a small kick right now.

“Y/n!” Dr Laurence looked up at you from between your legs.

You lifted your head from the bed, you tried to speak but no words came out.

She motioned at the ultrasound, “It looks like placenta previa. The bleeding seems to have stopped, but I’m going to get you a transfusion. We’re just looking for a heartbeat now...”

You frowned, placenta previa, that was something you’d read about. That was a normal risk, something that could happen to anyone. And the babies...

The familiar sound of their heartbeats filled your ears.

It was the most beautiful sound in the world.

That was it. The flood gates opened and you started to sob. Steve wrapped his arms around you first. Bucky was next, he embraced the two of you, kissing your forehead gently.

Their words filled your ears, setting a blanket of comfort over you.

“They’re okay, you’re okay.”

“It’ll be okay, you’ve got this.”

“Breathe, just breathe for now.”

“We love you so, so much.”

———

“Okay, we cannot be this unorganized, guys seriously?” You pinched the bridge of your nose.

Busy and Steve stood at the end of the bed, their arms crossed over their chest. You sat in bed, your hair in the messiest of buns, looking down at the mess they’d brought you to sort through.

“Well what do you propose?” Steve asked.

“For starters,” You motioned at the mountain of baby clothes in front of you, “Why do we have eight different outfits that were brining to the hospital. There’s two babies.” You held up two fingers for emphasis.

Bucky scratched his head, “This mommy blog said you need two outfits, in case one of them doesn’t fit. Plus, we don’t know if we’re having a boy or a girl.”

“They should look cute when coming home,” Steve asserted.

You only blinked. If someone had said this would be your life one year ago, you would have died laughing.

“Okay, fine,” you grabbed the nearest shirt. “We could go gender neutral, you know that right?”

It’s not like you had any shortage of gendered clothing though either. Tony had loaded you up with boy clothing, swearing you would be having two. Natasha had done the same for girl clothing. And Steve had managed to pick out the most extravagant outfits from each section.

“We can,” Steve conceded. “But I want us to have options. See what they look like when they come out.”

Your nose crinkled. You fucking hated that. Come out. Like they would just slide out of you, no issues.

You rubbed your temples, “Okay, but I refuse to have my kids dress matchy matchy their entire lives. They can if they want, but I will never make them wear the same outfit.”

Bucky chuckled, coming to sit on the bed beside you, “That’s going to go over well.”

You glared at him as he completely destroyed your pile of folded baby clothes.

Steve ran his hand through his hair aggressively, “But they’d look so cute.”

You shook your head, “Only if they want to. They need to have their own personalities.”

Steve looked ready to lose his mind, “But...pictures.”

You levelled him with your mom look. You’d been practicing. “I’ll give you Christmas cards. If the two of you also dress matchy matchy if we have a boys.”

“Deal,” Steve didn’t even hesitate.

You could picture it now. Two little boys in dorky ugly Christmas sweaters and beige khakis, their hair spiked up and Steve and Bucky marching to a tee. Oh it would be glorious, but you realized a moment too late you had forgotten yourself in that picture.

You cleared your throat, “Okay, names.”

Bucky reached over, rubbing his hand over where the babies were most active. A slight smile played on his lips as he leaned over to brush his lips over your bare skin.

You tried your best to ignore the shiver of pleasure that went down your spine.

“I don’t care,” Bucky murmured, “I think we should see what they look like when they come out.”

“No,” you ran your hand through his hair. “We pick now or at least get some options.”

Steve came to sit on your other side, disrupting the rest of your pile. You rolled your eyes, so much for nothing.

“Poppy?” He suggested.

You shook your head, “I like Penelope, not Poppy. I don’t believe in naming a kid a nickname. It feels final.”

They both looked at you funny, but you stood by it.

“What about Carter,” you suggested.

“No!” Both boys said in unison. You stopped, thinking about why that name wouldn’t work before bursting out laughing.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Steve!” You reached over to stroke his face. “Not Carter.”

He chuckled, “It’s not a bag suggestion. I’d love to honour Peggy, but Sharron might think I named them after her.”

You burst out laughing. What an awkward situation that would be. One you’d pay to see.

“Okay, guys,” you snapped your fingers a couple of times, “We need a couple more names. Some more ideas. Let’s go.”

The name started flowing, and you started feeling more comfortable. Aaron, Grace, Henry, Bonnie, Andrew, Katherine.

You relaxed into your pillows. Your babies would have names. No matter what happened.

———

The boys stayed awake at your side while you slept.

You woke a couple of hours, having only slept for what felt like a short moment to find the two of them drinking coffee and nibbling on muffins.

“You look like shit,” you commented, stretching an arm over your head.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, “Look in the mirror, sweetheart.”

You grasped your hand to you chest in mock hurt, “Oh, burn.” You said sarcastically.

Steve chuckled, getting up to come over and kiss your forehead, “We’re just glad you’re okay.”

You stroked his beard lovingly, “I’m okay, and now I’m worried about you two. I’m fine, go home and shower and sleep. Please.”

Steve pressed another kiss to your forehead before moving to sit down beside Bucky, “Not gonna happen, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not going to have the babies today. You’re useless to me tired. Go home. Please.”

Bucky shook his head, “We’ll take turns, how about that?”

You rolled your eyes, “You two need to talk and go get me some stuff. Please, let me worry about you two right now instead of myself. Just for a moment. It would make me feel better if you just got some rest at home.”

It took some more convincing, but they finally left. And you were left in peaceful silence. You looked down at your belly. One of the babies gave a swift kick. You smoothed over the spot gently, “I love you, please stay in there a while longer, okay?”

“We’re going to do everything in our power to do so,” Dr Laurence stood in the door way.

You smiled, “I can’t thank you enough for being here last night.”

She nodded, coming to sit on the stool by your bed. She didn’t look happy. You braced a hand protectively over your belly.

She tapped her tablet with a manicured nail, “I’m concerned.”

“Okay...?”

“I’m not going to be gentle. Your blood pressure is through the roof,” she clarified. “You’re at risk for preeclampsia, your labs suggest that this half of your pregnancy is going to be hard. You’re in for a world of hurt. And I don’t think delivery is going to be any easier. I don’t think a vaginal delivery will be an option. You will be on bed rest until you give birth, and I doubt you’ll make it to thirty five weeks. In all honestly, I’ll be impressed if you make it to thirty. But your medical history and labs also suggests a c-section is also not a good option.”

You let out a little laugh, leaning back against the headboard. “The last time I saw you, you were singing praises for how well things were going.”

Her mouth tightened into a thin line, “I also said you should be taking it easy and lowering your stress levels.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, “Are you suggesting I did something wrong?”

Dr Laurence raked a hand through her hair, “I’m not saying you did, but I’m saying we need to start taking this seriously now because I’m not sure how to get the three of you through a safe delivery.”

Your mouth went dry. ‘The three of you,’ had always been you, Bucky, and Steve. It took on a whole new meaning when it was in reference to you and your children.

You may not have lost them last night, but you were well on your way.

“You’ll be on strict bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy,” Dr Laurences’ voice softened. “The good news is, the bleeding has stopped and you’ll be able to go home soon for a couple of weeks at least. We’ll do everything we can to get your blood pressure under control.”

Your hands shook as you reached up to wipe away a tear. “Not of a word of this to the boys.”

Her eyesbrows rose to her hairline, “They need to know so they can take care of you.”

You shook your head, “I have one who is a stiffling mother hen. If he’s worked up, so am I. And the other one is recovering from a major head trauma. He doesn’t remember everything in the last eighteen months. The only thing I can do for him now is to help him get back to where he was.”

“No,” Dr Laurence shook her head. “You need to take this seriously now or you will not make it through delivery. If they think you’re fine and brush it off as a little blood, you will end up in a much worse situation.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “We’re not going to play this game, doctor. I will take this seriously and if you put me on bed rest, I will follow it. I just don’t want the risks exposed to my boyfriends. And, you do get to tell them without my consent.”

Dr Laurence looked like she was ready to throw her tablet. “Fine, but the moment things start going south, you will end up in hospital supervised bed rest.”

You glared right back at her, “Looking forward to it.”

————

You sat between your boys watching TV when it happened.

You paused, your food halfway to your face as you felt another tightening in your stomach. They had been happening all day, but all of the sudden you were aware of one thing, it was far too painful for it not to be a contraction.

You dropped your fork onto the duvet.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked jumping to his feet.

You quirked your head to the side, looking down at your belly, “I think I’m in labour.”

“Shit!” Steve was suddenly gone.

Bucky calmly took your plate and fork and put them on the side table, “You sure?”

“Mmhmmm,” you hummed, as you let out a long breath. “We probably have hours to go though.”

Bucky nodded, “Let me call Dr Laurence.”

Your mouth tightened. She was the last person you wanted to see. You especially didn’t want to hear her gloat that she was right, you’d only made it to thirty-two weeks. Damn her.

Steve’s head popped in the room, “But it’s too early!” And he was gone again.

Your eyebrows rose to your hair line, he was taking this as well as you expected.

On your other side, Bucky put his phone to his chest and said, “Dr Laurence wants you to come in right away.”

You pinched your nose, “I don’t want to labour for the next twelve hours there when I can do it from home.”

Bucky relayed that information to her. And then asked, “Has your water broken?”

You shook your head.

Steve walked through the bedroom, going into the bathroom, talking a mile a minute. “—and we don’t have enough nipple cream!” Was all you caught. You could hear drawers being rummaged through in the bathroom.

“She says to come in anyways,” Bucky relayed to you. “And she says you’re clearly not taking this seriously.”

You rolled your eyes, of course she did.

“And we need another bathroom,” Steve murmured as he walked out of the room again.

“Fine,” you snapped. “And go calm Steve down.”

Another contraction hit hard. Your breath hitched.

Your birth plan, if you were having a vaginal delivery, was to go all natural, but now you were thinking an epidural sounded wonderful.

“You okay?” Bucky rubbed your back.

You took deep breaths, but nodded weakly. “Let’s go, please.”

He nodded, leaving the room to get Steve and your bags, but Steve stood at the door, bags in hand and simply said, “We need to go, guys.”

Bucky came around the bed to help you up. His arms around you, you barely made it out the bedroom before you felt a rush of fluids.

“Well, fuck.” Bucky mumbled.

Tags

@booktease21 @sexyvixen7 @just-the-hiddles @fading-mentality-bouquet @a--1--1--3 @broco8 @yougottalovefandoms @hailqueenconquer @tazzi-baby @imaginebeinlovedbyme @amiets2 @prettyblueskylark @spookyparadisesheep @bloodbrink @holl2712

#bucky barnes #steve x pregnant!reader #bucky x steve x reader #steve x reader #stucky x pregnant!reader #stucky x reader #stucky #bucky x pregnant!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Book 4: Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 51)

Description: Jailbreak!

Tagging: @endlesshero1122 @mysteli @feartheendlesssummer @whatmcsaid @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @tigerbryn11

Chapter 51: The Midwife

Alodia

My first instinct is to be relieved at the sight of a face that in my experience has always been friendly. But caution overpowers relief pretty quickly, especially as the questions start flooding through my brain.

“...How...? What are you doing here?”

“The long and short of it is that I am here to help you. My ability is fairly limited, but I will do what I can.”

“I don't understand,” Diego says. “No one has seen or heard from the Anachronists in five years. We thought you guys vanished when the timelines merged.”

Clockmaker sighs. “As Anachronists, we made time and space into toys within the island's bubble. The crystals were our playthings. The Endless made many mistakes, but she at least learned from her errors. She worked with a singular purpose, reset the game board each time she lost. ...We were more careless. We counted on Vaanu and the Endless to be responsible so we did not have to be. We didn't really know what would happen to us when Vaanu departed. I think most of us assumed it would be the end of our world and we would move into the afterlife. But it didn't quite happen like that.”

“...What did happen?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“We were alone. We were alone in Quarr'tel, and Quarr'tel was hidden from the world. Or at least, our version of it was hidden. Vaanti from Elyys'tel came to seek us out, and they walked around the burned-out husk of our city, but they couldn't see us. They couldn't hear us. They seemed to pass through us. We were like ghosts, trapped together, unable to roam beyond our city.”

“But...why would...?”

Clockmaker shrugs. “I don't know. I could not tell you why that was our fate. What I can tell you is that your return brought us back to the world of the living—and that with your return, time crystals have begun to turn up on the island again.” She pauses for a moment, tipping her head at me. “You know...I am actually qualified to examine you. My methods are a little bit old-school by your standards since I trained in midwifery the 1960's, but they were still scientific enough to be trusted with a routine prenatal visit.”

“...This is hardly routine...” I mutter dazedly, but as she gestures invitingly at the exam table, I nod. Diego obligingly turns away as I take off my pants and underwear to climb onto the table. I lie back and Clockmaker covers my exposed lower body with a sheet.

“I won't insist that Diego leave the room. In the 60's, the culture was still very much that men had no place in the act of childbirth, but I think we've moved past such silly gender stereotypes, don't you?”

“I hope so,” I mutter, stretching out a hand to Diego. He comes to take it between his palms, his gaze never leaving Clockmaker. If she notices, she doesn't let on as she guides my legs apart.

“The crystals have begun to turn up again on the island. However, they are not plentiful. Nor are they as powerful as before. It seems the majority of my brothers and sisters went mad during our five years in limbo. When they began to get a picture of what had happened since Vaanu's departure and your return, they turned their hostility onto you. I tried to tell them that you were clearly not omnipotent, and you couldn't have known what would happen, but...well, you try reasoning someone who has lost all reason.”

She slips her fingers into me, and I suck in a sharp breath at the intrusion, squeezing Diego's hand. She squeezes my knee reassuringly with her free hand, but otherwise continues without comment.

“The crystals allowed them to track the energy of the Prism Crystal to Northbridge. They were hoping to find you directly, but instead they found the Prism Gate—and Everett Rourke, apparently. As well as Dax Darcisse's disguise technology. It was one of them who abducted you, Diego, wearing a hologram disguise.”  

“That...makes sense. ...So...is that how Rourke managed to fake his death? With some help from the Anachronists and the crystals?”

“Precisely. It's also how the Liquid Prism was stolen, and probably a number of other things I have not been able to be witness to since the other Anachronists banished me.”

“They banished you?!”

“Yes.” She removes her hand and slips off the used gloves. “I'm fortunate I managed to get my hands on one of the disguise earrings before they did. They intended to send me into the far future, but instead I ended up in 1958. I was already aware of your pregnancy at that point, and I thought it might make sense to study midwifery in case I managed to get back to you somehow.”

“...How did you manage to get back?”

Clockmaker shrugs, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around my upper arm and grabbing a stethoscope off the wall. “The extended lifespan of a Vaanti, nothing more. I have lived the last sixty-six years in the United States of America, and I simply avoided returning to the island in order to avoid a paradox. When the other Anachronists joined with Rourke, I spied. Miraculously, I managed to stay out of their way enough that Rourke didn't realize who I was, and simply took me for another Anachronist ally. It was easy to convince him to let me meet up with Fiddler here to act as your midwife.”

“So, he does want my baby. ...What for?”

“That I do not know just yet. But yes, he does want her alive and well. Quiet for a moment please, I need to take your blood pressure.”

I obligingly clam up while she takes blood pressure and pulse, though my lips are practically itching with more questions. When she takes back the stethoscope and gives me a nod, I think it's the most important question that leaps to my tongue first.

“How do we get out of here?”

Clockmaker places a hand on my arm, meeting my gaze. “You have a little patience, and give me three days.”

“Why three days?”

“Because in three days, you will be close enough to Northbridge that I will feel more comfortable releasing you. Plus, at the next rest stop, I will be able to acquire the last piece of the device I need to remove that chip in your neck that's keeping you from contacting Varyyn.”

Diego gasps softly at the mention of his husband, his fingers tightening subtly around my hand. His reaction makes his next question a little jarring.

“Close to Northbridge? Where are we now?”

“Manitoba, Canada. Not far from Winnipeg.”

“Canada!” I repeat incredulously. “Could...is it possible to travel from Riverside to Winnipeg in...however much time we've been traveling?”

“Not by natural means, no. Your captors have been helped along by the crystals. Do you recall how my brothers and sisters and I were able to transport you through space and time with crystal fragments back on the island?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“They crystals they are collecting now are weaker, but they still have enough power to transport any vehicle containing you short spatial distances. ...And distances over time, but Rourke was strictly against subjecting you to that in your present condition as it may have led to your pregnancy advancing  the way Quinn's illness did when you leaped forward six months.” She guides me to lie back, lifting my shirt just enough to expose my belly. “Quiet again, please, while I listen for the heartbeat.”

She takes an instrument out of the drawer that looks like a small silver trumpet minus the pipes and valves, and places the bell end against my belly, lowering her head to press her ear to the flat end. After adjusting it a few times, she smiles.

“Ahh, there it is. Good and strong. But a little high-placed. I don't think baby has turned yet.”

“No, she hasn't. Or she hadn't last I knew. We tried EVC, but it didn't take. I've been preparing myself for a likely breech delivery—and possibly a C-section.”

Clockmaker frowns. “...The sooner we get you out of their hands, the better. Any complications in labor would likely go very badly for you if you're still a captive.”

“Why can't you just teleport us out of here with the crystals?” Diego asks.

“If I had access to the crystals myself, I would not have gotten stuck in the 1950's,” she replies ruefully. “I would be performing an ultrasound on you instead of using a pinard, and I would likely be qualified to perform a C-section myself.”

“You never decided to update your skills?”

“Records became much more difficult to forge as technology advanced. I read what books I could, but it seemed safer not to attempt formal study again. In any case, if you go into labor within the next three days, I will take what risks are necessary to get you out of here. But the safest option is going to be to wait, since the safest option will also require me to stay behind and throw them off the scent while they attempt to hunt you down.”

I nod slowly. I won't say I feel like I completely understand what is happening here, but I still feel like I can trust Clockmaker. Diego seems a little bit more skeptical.

“But why help us like this? Why not tip off the authorities that you know where we are?”

“For one thing, I believe the authorities would have a harder time getting you out than I will. For another...I still care about what might happen to the Vaanti if the authorities turn their suspicions toward the island.” She hesitates a moment. “...When we reach the next stopping point, I intend to drug their food to knock them out long enough that you can escape. ...I could poison them. Kill them. But if their bodies are revealed in an investigation, that will come back to you.

“Which is why, Diego, when eventually questioned on how you escaped, you are going to tell them that in this very room, you discovered a bottle of rohypnol abandoned in one of these cabinets, and smuggled the pills in your sock.”

“I see. And...what will...'I' do with these pills?”

“Well, at the next safehouse, you will drug their water supply, of course. You've had your eye out for an opportunity since you discovered the pills.”

“...No one will stop 'me'?”

“Once the deed is done, I will show you how 'you' did it, and I'll make sure to set it up to look plausible. Of course, it may be rearranged when your captors take off, but I don't believe that would strike anyone as very odd, either.”

“And what should I tell them about who kidnapped us?”

“You know Fiddler. You know she was a rival of Jake's. Tell them you don't know the others. It will be true. Tell them you don't know why you were abducted. That will be a lie, but it will be a lie that protects the Vaanti.”

“It will also be a lie that protects Rourke,” I point out.

“It will also protect you,” Clockmaker counters. “And your baby. ...I will not let Rourke escape justice, Alodia. I promise you that. But sometimes winning the war means losing the battle, and right now, it is more important that you and Diego are safely returned to your families before the baby arrives, and that the Vaanti's secrets are kept as long as possible.”

“As long as possible. ...You make it sound as if you don't think they can be kept indefinitely.”

“I don't,” she admits. “But if I can help it, I won't have them turned into laboratory experiments like Rourke tried to do. ...I believe there is a way that the truth can be safely revealed. But it must be done carefully and there are many unknowns to be considered.”

“What unknowns?”

She sighs a little, shaking her head, but there is a slight smile on her lips. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Alodia, than I could have ever perceived from my vantage point within Vaanu's time bubble. ...You can probably start getting dressed now. They're going to start wondering what we're doing in here.”

I sit up slowly. My head is spinning a little, probably with all this new information. But there is one more thing I feel I should know.

“...Where are they actually taking us? Where is Rourke waiting?”

“The exact location appears to be on a need-to-know basis. But I have reason to suspect he is making his base somewhere in the Greek isles.”

“Well, I won't ask why there. I'm sure finding the answer to that can wait.”

“Absolutely. The important thing now is getting you someplace where you can have your baby safely.”

I nod. “...Thank you, Clockmaker. Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

She smiles sadly. “I suppose I ought to tell you not to call me that anymore. The Anachronists have appointed a new Clockmaker.”

“Do you want a new name?” I ask.

She shrugs. “It was never really a name, was it. It was a title of sorts, though Anachronists are not really supposed to have titles. ...I suppose I would like for you to call me the Midwife now. It seems appropriate.”

“Midwife, then. Thank you, Midwife.”

Kenji

It's been quiet for the last few days while Tahira has been off tracking Alodia. Just the occasional petty crooks hopped up on weak street-cut doses of Liquid Prism that have actually become weirdly routine. Just as well, considering we're down our leader, but I can't help feeling kinda twitchy. So when my phone chimes while I'm working out in my home gym and the screen shows an unfamiliar number, I am immediately on edge. But I pick up because I'm not about to ignore it, either.

“This is Kenji.”

“Katsaros. What's the word in Northbridge?”

I could be mistaken, but I think I can hear a slight tremor in Caleb's voice. I feel my forehead crease.

“Uh, not much happening here at the moment. Why? Where are you?”

“You swear the Prism Crystal's secure? Maybe you should check on it.”  

“Yes, Caleb. It's secure. You're gonna have to trust me on that.”

“When was the last time you checked? When was the last time you saw it with your own eyes?”

“Man, seriously. I'd say you sound like you're trying to get its location out of me for some nefarious purpose, but I don't actually think you're dumb enough to be so transparent. It's secure. I promise. Getting at it right now would be way more complicated than either of your former bosses could pull off. ...Where are you?”

“I'm at Gigi's squat.”

“What?! What are you doing there?!”

He hesitates. “...Not really important. Had a dumb idea that isn't gonna pan out anyway, because the place is completely deserted.”

“Is that unusual? It was deserted when we found you there.”

“Yeah, that was the gang away on a day mission. This is...different. I been here two days with no trace of anyone, and most everything's gone.”

“Did they maybe move on from that squat? Set up a new base?”

“Maybe. 'Cept they didn't take entirely everything. There's still mattresses and linens, a generator, a minifridge, space heaters...”

“Well, those are heavy. Probably thought it more worthwhile to acquire new ones.”

“I'd buy that...except that they also left a supply of food and bottled water. Water and canned goods may be heavy, but you can pack 'em in backpacks and carry 'em easy enough. And packs of ramen noodles weigh next to nothing.”

“So what do you think is going on?”

“No idea. I just know it's probably not good.”

I consider this for a moment. “Maybe you should come back to Northbridge.”

“Yeah...I don't know. Got some things to take care of.”

“Well, I'm not gonna twist your arm.”

“How is Tahira?”

“Oh, right. You probably haven't heard yet. She's okay. She woke up, and she's out of the hospital.”

“Well. Good to know.”

Before I can reply, the call cuts off. I wait a minute or two to see if he's going to call back. I even take a chance on calling back the number he called from, but no luck.

...Guess that might be the reformed criminal for you. I wonder if I'm ever actually going to know what to make of him.

Alodia

Midwife stays with us over the next few days while we're held in what I have concluded is probably an abandoned hospital. She's there when we're bound and blindfolded again and loaded into another vehicle. This time, though, they cut our bonds once we're in the van, and we're permitted to take our blindfolds off. I realize why once we do.

We're inside what can only be the trailer of a semi. No windows to the outside. Separated from the drivers in the cab. Only a few hanging work lights to illuminate our steel and aluminum prison. But it has been fitted with car seats, and the car seats have seatbelts. We fasten ourselves in and settle in for the journey, however long it will take.

“You should both try to rest as much as you can,” Midwife tells us. “Now, and when we arrive. You'll both need your energy very soon.”

Jake

It's early morning, and my turn holding the Prism Crystal while Sean drives. I really ought to stay awake. Be a decent navigator. But my head still isn't fully healed, and Michelle encourages me to sleep when I need to as long as I keep a hand on the Crystal. So when I feel myself start to drift off, I grab a handkerchief out of the glove compartment and wrap it around my hand and the Crystal. The top of the gleaming Crystal is still visible, and it feels secure enough that I don't think it will fall. I prop my head on a travel pillow against the passenger-side window, and let myself drift off.

I come around again slowly. The sunlight makes my eyes water as voices buzz around me. There are no words just yet, but the atmosphere is tense. I claw my way back to full consciousness just as the tension starts to ebb away.

“Wha...? Wha's goin' on...” I manage to form the question, but the words feel like mush coming out of my mouth at first.

“It's okay,” Sean assures me. “We lost the trail for a minute, but we've got it back.”

I frown, turning to study his profile, even as the glare from the sun obscures my vision at first. He still looks concerned. I look down at the Crystal tied to my hand. It's glowing bright as it was when I fell asleep. A glance in the rearview mirror reveals the others still following us in the other car. But I look at the clock on the dashboard, and I look at the sun, and I immediately understand what's different.

We're not heading northwest anymore. We've turned entirely around.

Alodia

Our new prison is another farmhouse. Or cabin. Or cottage. Whatever. We're blindfolded again once we arrive, and I only see the inside of the room we're locked in, but it definitely has wood floors and wood-paneled walls. As usual, we're supplied with food when we arrive. Nothing gourmet, of course, but nutritious. I eat valiantly for my baby's sake, and Diego eats for mine, but I can tell he's struggling to find an appetite. I reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“You okay?”

“I'm just...anxious. Do you think we can trust Midwife?”

I sigh, turning my attention back to my meal. “I think we probably don't have much of a choice. I think if it turns out she can't be trusted, we won't be much worse for it.”

“I don't know. It's not like there need to be only two sides in this conflict, us and Rourke. If the Anachronists have gone as crazy as she implies, they might just be out to hurt you themselves...”

“I won't say the possibility didn't occur to me. But given the choice between taking a risk trusting her and risking my baby falling into Rourke's hands...I'll take the choice that presents a possibility of freedom.”

“It does seem like a better choice than waiting to be delivered to Rourke,” he concedes.

“We should rest if we can. If Midwife can be trusted, we're apparently going to need it.”

* * *

I'm not sure how deeply I actually manage to sleep. At nine months pregnant, I haven't really slept soundly in weeks. But it does feel as if some time has passed when I open my eyes to see Midwife leaning over me and realize that she was gently shaking me awake.

“Your enemies are sound asleep,” she says softly. “Drugged. It's time to get you both out of here.” I sit up carefully. Midwife puts a hand on my shoulder, preventing me from standing. “Stay seated for a moment. First things first, we need to get that chip out of your neck to reopen a line of communication with Varyyn. Diego, help me out here, okay?”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Sit down there and hold her steady. This will be quick, but it will be painful for as long as it lasts. Alodia, try not to make too much noise. I don't expect anyone to wake up in any state to chase you, but I would rather not take chances.”

Diego sits beside me on the cot and draws me into his arms. I grip him back, pressing my face into his shoulder, bracing myself. I feel Midwife gather up my hair and twist it up off my neck.

“The effects of this chip are likely to last beyond its removal, but they will wear off in time. Unfortunately, I cannot say precisely how much time it will take.” As she speaks, I feel pain go through me like a full-body electric shock. I gasp sharply, digging my fingertips into Diego's back, but I manage not to cry out. “But I do promise you that it will wear off. ...All done.”

I sit up shakily, my stomach quivering. Diego squeezes my hand, rubbing my back. “All good now?”

I manage to nod. “Yeah. All good. Just a little woozy.”

“I advise Diego to take the first shift driving. There's a jeep outside for you. Full tank, spare tire, and three cans of gas. Northbridge is about two-hundred miles away. I have programmed the fastest route into the GPS for you. The whole trip should take around three hours.”

“...Couldn't we just go to the nearest town and call the police?” Diego asks.

“Once you have driven off, I can't stop you from doing whatever you see fit. But I highly recommend putting as much distance between yourselves and your captors as possible before putting yourselves in the authorities' hands. Particularly because I cannot assure you that there are no Anachronist spies in holographic disguises along the road to Northbridge.”

“I know I would rather get back to the other Catalysts before we try to send anyone out after Arachnid,” I murmur. “I have more faith in them and the Supers to protect us than the authorities. Especially with the threat of Anachronist spies.”

“Just think the police might wonder why we drove two-hundred miles instead of getting them involved sooner.”

“Like Midwife said. We wanted to put as much distance between us and them as possible. Besides, I'm pregnant and scared and I probably pushed you to get us to Northbridge once I saw how close we were. If nothing else, we can blame it on my hormones.”

“That feels sexist.”

“I am willing to exploit sexism when it suits,” I reply, smirking a little. “But...there is another problem I can see with driving almost non-stop to Northbridge: I am nine months pregnant, and I have to pee constantly. I've been able to hold it when they move us, but I'm usually in agony by the time we arrive. And the thought of going three hours without a rest stop...”

“I have a solution for that, too,” Midwife says almost proudly. “Frankly, I am annoyed they never provided you with a portable female urinal before. But you will find one under the seat in the jeep. It's actually designed with pregnant women in mind. Specifically, pregnant women who have to spend a great deal of time in cars. Now, Diego. Pay attention.”

“Hmm? What?” Diego snaps to attention, his eyes widening slightly.

“I'm going to tell you how 'you' managed to drug your kidnappers.” She taps at the handle of a locked closet that we made a cursory attempt to open when we were first left alone in the room. “When you arrived here, they took a water cooler jug out of here and left it with you. Before they locked the closet, you saw that there were other jugs inside. When they left you alone, you tried the closet door and found that the locking mechanism was clearly broken, because in spite of the knob not turning, the door opened. You took a chance, and emptied the six pills from the bottle you found at the doctor's office into an almost-full jug that had already been opened. By the way, you'll find said bottle in the glove compartment of the jeep. Make sure to get your fingerprints on it before you let the authorities have it as evidence.”

“...Should we tell them that there was a gynecologist at the abandoned doctor's office?”

“Of course. Don't worry. There's no reason to believe you will harm me by doing so. As long as you keep my description vague.”

“So...once they were drugged, how did we get out?”

“Through a window in the back of the closet. This room is actually underground, and there is a window at the top of the wall at ground level. In fact, Diego, come with me. I'm going to direct you through your escape path. Alodia, there's no way you could climb through that window in your condition, but Diego, you should follow the plausible path and leave your traces where you can.”

I notice that Midwife uses a key to unlock the closet, but I assume she is going to do something to break the lock mechanism after we leave. She takes him into the closet, and I hear them talking for a minute or two before she comes out alone.

“...Where's Diego?”

“Walking around with the key to unlock the door. I can't leave my traces all over the grounds. Not when you're supposed to be escaping without my help.”

I want to protest. I can't keep back a nagging fear that something is going to go wrong here, that maybe one of the guards wasn't as drugged as Midwife perceived. But I hold my tongue. Midwife has always given me the impression she knows more than she lets on in any given situation. Trusting her pays off. Within five minutes, I hear the key turn in the lock, and the door opens. Diego beams at me from across the threshold.

“Time for a jailbreak, Allie. The coast is clear.”

Diego

I'm honestly a little surprised at how anxious I feel leaving Midwife behind as Allie and I drive off in our stolen jeep. But then again, maybe it's not leaving her behind that's making me anxious. I mean, after all, my best friend and I are running for our lives right now, leaving behind a bunch of hostile ex-military goons with sinister designs on an unborn baby girl. They're drugged, giving us a good amount of time to make a head start, but I know I'm not going to feel safe until we're among friends in Northbridge. Even as I speed through the night, going as much over the speed limit as I dare on the silent country roads, I can feel them lurking over my shoulder like ghosts.

“This thing have a radio?” Allie mutters after a few minutes.

I take a quick glance at the dash. “Satellite. You think we should...?”

She shrugs. “Don't see how it could hurt. And it might calm us down. ...And River, if we can find the right station.” She rubs her belly pointedly. “I think she's picking up on how nervous I am.”

“It does feel like we're driving with a target on our backs,” I concede as she starts flipping through the stations.

“I keep looking in the back seat, like one of them might have snuck in and is lying in wait back there.”

“We checked it thoroughly before we left, remember? We even looked underneath.”

“Of course I remember.” She settles on a station playing electronic music and leans back in her seat. “Doesn't stop it from feeling like they could be right behind us.”

“Yeah, you're right.” I chuckle a little. “Know what this feeling reminds me of? Being in high school, watching gay porn on the computer with the door locked and my headphones on and my parents out of the house and still being terrified that I'd get caught. I used incognito mode, did virus scans afterward, checked about fifty times that my headphones were on, and I would still be terrified of my parents coming home early, or something showing up on the search history days later and I would get caught...”

“You were more careful than I was. I did get caught once.”

“Yeah, but all your aunt and uncle were ever going to do was give you a lecture about privacy. Embarrassing, sure, but not life-altering.”

“True. ...I think if we're going to compare this situation to pre-adult anxieties, mine would be being inside or anywhere near the garage when Aunt Molly or Uncle Rob was out. When I was four or five, I had a nightmare about being trapped in the garage with a sentient killer car, and I have hated the sound of the garage opening ever since.”

I take my eyes off the road just long enough to glance at her in surprise. “You have?”

“Yup. I don't mind it so much from my room. Or any room where I can't see the door from the garage into the house. But if I'm in that hallway when I hear the garage door open, I bolt.”

“Huh...” I think back, trying to recall if I had ever noticed her doing that when we were kids, but I guess it's never stood out to me. She was a high-energy kid, and good at masking her distress when she wanted to. I probably put it down to her getting a new fun idea and running off to make it happen. “Funny how you can know a person all of your life and theirs, and still not know everything about them.”

“I should hope I still have a little mystery to me,” she replies, chuckling. “Even from you.”

The truth is that I am glad she does. In another timeline, she was a figment of my imagination. Everything she was, I made her. All her secrets were mine. The woman sitting next to me is real enough to surprise me with a strange, irrational fear left over from childhood. I don't express any of that, not wanting to remind her of a timeline I know she doesn't like to think about. But I do spare a glance to smile at her. Though not enough to make me forget what we're running from, that happy thought is enough to ease me a little, and as we continue on our journey, I hum along with the music on the radio.

Jake

We're not robots. We can't travel indefinitely. We have to stop occasionally to piss and shit and get food and fill our cars with gas. I take care of my essential bodily functions and lean against the car's rear door while I gulp down a protein bar that tastes vaguely like vanilla-flavored newspaper. Tahira leans beside me, working her way through a take-out chicken sandwich. She stares straight ahead while she eats, taking each bite with an expression that suggests she's getting it down through sheer willpower. The Prism Crystal winks at the top of her pocket. She's facing vaguely southwest, and the Crystal is gleaming in response.

“...Why did it change?”

I ask the question before I realize I did it. Tahira looks sidelong at me, and her expression is hard to read.

“What do you mean?”

“Don't be coy. I mean the Crystal. It turned us around. Why?”

“...We passed her. Somewhere on our journey, we passed by her and we had to turn around.”

“If that's the case, shouldn't we have intersected her by now? Or at least turned right or left, or...?”

“I don't know, Jake. This is hardly an exact science. We're flying almost blind.”

“...Are we sure it's even her we're tracking with the Crystal?”

“Who or what else could it be?”

“...I don't know. It ain't an exact science.”

“But there is an objective reality to it,” she murmurs, sounding thoughtful. After a moment's hesitation, she adds, “It's her, Jake. I can't totally explain how I'm sure it's her, but I know it's her.”

“Well, I guess you'd know.”

But I'm not comforted. Following the Prism Crystal might make me feel less like I'm spinning my wheels, but the pit in my stomach's not gonna go away until she's safe in my arms again. In my world, nothing's right without her. I lived that reality for five years. I can't face it again.

#pixelberry choices #playchoices #choices stories you play #Endless Summer #hero #Jake McKenzie #Diego Ricardo Ortiz Soto #Craig Hsiao #sean gayle #aleister rourke #grace hall #quinn kelly #estela montoya #michelle nguyen #zahra namazi #raj bhandarkar #kenji katsaros #eva minuet #grayson prescott #dax darcisse #poppy patel

[trivialqueen]

Here’s the next section of that original story. 

As always, I’m neither a doctor, nor British.  I’m just a girl who fancies herself a writer and likes slow burns, smart women, and tall men. 

St. Sebastian’s was a world class hospital with some of the worst aesthetics he’d ever seen. The exterior was in an uninspired brutalist style. The interior had been remolded several times since the early 1960s, but only ever with an eye toward function and technology, never design or comfort. The cardiothoracic ward, known as Harvey, was as bland as the rest of the hospital, but with the extra unattractive feature of ghastly aqua accents throughout. As if that was a substitute for style. Felix leaned against the nurses’ station, feigning interest in a chart. It had been over a week since his introduction as Director of Surgery. In the subsequent ten days his true role in the hospital had spread like, well, gossip in a hospital. He’s the Dread Pirate Roberts here for your jjjoooobbb!! The rumors were absolutely true, but he didn’t want to let that on. To make an accurate assessment of viability and redundancies he needed to see the hospital in action, not performance. Changes were only as good as their usefulness and longevity. So whenever possible he preferred to observe as inconspicuously as a man of his height could. This tended to involve a lot of pretending to read and “sneaking”.

Even if he wasn’t half secretly overseeing a major shakeup in the hospital, being the Director of Surgery meant he bounced from ward to ward far more than his colleagues did. Which was how he found himself on Harvey that afternoon. He appreciated the challenges that this brought, it tested and stretched diagnostic muscles he’d not used since deciding a specialty, but it also ate into his time as a surgeon. He’d accepted a more administrative position as it was the next logical career move, but in his heart, he was a doctor first and foremost, a bureaucrat a distant second. His pantomime reading of one of Paul Elliot’s old transplant cases was interrupted by a sandy haired teen with a strong Belfast accent.

“It’s ma Dad, he needs help.” A quick survey of the room told him two things: one, no one was collapsed on the floor, meaning the Dad in question was already a patient in a bed, and two, none of the CT consultants, or even a registrar, were in the immediate vicinity. The boy was talking to him.

“Who’s his consultant?”

“Ms. Hale.” The boy fairly spat.

“Then I suggest you wait for her.” She was likely doing something maverick and self-righteous, but he had no doubts she’d be back.

“She doesn’t know a damn thing what she’s doing! She’s done like fifteen tests on ma Dad and all she says is ‘wait and see’. Now you tell me to wait! I’m sick of waiting. He’s in pain, real pain.”

“Alright.” He could at least do something about the pain, if nothing else.

Sofia Grace Hale had a scrivener’s hand, surprising for a doctor. It was large, round, looping, and very legible, unlike his own tight, scratchy scrawl. ‘Abdominal pain’ jumped out from the meticulous notes. Most of Mr. Patrick Baxter’s ailments were CT related and not necessarily caused by his MS– the dilated aorta first among them. Ms. Hale was undoubtable chasing all of their causes and symptoms, but the abdominal pain… well he could check on that. It would also make the teen happy, hopefully, if he could even answer one question.

“Mr. Baxter, my name is Felix Magnusson, and I’d like to do a few tests regarding your abdominal pain, I’ll be arranging for your transfer to our general surgery ward, St. Irene’s.”

Ms. Hale’s red tassel earrings matched her lipstick and made her double take particularly dramatic as she passed Mr. Baxter, his son Kevin, and the porter taking them to the third floor.

“Where are you taking Mr. Baxter?”

“Down to Irene.” Her coffee colored eyes widened and that fire he’d seen during their first meeting began to smolder. She had eyes that could lead a man to hell. Perhaps one day she might look at him without an indignant flame in her gaze. But until then he would warm himself by the fire in her eyes.

“What?”

“He needs an ultrasound.”

“Why isn’t he having one here?” She crossed her arms under her breast as she glared up at him. Even in her high heels her head only came to about his shoulders. To keep eye contact she was forced to crane her neck slightly. Which she did, pale throat exposed, creating a lovely long line down her neck to her décolletage, where he resolutely refused to look, no matter how tempting.

“There seems little point in taking up a CT bed when his problem is clearly GS related.”

“Clearly GS related? The worst pain is in his chest, and the echo shows a dilated aorta.”

“I’ve read your notes. He also has severe abdominal pain. So, what’s your diagnosis?”

She wanted to scream. That arrogant bastard. That absolute arschloch. ‘What’s your diagnosis?’ like she was a bloody F1. God, his tone. ‘Was ist deine diagnose?’ It was that same clipped, ‘I don’t think you have this in you’ tone her clinical skills lead at Tübingen had taken with her. Except he was speaking English. And she wasn’t a F1 anymore. She was a consultant, goddamnit.

(The worst part was, of course, the fact she didn’t have a diagnosis. Not yet anyway, and that uncertainty made her feel even more like a bloody first year all over again. ‘Was ist deine diagnose?’ ‘Keine Ahnung.’)

“I’ve ruled out ischemic heart disease but I’m still waiting on his blood pressure.”

“That is not a diagnosis.” Her eyes flamed beautifully. Her temper was quick and exquisite.

“I’m well aware! As I said, I’m waiting on his test results.”

“The patient was admitted thirty-six hours ago, and you don’t have a diagnosis yet. Surly a change of tact can only assist in figuring this out.” He cocked a brow, his supreme confidence in his own ability shining in his eyes, the quirk of his lips. He took a step closer to her, forcing her head back further, as if he wanted to force her to look away. She wouldn’t. She’d hold her ground and his gaze, even if meant he put her in Anuvittasana to do it. She could catch a whiff of his aftershave, something with sandalwood in it. He smelled of it, hospital, fresh laundry, and perhaps faintly, of old books.

“Is it common elsewhere to steal other consultants’ patients? Or is this because you think you know everything?” He stared at her a moment, tongue moistening his thin lips before he spoke.

“We are both consultants, are we not?” He could see her hands flexing at her side, as if she was thinking about strangling him, and he could taste her anger, capsaicin hot.

“Yes.” She spat out from between cayenne colored lips.

“then surly Mr. Baxter can be our patient. Now let me see what I can learn about the GS part of our current problem, hm?” And with that patronizing hum in his throat he left. Left her in the hallway struggling to keep from screaming, her breath coming in choppy, short burst.

She really did not like that man.

He heard her before he saw her, the determined click of spike heels on linoleum making the announcement: Gird your loins. The moment Mr. Baxter was back from his ultrasound she was at his bedside, chart in hand.

“Your blood pressure is constantly going from high to normal-”

“Of course, it is Love, you keep bothering me. Now, I don’t wanna be rude…” His tone suggested otherwise as his gaze raked down her body, coming to rest on her legs with appreciation. “I’ve lived with this condition for fifteen years; you’re not going to tell me anything I don’t already know.” She did have stunning legs, but that did not give the man the right to stare like that. Felix could feel his jaw tighten as he watched patient and consultant converse.

“Right, Jeyne, I’d like to do a blood culture and another echo, please.”

“Love, you’re not listening to me. You’re wasting your time running these bloody tests.” Ms. Hale was very clearly listening to the man, her back was visibly tense from across the room, spine straight and hard as steel. She gave him a curt nod and walked away, his eyes following her with a lascivious grin spreading across his face. He caught her eye as she brushed past him down the hall, for once that burning anger wasn’t directed at him. Once the click-click of her heels was out of earshot he released the breath he’d not realized he’d been holding. The glower he knew he wore, however, remained.

The ward was mostly dark as he made his final rounds for the evening. Meetings had taken up most of his afternoon, bowel resection aside, and had pushed any patient follow ups or paperwork into late in the evening. Most of the residents on the ward were asleep, with a few readings or playing on their devices, providing patches of light throughout the otherwise dim floor. Mr. Baxter was asleep, looking almost peaceful. He snagged the man’s file and retreated to the better lighting of the nurses’ station.

“She said I could sit here.” The voice almost startled him, if he was the sort to be startled. Kevin Baxter sat at the nursing station, text book and papers spread about him in messy piles. Felix felt his fingers twitch, itch to straighten them up, keep them from jumbling together or with anything important still on the desk.

“Who did?”

“Sister Jacobs. Gotta do my homework somewhere.” He held up a battered German language primer.

“Ah! Sprichst du Deutsch?”

“Ich verstehe nur Bahnhof.” He could only smile at his response. There was always something deliciously ironic about complaining that one did not speak the language in idioms of the language.

He’d learned Latin at his father’s knee, and learned it perfectly, for his father would not have settled for anything less. It was both his personality and his profession, as a professor of classics and philologist. English had come quickly in school and become his primary language when at ten he’d been sent to boarding school. He’d learned French first, having tested out of the Latin classes, followed shortly by German. At the time French had been the easier language to pick up, but after quickly realizing that speaking it frequently would require interacting with the French, he’d not pursued it beyond conversational. His mastery of German had been improved tremendously the year he spent in Heidelberg but since his return to the UK it had fallen by the wayside, reading skills aside. He still enjoyed keeping up with his former colleagues’ research. He now also had a stack of publications by S.G. Hale sitting on his desk to peruse.

“Deutsche Sprache, Schwere Sprache.”

“Ja, und ich mag es nicht. Es ist eine mean, hateful Sprache.”

“If you need help, Ms. Hale is a fluent German speaker, she went to school there.” The boy pulled a face. “Do you always work at night?” He was not interested in hearing the boy complain about one of the hospital’s more talented surgeons because his father had a particularly difficult case to diagnose; sifting out preexisting MS symptoms from the new ones, causes still unknown.

“It’s the only time we get any peace, when he’s asleep. Then it’s like everything’s… dunno, normal, I guess, whatever that means.”  He sounded so old for one so young. Felix followed the boy’s eyes as they rested on his father, who was still resting as peacefully as one could in a hospital bed. I could not be easy for either of them, as far as he could tell there was no one else in the Baxter household at the moment except Patrick and Kevin. Being primary caretaker and a teenager was no easy task. “It’s become secondary progressive, hasn’t it?” His jaw clenched.

“What makes you say that?”

“Cuz it’s obvious,” The boy said in that way that only teenagers could. “The migraines, the flashing before his eyes, the coughing like he’s got consumption, the going crazy mad for no reasons.” Felix felt his body tense. This was new information. Important and new. Given how consistently condescending and rude he’d been to Ms. Hale while simultaneously ogling her admittedly very fine legs and even better backside, he’d assumed the man had always had a bad temper. That it was a personality trait, not a symptom.

“He’s not always had a temper?” His mind buzzed with new connections.

“Just lately. Why?”

“Do your homework.” The Baxters might complain about excessive tests but he was fairly confident the next two would provide all the answers they needed.

She was too old for this shit. Sofia Grace did her best to stifle a yawn before going to speak to Mr. Baxter. She’d been up entirely too late trying to figure out his diagnosis, but she’d finally made one. It was a pity that as her vice of choice, she’d developed a tolerance to caffeine so high that the amount necessary to actually keep her awake would also, quite possibly, kill her. But given how Mr. Baxter rankled her with his distain and condescension she knew that her blood would undoubtedly be pumping in now time. Straightening her blouse, she approached his bed, Kevin had already left for school it seemed.

“Good morning, Mr. Baxter. My sincerest apologies for it taking so long, but I think I’ve come up with an explanation for your symptoms.”

“No need, Love, really.” It was a dismissal but not nearly as rude as his usual attitude.

“Sorry?” In fact, he looked rather resigned.

“Catecholamine.” A baritone voice in her ear supplied. Sofia Grace felt herself jump out of her skin. She wheeled around. There, standing in her personal space was Felix Magnusson. Tall as ever, as immovable as a brick wall, and radiating a warmth from his chest that made the rest of the room feel chilly. She’d had no idea he was on the ward, let alone able to stand directly behind her.

“What?”

“I’ve explained it all to Mr. Baxter already,” He continued on, as efficient as ever, pulling out a CT scan from its large brown envelope with flourish. “It accounts for all the symptoms and really, it’s blindingly obvious when you really think about it. I feel a little ashamed for not realizing sooner.” He held the scan out in front of her, he was so close to her back and his arms were so long that she only needed to lean back slightly into his chest to see what he was looking at. “Textbook Pheochromocytoma.” There was indeed a tumor on the adrenal gland and up into the chest cavity, partially around the diaphragm. The pain, headaches, palpitations, elevated heartrate and blood pressure… all the signs and symptoms. The dilated aorta was a problem, but not related to the other symptoms. It really was a general surgery problem, Hurensohn! He lowered his arm but didn’t step back from her.

“So, what do we do now?” It was the first time the man in the bed had looked up at her with anything other than contempt.

“Well,” his MS did complicate things, he wasn’t wrong when he’d asserted that. They’d have to determine if he was fit for surgery, speak with the neuro and physio specialists, get a theatre slot if he was determined fit or wait longer if he wasn’t.

“There’s a procedure. We have a slot in theatre this morning.” She did step away from him then. They needed to have a discussion, now. And it couldn’t be in front of Patrick Baxter. Her fingers itched to grab him by the tie (burgundy silk against a pale blue shirt and navy suit) and tow him away from the bed.

“Mr. Magnusson, could I have a word?” Keeping her tone light and professional was a challenge. They’d only worked together for two weeks and Sofia Grace wasn’t entirely certain she hadn’t developed a twitch in that time.

“Just a moment, Ms. Hale.” He didn’t quite hand wave her away, but it was close. God grant me the strength to deal with condescending men. “There’s a theatre slot this morning; would you like us to call your son?” Magnusson was hard to read, but this look was particularly inscrutable.

“No, not till after. If that’s possible. He’s got a maths test today and doesn’t need more worry than he’s already got.” Ever so slightly the lines around his eyes and mouth relaxed as he studied the man in the bed.

“Mr. Magnusson, if you don’t mind?” It took some effort to steer him away, mostly with herself to keep from grabbing him by the tie to do it. Instead a firm hand on his elbow did the trick, only making her feel slightly like a tiny tugboat, although instead of bringing a Nordic cruise ship out to sea, she was dragging a Swedish surgeon over to the light box.

           “You’re just assuming he’s fit for surgery!” She hissed.

           “The Neuro and Physio specialists seem to agree with me.” He hung the scan on the viewer, turned it on, and then reached into his breast pocket for his glasses. Resolutely not looking at her.

“So, let me get this straight,” Sabrina had suggested that he wasn't awful, but she’d just let him get under her skin. And then he did shit like this. “You talked to Stewart and Noah before you talked to me about our patient?” He ignored her. Outright.

“If you’re still concerned, let’s get a second opinion.” He turned and spotted Griffin Richards walking across the ward, cup of coffee in one hand, a stack of files in the other. Sofia liked Griffin; he was an excellent GS surgeon with a flair for the upper GI. He was committed to helping people and passionate about the NHS. Patients came first and she’d only ever seen him play politics to that end. He was a good colleague, even if his personal life was a bit of a shambles. Discreetly she peeked at his hands, no wedding band this morning. So, he was on the outs with his wife this week.

“Ah, Mr. Richards, would you be so kind as to act as arbitrator?” He waved Griffin over politely.

“For what?” He asked, giving Magnusson a wary look but gifting her with a warm smile. He was a handsome and charming man; it was easy to see how he got his wife. It was only a shame that it didn’t seem like he was able to keep her.

“Pheochromocytoma on the adrenal gland that has attached itself to the diaphragm.” Magnusson used the ear piece of his glasses to point to the tumor.

“Mr. Magnusson seems keen to slice and dice, despite the fact the patient has MS.”

“And you would do what exactly, Ms. Hale? Key hole through the chest?” It was a valid option, but he said it as if he might have said, “Try crystal healing?” Griffin put on his own glasses and studied the scan quietly for a moment, sipping his coffee.

“Well if it were my patient, given the position of the tumor, I would suggest you and I operate together.” Another smile, this one less charming as he’d just sold her out. Magnusson was smiling as well, thin lipped and smug as hell.

“And there’s our answer,” he tapped the scan with his glasses, “a CT/GS collaboration, as I was saying. Thank you, Mr. Richards. I’ll see you on the ice, Ms. Hale.” And with that he walked off. Just like that. Sofia knew she was gawping, but she couldn’t help it, the arrogance of the man left her speechless.

Dieser Arschgesicht!

Well, perhaps not entirely…

Ms. Hale was already at the sink when he arrived for surgery. She was in pale blue scrubs today, unlike the wine-colored ones he’d first met her in, her dark curls covered by her floral cap. She didn’t look up at him as she scrubbed her hands but gave him a slight nod as he took the faucet next to her to begin his own cleansing ritual.

“I have reasons for wanting to do a keyhole procedure on Mr. Baxter, it’s not just a ‘CT’ thing or whatever you seem to think. If we do keyhole-”

“We’re doing this open procedure, Ms. Hale.”

“But there’s a risk of-”

“The theatre is set up.” Her cayenne lips pursed into a stubborn line. Her face was already so expressive, but with her mouth painted bright red it was impossible not to look at her lips. They were full, with a cupid’s bow, and clearly holding back several things she’d like to say. Her eyes said them for her, sparking as she gave him a last look before heading off to get her gown and gloves on. If she was half as dynamic of a surgeon as she was as a woman this was going to be quite the operation.

Perhaps it was because she had a scalpel in her hands, but Magnusson was at least inclined to follow her instructions while they were in theatre. He retracted when asked, clamped where she needed him to clamp and generally stayed out of her way as she dealt with Mr. Baxter’s diaphragm. She also didn’t need to look up from her work to know that he was watching her every move with a critical eye.

“Enjoying your foray into Cardiothoracics?” He’d declined the suggestion of background music, leaving nothing to fill the silence except for either one’s thoughts or small talk. And Sofia Grace never much liked being alone with her own thoughts.

“Believe it or not, I was not considering my life lacking in any way for not spending time playing with people’s hearts. What is it about CT surgeons thinking the heart is the only organ in the body?” She’d meant it as small talk, a reference to the fact he was currently assisting her. But nope, he was gunna be an ass about this too. Jesus H. Christ and a windmill full of corpses what is his problem?!

“To be fair, it is kinda important.” He didn’t look up and neither did she as she finished off the last stitch she needed, and they could transition from the more CT oriented to GS oriented surgery.

“It likes to think that, certainly.” He said, picking up a scalpel. “Whereas the kidneys just get on with their job, filtering toxins out and letting the body function. Efficient, beautiful, and secure enough in themselves that they don’t need to shout about it.” Normally she would argue that picking a favorite or most important body part was a stupid endeavor. Most of the organs in the body were necessary and linked together in ways that pulling one out of the system without compensating for it would lead to problems in a variety of other areas. There was no one organ that was better than any other body part, there was only what needed to be dealt with immediately or later to ensure quality of life.

This being said, if he was just going to talk shit because he had some weird hang-up about CT surgeons, she’d double down for the heart. (It was her favorite organ, even if picking favorites was stupid).

“So indispensable you can lose one and still survive.”

“Hack a piece of kidney off and it’ll just grow back,” He picked up a scalpel, “the minute the heart breaks it becomes a useless piece of tissue. And then of course there’s the fact we can now replace a faulty heart with a machine the size of a cigarette packet.” He shot her a look over the top of his glasses before he started cutting, she could almost see the smug smirk behind his surgical mask.

“And in some cases, Mr. Magnusson, it seems as if people can survive without any heart at all.” She met his eye steadily, arching one brow defiantly. He stared at her for a moment. Somewhere behind her, someone sounding a lot like Dan Flannery whispered, “Ooo burn.”

“We need to keep moving.” He muttered awkwardly, getting back to the task at hand.

A hit, a very palpable hit.

They worked in silence after that, only the beeps and pings of the machines and occasional request breaking up the quiet.

“BP is plummeting.” Magnusson reported calmly. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to do open surgery in the first place.

“If we had gone with the keyhole procedure-”

Which we did not so I fail to see the usefulness of that comment.” He snapped, voice cold and quick and sharp.  Brooking no retort.

“We did not go with the keyhole procedure because you decided that we shouldn’t, not because we mutually agreed this method. You decided what was best for this procedure, without listening to my reasons, I might add.”

“I am trying to concentrate, Ms. Hale, if you don’t mind?” Out of respect for Mr. Baxter she bit back the rest of what she wanted to say. At least for the moment.

“It’s funny that of all the words to get lost in translation, partners, seems to mean nothing to you.” Mr. Baxter was now Pheochromocytoma free and on his way back to bed for his recovery.

“What?” Magnusson looked at her sideways as she began washing her hands beside him at the sink. Thoroughly washing her hands gave her something to focus on while she tried to find the right words. There were so many things she wanted to say. Most of them rude. But as therapeutic she’d find it to smash his face in and curse him out, it wouldn’t change what she needed to have changed. Word on the street was he would be staying at Saint Seb’s for the foreseeable future, she needed to play the long game, not for immediate gratification.

“In addition to unilaterally deciding on the method of today’s surgery without consulting me, your CT specialist for this surgery and Co-consultant. You also figured out some significant information about our shared patient and did not tell me.” He stopped washing his hands to stare at her, hands raised slightly, allowing the soap and water to drip down his long forearms to the floor. “No, instead, you went straight to the patient himself and explained everything, leaving me in the dark, and then looking like a complete ass with my dick in the wind trying to discuss his condition without the full picture. To compound this, you swoop in and make me look even more stupid in front of our patient. A patient who already had limited regard for my expertise and position as a Doctor.” She turned the faucet off with her elbow and flicked the excess water from her hands into the sink with a flourish before turning to face him. He was staring at her intently, square jaw working but his mouth wisely closed.

“You complain that I make arrogant, rash decisions and that surgeons who make decisions for their own ends are a menace. Next time you work with me, you either keep me in the loop and treat me as an equal or find someone else to handle your heart.” She didn’t wait for his response, instead she grabbed a towel from beside him and brushed past, leaving him alone in the scrub room.

#Cait writes #Hospital Romance Drama #original fiction #Sofia Grace is Chaotic Good chaffing under Lawful Good Rules

[ladytemeraire]

State of the LadyTem, 1/18/17

Under the cut because family  and medical stuff and not happy content, check the tags for warnings.

So I got a call from Mom today asking if I was okay because she hadn’t heard from me after all the texts yesterday.  Uh, what texts?  Turns out my phone fucked up, didn’t deliver ANY of about two dozen messages in a group text the day before, and then spit them all at me this morning at once but wouldn’t let me download/view them.  Thanks, technology.  Anyway, I asked her to fill me in because it she sounded rather concerned.

So apparently Monday night Brian was saying that he wasn't sure about school the next day because he wasn't feeling good.  Mom and Dad were like... okay is he actually sick or does he just not want to go to school?  Well a few hours later, he started throwing up.  And throwing up.  And throwing up.  And then having problems with the other end.  And throwing up. 

This went on all. night. long.

So the next morning (yesterday) Mom called pediatrics to see what they think.  Dr asked if the stuff he's throwing up is green.  It was, so they told her to get him to E.R.  (At this point I'm thinking yeah, no shit, the fact that he's been throwing up for 12 hours straight would have prompted me to take him without any push from the doc, but whatever.)

(Oh and while she's getting up in the morning Dad is telling Brian he needs to toughen up and get ready for school.  After twelve hours of being intensely sick.  I shit you not.  No idea how Mom didn't go spare on him; I may have actually said “oh for FUCK’S SAKE” while on the phone with her, which was the mild version of what I was thinking.)

So off to ER they went.  Brian was in good enough spirits to ask a lot of questions and crack the nurses up, though some of that may have been to cover up being scared/worried.  They took blood to do bloodwork and got him started on a saline IV for dehydration, because he still couldn’t keep ANYTHING down, not even two sips of water or sprite.  Bloodwork came back with an elevated white blood cell count - not in Oh Shit Panic ranges, but high enough to be concerned.  He was also still very obviously in pain, and between that (because Down's kids/people are usually very stoic about pain) and the WBC count and the fact that he couldn’t keep anything down they decided to do a CT scan and ultrasound because they were worried about a blockage/obstruction.  (Apparently the ultrasound they used was similar to the one the OB/GYN used to check the lump in my breast, with a wand and some gel.  I guess Brian wasn't a big fan of the gel even though it was warm, hahaha.)

Results: Brian has stones and "sludge" in his gallbladder.

The good(ish?) news is, it wasn’t completely obstructed, so they didn’t have to do surgery right then.  He’s on a liquid diet for the next two days, tentatively moving to soft food after that, and a surgeon is reviewing the results - presumably to determine how bad it is and if/when he’ll need surgery.  Apparently digestive issues are rather common in kids/people with Down’s (protip: do not go read up on medical issues that are comorbid with or common in people with Down’s, it gets really depressing really fucking fast), but I have no idea if that includes things like the gallbladder or if it’s just the “main” digestive tract/intestines.

(I’m aware it could have been a lot worse but holy shit 2017 can you let our family catch a fucking break for like two minutes)

So there’s that, and just...

Remember about two weeks ago when I made these posts?

That text from Mom was letting me know that there was a shooting incident at Brian’s school that day.

The facility went on lockdown, but all the students and staff were fine.  They were closed the next day because of a police investigation - evidently there was a suicide - which is part of the reason I just vagueblogged about it at the time.  The other part was that holy shit there was a shooting at my little brother’s school.  Not just a school, which is bad enough on its own - this is a learning facility specifically for disabled people.  A place with some of the most vulnerable people imaginable, and somebody walked in there with a gun.  That’s fucking terrifying.  I got the text around 4 and pretty much shut down for the rest of the day because I couldn’t process it.

So yes.  Right now I am feeling rather vulnerable and scared, because it seems like the universe is targeting my little brother, but there is also a large part of me that feels very “NOT TODAY, SATAN” about all this.  And even though we’re only two weeks in I already want to set this year on fire purely from a personal perspective.

#life with ladytemeraire #the adventures of Brian #state of the LadyTem #vomit tw #emetophobia #shooting tw #suicide tw #this is really depressing sorry #I also kind of want to set my dad on fire but that's nothing new

[hotfitnesstopics]

Not so long ago, women were told to take it easy during pregnancy to avoid harming themselves and the baby. Fortunately, that advice has evolved as research continues to show the very real benefits of being physically active during all three trimesters. In fact, studies show that exercise may help reduce the risk of miscarriage, cesarean section, pre-term birth, preeclampsia, gestational diabetes, and excessive weight gain. Just how it works isn’t clearly understood, but Linda May, PhD, an exercise researcher at East Carolina University, says it may be a combination of exercise-induced anti-inflammatory and antioxidant factors, as well as the release of certain hormones. May’s research further shows that moms-to-be who exercise have a lower resting heart rate, as well as increased heart rate variability—a sign of a healthier heart. “Based on the ultrasound, we’ve seen increased heart function benefit the children, too.” In 2015, the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecologists (ACOG) updated its guidelines to reflect some of the more recent research. ACOG now recommends that pregnant women get at least 150 minutes of moderate-intensity exercise per week, or 20 to 30 minutes each day. Even still, active women should be aware of what is and isn’t safe during each stay of their pregnancy. Check out the trimester-by-trimester breakdown below. And remember: Always  check with your healthcare provider before engaging in physical activity. Prenatal Exercises For Each Trimester 1st TrimesterMost women don’t need to modify their activities too much during the first three months, says May. “If you’ve been active, continue doing what you’re doing,” she says. “The baby is going to benefit from it.” If you run, keep running. The same goes for swimming, walking, stationary biking, weight lifting—it’s all good. If you haven’t been active, now is actually the perfect time to start, says May. You’ll just want to start slow and work your way into exercise, much as you would if you weren’t pregnant. “You might start at 15 minutes and work up to 30 minutes each day,” she adds. That said, a few activities should be avoided while pregnant:   Any activity that might cause you to fall (road cycling, skiing, gymnastics)   Contact sports (soccer, basketball)   Scuba diving   Skydiving   Hot yoga or hot Pilates, due to the risk for overheating 2nd TrimesterThis is about the time you’ll start to notice a “belly bump,” if you haven’t already. It’s also when you’ll need to cease doing any exercise that requires you to lie on your stomach or your back. Doing so could compress the inferior vena cava, the large vein that carries deoxygenated blood back to your heart, says May. That precludes many floor exercises—though you can still do ones that require you to lie on your side, like clam shells or leg lifts. Weight training is fine, though machines are better than free weights, since they control the movement. Resistance bands are also great. While doctors used to believe that pregnant women should not raise their heart rate above 140 beats per minute (bpm), more recent research suggests that exceeding 140 bpm is fine, depending on the woman’s age and fitness level. Fitbit’s PurePluse technology on trackers such as the Versa, Alta HR, Charge 2, and Ionic gives you the benefit of continuous heart rate monitoring, tracks your resting heart rate and cardio fitness levels, and use real-time heart rate zones to help you personally tailor your workouts. Indeed, ACOG’s guidelines note that 30 minutes of strenuous activity is well tolerated by pregnant women and their babies during the second trimester if they’ve been active. 3rd TrimesterChances are your belly is big enough that you can’t do a plank without resting your stomach on the ground. But even if it’s not, no planks, says May. And you may need to adjust other exercises as well to accommodate your growing belly. Instead of doing push-ups off the floor, try wall push-ups for an easier angle. You might also find yourself using a wider stance on squats. Remember, there’s no shame in lightening the load either. Modify biceps curls and lateral raises with light, 3-5 pound dumbbells to keep your arms tones and get you ready to start carting around your new baby. “Otherwise, pretty much what’s safe at the beginning is safe at the end,” says May. Just choose activities that feel good to you since you’re more likely to stick with them as you progress through your pregnancy. “I’m a big proponent of doing what you enjoy,” says May. “If you feel more comfortable in the water, then swim or do water aerobics. If you feel more comfortable walking outside, then walk outside.” The post Prenatal Exercises:Your Trimester-by-Trimester Workout Plan appeared first on Fitbit Blog. from Fitbit Blog https://ift.tt/2qMAPp0 via IFTTT

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