#my doctor only gave me a ten day supply and ive tried to ask for a refill three goddamn times over the course of the past week

[fisksaturday]

#my art #the secret saturdays #zak saturday #my doctor only gave me a ten day supply and ive tried to ask for a refill three goddamn times over the course of the past week #you can imagine the kind of stress i am under. the brain zaps have started #im quite irritated

[spicysoftsweet]

A Very Important Episode starring Hisoka

Or the one where Hisoka learns Bungee Gum is not a food group.

A/N: We all know that Hisoka likes candy and Bungee Gum but we would like to encourage Hisoka to make healthier choices and prevent diabetes complications. There will possibly be a part 2. I hope this is educational.

---

This time Hisoka had actually done it. He’d actually managed to fuck up his entire body beyond what he could repair with Bungee Gum or Machi’s services - which she was charging higher and higher for - and now he was somewhere almost unthinkable - an emergency room.

“Illumi~~~~” he half-sang, half-whined now that he was finally lucid, after undergoing an exploratory laparotomy to stabilize his profuse internal bleeding - the surgeons had been in awe of just how much of his body had been purely synthetic due to Texture Surprise exclaiming that he’d be an incredible case to write up - and being amped up full of pain meds. He probably didn’t need the pain meds, but it was fun to go in and out of consciousness; he couldn’t remember the last time he had an actual night of sleep.

His unwilling friend sat at the side of his hospital bed, legs crossed and focusing his jarringly large, black eyes at the fluid and blood that was being transfused into him by IV drip. A small part of him was surprised that Hisoka could be transfused with regular looking blood and regular looking fluid. He was almost sure that he was made up purely of nonsense and Bungee Gum.

“Illumi~” Hisoka moaned dramatically a second time. His gaze slid now to him, with lips pressed into a flat line of distaste.

“Don’t ever use my name as your emergency contact again.”

Illumi had to hide the fact that he was impressed Hisoka could spell clearly enough to make out the letters of his name and had actually retained his phone number. He had been surprised to get a call, but made his way over as soon as he had finished gutting an enemy and stringing them up for display as requested in his latest contract. The idea of Hisoka being dead was incredibly alarming, for he did enjoy his health and company, but also sparked a morbid curiosity in him. Could Hisoka actually die?

“But you came, didn’t you?” Hisoka teased, with a shit-eating grin.

He had him there.

There was a soft knocking on the door, and a young woman in a white coat, followed by a taller man wearing a pair of scrubs came in. The young woman glanced at Hisoka and then Illumi, visibly wincing at the hard stare of the latter in the semi-dark room, then raised her badge to introduce herself. 

“H-hello, I’m Dr. Rhgyl, I-” her eyes flickered to Illumi briefly, unsettled by the fact that he hadn’t yet blinked in the past two minutes, then shifted back to Hisoka, whose devilish smile was almost more unsettling. “I was one of your surgeons and am here to answer any questions you have.”

She turned to Illumi, and gave a nervous nod of the head. “And who is in the room with you, Mr. Morow?”

“My husband,” he said, in a sickly-sweet voice. Illumi gave him a glare, then crossed his arms.

“Sure,” was all he said.

Sure, what? What is sure? Just answer the damn question... The poor young doctor’s face fell as she already knew this was something she’d have to spend unnecessary minutes during her already excessively long call night clarifying in her documentation. She turned to her nurse behind her, who gave her a small shrug. 

“So uh, Mr. Morow, how is your pain?”

“It’s wonderful!”

The doctor again tried to conceal her internal screaming, and continued to keep her professional smile plastered on her face. “In that case, please let us know if you have any more pain, and your nurse will take care of it.”

“We do have one other issue, however, “ she added, making sure to communicate this next part as clearly and effectively as possible. Hisoka perked up in surprise, and Illumi continued to sit perfectly still, as still as a statue. “Your blood sugar. Your blood sugar was extremely elevated, and we were concerned about a diagnosis of prediabetes or diabetes.”

“Diabetes?”

“We expect you to make a fast recovery… surprisingly fast in fact, but we would still like you to follow up with a primary care doctor about your blood sugar. We’ll draw a lab test to check how your sugars were for the past 3 months, called a Hemoglobin A1c test, and then we’ll have your primary care doctor follow up the results and help you with strategies to have better control.���

Illumi turned to Hisoka, who he could tell that whatever the medical team was telling him was going in one ear and out the other, and he was now only thinking about either his next fight or Bungee Gum based on the elated smile on his face.

Bungee Gum.

Bungee Gum was the fucking problem. 

As the doctor and the nurse finally exited out of the room and Hisoka went back to telling Illumi battle stories, Illumi started to clear his schedule in his head, to figure out when he could best drag Hisoka to his follow-up appointments, which he would have to make for him. Someone had to be the adult in this relationship. 

---

Hisoka’s new primary care doctor, another similarly young woman, but less easily intimidated as the tired one from the hospital sat at a computer, pulling up his chart to review his lab results from his hospitalization.

Illumi and Hisoka noticed how she visibly paled as she scrolled, then turned to Hisoka and gave him a reassuring smile, that looked to reassure her more than them. 

“What is it? Am I dead?” Hisoka asked. Illumi gave him a look to quiet down.

“Well, you’re diabetic, all right... Your A1c is 14%.”

“Is that bad?”

She swiveled in her chair to face him, hands in her lap. 

“Well, diabetes is diagnosed at an A1c of 7%. So... unfortunately,  yes.”

Hisoka started counting on his fingers and Illumi forcefully put his hand down.

“Hisoka, listen to the doctor. Diabetes is serious. My great-grandaunt was diabetic.” Illumi said in an even, impassive voice.

“Oh, how old was she when she was diagnosed?” The doctor asked, attempting to build rapport with the patient and the patient’s loved ones.

Without skipping a beat, he replied, “206, exactly. She loved nothing more than to unwind with Mountain Dew after her assassination missions. She ended up on dialysis.” 

The doctor seemed to be at a loss of words briefly, so she turned back to Hisoka, pulling out a pen and a notepad to focus on rather than lose her cool. 

“So, uh… let’s start by talking a little about what you usually eat,” she began. “What do you eat in a typical day?”

“Hm... “ Hisoka didn’t usually keep track of what he ate, so it took him some time to come up with an account. “Ah! Okay, so in the morning, I usually skip breakfast, but sometimes I’ll have some Bungee Gum.”

Odd choice, the physician thought, but she nodded and wrote that down, allowing the floor to Hisoka to speak.

“For lunch, I try not to eat too much, but I also have a couple pieces or ten of Bungee Gum.”

Hm…

“Oh and for dinner, I have a bowl of gummy candy if I’m feeling particularly peckish and also Bungee Gum.”

She looked up from her pad and paper to see Hisoka looking blissfully unaware that he had just revealed that he subsists solely on sweets. She suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to pull at her hair repeatedly. This would be a ton of education, and she still wasn’t exactly sure what exactly Bungee Gum was.

---

Illumi parked his custom Ferrari minivan, purchased entirely for this shopping trip, outside the Costco Wholesale, and gave Hisoka, a long, hard look. 

“Do you have the list?” Illumi asked, hand outstretched as Hisoka handed over a partially crumpled sheet of paper, outlining the basics of a balanced, carbohydrate-controlled diet for people with diabetes.

Hisoka looked outside to the large building, then looked back at Illumi. “Isn’t this for families? I thought we were shopping for me only, and sometimes you when you come over.”

“I don’t know, the butlers told me that they come here to stock the kitchens. It seems from the website that this store provides high quality bulk goods for very competitive prices so this will be an appropriate next stop.”

This was just one out of countless stops today - Hisoka had spent the earlier part of the day searching frantically for sugar-free Bungee Gum in every supermarket in a 25-mile radius unsuccessfully, and demanding to see the manager every time, only to kill them when they told him they didn’t have his particular brand. Illumi warned him that there would be no such shenanigans any longer.

They stepped out of the car and walked right past the door greeter who was waiting eagerly for them to present their membership card only to recoil once they both turned to look at him in unison with intent to kill. 

The first things Hisoka noticed as he walked in were the multiple little free sample kiosks at the aisles every so often and curiously wandered over to them. 

“Make sure to avoid anything glazed or with a sauce,” Illumi called after him, poring through the list as he wandered over to the produce aisle. He didn’t understand the draw of free samples; if he wanted to try something, he would simply buy it.

Hisoka made his way to Illumi and Illumi’s overfilled grocery cart about a half-hour later after wandering the entire store, arms filled with small paper cups and tasting spoons. It was clear that he had sampled literally everything, possibly twice or thrice. Illumi let out a sigh and moved to the front of the store to check out. 

Keeping Hisoka’s blood sugar low would be a daunting task, but he was determined that by the next visit to his PCP, he’d have some improvement in his A1c. Texture Surprise can only replace so many amputated limbs at once. He’d just have to buy every supermarket’s supply of Bungee Gum and possibly halt every single production chain devoted to it or something similar. A pain, but it was worth it. Hisoka was annoying as all hell, but still, he was worth it.

#hisoillu #hisoka #illumi #bungee gum #hunter x hunter #serious business #serious writing #crack fic? #remember to eat a balanced diet

[sam-winchesters-lost-shoe]

Bandages and Booze

Ship: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester (platonic)

Warnings: Blood, drama, hellhounds, minor language, fluff,

Summary: While trying to help someone who made a deal with a crossroads demon, Y/N is injured by a hellhound, and rushed to a hospital by Sam and Dean.

————

“Calm down, Alright. The goofer dust will stop the hellhound until we can figure something out. Just stay in the circle.” Sam advised. The poor woman nodded with wide eyes and did as he said while dean and I burned my glasses with holy oil so we could see the hellhound.

“How’s it going over there?” Sam called once he finished making the circle of dust. I held up the glasses to my face, taking a quick look through the lenses. “Looks good to me. I think we’re ready.” I called back. The growling of and gnawing of teeth at the door grew louder, and we could hear the hound throwing itself against the bolted doors in an attempt to get inside.

“Good. We’re out of time. Hand them over.” Dean said with an outstretched hand. I shook my head quickly and planted my feet.

“Nuh-Uh. I got this. My glasses, my kill. You guys have been babying me for months now, I’m doing this.” I replied firmly. Dean didn’t listen and marched over, attempting to take the glasses from my hand. I quickly put the glasses on instead, and a second later the door to the room split open.

“Shit.” Sam muttered, pulling out his knife and standing in front of the woman while looking frantically around the room. “Y/N, where is it?”

The hellhound began to stalk through the doorway, teeth bared and eyes glaring. I pointed at it with my finger, my other hand clutching the knife. It began to slowly move towards the woman, or more specifically, Sam. He was guarding her, and something told me that the hellhound wouldn’t care if it had to rip open two people instead of one.

“Hey, over here you ugly mutt.” I called to try and get it’s attention. When that didn’t work, I tried whistling loudly. The hellhound continued to advance towards Sam and the woman, and my heart started to pound even harder in my chest. I took a few steps towards the hellhound, and it hardly even noticed that I was moving. Brandishing the knife, I decided to try and take the opportunity.

When the hellhound was about ten feet in front of Sam, I could see it lowering itself and getting ready to jump at him. I charged towards it, ready to stab it in its ribs when it’s ugly head snapped in my direction. I slid to a stop as it bared it’s teeth. Sam and Dean could tell that something was wrong, but it was too late. In a split second, the hellhound knocked me to the ground, slamming my head against the stone floor and crushing me under its weight. I could hear Sam shouting distantly, but the hellhound barking an inch from my face was all I could make out. Then it lifted its black paw and raked down my side with its claws. I screamed in pain as the dog dug long gashes from my ribs down to my hipbone. I slashed at the hellhound with my knife in an attempt to get it off, but the hellhound only dug it’s other claw into my thigh and howled in my face again.

I screamed in pain and threw my head back, but I couldn’t get it off of me no matter how hard I tried. I could already feel the blood oozing from my side and onto the floor, but the hellhound just got ready to tear into my flesh again. At the same moment, Sam charged the hellhound and buried the knife in the beasts side. It howled and fell off of me, collapsing onto the stone floor.

I took a gasping breath and saw Sam’s own chest heaving above me. He dropped the knife and was crouching next to me a second later, concern tightening his face in a way I had never seen before.

“Dean, go get the car!” Sam bellowed. I could barely hear Dean sprint out of the room as my vision started to go spotty. I tried to push myself up onto my elbows, getting a glimpse of my blood-soaked shirt before Sam gently pushed me back down.

“Don’t sit up, it’ll only make the bleeding worse.” He advised as he pulled out a square of gauze from his pocket and tore off the wrapping. He lifted my shirt and pressed it onto my wound, and I winced in response. He apologized under his breath but kept pressure on my abdomen.

“Is it dead?” I mumbled, looking up at Sam with worried eyes. We were both sitting ducks right now, if it was still somehow alive. Sam did his best to smile.

“Yeah. It’s dead. Let’s just focus on getting you to a hospital, all right?” He looked around to see if Dean was back, but then heard the impala’s car horn outside and let out a sigh of relief.

“Alright, this is gonna hurt like a bitch, but I’m gonna have to carry you.” He warned. I nodded and gritted my teeth, preparing myself for the pain. Sam scooped me up in his arms, doing his best to support me behind the shoulders and knees. I saw stars for a few seconds and grabbed onto his shirt instinctively.

“Sorry.” He apologized again, trying to make me more comfortable. “Keep pressure on your stomach.”

I did as he said and grit my teeth as he hurried out of the house and towards the car. Dean already had the back door open with supplies on the seat. He was back in the drivers seat with the engine running, ready to slam on the gas pedal the second we were in the car. Sam made it to the impala a few seconds later and carefully set me in the backseat before climbing in after me.

“Step on it.” Sam said breathily the second the door was closed. He started fumbling for the roll of bandages that Dean had prepared, but I had already bled enough to make everything feel fuzzy. The gashes in my stomach were a lot deeper than the ones in my leg, but both were continuing to bleed profusely. Sam started with my leg, wrapping the bandages around tightly to try and keep pressure on it. The more serious wound was definitely my stomach, and I was having a hard time keeping pressure on it with the increasing fatigue I was facing.

“Sam.” I croaked out, trying to get his attention. He continued to bandage my leg with his face twisted in concentration before responding “almost done.”

He paused for a second, biting his lip in thought. “Alright, uh, I’m gonna have to sit you up for a second. Bear with me.” He carefully sat me up, earning another pained groan from me. I leaned back against his shoulder as he quickly wrapped the bandages around my midsection. The entire time he was quietly muttering apologies, with the word ‘sorry’ being used at least a hundred times. He then lowered me back down to be sitting with my head propped on his lap. His hair hung down into his face as he looked down at me.

“Hey. You holding in there?” He asked quietly. I did my best to nod in response but it only seemed to worry him more. He put his hand over mine to add more pressure to the wound as he became more worried about blood loss. I reached my other hand over, twisting some of his flannel in my fist.

“Sam.” I tried again, but my voice seemed to give out on me. I could feel myself slipping into unconsciousness and tried so hard to fight it, but it was no use. I had never fainted from blood loss before, and I was terrified. My vision began to fade out but my heart began to pound even more as panic set in.

“Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me?”

My hand was still latched onto his shirt when I succumbed to unconsciousness.

—————

My entire body felt so heavy. My veins felt like they were pumping cold lead instead of blood, and I couldn’t bring myself to lift them up. It took a bit of effort, but eventually I was able to force my eyes open. I groaned and blinked a few times, caught off guard by the lack of light in the room. I was in a hospital bed, based on the soft beeping of the monitor next to me, and the IV attached to my arm. There was a faint light on a table nearby, but it was still difficult to see in the room.

That was when I noticed the figure next to the bed. Or...more accurately......slumped over the side of the bed and snoring. Sam’s hair had fallen into his eyes as his chest rose and fell, but his cheek was pressed against his arm which he was using for a pillow. His one arm was stretched out so it was only a few inches from my hand, and I gently reached out to hold it when the door opened and Dean tiptoed inside.

“Y/N, you’re......you’re awake.” Dean said quietly, smiling when he noticed. He set down the backpack he had slung over his shoulder and made his way over to the bed.

“Hey.” I said, apparently a bit too loud for Dean. He put a pinger to his lips and nodded to Sam with his chin. I tilted my head slightly in silence before whispering “why can’t we wake him up?”

Dean tiptoed over next to the bed before sitting in the other empty chair next to me and leaning forward. “You have no idea how long you were out, do you?” He whispered.

I shook my head in response as he nodded. “You were unconscious for about two days-“

“Two days?!” I interrupted dean, once again a bit too loud. Sam stirred a little bit in his sleep, but luckily for me didn’t wake up. Dean gave me a warning glance before continuing.

“Yeah. Two days. Doctors said you had a concussion and had practically gone into shock. That and the blood loss, well.....it wasn’t looking good for a while. We honestly weren’t sure if you were gonna pull through. So yeah, that means that Sam hasn’t slept in.....” Dean trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, lets just say it’s been a few days.”

I nodded in understanding and looked back at Sam. I couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at my lips when he let out a particularly loud snore. Dean nodded and looked over at Sam too while shaking his head. “I’ve never seen him so worried.”

“Really?” I asked, my cheeks flushing pink. It was hard to imagine him actually being so concerned about me, but then I thought back to the car ride. He really did seem worried. Dean nodded and scratched his cheek with a yawn.

“Come on, don’t act surprised. I’ve seen the way you two act around each other.” Dean chuckled quietly. “Speaking of, the reason I went back to the bunker was to get Sammy some clean clothes. He’s refused to leave since we brought you here, but uh, he needed something new to wear. The old ones were a little.....bloodstained.” Dean mumbled the last part and looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

I hadn’t even noticed that Sam was missing his usual layers. He was only wearing a t-shirt, no flannels or anything. He also didn’t look like he had showered since I had gotten injured. The blood had been scrubbed from his hands, but his hair was greasy and unbrushed. He looked like a college kid, honestly. Dean yawned again and rubbed his eyes before standing back up.

“Well, now that I know you’re alright, I’m heading back to the motel and actually getting a decent nights sleep. Call me if anything happens, alright?” Dean put a hand on my shoulder, and I nodded back. He gave me a small smile and made his way out of the room as quietly as he could.

Unfortunately, the door creaked on his way out, and Sam started to stirr again. It seemed like he was able to gain consciousness long enough to realize that he had fallen asleep, and he sat up with a groan. His eyes were puffy with sleep and his hair was sticking up at odd angles, but he seemed to slowly wake up.

“Hey.” I whispered, reaching out and taking his hand as gently as I could.

“Hey.” Sam mumbled with another yawn. I smiled back at him and he rubbed his eyes. After a few seconds he met my gaze again, freezing for a moment and blinking as his brain caught up to what he was seeing. His eyes widened and seemed fully alert now.

“Oh my god.”

He shot up in his seat and leaned forward, pulling me in for a hug. It stung a little, but I didn’t mind. I wrapped my arms around him and laughed a little bit as he hugged hard enough to almost knock the air from my lungs. “Careful, Sammy. I’m damaged goods.” I teased.

Sam pulled away but kept me at arms length with his hands on my elbows. He sat down on the edge of the bed with a smile. “Right....sorry, I just....i was worried.”

“Dean told me.” I grinned. God, it was good to see him again. The way his smile reached his eyes almost made me forget all about the stitches in my stomach and leg.

“Right.....” Sam nodded slowly, glancing over my face with a relieved grin. Then he shook his head. “Uh, do you need anything? Painkillers? I can get a nurse.”

“I’m fine, Sam. Really.” I laughed slightly before wincing when laughing pulled on my stitches. I quickly stopped and put a hand over my ribs before smoothing his hair with my other hand. “Everything’s fine.”

He closed his eyes when I ran my fingers through his hair, smiling a little to himself. I could tell that something was on his mind, but couldn’t tell what. He looked down at the sheets and picked at his fingernails absentmindedly. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

I nodded silently to get him to continue. Sam took a deep breath and did that thing that he does where he lifts his eyebrows while he clears his throat. “So uh, I’ve had a lot of time to think these past few days, you know? And I guess I uh......I realized that, uh......you know, I was really worried, so I.....um.....”

He paused to rub the back of his neck, then continued. “You know, we’ve been on the road for a while. I’d like to think that we’ve gotten kinda.......close......but I kinda didn’t realize just how close until I thought we were going to lose you. So, anyways......I......uh.....”

“Sammy, don’t hurt yourself.” I smiled. I knew exactly where he was going with this conversation, and I could tell that he had no idea how to say it. He didn’t need to say it though, I already understood. “You look exhausted. Let’s talk about that in the morning, okay?”

Sam nodded in relief and let out his breath. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He agreed quickly. “You’re supposed to be resting, anyways.” He stood back up and started to sit back down in his chair next to the bed when I stopped him.

“Hey, those things aren’t very comfortable. Come lay with me.”

“What?” Sam asked innocently, raising an eyebrow. He looked back at me as if we wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Come on, I’m not gonna offer again. Come get some rest.” I scooted over in the bed to give him some room, and after a minute of deliberating he made his way over. He slid under the sheet next to me and got himself comfortable. He stayed a few inches away from me, probably not wanting to intrude on my personal space.

For someone so smart, he could be so naive.

“Hold on, this isn’t very comfortable.” I frowned teasingly. I then turned on my side, throwing an arm over his chest and using his torso as a pillow. He seemed a little surprised, but then I could almost feel his entire body relax. His other arm slowly found its way around my shoulders and I let out a content sigh.

“Much better.” I grinned and looked up at him. He was smiling widely back at me but trying to hide it. I could also see the fatigue that was weighing down his eyelids and how hard he was fighting to keep them open. I got comfortable with my cheek pressed against his chest and allowed my eyes to drift shut. Sam yawned in response and rested his chin on the top of my head.

“Goodnight, Sammy.” I whispered.

He started snoring again in response.

#sam winchester imagine #spn fanfiction #television #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #winchesterbrothers #winchesters #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester one shot #supernatural one shot #supernatural fluff #supernatural fanfiction #hurt!sam #injured!reader

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Waking Up in Vegas-Ch. 41

Chapter 41: Wouldn’t Dive In

Dean, Morning, 10:43 AM

           “You’re out of the woods,” the doctor said from the end of Mera’s bed. He smiled at her and tucked his hands in the pockets of his white coat. “We’re going to finish you on the drip you’ve got, and then we’re going to get you out of here and back home.”

           The knot in my chest loosened just a little. I sagged into the chair by her bed and let out a breath. She looked so much better. Her eyes were bright and amber. She had more normal color in her face, and the rash that came with her disease had faded from her cheeks. For the first time in over a week, she looked like herself.

           “Thank you,” Mera replied, giving the doctor a faint smile. He promised to send a nurse down with discharge papers and instructions and left. When the door shut behind him, Mera sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes.

           “It’ll be nice for you to sleep in your own bed again,” I said, leaning forward and propping my elbows on my knees.

           My wife turned her head toward me, her eyes going slightly golden in the light. “I want to go home so much, Dean. I want to go back to when you didn’t have to worry about me.”

           I took her hand, threading our fingers together. “Mera Ambrose, I will worry about you every day for the rest of my life. Because you are my wife, and I love you more than anything in this world.”

           Tears glittered on her lashes, but she blinked them away. “Don’t make me cry, Dean,” she whispered. “They’ll think I’m sick again.”

           “Alright,” I said, kissing the back of her hand. “Relax and let that IV finish, then we’ll spring you out of this place.”

           Mera smiled—maybe the first genuine, wide, beautiful smile in days—and my heart bounced against my sternum. For an instant, she was the woman I’d first seen that day in FCW. She was the one I’d watched and adored and loved from afar until she finally fell perfectly into my arms. I’d vowed to spend my life making her feel safe and happy.

Mera, Afternoon, 1:08 PM

           It felt strange to be in regular clothes again. I’d been in a hospital gown for ten days, and I was suddenly desperate to be back in my own house. Dean had taken my bag and gone to pick up the car. A nurse helped me into a chair and wheeled me down to the entrance of the hospital. When he pulled up at the curb in the truck, Dean hopped down from the cab and came around to help me up.

           I shouldn’t have been, but I was amazed by how gentle he was. His hands on my back and my arm were tender but firm. He guided me with sure, slow steps and bore most of my weight as I climbed up into the cab of the truck. He stood up on the runner and buckled my seatbelt.

           “Ready to go home, sweet wife?” he queried, brushing wayward strands of hair from my forehead. His lips ghosted over my forehead.

           I nodded. “Take me home, Dean.”

           The drive from the hospital was quiet. He kept one hand on the wheel. With the other, he held my hand as if it would be the last time. His ring-worn fingers entwined with mine, thumb stroking the back of my hand. Every now and then, he would draw my it up to his mouth and ghost a kiss on my flesh.

           I had a lot of time to think on that ride home. I thought about what my life had been like until that day almost a year ago. Before that night, I’d lived my life for someone else. No matter how hard I thought, no matter how desperately I tried to remember, I had no memories of a time before Colby Lopez. I knew there had to be. But he was as ubiquitous in my life as my own family. I’d very much become the person I was because of the person I’d been with him.

           For him.

           Teenagers think they know what love is. And maybe some of them do, but I couldn’t say for sure if I had. I’d never dated anyone else. Never spent time with people who weren’t Colby and his core group of friends. I was hard pressed to remember the name of a single friend who had just been mine. Everything… everything was tied up in Colby… in the boy who would eventually become Seth Rollins.

           Part of me wondered if I could ever separate my sense of self from the life that had been chosen for me. I couldn’t lay it all at his feet—I’d made the choice to give up my spot at Iowa State. I’d made the choice to study athletic training so I could get a job to be with him. I’d gotten in that car, traveled, stayed in cheap motels, scrounged change for the dollar menu right beside him. No, I couldn’t say that everything was his fault. But I couldn’t say that he gave me a fair chance at a life of my own either.

           And now… I was so close to having just that. A life of my own choosing. Dean, who had never pushed me, never asked for more than I could give, never took more than what I was willing to share. He’d taken me as I was, broken and uncertain, and given me permission to be who I wanted to be. I wouldn’t delude myself and say things were perfect, but I felt freer in my marriage to Dean than I had in the twenty years I spent tied to Colby.

           It was like the first breath of clear air after being trapped in a dank room. To be with Dean was to finally be with myself. With the real me.

           The me that I’d never gotten to know.

Seth, Afternoon, 2:41 PM

           I sat in my car for what felt like years. The garage door had long since come down, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to go inside. I was just there… driver’s door open, one foot on the concrete, hands gripping the wheel so hard that my fingers had gone numb. My head was back against the headrest, eyes staring at nothing.

           After seeing Mera in Las Vegas—fragile, sick, and exhausted—the very thought of going into my own house made me sick. The moment I turned down the street I was bombarded with memories of when this house had been a home. When Mera Reynolds had lived and breathed and loved and laughed and existed with me within these walls. I could remember the way her amber eyes turned to brass when she laughed as I carried her over the threshold the first day. I could hear her laugh from the Christmas when I put mistletoe in every doorway, when I went up on the roof to hang the lights and the ladder fell.

           I remembered the first time we stood on the sidewalk in front of this house. I remembered how happy she’d been when I told her it was ours. She’d wanted to turn one of the spare bedrooms into an office. She wanted to use it to work from, to store her supplies. To study.

           She’d wanted to go back to school, to go enroll at St. Ambrose University in the city, to finally get certified as a psychologist.

           My heart felt like stone in my chest. I blinked, swallowing hard as I remembered what came next.

           Just like with Iowa State, I’d talked her out of it.

           Because I wanted her with me. I wanted her to travel with me, to become a road AT on top of working the televised events.

           Because I couldn’t see past the fact that what I wanted had never had anything to do with Mera being happy. It was about me being the center around which her life revolved.

Dean, Afternoon, 3:22 PM

           Mera sat on in the overstuffed armchair in the living room, a blanket draped over her legs. The first thing she’d done when we got home was take a shower. Then she’d put on her favorite lounge clothes and curled up in the living room. I couldn’t explain how the sight made me feel—the calm and peace and pure and simple elation that pulsed through my veins every time my heart thumped in my chest.

           “Do you want anything?” I asked, stretched out on the sofa with the remote in hand. I was surfing channels, trying to find something to watch.

           I looked over at her, my breath punching out of my body when I saw her smile. There was life and light in her again. She was my Mera, my wife, my best friend again. It felt like the world had been spinning off kilter for the last ten days and only now it had righted itself.

           “I would kill for some sweet and sour chicken and fried dumplings,” she said, snuggling beneath the blanket. “How much do you love me?”

           Laughing, I sat up. I could feel my face light up with a smile… the one that I kept just for her. “Enough to crawl on my hands and knees through broken glass and burning coals to bring you deep fried Chinese food.”

           I watched Mera smile. Her eyes glittered golden. There was health and life in her face again. And God knew, I had no words for how good it was to have her back again.

           “They deliver, you know,” she replied, reaching for me. I moved to her, crouching by the side of her chair as she stroked her fingers over my jaw. For a moment, she was quiet, her eyes bouncing as she looked me over. Her smile softened. “Thank you, Dean.”

           “For what, sweet wife?”

           She leaned over to press a kiss against my cheek. “I know that you know Seth came to see me. I could see it in your face when you came in after he left. Thank you for not making a big deal of it. Thank you for letting me have that.”

           I wanted to tell her how angry I’d been about it. I wanted to tell her that I hated how he could still weasel into her life. I wanted to tell her that I couldn’t stand the thought of him being close enough to her to hurt her again. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

           Instead, I squeezed her fingers and kissed her knuckles. “You are your own woman, Mera. As much as I want to keep you from any kind of hurt or harm, I know that you are strong enough to know your own mind. I trust you. More than I’ve trusted anyone in my life.”

           A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Thank you for that, too.”

Tag List

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#waking up in vegas #wuiv #dean ambrose #dean ambrose fanfiction #wwe #wwe fanfiction #seth rollins #seth rollins fanfiction #mera reynolds #dean x mera #ofc #oc #multi-chapter #real person fanfiction

[stonyverse]

5 times Tony felt alone and the 1 time he didn't.

5 + 1 fic (or 5 times Tony felt alone and the 1 time he didn’t)

i

When Tony was four, he created his first circuit board. He was happy that he made something that could work so he went and showed it to Howard in hopes that the latter would be proud of him.

Get out, boy, I’m busy. Don’t come here showing me worthless things.

Maria said that Howard was just tired. He’s been out looking for Captain America. He’s busy running a conglomerate, creating new things for the future – contributing in order to help the world progress.

Jarvis said that maybe Master Stark was just not in the mood. You know how he is, young sir. Do not fret, there is always a next time. It was what he said before making Tony his favourite pasta partnered with apple juice which finally made him smile, again.

Tony held onto the next time over and over and over again until he realized that he will never be enough for Howard. He’s looking for something else – someone who he will never be greater than.

You will never be anything like Captain America was what he said.

ii

He doesn't know how many times he woke up with pain consuming his entire body. He doesn't know how many times he fainted from said pain. And when he was finally conscious, finally okay compared to the last few days he had, he saw that a car battery was attached to his body — his chest.

What did you do to me?

I saved your life.

He didn't expect to befriend Yinsen. He was a doctor, someone who save lives… very different to Tony's merchant of death. Yinsen has a family, he needs to get out of this damn cave. Both of them have to. Yinsen for his family and Tony to repent and become better.

So, you are a man who has everything and nothing?

Tony agreed to 'make’ the Jericho for the Ten Rings. He asked them for supplies and the first thing he did when he got those was to make his reactor. He needed something more stable. He can't keep carrying a car battery around especially if he's going to work. Also, a car battery attached to the thing keeping him alive is dangerous if they plan on dunking his head in water.

But the Ten Rings weren't stupid. They knew something was up. They tried to hurt Yinsen. I need him, great assistant. He was so scared but Stark men are made of iron. They don't break. The Ten Rings said that if he won't be able to deliver the next day, both of them will be dead.

I'm going to buy you some time.

He knew, then, that the chances of Yinsen surviving was even slimmer. But he had to be strong. He needed to be so he believed that his new friend will be safe. When the loading bar turned to a hundred, he schooled his face for the fight ahead and attacked.

This was always the plan, Stark. I'm going to see my family now. Don't waste your life.

He got out and was a different man.

iii

He was dying.

Isn't it ironic that thing keeping him alive is also the thing killing him?

After Afghanistan, after Obadiah, he thought he'll finally have a break. He thought that maybe, he will have peace but boy was he wrong. The world decided to kill him using his own tech.

Palladium on the chest? That's one way to die.

Tony was trying alright. He loked and looked but when JARVIS ran the scans, it's not a viable substitute for palladium. He was already a dead man walking. What will happen to him? What will happen to Stark Industries? What about Iron Man? He said he'll protect the world but it seems like he won't be able to do so.

That's when he had this idea, albeit, stupid. He answered the Stark Industries question by making Pepper the CEO. He knows she's more than capable of it. Tony figured if Pepper was able to put up with all the stunts he's constantly pulling and was able to deal with all his shit, she'll be able to run a fortune 500 company. Also, she's Pepper. No one will do better.

He asked himself, what about iron man? The government is already trying to take his property. They demand that it but turned over to the military. Rhodey's a liutenant colonel. Rhodey can pilot the suit, he has military training… he can be Iron Man once he's gone. Well, not Iron Man but another version. Yes, Rhodey can do it. He'll do it.

What would you do if this will be your last night?

I'll do everything and anything I want.

So, he did stupid things. He admits it, alright. He was a jerk to Rhodey and Pepper but in his defense, he's dying. He's entitled to do stupid things just for the sake of doing it.

What do you want from me?

No, what do you want from me?

He thought SHIELD was just some government agency handling government things. He never thought it's something more. He certainly didn't think his dad will be one of the founding members of the organization. They left him with things. They said he needs to figure it out. They said Howard said that he's the only person who can solve this thing that he left behind. Fury said that he should solve the riddle of his heart.

So, they left him in his partially destroyed mansion. He has to get to work.

iv

The Avengers were gone and he was back at the compound. A compound with only three avengers: himself, a sulking Vision, and a Rhodey undergoing physical therapy.

Rhodey said that it sucks but he's not regretting his decision. The Sokovia Accords fights for the right things but sometimes… it just sucks. Tony smiles (or at least, tries to) for Rhodey. He needs to be there for him, every step of the way. He needs to help his honeybear because he knows that Rhodey will do the same for him.

Delivery for Tony Stank!

He was annoyed but it made Rhodey laugh so Tony let it slide with an eyeroll.

Dear Tony.

And damn if that didn't hurt. He knew that it will be from St — Rogers. It was a shitty apology letter (can it even be called that?). He said that the avengers were Tony's more so than his but why does it feel otherwise? Every avenger who Tony formed a deep relationship with, who he thought of as family was with Rogers. Clint took his side; Natasha, who signed, left him and joined Rogers. Thor and Bruce were not here so they don't count. He isn't even sure if they would side with him.

He was back to where he started. With Rhodey and Pepper, the only difference from before was JARVIS. He's Vision, now.

He still doesn't understand. Rogers could have just told him. He would have reacted, sure, but at least, he would hear it from a friend. Sure, Tony was mad about what happened to his parents because he never got to say goodbye. The regrets of not being able to still haunts him. He knows this. He told him this. But he chose to hide it from him. Maybe that's what did it for him.

Don't bullshit me, Steve. Did you know?

Yes.

It was like Obadiah all over again. The betrayal from someone close stings more so than any physical pain they could ever make Tony feel.

If you need me, I'll be there.

He doesn't want to bank on it, anymore. He has to be prepared. He can't rely on the team of misfits.

Although, it doesn't stop him from carrying the phone wherever he goes.

v

Everyone's starting to turn to dust.

I'm sorry, Tony. There was no other way.

Tony shook his head, teeth clenched as he looked at Strange. Why would you do that? Why do you have to save me? Before shit went down the drain, he said that he will never give up the time stone to save Tony's life but he did and Thanos won.

Mr. Stark, please… I don't want to go.

He caught Peter in an embrace. The kid was looking at him — eyes wild with fear and hope that somehow, Tony will be able to save him. Peter hugged him. You're okay, kid. I got you. But Tony doesn't know what's happening. He was having a hard time breathing.

And if you die, I feel like that's on me.

Tony fell on the ground, kneeling while supporting Peter's back with his arm. He saw the kid swallow before looking straight to his eyes.

I'm sorry, Mr. Stark.

And then he faded.

Tony tried to hold on. He tried to get a hold of Peter but he already turned to ash. As Tony looked at the remnants of Peter, as the feeling of dust pass by his arm… he looked at it. He waited and waited but his body remained in tact.

Tony craddled his arm to his chest and cried. That was Peter. It was his kid. The source of life after all the shit he went through. And now, he's just gone. His kid is gone.

He did it. Thanos won.

+1

The Avengers are back.

It took one catastrophic event which resulted to half the universe dying for them to come back and forget their differences. Suddenly, the fight they had seemed petty. Suddenly, there was nothing to do but live up to their name. The only purpose they have now is to get back eveything they lost because of Thanos. Whatever it takes.

Tony looks at his old teammates. Everyone aged at least a decade. Natasha doesn't bother to maintain her poker face. Clint looks angry. Bruce was trying his best to think of different ways to restore what was lost because it's the only way he can cope. Thor, who was usually the jolly and talkative one, is now only speaking when needed to. And Steve… he looks so tired.

We all look straight out of the Breakfast Club. Capsicle and Point break has to get this. We spent that one week watching it on repeat.

Tony tried to joke but his voice came out raspy.

They all looked at him. Natasha's lips curled up to a barely noticeable smile. Clint bit his lip to prevent from doing so. Bruce was looking at him, greatfully. Thor shook his head before lightly patting his back and offering a small smile. And Steve gave him a hopeful look. He looked at Tony as if he was greatful that he's alive. As if Tony held the secrets of the world which Steve was trying to discover.

Bruce asked him what his plan was and everyone looked at him expectantly. He took a deep breath before looking at Steve.

Do you trust me?

He closed his eyes after realizing the gravity of what he asked. It's been years since they saw each other. They haven't talked about Siberia or the Accords… basically, everything they disagreed about. That's why, Tony thinks, it's okay for Steve to say no. There's still an unfinished business between them.

When opened it, again, Tony saw the way Steve was looking at him. He was giving Tony a look which speaks to his every being. It was hopeful, determined, and passionate. It was the unwavering look of Steve Rogers — the exact look he fall for.

I do.

Tony knew, then, that he won't  be alone.

We'll do this… together.

#my fic #5 + 1 #stevetony #avengers #clint barton #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #thor odinson #tony stark #steve rogers #kinda angst? #idk hahaha #tony stark needs a hug #tony stank #stevetony prompt

[yougottalovebuckybarnes]

Angry (Bucky x Reader)

A/N: Okay, so I’ve done my research on Bruce Banner, and I KNOW that technically he doesn’t have a medical degree, but here’s what’s on the marvel wiki page:  “ Dr. Bruce Banner is a genius in nuclear physics, possessing a mind so brilliant that it cannot be measured on any known intelligence test.” So.... we’re just gonna do some ‘imagining’ and just say that he is also somewhat experienced in the medical field.  Bear with me. I’m just a girl who wants to write about Bucky Barnes. :)

WARNINGS: Angst, injuries, angry Bucky, slightly irritating but humorous Tony Stark

Y/N’s POV

It was no one’s fault.

 I did not go on the mission to be babied the whole time. I knew the risks that came with being on a team with the Avengers. I was willing to put my life at risk to save others.

And that’s exactly what I did. 

The mission was going well, a successful infiltration of a secret HYDRA base in the States, when I was shot. One moment I was standing, my gun aimed to fire at the leader of this particular base who was about to end Steve’s life and the next I was laying on the floor, blood soaking through my suit at an alarming rate. 

I lay there, gasping for air as more bullets flew through the room. I heard the soft thuds of bodies hitting the cold concrete floor, and I struggled to hold onto my consciousness.  A figure entered my vision,  and I squinted to see Steve hovering over me. 

“The bullet hit just above her left collarbone.  She’s bleeding pretty heavily. “ He picked me up in his arms and I let out a small groan in pain as he began to run. 

“Get her back to the jet.” I heard Banner’s voice reply, and I stared up at the sky, wanting to just close my eyes and forget about the pain.

“Don’t close your eyes, doll.” Steve muttered as we got closer to the jet. “Hold on for just a little while longer.”

“It fucking hurts, Rogers.” I mumbled, wincing as more blood continued to steadily flow from where the bullet had pierced my skin. 

“I know. But we’re going to get you some help. You just need to stay awake. Bucky’s waiting back at the Tower for you.”

I let out a small sigh as I thought of my boyfriend of two years. Boy, was he going to be angry. 

Not that he wouldn’t be already. 

Bucky had tried his hardest to convince me to stay, insisting that Steve, Tony, and Bruce could take this mission on their own. I knew that I had a job to do, that I had signed up for this on my own free will. But I also knew that he wouldn’t let me leave. So, after much discussion with the others, I waited until Bucky had fallen asleep and left with them early in the morning three days earlier. Natasha and Wanda kept him busy, and swore not to say where we were going. To our knowledge... he never found out.

“H-He’s going to break up with me.” I murmured as Steve gently placed me on a cot that was set up in the jet, and Bruce immediately started to inspect my gun shot. 

“I don’t think he’s going to do that, Y/N.” Steve shut the door to the plane, and immediately went to the cockpit to start to fly us home. “He loves you too much.”

“He might break up with Steve, though.” Tony commented from his seat, and Steve turned to give him a nasty look. “Oh, is Stucky not actually a thing?”

“You know wh-”

“Shut up!” Bruce snapped, and the plane fell silent as it began it’s way towards home. “I need you two idiots to stay quiet while I try to stop the bleeding. I don’t have enough supplies to take out the bullet right now. Just get us home as fast as you can, Cap.”

“Got it.” Steve muttered, and I felt myself becoming more dizzy as time went by. 

“You gotta stay awake, Y/N.” Bruce said, as he applied more bandages to my wound, trying to stall the bleeding that continued to soak through bandages seconds after they were applied. “We’ll be home soon.” “To Bucky?” I smiled drowsily.

“To Stucky.” Tony chuckle from up next to Steve, and a moment later, I heard a loud smack in the background. “OW!”

“How much time till we get back to base?” Banner called, choosing to ignore the episode that was occurring between Steve and Tony.

“Ten minutes.”

“It needs to be less than that. Go faster.” 

“Ugh...” I groaned, as my head began to pound and my consciousness began to fade away faster. “It hurts, Bruce.”

“I know...” He muttered, and continued to rush to try to stop the bleeding. “We’re almost there, Y/N. We’re almost home.”

“Home.” I mused, and my mind drifted to Bucky.

He was going to be beyond mad. Cross, furious... explosive. It was going to be a mess the moment the plane landed. 

“Bruce, don’t let Bucky kill either of those two idiots.” I gave a small giggle. 

“Hey!” 

“The two idiots who I love!” I added, and I could almost here Tony roll his eyes. “I don’t want to create any more trouble.”

“I won’t let him do anything stupid.” Bruce almost smiled, and I let out a small sigh, as my eyelids began to feel much more heavy than they had moments before. “How much more time?”

“We’re almost there!”

“That’s not an answer! How much more time?”

Their words became muffled, and my vision blurry as my eyelids slowly fluttered shut. The last thing on my mind before darkness took over was Bucky. My Bucky. God.... please don’t let him be angry.

---

Steve’s POV

The jet landed, and I immediately jumped out of my seat as Bruce took her out and to the medical wing. Upon exiting the jet, I came face to face with Bucky Barnes. His eyes were filled with anger, but upon seeing Y/N’s broken body in Bruce’s arms, they were livid with fury. His hand connected with my jaw before I could say a word, and he grabbed my collar before pulling me close to him. 

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me she was going to pull shit like this?” He growled, as a dribble of blood trickled from my nose. “I thought you were my friend.”

“I am! But she’s an adult woman.” I shoved away from him. “She can make her own choices.”

“I knew something like this was going to happen!” Bucky yelled, as he stumbled backwards a few steps. “I knew she was going to get hurt! And you wonder why I’m so protective of her!”

“Bucky...”

“Look, Metal Arm, Y/N signed up to be on this team.” Tony walked out of the jet, his eyes narrowed as he looked at Bucky. “She signed up for all of the risks that came with it too. But she also got a family out of it. So we helped her, yes. But we saved her life, and got her here. Now, it’s up to the doctors to save her. But maybe instead of trying to kill Rogers here, you go and stay by your girlfriends side for awhile.”

Bucky moved towards him, and I tensed as he stopped right in front of him. 

“Stay out of my way, Stark.” He growled, before turning and walking away, following where Bruce went. I sighed and rubbed my temple gently.

“Thanks, Tony.” “No problem, Capsicle. Just get some rest. I’ll make sure to give you updates if anything happens over night.”

---

Y/N’s POV

I let out a small groan as my eyes opened to a bright light, which resulted me in closing them again. After a few moments, I opened them again, and they adjusted quickly. I was alive.

I was laying in a bed, an IV in my arm, and a bandage wrapped around my body. I winced slightly at the pain that wracked my body as I shifted slightly in bed. I guess that bullet really did some damage. 

“You’re awake.” My head turned to see Bucky sitting in a chair in a corner. His eyes had dark circles under them, and they were slightly red with exhaustion. They were not the beautiful blue color that were filled with excitement each time he saw me. They were dull and filled with pain. 

“How long was I out?” I asked, my voice slightly raspy. 

“Two days.” He replied with no emotion. “If we’re counting... that’s 5 days in total that I thought I had lost you.”

“Buck...” my eyes began to fill up with tears. 

“Don’t.” Bucky shook his head as he stood up and sat down on the edge of my bed. “Don't do that. I can’t believe you left and went even when I asked you not to.”

“It’s my job.” I said quietly, not wanting to start an argument, but not ready to back down either. “And it was only because I wasn’t being careful.”

“Will you be ready the next time?” Bucky asked, irritation leaking into his tone. “Or will I be attending your funeral?”

“Stop.” I snapped. “I know the risks that come with this job. I’m willing to die for the safety of everyone else.”

“Your life is worth just as much as everyone else’s, Y/N.” He gave me a cold look.

“What do you want me to say, Bucky?” I laughed humorlessly, feeling the tears slowly start to fall from my eyes. “That I’ll quit my job only because you want me to be safe? That I’ll always be safe for the rest of my life? That I’ll never die?” 

He flinched at my words, but I didn’t stop.

“Do you even want to be with me anymore?” I asked brokenly, my voice falling to a quiet whisper.  His eyes reflected more pain at my words.

“Of course I do.”

“Then why do you act like this?” I sniffled. “Why don’t you want me going on missions?” “I want to keep you safe.” Bucky grabbed my hand gently. “That’s all I want. And I want you safe, because I love you.”

“You love me?” I asked quietly, not sure if I heard him correctly.

“I. Love. You.” He gave a small smile. “And all I want is to be with you, safe and sound. I don’t want you to get hurt. I know that there will always be that risk when going out on missions, and I’ve been trying so hard to keep you away from that. But, clearly, that’s not the right approach. “

“No.” I squeezed his hand gently. “But we’ll find the right one. Together.”

“Good.” Bucky smiled.

“And Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.” I smiled, and he let out a chuckle.

“Good.” He leaned in and kissed me softly. 

Outside of the room, Tony and Steve stood watching quietly. Tony looked over at Steve. “They’re cute.”

“Sickly cute.”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true.”  He mused for a moment, before commenting, “So... there’s no Stucky then?”

“Tony... just shut up already!” 

----

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@strangenerdsstuff

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #buckybarnes #buckybarnesimagine #bucky barnes angst

[thenightisland]

you know the drill:

this is becoming like its own series but idk how else to explain this awful year i don’t even feeling like properly linking so here’s just the URLs of the other ones in the series: 1. http://thenightisland.tumblr.com/post/161087786689/explanationsupdates-under-the-cutmore-i 2. http://thenightisland.tumblr.com/post/161920216354/additional-updatesexplanations-under-the-cut 3. http://thenightisland.tumblr.com/post/163767959805/updates-under-the-cutmore-post-one-post-two-on 4. http://thenightisland.tumblr.com/post/164398486219/on-the-fourth-edition-of-what-the-fuck-is

one of the assessors got jumped a while back. she was just walking past a pt in the main assessment dept and he jumped up, punched her in the back of the head, took her to the ground and beat the fuck out of her. she was out for weeks and weeks and had broken facial bones. i can’t believe she didn’t quit.

our nurse executive quit though. not like, went prn or gave two weeks notice, like just straight up was like I’M DONE and walked out which honestly is the closest i’ve ever come to respecting him.

while having more psychologically unstable pts isn’t new, having more medically unstable pts has been a problem lately. like our crash cart is not like a medical hospital’s crash cart it’s like. an ambu bag some iv supplies and a stethoscope no lifesaving medications. when a pt has a medical issue we send them out to a medical hospital because obv we don’t have the resources to treat complex medical issues where we work. which didn’t used to be an issue because you’d used to see maybe two medical codes a year on my unit. we’ve had /ten/ since my last update post /just on my shift/. two of which weren’t even “pt is going downhill fast” codes they were “pt has no heartbeat and isn’t breathing” like we had to fucking bring two people back from the goddamn dead /within ten minutes of each other/. we’re all like we’re psych nurses man if we wanted to do this shit we’d work er. [and the er we’re required to send these pts to is awful like they sent us back a guy who had almost died twice in three days who had an /untreated brain tumor/ bc obv he’s totally fine]. or we’ve been doing mash unit style medicine like the suicidal kid with partial thickness burns all over his chest and neck that literally no one was doing anything about. we were debriding burns with a mixture of different PO IM and SQ drugs to achieve the same effect as IV morphine because debriding is extremely painful but not doing it will just make things worse and no one else seemed to care so we just fucking did it. like we’ve done so much medical nursing lately. like the one with the uncontrolled severe seizures that led to the medical hospital labeling her first break schizophrenia despite no family history of mental illness but /five different medical issues that all cause psychosis/. or the one they let on the unit despite being on the do not readmit who has untreated hiv that he actively tries to give to other people and /active tuberculosis/. or the one with the aneurysm. or the one with severe CHF. and on and on and on. and remember: we’re not the most medically unstable unit in the hospital because we have a 40 bed /geriatric psych unit/ so you can imagine the kind of pts /they’re/ getting. on the plus side, all of our ten odd codes lived.

my personal life is still a goddamn mess, of course, but that’s a given. don’t even know where to begin with all that. and i can’t talk about a lot of it which makes it that much more fun.

i had an entire crisis about the odyssey [which tbh is still kind of going on even after /weeks/] because i’m getting so cagey in memphis because i fucking hate this town. and i just got back from new orleans which is the closest thing i have to an ithaca at the moment and it killed me to come back to this fucking city.

i’m also really paranoid right now because after i come back from vacations, something terrible always happens and i’m not exaggerating it’s like clockwork to the point that the bad things have all happened between friday and sunday after i’ve returned from my vacation, each time, without fail. well that would be this weekend so i am just waiting to see what great horrors await me this goddamn time. [last time, it was the whole coworker killed in vehicular homicide thing]. but i guess paranoia isn’t the right word. you’re only paranoid if you’re wrong, and my life has already set the precedent. so i guess anxious is the better word.

the anxiety is increased given that my mother has been out of work all week because they’ve had trouble regulating her blood sugar and so she’s been really sick and even said so herself she’ll probably end up in the er over the weekend because she doesn’t think she can make it till her next doc appt because she’s miserable, and she’s already been in the er once when this weird shit started happening a month or so ago so the Vacation Curse has me even more concerned than usual, which is saying something. 

there’s a new psych doc working now and everyone is really unsettled by him and we’re pretty sure he’s a genuine psychopath like completely without exaggeration and he’s already done a lot of really creepy things to/with staff members and one nurse said in passing “i’ve known a lot of doctors like him he’ll end up fucking a pt at some point” which we initially left to hyperbole but he’s been doing shit like transporting female pts to other units without the staff’s consent in his own car which is like all kinds of not allowed, and the way he talks to some of the staff is just downright rapey honestly. and so we had a rough case this summer who, through the combined efforts of my squad, we got her from a diagnosis of intellectual disability with schizophrenia, nonverbal, self harming all the time, history of physical and sexual abuse, constantly in restraints and on a 1:1 obs level to a new diagnosis of autism spec with ptsd because her “hallucinations” were /flashbacks/ and she ended up very social and verbose and like fucking read william blake for fun and had a great sense of humor and was off all special observations and had a transfer to another facility pending so she could get more 1:1 long term therapy, and the creepy doctor was covering her case while her actual doc was out of town and he rode all the way to the other hospital with her which is another thing you do not do, and we found out from a coworker that she is now a /2:1/ [two staff members within arm’s reach 24/7], self harming again, in full shutdown/meltdown mode, and nonverbal. and it was such a rapid deterioration that all of us lost sleep over the possibility that this creepy doctor might have done something because even after she was at the other hospital and therefore no longer our pt, /he kept going to see her/. which fucked us up a lot because we were the ones who worked so hard for so long with her. like even the thought of it.

recently had 25th birthday so naturally had a crisis about that because i’d always said my goal was to be out of memphis by 25 and yet here we are. 

another of our fave pts, esp one of /my/ fave pts, died out of literally nowhere. the day before my birthday. so that was great.

also felt really surreal to see the news about the convictions in the holly bobo case, which i found out about when one of my coworkers was reading the news on his phone during a lull one night i forgot that to him and everyone else it’s a national news story [hell it even has its own wikpedia page] but to me it’s just /holly/ because she was /in the class above me in our nursing program/. my first semester in college i remember seeing her face on missing posters on every building on campus. so it was really a weird moment of dissociation for me. glad the motherfucker was found guilty on all charges, obv. 

the tech of mine who got his skull slammed into the floor, the one who’s been out with what can only be called severe psychological trauma, is supposed to be coming back the third week in october. which i just. i mean i’m glad because he’s one of our best guys, but i’m also like /why the fuck would he come back/ because he could be a fucking english professor again. motherfucker spent part of his youth growing up in italy and montreal, lived on the west coast for years, /was/ a college professor, did time as a script doctor in LA, and was a fucking thriller novelist who just gone girled himself for whatever reason and ended up working with us. there’s literally a reddit thread asking if anyone knows what happened to him and i want to be like don’t worry it’s fine he works with me. but so we’re like why would you come back to this place after what happened to you when you have so many other options available to you????? what are you running from that makes you so desperate to keep centering your life around a locked acute psych ward???? why did you gone girl yourself to begin with??? like he was screwed up enough there for a while that he wasn’t even answering his calls or texts and our boss had to send the police to do welfare checks on him because he lives alone so it’s like man why not go back to the life you had before and /get away from all of this/ it’s not like my situation where i’d rather be living a different life but have never done so, he already has the foundation because he’s already lived a different life he has an in that i don’t have and i can’t for the life of me figure out why he thinks working as an acute pysch tech is the better option. 

but i mean. we /do/ call our unit the hotel california for a reason.

#karen's adventures in trying to sort her life out #this got longer than i intended whoops

[bxttlecxps-blog]

The Glowing Sea[sick]

A fic I wrote for @nyanshadowforce stimming from her post here. Lightly hinted Male Sole Survivor/Paladin Danse Danse and Nate go on a mission in the Glowing Sea. Danse thinks he will be fine without his power armor helmet. He is wrong.

Nate and Danse looked out over the Glowing Sea from their recon position. It looked… well, dead. No movement save the rare radscorpion and the kick of dust as a bolt of lightning struck the ground in the distance.

“We have about an hour before sunlight,” Paladin Danse said, lowering his night vision binoculars, a gift from Nate. “Then we’ll move out.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t find you a power armor helmet first?” Nate moved to pick at the seam of his pants, a nervous habit from before he was frozen, then dropped his hand when he remembered the power armor encasing him.

“Negative.” Danse put the binoculars down carefully. “I appreciate your concern, Knight, but my power armor and the RadAway I’ve taken will protect me sufficiently from radiation.”

“If you say so.” Nate grinned when Danse cut him a pointed look. “If you say so, Sir.”

The Paladin made a soft noise that Nate took for approval.

Silence stretched for a few minutes, comfortable and welcome. Danse was a man of few words and Nate never minded, preferring to hear himself talk.

“Mission report,” Danse said expectantly.

“Collect several soil samples from the Glowing Sea to give to the science division to continue monitoring the effects of the radiation,” Nate prattled off immediately. His stomach flipped when Danse’s mouth twitched into something like a smile, but it was gone as soon as it had arrived.

“Outstanding.”

He hated the Glowing Sea.

When he had first unthawed and Preston told him about ground zero, he decided he wanted to see it for himself, up close and personal.

Preston had nearly busted a gasket when Nate entered his power armor, grabbed a handful of supplies, and announced that he was going to make the several day trek alone.

He had hated it then, the crater that had ended his world and started this new one, and he hated it even more now as he was bent as far as the power armor would allow him, scraping hardened dirt into test tubes.

This was ridiculous, but as long as it kept Danse happy it kept him happy.

Nate looked over at Danse and watching him make a slow 360 turn, rifle raised, making sure nothing would disturb them. His face was considerably paler than it had been when they had set out half an hour ago.

“D- Paladin Danse?”

“What is it, Knight?”

“Are you alright?”

Danse looked at him and nodded curtly.

“Fine, thank you. How many vials have you collected?”

Nate paused. The paladin was looking right at the ten tubes on the ground. He decided against saying anything. Maybe Danse just wanted to test his attention span. Again.

“Ten, sir. I’ll only need five more.” Nate moved as fast as the power armor allowed. He didn’t like how Danse looked, and he liked it even less when Danse began compulsively clearing his throat and losing track of what he was doing halfway through doing it. Nate noticed him squinting into the distance and flinching when a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. Not very Paladin Danse of him. The man could face down a deathclaw with barely a twitch of his facial muscles, but flinched at lightning? No.

It took about five more minutes to scrape enough of the dirt to fill the five remaining vials. Danse did another quick 360, almost lost his balance, and started back to their recon position.

Neither of them talked as they walked back so when Danse broke the silence almost at the edge of the Glowing Sea Nate almost shot at him.

“Knight…” Danse turned to look at him, blinking rapidly, and Nate took a step towards him. Nate checked his Geiger counter. It had all but stopped clicking. “Nate, I’m… I don’t feel so…”

The ground shook as Danse hit the ground, crushing his rifle.

“Fuck!” Nate exited his power armor as fast as he could, almost falling in the process, and ran to Danse’s side. “Danse? Paladin Danse!” He slapped at the armor, hoping to rouse his commanding officer, but to no avail. “Shit. Pack. Where’s my pack?”

He retrieved a bottle of buffout from his pack, took two dry, and hefted the power armor onto its back when they took effect. As he took Danse’s pulse, weak too weak, he pressed the radio system on his Pip-Boy.

“This is Scribe Tara.”

“Scribe, this is Knight Lance, I need immediate medical evac from my position, my commanding officer, Paladin Danse, has passed out from overexposure to radiation in the Glowing Sea.”

There was the sound of clicking against a terminal keyboard and the Scribe cleared her throat.

“You’re at the edge of the Glowing Sea, correct?”

“Correct, yes.”

“We have a bird about five minutes from your location, Knight. Is the Paladin in his power armor?”

“Yes. Yes, he is, he doesn’t have his helmet, he forgot it in Sanctuary before we left.” Nate’s chest ached in a way he couldn’t quite place, and the edges of his vision were blurry, focused entirely on the man before him. “Is he gonna die? He can’t die.”

“Knight Lance, please remain calm. Try to get him on his side so that if he vomits it won’t constrict his airways.”

Of course. Nora had had to do that with him several times when he was sick.

Nora would know what to do. Nora was the soldier. Nate was the lawyer.

Nate pushed the Paladin onto his side, wincing when his rifle crunched pathetically, and Danse coughed almost immediately afterward, expelling the contents of his stomach. Nate tried his damnedest not to do the same.

“Come on, Danse, stay with me,” Nate said, rubbing at his back. He knew the Paladin couldn’t feel it through the armor, but he hoped it was the thought that counted. “You’re okay. You’re a tough guy, remember you always telling me ‘keep your chin up, soldier’? Come on. You can pull through.”

Danse mumbled something and vomited again in response. It was streaked red with blood and then Nate started panicking.

“Where’s the fucking bird? We need evac right now as in immediately, please! I don’t want to lose him! I can’t lose him, too.” He knew he was saying too much, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Knight, keep your cool,” the Scribe said, voice cracking uncertainly. “Please use one of your flares provided for you so that the vertibird can hone in on your exact location. It should be about two minutes out.”

Nate rustled around in his pack, tears blinding him, trying to find the correct flare. When he couldn’t he took a Minutemen flare, ignited it, and held it up to the sky.

One tense minute later during which Nate prayed to whatever God still roamed the wasteland, there was the drone of propellers coming towards them.

When it touched down and medics crowded out Nate didn’t know whether to kiss them or cuss them out for taking so long, so he stepped back and let them take care of Danse.

“Will he be okay?” he asked when one of the medics came close enough to hear him.

The medic smiled.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than some radiation poisoning to take out Paladin Danse, Knight Lance. It’s a good thing you called when you did, though, he should be fine.”

The ball of dread didn’t leave his stomach.

When they arrived at the Prydwen the medics moved Danse into the hospital wing quickly, ordering Nate into a separate station to be examined by a doctor. Nate tried to wave their concerns away, wanting every available person keeping Danse alive, even though they assured him that Danse was stable. They insisted that they look him over.

Besides a bit of dehydration, he was fine. They hooked him up to an IV and one of the nurses brought him reports on Danse whenever she could.

Two hours later she returned to tell Nate that Danse had woken up and that she had a bit of bad news.

“Blind?” Nate nearly screeched. He barely managed to keep his voice in check. “He’s blind?”

“Temporarily,” the nurse corrected him. “Exposing the retina directly to radstorm lightening has known damaging effects. They always fade with time, maybe a week or two depending on the severity and time of the exposure. Given that you were only there for a half hour, I would say he will be fit for duty again in a week.”

“How’s he taking it?”

The nurse glanced around and then grinned at Nate.

“All he has asked about since he woke is you.”

Nate hoped that the blush on his cheeks and neck isn’t as visible as it feels.

“When can I see him?”

“You can come on back now.” The nurse stood and pushed the curtain back to allow Nate to pass. She lead him to another bed on the far side of the hospital.

Danse was sitting up, still a little pale, with patches over his eyes. His head cocked to the side when they approached and he put down the cup of water in his hand.

“Knight Lance?”

“Yes, sir. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Did you collect the vials?”

Nate smothered a laugh. Danse could have died and all he cared about were Nate and the damned vials of soil.

“Yes, sir. I gave the vials to one of the scribes to take to the science wing as soon as we arrived.”

A ghost of a smile tilted Danse’s lips and Nate had to bodily keep himself from kissing them.

“Outstanding.”

#writes #paladin danse #aka paladin beefcake #sole survivor #fallout 4 #fo4 #fanfic #ss/danse #nyanshadowforce

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Fifteenth Christmas

the series is as follows so far:

First … Second … Third … Fourth … Fifth … Fifth Christmas, Part 2 … Sixth … Seventh … Eighth … Ninth … Tenth … Eleventh … Twelfth … Thirteenth … Fourteenth … Fifteenth … Sixteenth … Seventeenth … Eighteenth … Nineteenth … Twentieth … Twenty-first … Twenty-second … Twenty-third

———————–

One look at Mulder had her calling her mother to cancel plans for Christmas Eve and possibly Christmas Day. Maggie took it well, considering now Christmas dinner would be without both Dana and Charlie.

“At least Bill and Tara will be there and Dave and everyone else. You’re even getting Sarah and the kids so maybe pretend Charlie’s just in the bathroom the whole time.” She didn’t get the chuckle she was hoping for but at least she heard a resigned sigh that told her enough, “I’ll call you later when everyone gets there, okay? I love you.”

“I love you, too, honey. Please tell Fox to feel better.”

“I will.”

After hanging up, she moved back to the living room, where Mulder was curled on the couch, blankets piled high, sheen of sweat on his forehead but visibly shivering, chin wobbling, teeth clicking together in rhythmic spasm. Settling on the coffee table after having moved a mountain of computer printouts, magazines and newspapers from around the country, she brushed his forehead, the cold droplets feeling even cooler against his flaming skin, “how are you feeling?”

He couldn’t even come up with some kind of snarky comment, giving her a look of complete agony, “if you could shoot me now, that’d be great.”

Her heart squeezed, wanting to make him feel better but knowing that would only come in the next few days. With a small sigh, she tilted her head, a sad smile curving her lips, “they took my gun, remember?”

Groaning into the damp pillow, “then could you maybe grab me a new pillowcase and a towel? This thing is sticking to my face and feels terrible.”

Tucking in the blankets a little closer, she stood, “back in a minute.”

Soon, darkness had encased the house, the heavy blanket of snow muffling the world, the Christmas lights on the porch railing making the blank white canvas outside alive with color while inside, Scully struggled to get the star atop the tree. Mulder had designated himself ‘starman’ on the first Christmas he’d helped her decorate, given she struggled, needing to retrieve her kitchen stool, nearly falling into the tree reaching over to hang it and while Mulder enjoyed the view of her backside immensely, he declared it would be better for him to do it and her to direct him on balance and crooked issues.

This year, they’d waited longer than usual to get the tree up and now, with Mulder sick, she knew she’d have to do it herself.

All she had to say, in the end, was she was very glad she’d decided to do the star first instead of last. There was a miscalculation in distance and one thing leading to the next had her crashing into and through the tree, branches grabbing at her face and hair, poking her hard in the ribs and chest, digging sharply into her thighs as she landed heavily on the tree stand, metal bending, main trunk snapping, everything banging to the ground.

And Scully’s clear, heavenly voice, to Mulder’s ears anyway, spewing forth swears that echoed off the walls.

Mulder sat up in a shot, tangled in afghans, only to pass out from the sudden movement and his fever.

Through the branches, she watched his stand then fall. Her heart thumping wildly, she flailed, freeing herself from the tree and ignoring the bloody scratches all over her skin to stumble beside Mulder, “Mulder?! Mulder? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

When he didn’t respond, she slipped into doctoring mode, feeling his forehead, checking his breathing, examining his pupils for reaction. She was confident he’d wake in a minute and scooting to the kitchen to retrieve a wet washcloth and the thermometer, she returned to find him groaning, his limbs shifting haphazardly in ten different directions as he fought to sit up.

“Hey, hey, don’t move. You passed out and I don’t want you doing it again. Stay there for a minute.”

He complied, looking up at her, “did you fall into the tree?”

“Yeah. Apparently, I’m still too damn short to reach the top.”

“When are you going to grow some more?”

Running the cloth over his forehead and cheeks while she held the thermometer in his ear, “January 1st. My New Year’s resolution is to reach a nice 5’5”.” Seeing his temperature up in the 102 degree area, she slid her arm under his shoulder, “come on. I’m taking you to bed.”

“I don’t think I have the strength for sex right now but I could probably just lay there if you want to do the work.”

Shaking her head with a smirk, “still making jokes with a temperature like yours is impressive.”

“Who’s joking?”

Ignoring him now, she helped him sit up and waited while he swayed, then stood him up, working them both towards the stairs and eventually, slowly, up to their room. Settling him under the covers, she pushed his damp hair back, “time for meds and sleep. Back in a minute.”

&&&&&&&&&&

He slept soundly for several hours, giving Scully time to clean up the tree, clean up her numerous wounds, clean up the scattered tissue and other sick Mulder remnants before going to bed herself. Nearly asleep 20 minutes later, she felt his foot hit her calf. Figuring he’d just twitched, she ignored it.

A few seconds later, he hit her again, then his balled fist caught her shoulder. Scooting, sliding, slipping out of bed before she took anymore abuse, she saw him drenched in sweat, legs shifting under the covers, head thrashing about on his pillow.

Mumbling ‘shit’ under her breath, she began her first very long night in many years quieting her partner down, holding compresses to his face, whispering soothing words while she worried beside him. She listened to nonsensical words and mumblings about cases 12 years behind them; heard wild theories about everything from the UPS man spying on them to the possibility that we already colonized Mars but the government refused to tell the public about it.

She knew Mulder as well as she knew herself but that night gave her insight into just how deep his paranoia ran.

By morning, he’d settled down some and exhausted as she was, she attempted, yet again, to get him to drink some water. He was dehydrated at this point, his sweating less, his panting more but when she raised the mug to his mouth, he lashed out, the ceramic shattering as it hit the wall, the water soaking her and the sheets. Knowing she couldn’t leave him alone but that he would need an IV for fluids, she swallowed her pride and the knowledge that when Mulder was well again, he’d probably be thoroughly pissed at her but she called one of the nurses she knew at the hospital, Jenny, and politely asked if the woman could take time out from her Christmas Eve preparations to drop off several bags of saline, some tubing and needles. Explaining about her partner’s severe flu and not being able to leave him, Jenny obliged without hesitation, showing up less than an hour later with the supplies and a sympathetic look on her face.

She stared a moment too long as Scully’s scratched face and hands, however, “Dana, what happened?”

Scully nearly laughed, having sudden visions of Jenny thinking she was in an abuse relationship with a drug addled man who she was withdrawling at home. Ushering the woman off the front porch and inside for a few moments, she gestured to the pile of misshapen artificial tree sitting inside the door, Scully not having been able to get it outside to the garage in the snow, “Fox usually does the star on the tree but since he’s ill, I tried and I’m really too short to do it and I fell right through the tree and scratched myself and well,” glancing down at the metal and plastic heap, “that’s my Christmas tree this year.”

Understanding, Jenny returned to her sympathetic face, “I’m sorry. Your Christmas doesn’t seem to be shaping up well this year.”

With a moment of dawning, she gave her colleague a smile, “it’s okay. I have my Fox and that’s all I need, Christmas or any other time of the year.”

Turning to go, she gave Scully a grin, “glad you feel that way but if I tried to get away without a tree at my house, my kids would tie me up and decorate me with the lights and the tinsel and leave me there for the duration of the holidays.”

With a chuckle, she wished the woman ‘Merry Christmas’ and thanked her again before closing out the cold of the brisk afternoon and heading back upstairs, hoping Mulder hadn’t hurt himself in the few minutes she was gone.

&&&&&&&&

In the middle of the night, Scully, dozing beside him, woke when he began mumbling, hands and feet shifting under the covers, not harshly as before but slow and soft, brushing her arms, legs, knuckles running into her cheek, stopping their pursuit of her once they found their destination. Thinking he was waking up, his fever broken, she froze in utter terror when he opened his eyes to look at her, his head turned, his voice an urgent whisper, “they’re here!”

Scrambling backwards and out of bed in a daze, he tried to follow her, the saline bag she’d rigged to hang from the headboard swinging, then dropping to the bed as he moved. The calm, rational look in his eye made her heart thud heavy, erratic as she wondered how she would get him to the car and on the road, drive to one of the sheltered stashes compliments of the Gunmen that she hadn’t thought about in years.

She would have bet hard money he was awake.

“Mulder?! Mulder? Who’s here?”

Kneeling on the sea of tangled sheets and quilt, he stared hard at her, forehead scrunched in confusion, “they are. They all are. They’re behind the doors and in the closet and coming in the front door right now. Can’t you hear them? They’re breathing through their masks and they’re rattling.” Leaning even more towards her, “they rattle. Our atmosphere is too thick for them but the masks let them move around.” Pointing behind him, he twisted his arm far enough that the tape pulled, the IV slid from his vein and saline began shooting from the tube while blood began running down his arm.

He didn’t seem to notice however and when Scully automatically moved forward, wanting to calm him down but seemingly moving too fast, Mulder grabbed her arms, a triumphant look on his face as he turned his face towards the door, yelling, “Scully!! Scully!! Come here! I got one! He was fast but I got one! Come see him!”

Near tears, all she could do was wiggle her hand until it could press over his leaking cut, putting pressure on it, feeling the blood, from the tension in his muscles, pouring out faster than it normally would. “Mulder? Mulder, I’m right here. It’s me. I’m right here. You have me. You didn’t catch one of them … you have me. Mulder, it’s me.”

She repeated, slowly and quietly, his name, her name, over and over, the syllables becoming a nonsensical stream of sound as she spoke, her brain racking on what else, anything else she could do. He kept yelling over her thought, becoming more and more agitated as he called her name, demanding she come upstairs to see what he had.

Minutes, seconds, hours, decades, moments later, her mouth dry, his voice nearly gone from yelling, she decided she would have to take him down like a suspect, treat him like a common criminal with a kick and a back twist of his arm, unless he responded to one last ditch effort.

“You’re scaring William, Mulder. He’s asleep in the next room and he’s going to wake up. He’s going to hear you and he’s going to be afraid. You need to let me go and be quiet.” Now the tears were pouring down her cheeks, “Mulder, you don’t want to scare William. He’s your son, Mulder, you can’t scare him like this. Mulder, please?”

Something in the name William seeped through the chaos, the scattered remains of Mulder’s sanity and managing to break through, she saw recognition on his face for a split second and knowing she nearly had him back, “Mulder, I need you to lie down, okay? You had a nightmare and pulled out your IV and you need to lay down so I can take care of you? Do you understand, Mulder?”

His fevered mind finally clicked over, “Scully?”

Nearly collapsing against him, she held strong, even as her heart continued to tear at having mentioned her son’s name out loud so many times in such a short span, “it’s me. Can you lie down, please?”

He obliged without argument, his eyes searching hers but finding only despairing fear, he grew scared, “what did I do?”

&&&&&&&&

He insisted she not sleep in bed with him. He insisted she shut and lock the bedroom door with him inside. He insisted that she go to her mother’s and leave him behind, let him damage himself instead of her.

She told him to ‘shut up’ in the politest voice she had, then called the pharmacy with a prescription for something to help him sleep deeper, dreamlessly, as well as something stronger to combat the fever. She reinserted the IV after he threw up the small amount of water she gave him to drink, changed the soaked sheets, re-fluffed his pillow, stroked his forehead and told him it would take her 20 minutes, there and back, to the drug store and she’d need to leave him alone in that time.

She asked him to try to stay awake for her, just so he wouldn’t have another nightmare while she was gone and he nodded his glassy, fevered eyes in her direction, asking for his Rubik’s Cube from the dresser, “if I try that, I might stay awake.”

Leaving him, she made it to the car before she broke, 11:52pm, nearly Christmas Day and she wasn’t wrapping gifts and cuddling by the tree but speeding into the night, thanking God over and over in a constant mumble of appreciation that she found a drugstore open when the rest of the world was shut up tight for the holiday.

Swiping at her cheeks every few minutes, she made it there and home in 1020 seconds, having counted each and every one of them in turn, finally running up the stairs to find Mulder’s toy fallen to the mattress but no Mulder. Panic flooded her until she heard his low groan from the bathroom, his unmistakable ‘I’ve just thrown up all my organs’ sound that had her pushing the door open slowly, medicine in hand, “Mulder?”

He was still hugging the toilet, back curled as his muscles tensed, the sound guttural as nothing came up but not for lack of trying. She could only run her hand over his chilled skin, offering him palpable comfort when words would mean nothing, waiting until he finally sat back on his heels, IV trailing down to the liquid bag on the floor, “ready to go back to bed?”

“Can’t you just leave me here? I can sleep on the bathmat.”

Arm under his, she helped him up, “come on. I’ve got something to help the fever and calm your stomach down. If it works, then I have something that’ll get you to sleep but you won’t dream.”

Looking at her as if she were an angel, “they make things like that?”

“Yeah, they do.” Moving the hair sweat-plastered to his forehead and with a look of complete and utter sympathy, “but since you’re not keeping anything down, I’m going to have to do this a different way.”

Mulder groaned then rolled to his side, “the things you’d never thought you’d be doing to me when you walked in that basement office.”

As she pulled out the pill bottles and a pair of rubber gloves, “I loved you pretty much from the first day so even though I may have never thought about having to do this, I would have still done it in a heartbeat if it would have made you feel better.”

“Suppositories: Bringing together lovelorn FBI agents since 1993.”

&&&&&&&&&&

He didn’t throw up again, managing to keep down water and Pedialyte an hour later. His fever was hovering around 100 by the morning and having refused the sleeping pills, he drifted off on his own, Scully quietly lying beside him, hand on his chest, fingers on his carotid artery, soothed by the now steady, thrumming heartbeat of one finally on the slow mend.

They slept through the day, Mulder only getting up twice, once to pee and responding to a text Scully had received from Maggie, the second to retrieve her unwrapped ornament from his sock drawer. Exhausted, he debated for half a second whether to find some Christmas paper to wrap it up then climbed back into bed, instead hanging the ornament where the galaxy usually spun, putting the older ornament carefully in the nightstand drawer, just in case he went all hallucinatory again and managed to break it.

&&&&&&&&&&

She woke him up with a kiss to the cheek originally intended to check his temperature but he felt her, recognized her, moved towards her unconsciously, breathing her in, “hi.”

“Hi. How are you feeling?”

“Like someone beat me with some rebar, then ran me over with a steamshovel.”

“Oddly, I can imagine what that feels like.” Scooting a little closer, she also ran her lips over his forehead, “you seem much cooler than earlier.”

“The buzzing’s gone and my head isn’t throbbing like it was.” Drinking in her still sleepy blue eyes, “Merry Christmas.”

One side of her mouth curved up, lips pale in lingering exhaustion, “Merry Christmas. I’m glad you feel better.”

Whispering across the inches to her, “I love you and you have no idea how sorry I am for whatever I did. I don’t remember much but what I do remember makes me feel terrible and I’m sorry.”

Warm hand stroking down his cool cheek, “I love you, too. Don’t apologize. You can’t control your fever and what it makes you do.”

“I’m still sorry.” Leaving it at that, not wanting, at this point, to know what else he said or did, he moved his hand, pointing up to the headboard, “look at what Santa left you.”

Moving her head, she took in a dark matte-finished, round ornament, exquisitely painted with their house, trees, hammock, crooked front step, sagging roof painstakingly included down to the tiniest of details. Breathing out, tears prickled, threatened to fall but she held them in, smiling at the beauty, “I love it, Mulder. How did you do that?”

“Actually, I was talking to your mom about something or other a few months back and she mentioned she had a friend who paints and one thing led to another.” Reaching up to take it down for her to look at more closely, “Maggie had her ship it here and it came a few weeks back but I never got around to wrapping it so I decided to give it to you like this.”

In examining it, it suddenly blurred before her just as her head began swimming, spinning, pulsing. Having enough sense, she shut her eyes, handing the fragile glass back to Mulder, “I love it but I’m suddenly very dizzy. Did yours start like that?”

Rolling away and putting the ornament in the drawer with the first one, “yeah, it did.” Standing, he waited for a moment, then turned to her, “why don’t you get your pajamas on and get comfortable. It’s going to be an ugly few days.”

&&&&&&&&&

Mulder felt well enough to take care of Scully and by the 28th, they were wrapped up in blankets on the couch, enjoying their fireplace and hot chocolate and the fact that while Scully slept her fever away, Mulder had decorated. He’d taken the demolished tree parts and lined the mantle, placing other branches behind pictures, in the curtain rods of the windows. He then used their entire collection of stick-on hooks to hang all the ornaments on the large wall of the room, staggering them, arranging them in the most aesthetically pleasing pattern he could achieve, each one dangling from red and green yarn he’d rescued from his knitting bag.

Dozing against him, warm and wonderful, she mumbled into the darkened room around them, “thank you for taking care of me.”

As he kissed the top of her head, leaving his lips against her hair, “thank you for taking care of me.”

“And you like your ornament?”

“Of course. How could I not like a miniature ‘Big Blue’ hanging from my Christmas tree? I’m still amazed you remembered and managed to get them to send you one.”

“I remember everything Mulder, even the mythical sea monsters.”

Kissing her once again, “Merry Christmas, Scully.”

Through half a snore, “Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

#msr #sickness abounds #home for christmas #my writing #christmas series #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic

[ecotone99]

[HR] World War Z: The Fellowship (WWZ Fanfiction)

South Gate, California, USA

[It’s a busy night at the local bar, “Auggie’s Tavern.” I sit down and share a drink with the retired welder “Bill the Downer,” of both shots and attitude, as the local patrons explain. He has asked me to simply refer to him as “Bill.” He’s reluctant at first when informed of the nature of my work, but starts to open up after his eleventh shot of cognac and gin. Though only thirty-two, Bill’s hair already has many grey hairs on his unkempt beard. The stories of his journey from the East Coast to the Rockies are well-known among the locals, as he usually draws in a crowd when recounting his many adventures out east, as he did that night. He tells me in private that if I wanted to hear a “better story,” we had to go back to his apartment across the street. His living space has all that an apartment should have: a single bedroom, a living room with a sofa and lounge chair, a coffee table, a TV, a kitchen, a bathroom, and decent lighting. He has a few books lying around the floor and an old desktop computer, but nothing more in terms of entertainment and nothing of luxury. He walks over to his fridge and takes a six-pack of Budweiser, a brand of beer that had just come back into production five months prior to now.]

I try to keep my living expenses to a minimum. Work as a welder pays well, especially with the fat pension they gave me after my work up in the Bay Area was done[1], but living out there in the thick of it all those years ago taught me that I don’t need a lot to live. I kind of had that minimalist way of thinking before the war with Zack, but I doubt you want to hear about all that. Want one?

[I decline.]

C’mon, man. You only had one shot back at the bar. You’re going to make me feel like an alcoholic drinking by myself.

[I take the beer he had already opened. He opens another bottle and takes a sip as he sits down on the old lounge chair. I sit down on the sofa across from him.]

I never trusted televangelists. I always saw them as a bunch of camera whores who came into God’s light for profit. Many of them got loaded with all that cash flowing in from their good followers’ pockets, like that Creflo Dollar. Bought a whole private jet with the money his church collected.[2] Fucking con artists, all of them. My mom was a real Jesus freak and loved watching his sermons every Sunday. “A truly godly man,” she used to say. Those phonies had always had a history of scandals: domestic abuse, hookers and blow, sexual assault, faggotry, you name it. As well-versed as she was in the good book, she never thought to be wary of the wolves in sheep’s cloth.

Does any of that relate to this “better story?”

I’m getting to it.

[He takes a drink of his beer.]

Nine months after leaving Kentucky, I—

Actually, would you mind giving just a quick summary of how you got back from the east back to the west? For context.

Alright, then. [There is a tone of annoyance in his voice.] I left Liberty University in Virginia once it turned out “African Rabies” wasn’t rabies at all. I settled at one of them refugee camps in Richmond, Kentucky, but left after the shit-show at Yonkers and just before the panic-induced rioting in Richmond, thank God for that. After hopping my way through every “safe zone” in the Midwest, rationing my meals to only 1,000 calories a day, I eventually I made my way to a settlement at Leadville, Colorado where I worked as an assistant welder to an old mechanic named Vern. The guy was a hardass, but he taught me well, God rest his soul. When the war in the U.S. was won, I joined the DeStRes Program to train welders and was employed to help with the restoration of the Golden Gate Bridge. That good enough for you, boss?

That’s fine, thank you.

Now as I was saying, it had already been nine months since I left Kentucky. I was maybe fifty miles away from the Kansas-Colorado border. Zack were everywhere on the I-70, so I laid low inside an old Kum & Go gas station for the night. [He chuckles as he repeats “Kum & Go” under his breath.] I had no food left. I had to give my last can of peaches to some loony waving an M1911 at me five days before. Fucker made it off with my bike and pocket knife too. I was starving and severely dehydrated. I don’t remember much from that night, but I must have passed out for a while because when I finally came to, I was in this makeshift infirmary in an old church. There was a woman by my side dressed in all-white clothes. She called others over, also in white, and then a man in a nice suit with a golden cross pendant walked to my bedside. He was greybearded, maybe in his mid-fifties, with these warm, inviting blue eyes, and an equally warm smile. Handsome fella, I admit. I thought he looked familiar but I couldn’t put my finger on it. He told me I was out for two days. “I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he then told me. “God has blessed us with a new lamb to add to our Heavenly flock.” His voice sounded a lot like Bing Crosby’s, smooth and crooner like. He held my hand and the woman’s next to me and both said a prayer for my full recovery while the others bowed their heads. At that moment, I knew who he was. [His expression becomes hard with resentment] Keith Fitzgerald, the same fucking televangelist that gave sermons from eight to ten in the morning on the Christian Broadcasting Network my mom loved so much.

Keith Fitzgerald, the leader of the Fellowship of the Pure Cult in Kanorado?

Bingo. Did you know he was once charged with molesting one of the daughters of a member of his church in Chicago back in ’98? He was acquitted for lack of evidence. [He takes a large swig of his beer and jabs his finger at me.] If you ask me, he probably had one of his Chicago politician buddies make sure the incident didn’t make national news; he was a well-connected man, you see. Corrupt bastards, all those Chicago fucks.

[Bill finishes the last of his first beer and then opens another.]

The Fellowship believed some shit about God casting down “the plague,” as they called it, to wipe the world clean of sinners, while only those who followed God’s Word—and, of course, Fitzgerald’s word—would be spared from it.

When I felt I’d recovered enough, I thanked them for their hospitality and told them I was ready to leave. I didn’t want to be there any longer than I had to, but Fitzgerald said that valuable IV bags were used on me during my recovery and that it was only courteous that I work off my “debt” to him and his fellowship. I would’ve told him where he could shove those IV bags if he didn’t have some of his Judges blocking the way out. I ended up working off my “debt” for the next thirteen months.

How did the Fellowship manage to survive out in the open in the Midwest?

As you’ve mentioned before, the Fellowship of the Pure was located in Kanorado, Kansas, just a county away from the Colorado border. The town was practically in the middle of goddamn nowhere and the prewar population was less than 200 people.[3] When I asked one of the followers why there of all places, they told me that Fitzgerald saw it in a vision sent to him by God when asked where to go so that he and "his people" would be safe from the plague. [He waves his hand dismissively] He probably just spent his early childhood there if he knew to set up there. Most people before the war didn't even know Kanorado existed, so I don't see any other explanation. [He takes a drink.]

As you could imagine, the isolation made it perfect for setting up the Fellowship, as the low prewar population meant little to no Zack within a 15-mile radius and the wide-open space made building housing for the hundreds of followers almost a nonissue. Of course, that’s not to say they didn’t make any safety precautions. With the military equipment they managed to scavenge up while they made their pilgrimage from Chicago, they set up a fortified perimeter around that old town.

How did the Fellowship acquire its military equipment?

Your guess is as good as mine. If I had to make a guess, they probably came across some military weapons and vehicles left abandoned when some attempt by the U.S. government to wipe out a zombie horde went FUBAR.

I once tried to get some answers out of the others while working, but all they told was “the Vicar prayed and God provided.” I stopped caring after hearing the same answer the seventh time.

What was life like in Kanorado? Was there any form of hierarchy or bureaucracy in the Fellowship?

Fitzgerald, the Vicar, ran the entire show, and had his most loyal followers, the Bishops, managed the bureaucracy within the Fellowship; they were the ones who assigned the jobs to the men and women, which Fitzgerald called his Parish, in accordance with traditional Christian roles.

The men worked as carpenters, farmers, machinists, doctors, fence builders, and scavengers. Scavengers had the most dangerous job: going into the surrounding towns and cities looking for any food, supplies, and weapons they could find. They sometimes didn’t come back for weeks…and many never came back at all. The most physically built of the men, the Judges, were assigned as patrolmen of Kanorado and the personal army of “His Holiness Vicar Fitzgerald”; they were above the Parish but below the Bishops. It wasn’t uncommon to see them swinging their weight around, cutting in line for food and beating anyone who looked at them wrong.

Women worked as cooks, seamstresses, maids, wet nurses, and other “womanly occupations.” They were expected to take a man—any man—as a husband, as it was “what God wished for the all of His daughters,” as that cunt Fitzgerald put it. Being the leader of the Fellowship and all, he was obviously the only one allowed to have multiple wives, as he wished his descendants to be “as plentiful as those of Abraham.” I had the good fortune of not having a wife; the men outnumbered the women two to one, so there weren’t too many to go around.

The women weren’t allowed to leave their homes unless they were in the company of their husbands or another woman; they weren’t allowed to do man’s work unless they were short-handed in the fields; they weren’t allowed to speak unless spoken to; they weren’t allowed to speak of any abuses within their household, and if they got out of line, their husbands had to publicly beat them into submission—the keywords being “had to.” [He quotes Fitzgerald with a mockingly pious voice.] “If a husband does not take it upon himself to make sure his wife is obedient to him and to the laws of God and the Fellowship, it shall then fall upon the Judges to take up his burden.” I remember one time a young woman, probably around my age back then, was caught trying to steal some produce from the community kitchen. Her husband, a frail, Parkinson’s-ridden seventy-year-old man could barely lift his spoon to eat soup, much less beat his wife. One of the Judges “disciplined” her for the old man, swinging a shovel to the back of her head so hard her right eye shot out of its socket. I can still remember the way her eye dangled about, still attached to the optic nerve. Poor thing went blind.

No one was allowed to leave Kanorado, of course—not if they weren’t scavengers, anyway. As Fitzgerald had always put it, “he who wanders off from God’s Light and His Fellowship shall suffer the fires of Hell in life and in death.” Anyone who was caught trying to escape was burned alive. They burned them in a soundproof urn-shaped building we called Nebuchadnezzar’s Furnace so the glow of burning flesh and wooden crucifixes and screams wouldn’t attract Zack. [Bill takes a long drink of his beer.]

Did the Fellowship ever have any run-ins with zombie attacks?

Only three times while I was in Kanorado. There was one time—back before Fitzgerald had the good sense to put up metal fences instead of chain-linked fences—when a swarm of, I want to say 30 of them, got through a hole that someone failed to fix up. Zack got about five of us—one of them was Fitzgerald’s favorite wife. At that point of the Great Panic, everyone knew no medicine could cure reanimation after dead. Fitzgerald, on the other hand, had a solution. You see, back when he hosted a religious podcast in Cincinnati, he preached his wholehearted belief that the gay could be prayed away. So with that logic, so too could the zombie virus be prayed away. Nobel Prize-winning stuff! [Bill laughs then takes a drink.] He gathered everyone in the chapel room and had us pray for hours for the five bitten until they finally stopped breathing. Fitzgerald’s wife was the first to come back until we all saw him bash her skull in with a candelabrum. He had the Judges do the other four in with axes before they could come back. He became belligerent, blaming us for not having enough faith in God to save his beloved wife. Our rations were cut in half for 40 days as punishment.

The second run-in happened four months later. There was no swarm, but only a single Zack, at least we all thought. One of the Bishops, a piece-of-shit wife-beater named Paul Kaufman, revisited Fitzgerald’s theory of “praying the plague away” by reading scriptures from the Book of Mark to Zack. To no one’s admitted surprise, he got bit and Zack was shot down by a Judge. What did come to everyone’s surprise was that he didn’t turn.

After investigating the issue, Fitzgerald came to the conclusion that one became immune to the plague if he had sex with a virgin, as Kaufman had fucked his new young wife after his last one mysteriously died in her sleep.[4] What happened next…well…let’s just say there was a lot of screaming later that night…and a lot of babies being born around the same time. [He finishes his second beer with a long swig and opens another.] Had we known of quislings, I would have called Fitzgerald out on his bullshit then and there.

And the third time?

A swarm of at least ten times the size as the first one was trying to get through the eastern-most side of Kanorado. By that time, we’d replaced the shoddy chain link fences with eight-foot-high metal plate fences reinforced with concrete foundations which worked in the past. But the walls were tin sloppily welded scraps of old car engine hoods, flattened tin cans, and rusted sheet metal. It worked well for holding off one or two zombies, but the combined physical force of some three hundred Zack, unhindered by cognitive restraint, would have burst through like a finger through a wet napkin. Some of the Judges went to try to hold the fence up, thinking they now had immunity from infection and protection from God. Those stupid fucks were the first to get mauled to death by the invading swarm.

Chaos erupted throughout the whole goddamn town; people screaming, trying to run to the safety of their homes, cracks of gunfire that would only draw more of Zack to them, mothers mercy-killing their babies, and poor saps desperately pleading to God to send Angels to lift them to salvation as Zack tore their stomachs open. In the panic, I decided then was a good time to get the hell out of there. My plan was to make my way to the western-most side of Kanorado, break into the garage, steal one of them military trucks they had stored away, and ram my way through the wall and keep on going west. I was just about to get the keys from the wall hangers when four Judges dragged two women into an office building connected to the garage. I hid in a tool shed before they could see me. The Judges were covered in blood and the black liquid; their expressions were that of wild all-eyed desperation. They must’ve been bit or at the very least got that black shit in their mouths and eyes. Two of the Judges forced one woman into a corner with their rifles pointed at her so she wouldn’t try to run. The other two…

[Bill stares off. There is a long pause.]

You don’t want to talk about that if—

No. It’s ok. [He takes a deep breath and a long drink.] The other two Judges pinned the other woman—no, it was a girl, couldn’t have been any older than sixteen…they pinned her down on a table and…tried to save themselves from becoming infected. They gagged her with a ripped piece of her dress so she wouldn’t scream. [His face is now blank, void of emotion, and his voice now in monotone. His keeps his gaze from mine.] It didn’t even matter that those who thought themselves immune got fucking killed. They had a single hair of hope and they clung to it.

After they were done with her, they choked her to death, probably to save ammo for Zack and…went on to the other woman. She tried to fight back at first, but…there’s only some much such a small woman could do against four apes in uniform. Her head was held down by one Judge and she…she saw me watching her through a crack in the tool shed door.

[His voice becomes softly quiet.]

Her eyes were full of pleading. “Save me, stranger! Don’t let these fucking animals do this to me!” What could I have done? Grab a hammer or a wrench from the tool shed, rushed the Judges, save the woman, and drive off into the night with her? [He forces a chuckle.] And maybe we’d even fall in love and start a family, telling the story about how Mommy and Daddy met in the middle of fucking Armageddon, like in those Hollywood movies?

[He covers his mouth with a fist to stifle a sob and tightly squeezes his eyes in an attempt to stop the tears.]

I wanted to live so badly. I wanted to go back home. I wanted to get as far away from that fucking place as possible. And because I wanted to live, I…closed my eyes and covered my ears…

[Bill drops his beer on the floor and covers his face. After crying for a while, he picks up his beer and drinks whatever is left in the bottle.]

I’m glad I never found out what happened to my parents. I’m glad I never married. I’m glad I’ll never have children. It means they’ll never have to hear the story of how I let two women die because I was too much of a fucking coward to at least die trying to save them. Keith Fitzgerald. I hope he’s burning in Hell.

[1] During the Great Panic, the Golden Gate Bridge was blown apart as a way to keep the zombie hordes from swarming into San Francisco from both sides. Reconstruction of the bridge employed over 2,000 workers from the DeStRes program over the course of three years.

​

[2] Before the war, Pastor Creflo Dollar set up a fundraiser to pay for a Gulfstream G650 private jet worth 65 million USD.

​

[3] The population of Kanorado before the Zombie War was only 153 total residents. In fact, the town never had a population of more than 400 people in its entire history.

​

[4] It is most likely that Kaufman’s wife may have died of Asymptomatic Demise Syndrome (ADS).

submitted by /u/Chappatherappa [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2ZRyz3a

#Blogger #Story

[starcitizenprivateer]

Whisperer in the Dark

Writer’s Note: Published originally in Jump Point 1.1, this story takes place before the events of The Lost Generation.

People complicate things. That’s what they’ve always been good at. Take a look at any functioning civilization and you will see chaos, confusion, and frustration. It could be human, Xi’an, Banu, Vanduul, whoever. We may look different, be built different, but boil us down and you’ll find the same insecurities, fears, and anxieties gnawing.

Tonya Oriel watched the yawning abyss outside the window. Kaceli’s Adagio in 4 gently wafted through the otherwise empty ship. Scanners cycled through their spectrums on the hunt for any flagged anomalies.

The void. It was pure. It was simple. It was permanent.

A calm serenity huddled around Tonya’s shoulders like a blanket, the kind that can only exist when you are the only person for thousands of kilometers. Everyone else can have Terra, Earth, or Titus, with their megacities teeming with people. Never a moment where there wasn’t a person above, beside or below you. Everything was noise. Tonya needed the silence.

Her ship, the Beacon, drifted through that silence. Tonya customized almost every hardpoint and pod with some form of scanner, deep-range comm system, or surveying tech to get her further and further from the noise.

The problem was that the noise kept following.

* * * *

After three weeks on the drift, Tonya couldn’t put it off any longer. She was due for a supply run and to sell off the data and minerals she’d collected. After repairs, new scrubbers, and a spectrum update, she hoped she’d have enough for some food.

The Xenia Shipping Hub in the Baker System had been the closest thing to a home she’d had for the past few years. Tonya set her approach through the shifting entry/exit patterns of ships. The station’s traffic was busier than usual. As soon as the Beacon docked, her screen buzzed with a handful of new messages from the spectrum. She passed them to her mobiGlas and went to the airlock.

Tonya paused by the entry and savored this last moment of solitude as the airlock cycled, then hit the button.

The sound of people swept inside like a wave. She took a second to acclimate, adjusted her bag and crossed into the masses.

Carl ran a small information network out of his bar, the Torchlight Express. An old surveyor for a long-defunct terraforming outfit, Carl traded moving minerals for slinging booze and information. Tonya had known him for years. As far as people went, Carl was a gem.

The Express was dead. Tonya checked local time. It was evening so there was no real reason why it should be like this. A group of prospectors sat at a table in the corner, engaged in a hushed conversation. Carl leaned against the bar, watching a sataball game on the wallscreen. His leathery fingers tapped out a beat to some song in his head.

He brightened up when he saw Tonya.

“Well, well, well, to what do we owe the honor, doctor?” He said with a grin.

“Don’t start, Carl.”

“Sure, sorry, doctor.” He must be bored; he only called her that when he wanted to pick a fight. Tonya slung her bag onto the ground and slid onto a stool.

“Anything interesting?” Tonya pulled her hair back into a tie.

“I’m great, Tonya, thanks for asking. Business is a little slow, but you know how it is.” Carl said sarcastically and slid a drink to her.

“Come on, Carl. I’m not gonna patronize you with small-talk.”

Carl sighed and looked around.

“At this point, I’ll take any patrons I can get.” He poured himself a drink from the dispenser. Tonya swiveled her mobiGlas around and showed him her manifest. He looked it over. “Running kinda light this time, huh?”

“I know. You know any buyers?”

“How much you looking to get?”

“Whatever I can,” Tonya said as she sipped. She could tell Carl was annoyed with the non-answer. “I need the money.”

“I might be able to get you ten.” He said after a long pause.

“I would give you my unborn child for ten.”

“With all the unborn kids you owe me, you better get started.” He said. Tonya smacked his arm.

One of the prospectors drifted over to the bar with empty glasses. He was young, one of those types who cultivated the dirty handsome look. Probably spent an hour perfecting it before going out.

“Another round.”

As Carl poured, the prospector looked at Tonya, giving his looks a chance to work their magic. They failed. Carl set a fresh batch of drinks down. The prospector paid and went back slightly deterred.

“I think someone liked you.” Carl teased.

“Not my type.”

“Living?”

“Exactly.” Tonya watched the prospectors. They were really in an overtly secretive conversation. “Any idea what they’re here for?”

“Of course I do.”

“Yeah? What’d they say?”

“Nothing… well, not to me anyway.” Carl pulled an earpiece out and held it out to her. Tonya wiped it off and took a listen. Suddenly she could hear their conversation loud and clear. Tonya looked at Carl, stunned.

“You have mics on your tables?!” She whispered. Carl shushed her.

“I deal in information, honey, so yeah.” Carl said, almost offended that he wouldn’t listen in on his customers.

Tonya took another sip and listened to the prospectors. It only took a little while to catch up. Apparently Cort, the prospector who tried to woo Tonya with his ruggedness, got a tip from his uncle in the UEE Navy. The uncle had been running Search & Rescue drills in the Hades System when their scanners accidentally picked up a deposit of kherium on Hades II. Being the military, of course, they couldn’t do anything, but Cort and his buddies were fixing to sneak in there and harvest it for themselves.

Kherium was a hot commodity. If these prospectors were on the level, they were talking about a tidy little fortune. Certainly enough to patch up the Beacon, maybe even install some upgrades.

Even better, they obviously didn’t know how to find it. Kherium doesn’t show up on a standard metal or rad scan. It takes a specialist to find, much less extract without corrupting it. Fortunately for Tonya, she knew how to do both. “You’ve got that look.” Carl said and refilled her glass. “Good news?”

“I hope so, Carl, for both of us.”

* * * *

Carl offloaded her haul at a discount so she could set out as quick as possible. Last time she checked, the prospectors were still at the Express and from the sound of it, they wouldn’t leave for a couple hours, maybe a day.

Tonya disengaged the Beacon from the dock and was back in her beloved solitude. The engines hummed as they pushed her deeper into space, pushed her toward a lifeline.

The Hades System was a tomb, the final monument of an ancient civil war that obliterated an entire system and the race that inhabited it. Tonya had it on her list of places to study, but every year Hades was besieged by fresh batches of young scientists exploring it for their dissertation or treasure hunters looking for whatever weapon cracked Hades IV in half. So the system became more noise to avoid.

Tonya had to admit that passing Hades IV was always a thrill. It’s not every day you get to see the guts of a planet killed in its prime.

Then there were the whispers that the system was haunted. There was always some pilot who knew a guy who knew someone who had seen something while passing through the system. The stories ranged from unexplained technical malfunctions to full-on sightings of ghost cruisers. It was all nonsense.

There was a loose stream of ships passing through Hades. The general flight lane steered clear of the central planets. Tonya slowed her ship until there was a sizeable gap in the flow of traffic before veering off toward Hades II.

She passed a barrier of dead satellites and descended into Hades II’s churning atmosphere. The Beacon jolted when it hit the clouds. Visual went to nil and suddenly the ship was bathed in noise, screaming air, and pressure. Tonya kept an eye on her scopes and expanded the range on her proximity alerts to make sure she didn’t ram a mountain.

Suddenly the clouds gave way. The Beacon swooped into the light gravity above a pitch-black ocean. Tonya quickly recalibrated her thrusters for atmospheric flight and took a long look at the planet around her.

As was expected, it was a husk. There were signs of intelligent civilization all around but all of it was crumbling, charred, or destroyed. She passed over vast curved cities built atop sweeping arches meant to keep the buildings from ever touching the planet itself.

Tonya maintained a cruising altitude. The roar of her engines echoed through the vast empty landscape. The sun was another casualty of this system’s execution. The cloud systems never abated so the surface never saw sunlight. It was always bathed in a dark greyish green haze.

Tonya studied the topography to plot out a course and set the scanners to look for the unique kherium signature she had programmed. She engaged the auto-pilot and just looked out the window.

Being here now, she kicked herself for not coming sooner. It didn’t matter that this was one of the most scientifically scrutinized locales in the UEE. Seeing the vastness of the devastation with her own eyes, Tonya felt that tug that a good mystery has on the intellect. Who were they? How did they manage to so effectively wipe themselves out? How do we know they actually wiped themselves out?

A few hours passed with no luck. Tonya had a quick snack and ran through her exercise routine. She double-checked the settings on her scans for any errors on the initial input. A couple months ago, she was surveying a planet and found nothing, only to discover on her way back that there had been one setting off that scuttled the whole scan. It still bugged her. It was an amateur mistake.

She brought up some texts on Hades. Halfway through a paper on the exobiology of the Hadesians, her screen pinged. Tonya was over there like a shot.

The scope gave a faint indication of kherium below. She triple-checked the settings before getting her hopes up. They seemed legit. She looked out the front. A small city sat above endless sea of dead trees lay ahead. It looked like an orbital laser or something had hit it excising massively deep craters from buildings and ground.

Tonya took a closer look. The craters went about six hundred feet into the ground, revealing networks of underground tunnels. They looked like some kind of transport system.

Tonya looked for a suitable landing spot with cover from overhead flights. If she was still here when the prospectors showed up, her ship would be a dead giveaway and things would get complicated.

She strapped on her environment suit and respirator. She could check the ship’s scanners through her mobiGlas but threw another handheld scanner/mapper in with her mining gear just in case. Finally, she powered up her transport crate, hoping the anti-gravity buffers would be more than enough to lug the kherium back.

Tonya stepped out onto the surface. The wind whipped around her, furiously kicking up waves of dust. She pushed the crate in front of her through the blasted forest. Gnarled branches clawed at her suit as she passed. The city loomed overhead, black silhouettes against the grey-green clouds.

Her curiosity got the better of her so Tonya decided to take a ramp up to the city streets. She told herself the detour would be easier on the crate’s battery. Smooth streets are easier for the anti-grav compensators to analyze than rough terrain.

Tonya moved through the barren, empty streets in awe. She studied the strange curvature of the architecture; each displayed an utterly alien yet brilliant understanding of pressure and weight dispersal. This whole place seemed at once natural and odd, intellectually fascinating and emotionally draining.

The kherium signature was still weak but there. Tonya maneuvered the crate around destroyed teardrop shaped vehicles. Pit-marks in the buildings and streets led her to suspect that a battle had taken place here however many hundreds or thousands of years ago.

The crater closest to the kherium was a perfect hole punched through the middle of the city into the ground. Tonya stood at the edge, looking for the easiest way down. The crate could float down but she would have to climb.

In a matter of minutes she secured a line with safeties for herself and the crate. She stepped over the edge and slowly rappelled down the sheer wall. The crate was making what should be a simple descent a little more complicated. The anti-grav buffers meant that any kind of force could cause the crate to drift away, so Tonya needed to keep a hand on it at all times. To make matters worse, the wind started picking up, flinging small rocks, branches and pieces of debris through the air.

A shrill scream tore through the air. Tonya froze. She heard it again and looked for the source. The screaming was just exposed supports bending in the wind.

Suddenly she realized, the crate had slipped out of her grasp. It slowly drifted further out over the crater, the swirling wind batted it around like a toy. Tonya strained to reach it but the crate floated just out of reach. She kicked off the wall and swung through the churning air. Her fingertips barely snagged the cargo before she slammed back against the wall of the crater.

Her vision blurred and she couldn’t breathe from the impact. The HUD went screwy. Finally she caught her breath. She took a moment or two before continuing down.

The scanner from the Beacon couldn’t isolate the signature any clearer to determine depth so she had to rely on her handheld. The kherium looked like it was situated between two tunnels.

Tonya secured the crate, climbed into the upper tunnel, and tied off her ropes. She checked her suit’s integrity in the debris-storm. The computer was a little fuzzy but gave her an okay.

She turned on a flashlight and activated the external mics on her suit. The tunnel was a perfectly carved tube that sloped into the darkness. Tonya couldn’t see any kind of power or rail system to confirm her transport tube theory. She started walking.

Hours passed in the darkness. Tonya felt a little queasy so she decided to rest for a few minutes. She sipped on the water reserve and double-checked her scanner. She was still above the kherium and it was still showing up as being in front of her. That much hadn’t changed.

She heard something. Very faint. She brought up the audio settings and pumped the gain on the external mics. A sea of white noise filled her ears. She didn’t move until she heard it again. Something being dragged then stopped.

IR and night vision windows appeared in the corners of her HUD. She couldn’t see anything. In the vast stretches of these tunnels, there’s no telling how far that sound had travelled. Still, she went to the crate and pulled the shotgun out. She made sure it was loaded, even tried to remember the last time she had cause to use it.

Tonya started moving a little more cautious. She doubted it was the prospectors. For all she knew it could be some other pirate or smuggler down here. Regardless, she wasn’t going to take any chances.

The tunnel started to expand before finally giving way to a vast darkness. Tonya’s night vision couldn’t even see the end. She dug through her supplies and picked out some old flares. She sparked one.

It was a city. A mirror city to be precise. While the one on the surface reached for the sky, this one was carved down into the planet. Walkways connected the various structures built out of the walls on the various levels. She’d never heard of anything like this before. Everyone speculated that it was civil war that destroyed this system. Was this a city of the other side?

She came to an intersection and the first real sign that the fighting had spread here. A barricade of melted vehicles blocked one of the tunnels. The walls were charred from either explosions or laser-blasts. A shadow had even been burned into the wall.

Tonya stood in front of it. The Hadesian seemed to have a roundish bulky main body with multiple thin appendages. A thousand year old stain on a wall is hardly much to go by, but even as a silhouette, it looked terrified.

A cavernous structure was built into the wall nearby. Tonya approached to examine the craftsmanship. It was certainly more ornate than most of the other buildings down here. There weren’t doors down here, just narrow oval portals. There was some kind of tech integrated into the sides.

Tonya decided to take a look. It was a deep bowl with rows of enclosures built into the sides. All of them were angled towards a single point, a marble-like cylinder at the bottom of the bowl. Tonya descended toward it. There was a small item sitting on top. She kept her light and shotgun trained on it. It was made from a similar marble-like stone as the cylinder. Tonya looked around. Was this some kind of church?

She leaned down to get a better look at the item, careful not to disturb anything. It was a small carving. It wasn’t a Hadesian shape. Not one she was familiar with. She weighed whether she should take it.

Tonya’s head suddenly swam. She stumbled back and steadied herself on the enclosures. After a moment or two it passed. A subtle stabbing pain started to ache in her arm. She stretched it, trying to work out the ache. She took a last look at the small carving.

Tonya stepped out of the ornate building and brought up her scanner. The kherium was close. She followed the scanner’s directions into the dark and twisted tunnels. Her eyes stayed locked on the growing glow of the screen. She tripped over something. The scanner clattered across the floor. It echoed for a minute.

Tonya shook her head slightly. This place… She turned her lights back right into the face of a rotted corpse, its mouth open in a silent scream.

“Hell!” she yelled as she scuffled away from it. She looked around. There was another form on the floor about twenty feet away. A strongbox sat between them. The initial shock subsided.

Tonya got up, grabbed her scanner and walked over to the first body. Its skull had been cracked open. There was no weapon though. No club or bar nearby. That was odd. The other one had clearly shot himself. The gun was still in his hand. They were definitely human and based on their clothes; they were probably surveyors or pirates. She didn’t know what kind of elements were in the air here so she couldn’t give an accurate guess how long they’d been dead but suspected months.

She shuffled over to the strongbox and kicked it open. Kherium. Already extracted and carefully wrapped. Sweet relief drifted through the exhaustion.

“Thanks guys.” Tonya gave them a quick salute. “Sorry you aren’t here to share it.” Something flitted across her IR window.

Tonya snatched up her shotgun and aimed. It was gone. Her breathing became rapid and shallow as she waited. Her finger hovered over the trigger. She pumped the gain on the external mics again and scanned the hall. The whole time, telling herself to calm down. Calm down.

Every movement of her suit amplified a hundred times in her ears. She tracked the rifle through the tunnel, looking for whatever was in here with her. Something came through the static. Close.

“Welcome home,” it hissed.

Tonya fired into the dark. She spun behind her. Nothing down there. She racked another round and blasted anyway. The shots blew out the speakers in her helmet.

She grabbed the strongbox and ran.

Ran through the slippery, sloping tunnels of pitch-black, now in total silence. She passed the intersection, where the Hadesian still raised its arms in terror. She kept looking back. She could swear something was there, just beyond the range of the IR, watching from the static.

Tonya sprinted up a rise to see the grim overcast light of the exit, now just a pinhole. Her legs burned. Her arm killed. All she wanted to do was go to sleep but she wasn’t going to stop. If she stopped, she knew she would never leave.

She pulled herself up the rope and pushed through the blasted forest back to the Beacon. Thirty seconds later, the thrusters were scorching earth. One minute later, she broke atmo.

As Hades II drifted away, she tried to steady her nerves. Her environment suit slowly twisted on the hanger in the decontamination chamber. She noticed something.

The respiratory functions on the back were damaged. The fall in the crater must have done it. It bashed up the feeds and she was getting too much oxygen. The headaches, nausea, and fatigue… even that voice. Even though it chilled her still. They were all probably just hallucinations and reactions to oxygen poisoning.

Probably.

Tonya set a course back for the Xenia Shipping Hub in Baker. She had goods to sell, true, but right now, she wanted to be around people.

She wanted to be around the noise.

Back in the decontamination chamber, the tiny Hadesian carving sat on the floor.

THE END

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#star citizen #squadron 42

[inexcon]

RSI Comm-Link: Whisperer in the Dark

Writer’s Note: Published originally in Jump Point 1.1, this story takes place before the events of The Lost Generation.

People complicate things. That’s what they’ve always been good at. Take a look at any functioning civilization and you will see chaos, confusion, and frustration. It could be human, Xi’an, Banu, Vanduul, whoever. We may look different, be built different, but boil us down and you’ll find the same insecurities, fears, and anxieties gnawing.

Tonya Oriel watched the yawning abyss outside the window. Kaceli’s Adagio in 4 gently wafted through the otherwise empty ship. Scanners cycled through their spectrums on the hunt for any flagged anomalies.

The void. It was pure. It was simple. It was permanent.

A calm serenity huddled around Tonya’s shoulders like a blanket, the kind that can only exist when you are the only person for thousands of kilometers. Everyone else can have Terra, Earth, or Titus, with their megacities teeming with people. Never a moment where there wasn’t a person above, beside or below you. Everything was noise. Tonya needed the silence.

Her ship, the Beacon, drifted through that silence. Tonya customized almost every hardpoint and pod with some form of scanner, deep-range comm system, or surveying tech to get her further and further from the noise.

The problem was that the noise kept following.

* * * *

After three weeks on the drift, Tonya couldn’t put it off any longer. She was due for a supply run and to sell off the data and minerals she’d collected. After repairs, new scrubbers, and a spectrum update, she hoped she’d have enough for some food.

The Xenia Shipping Hub in the Baker System had been the closest thing to a home she’d had for the past few years. Tonya set her approach through the shifting entry/exit patterns of ships. The station’s traffic was busier than usual. As soon as the Beacon docked, her screen buzzed with a handful of new messages from the spectrum. She passed them to her mobiGlas and went to the airlock.

Tonya paused by the entry and savored this last moment of solitude as the airlock cycled, then hit the button.

The sound of people swept inside like a wave. She took a second to acclimate, adjusted her bag and crossed into the masses.

Carl ran a small information network out of his bar, the Torchlight Express. An old surveyor for a long-defunct terraforming outfit, Carl traded moving minerals for slinging booze and information. Tonya had known him for years. As far as people went, Carl was a gem.

The Express was dead. Tonya checked local time. It was evening so there was no real reason why it should be like this. A group of prospectors sat at a table in the corner, engaged in a hushed conversation. Carl leaned against the bar, watching a sataball game on the wallscreen. His leathery fingers tapped out a beat to some song in his head.

He brightened up when he saw Tonya.

“Well, well, well, to what do we owe the honor, doctor?” He said with a grin.

“Don’t start, Carl.”

“Sure, sorry, doctor.” He must be bored; he only called her that when he wanted to pick a fight. Tonya slung her bag onto the ground and slid onto a stool.

“Anything interesting?” Tonya pulled her hair back into a tie.

“I’m great, Tonya, thanks for asking. Business is a little slow, but you know how it is.” Carl said sarcastically and slid a drink to her.

“Come on, Carl. I’m not gonna patronize you with small-talk.”

Carl sighed and looked around.

“At this point, I’ll take any patrons I can get.” He poured himself a drink from the dispenser. Tonya swiveled her mobiGlas around and showed him her manifest. He looked it over. “Running kinda light this time, huh?”

“I know. You know any buyers?”

“How much you looking to get?”

“Whatever I can,” Tonya said as she sipped. She could tell Carl was annoyed with the non-answer. “I need the money.”

“I might be able to get you ten.” He said after a long pause.

“I would give you my unborn child for ten.”

“With all the unborn kids you owe me, you better get started.” He said. Tonya smacked his arm.

One of the prospectors drifted over to the bar with empty glasses. He was young, one of those types who cultivated the dirty handsome look. Probably spent an hour perfecting it before going out.

“Another round.”

As Carl poured, the prospector looked at Tonya, giving his looks a chance to work their magic. They failed. Carl set a fresh batch of drinks down. The prospector paid and went back slightly deterred.

“I think someone liked you.” Carl teased.

“Not my type.”

“Living?”

“Exactly.” Tonya watched the prospectors. They were really in an overtly secretive conversation. “Any idea what they’re here for?”

“Of course I do.”

“Yeah? What’d they say?”

“Nothing… well, not to me anyway.” Carl pulled an earpiece out and held it out to her. Tonya wiped it off and took a listen. Suddenly she could hear their conversation loud and clear. Tonya looked at Carl, stunned.

“You have mics on your tables?!” She whispered. Carl shushed her.

“I deal in information, honey, so yeah.” Carl said, almost offended that he wouldn’t listen in on his customers.

Tonya took another sip and listened to the prospectors. It only took a little while to catch up. Apparently Cort, the prospector who tried to woo Tonya with his ruggedness, got a tip from his uncle in the UEE Navy. The uncle had been running Search & Rescue drills in the Hades System when their scanners accidentally picked up a deposit of kherium on Hades II. Being the military, of course, they couldn’t do anything, but Cort and his buddies were fixing to sneak in there and harvest it for themselves.

Kherium was a hot commodity. If these prospectors were on the level, they were talking about a tidy little fortune. Certainly enough to patch up the Beacon, maybe even install some upgrades.

Even better, they obviously didn’t know how to find it. Kherium doesn’t show up on a standard metal or rad scan. It takes a specialist to find, much less extract without corrupting it. Fortunately for Tonya, she knew how to do both. “You’ve got that look.” Carl said and refilled her glass. “Good news?”

“I hope so, Carl, for both of us.”

* * * *

Carl offloaded her haul at a discount so she could set out as quick as possible. Last time she checked, the prospectors were still at the Express and from the sound of it, they wouldn’t leave for a couple hours, maybe a day.

Tonya disengaged the Beacon from the dock and was back in her beloved solitude. The engines hummed as they pushed her deeper into space, pushed her toward a lifeline.

The Hades System was a tomb, the final monument of an ancient civil war that obliterated an entire system and the race that inhabited it. Tonya had it on her list of places to study, but every year Hades was besieged by fresh batches of young scientists exploring it for their dissertation or treasure hunters looking for whatever weapon cracked Hades IV in half. So the system became more noise to avoid.

Tonya had to admit that passing Hades IV was always a thrill. It’s not every day you get to see the guts of a planet killed in its prime.

Then there were the whispers that the system was haunted. There was always some pilot who knew a guy who knew someone who had seen something while passing through the system. The stories ranged from unexplained technical malfunctions to full-on sightings of ghost cruisers. It was all nonsense.

There was a loose stream of ships passing through Hades. The general flight lane steered clear of the central planets. Tonya slowed her ship until there was a sizeable gap in the flow of traffic before veering off toward Hades II.

She passed a barrier of dead satellites and descended into Hades II’s churning atmosphere. The Beacon jolted when it hit the clouds. Visual went to nil and suddenly the ship was bathed in noise, screaming air, and pressure. Tonya kept an eye on her scopes and expanded the range on her proximity alerts to make sure she didn’t ram a mountain.

Suddenly the clouds gave way. The Beacon swooped into the light gravity above a pitch-black ocean. Tonya quickly recalibrated her thrusters for atmospheric flight and took a long look at the planet around her.

As was expected, it was a husk. There were signs of intelligent civilization all around but all of it was crumbling, charred, or destroyed. She passed over vast curved cities built atop sweeping arches meant to keep the buildings from ever touching the planet itself.

Tonya maintained a cruising altitude. The roar of her engines echoed through the vast empty landscape. The sun was another casualty of this system’s execution. The cloud systems never abated so the surface never saw sunlight. It was always bathed in a dark greyish green haze.

Tonya studied the topography to plot out a course and set the scanners to look for the unique kherium signature she had programmed. She engaged the auto-pilot and just looked out the window.

Being here now, she kicked herself for not coming sooner. It didn’t matter that this was one of the most scientifically scrutinized locales in the UEE. Seeing the vastness of the devastation with her own eyes, Tonya felt that tug that a good mystery has on the intellect. Who were they? How did they manage to so effectively wipe themselves out? How do we know they actually wiped themselves out?

A few hours passed with no luck. Tonya had a quick snack and ran through her exercise routine. She double-checked the settings on her scans for any errors on the initial input. A couple months ago, she was surveying a planet and found nothing, only to discover on her way back that there had been one setting off that scuttled the whole scan. It still bugged her. It was an amateur mistake.

She brought up some texts on Hades. Halfway through a paper on the exobiology of the Hadesians, her screen pinged. Tonya was over there like a shot.

The scope gave a faint indication of kherium below. She triple-checked the settings before getting her hopes up. They seemed legit. She looked out the front. A small city sat above endless sea of dead trees lay ahead. It looked like an orbital laser or something had hit it excising massively deep craters from buildings and ground.

Tonya took a closer look. The craters went about six hundred feet into the ground, revealing networks of underground tunnels. They looked like some kind of transport system.

Tonya looked for a suitable landing spot with cover from overhead flights. If she was still here when the prospectors showed up, her ship would be a dead giveaway and things would get complicated.

She strapped on her environment suit and respirator. She could check the ship’s scanners through her mobiGlas but threw another handheld scanner/mapper in with her mining gear just in case. Finally, she powered up her transport crate, hoping the anti-gravity buffers would be more than enough to lug the kherium back.

Tonya stepped out onto the surface. The wind whipped around her, furiously kicking up waves of dust. She pushed the crate in front of her through the blasted forest. Gnarled branches clawed at her suit as she passed. The city loomed overhead, black silhouettes against the grey-green clouds.

Her curiosity got the better of her so Tonya decided to take a ramp up to the city streets. She told herself the detour would be easier on the crate’s battery. Smooth streets are easier for the anti-grav compensators to analyze than rough terrain.

Tonya moved through the barren, empty streets in awe. She studied the strange curvature of the architecture; each displayed an utterly alien yet brilliant understanding of pressure and weight dispersal. This whole place seemed at once natural and odd, intellectually fascinating and emotionally draining.

The kherium signature was still weak but there. Tonya maneuvered the crate around destroyed teardrop shaped vehicles. Pit-marks in the buildings and streets led her to suspect that a battle had taken place here however many hundreds or thousands of years ago.

The crater closest to the kherium was a perfect hole punched through the middle of the city into the ground. Tonya stood at the edge, looking for the easiest way down. The crate could float down but she would have to climb.

In a matter of minutes she secured a line with safeties for herself and the crate. She stepped over the edge and slowly rappelled down the sheer wall. The crate was making what should be a simple descent a little more complicated. The anti-grav buffers meant that any kind of force could cause the crate to drift away, so Tonya needed to keep a hand on it at all times. To make matters worse, the wind started picking up, flinging small rocks, branches and pieces of debris through the air.

A shrill scream tore through the air. Tonya froze. She heard it again and looked for the source. The screaming was just exposed supports bending in the wind.

Suddenly she realized, the crate had slipped out of her grasp. It slowly drifted further out over the crater, the swirling wind batted it around like a toy. Tonya strained to reach it but the crate floated just out of reach. She kicked off the wall and swung through the churning air. Her fingertips barely snagged the cargo before she slammed back against the wall of the crater.

Her vision blurred and she couldn’t breathe from the impact. The HUD went screwy. Finally she caught her breath. She took a moment or two before continuing down.

The scanner from the Beacon couldn’t isolate the signature any clearer to determine depth so she had to rely on her handheld. The kherium looked like it was situated between two tunnels.

Tonya secured the crate, climbed into the upper tunnel, and tied off her ropes. She checked her suit’s integrity in the debris-storm. The computer was a little fuzzy but gave her an okay.

She turned on a flashlight and activated the external mics on her suit. The tunnel was a perfectly carved tube that sloped into the darkness. Tonya couldn’t see any kind of power or rail system to confirm her transport tube theory. She started walking.

Hours passed in the darkness. Tonya felt a little queasy so she decided to rest for a few minutes. She sipped on the water reserve and double-checked her scanner. She was still above the kherium and it was still showing up as being in front of her. That much hadn’t changed.

She heard something. Very faint. She brought up the audio settings and pumped the gain on the external mics. A sea of white noise filled her ears. She didn’t move until she heard it again. Something being dragged then stopped.

IR and night vision windows appeared in the corners of her HUD. She couldn’t see anything. In the vast stretches of these tunnels, there’s no telling how far that sound had travelled. Still, she went to the crate and pulled the shotgun out. She made sure it was loaded, even tried to remember the last time she had cause to use it.

Tonya started moving a little more cautious. She doubted it was the prospectors. For all she knew it could be some other pirate or smuggler down here. Regardless, she wasn’t going to take any chances.

The tunnel started to expand before finally giving way to a vast darkness. Tonya’s night vision couldn’t even see the end. She dug through her supplies and picked out some old flares. She sparked one.

It was a city. A mirror city to be precise. While the one on the surface reached for the sky, this one was carved down into the planet. Walkways connected the various structures built out of the walls on the various levels. She’d never heard of anything like this before. Everyone speculated that it was civil war that destroyed this system. Was this a city of the other side?

She came to an intersection and the first real sign that the fighting had spread here. A barricade of melted vehicles blocked one of the tunnels. The walls were charred from either explosions or laser-blasts. A shadow had even been burned into the wall.

Tonya stood in front of it. The Hadesian seemed to have a roundish bulky main body with multiple thin appendages. A thousand year old stain on a wall is hardly much to go by, but even as a silhouette, it looked terrified.

A cavernous structure was built into the wall nearby. Tonya approached to examine the craftsmanship. It was certainly more ornate than most of the other buildings down here. There weren’t doors down here, just narrow oval portals. There was some kind of tech integrated into the sides.

Tonya decided to take a look. It was a deep bowl with rows of enclosures built into the sides. All of them were angled towards a single point, a marble-like cylinder at the bottom of the bowl. Tonya descended toward it. There was a small item sitting on top. She kept her light and shotgun trained on it. It was made from a similar marble-like stone as the cylinder. Tonya looked around. Was this some kind of church?

She leaned down to get a better look at the item, careful not to disturb anything. It was a small carving. It wasn’t a Hadesian shape. Not one she was familiar with. She weighed whether she should take it.

Tonya’s head suddenly swam. She stumbled back and steadied herself on the enclosures. After a moment or two it passed. A subtle stabbing pain started to ache in her arm. She stretched it, trying to work out the ache. She took a last look at the small carving.

Tonya stepped out of the ornate building and brought up her scanner. The kherium was close. She followed the scanner’s directions into the dark and twisted tunnels. Her eyes stayed locked on the growing glow of the screen. She tripped over something. The scanner clattered across the floor. It echoed for a minute.

Tonya shook her head slightly. This place… She turned her lights back right into the face of a rotted corpse, its mouth open in a silent scream.

“Hell!” she yelled as she scuffled away from it. She looked around. There was another form on the floor about twenty feet away. A strongbox sat between them. The initial shock subsided.

Tonya got up, grabbed her scanner and walked over to the first body. Its skull had been cracked open. There was no weapon though. No club or bar nearby. That was odd. The other one had clearly shot himself. The gun was still in his hand. They were definitely human and based on their clothes; they were probably surveyors or pirates. She didn’t know what kind of elements were in the air here so she couldn’t give an accurate guess how long they’d been dead but suspected months.

She shuffled over to the strongbox and kicked it open. Kherium. Already extracted and carefully wrapped. Sweet relief drifted through the exhaustion.

“Thanks guys.” Tonya gave them a quick salute. “Sorry you aren’t here to share it.” Something flitted across her IR window.

Tonya snatched up her shotgun and aimed. It was gone. Her breathing became rapid and shallow as she waited. Her finger hovered over the trigger. She pumped the gain on the external mics again and scanned the hall. The whole time, telling herself to calm down. Calm down.

Every movement of her suit amplified a hundred times in her ears. She tracked the rifle through the tunnel, looking for whatever was in here with her. Something came through the static. Close.

“Welcome home,” it hissed.

Tonya fired into the dark. She spun behind her. Nothing down there. She racked another round and blasted anyway. The shots blew out the speakers in her helmet.

She grabbed the strongbox and ran.

Ran through the slippery, sloping tunnels of pitch-black, now in total silence. She passed the intersection, where the Hadesian still raised its arms in terror. She kept looking back. She could swear something was there, just beyond the range of the IR, watching from the static.

Tonya sprinted up a rise to see the grim overcast light of the exit, now just a pinhole. Her legs burned. Her arm killed. All she wanted to do was go to sleep but she wasn’t going to stop. If she stopped, she knew she would never leave.

She pulled herself up the rope and pushed through the blasted forest back to the Beacon. Thirty seconds later, the thrusters were scorching earth. One minute later, she broke atmo.

As Hades II drifted away, she tried to steady her nerves. Her environment suit slowly twisted on the hanger in the decontamination chamber. She noticed something.

The respiratory functions on the back were damaged. The fall in the crater must have done it. It bashed up the feeds and she was getting too much oxygen. The headaches, nausea, and fatigue… even that voice. Even though it chilled her still. They were all probably just hallucinations and reactions to oxygen poisoning.

Probably.

Tonya set a course back for the Xenia Shipping Hub in Baker. She had goods to sell, true, but right now, she wanted to be around people.

She wanted to be around the noise.

Back in the decontamination chamber, the tiny Hadesian carving sat on the floor.

THE END

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#RSI.CommLink.Repost