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closingwaters · 8 months

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TIMING: A day after A Tail Told Twice

PARTIES: @kadavernagh @stainedglasstruth @closingwaters

SUMMARY: Teagan and Arden head to the morgue so that Regan can assess some wounds and gather evidence. It's a rough time.

WARNINGS: Medical Blood, Vomit (no detail)

Teagan's steps, hesitant yet hopeful, moved in the quiet dawn's embrace. She held Arden’s hand tightly in hers, fingers woven together in hopes of keeping her from falling apart. Her soul was wounded and weighed down, seeking a gentle wave. One that could wash away a story etched in scars and fears. “She said y-you could join, yes?” Teagan stammered, breath shaky and thick. “Maybe we should go home. Maybe—I want to go home.” Shoulders tensed as a whimper spilled past her lips. She attempted to scurry back to the car, only to have the wounds on her leg flare with the fire of pain. She hissed and held onto Arden for support.

Right. Running wouldn’t do her any good, even if she could burst into a sprint.

In and out, her breath came, stuttering only slightly as the echoes of that haunting night, where darkness had its way, flashed behind her eyes. A soft gasp hitched in Teagan’s chest, and it was all she could do to not turn around and go home. She took a deep breath, still recalling the sedating touch and the man’s cruel hands, but allowing her spirit to become fierce and resolute. “Okay, I’m ready.” She whispered, leading the pair into the morgue, where a woman, who Teagan presumed to be Marcy, looked at them quizzically.

“I-I-I…” She paused, clearing her throat before another attempt. “We—I-I…” The words wouldn’t travel down her tongue, and the grip in Arden’s hand tightened, practically pleading for her help.

It was difficult, seeing Teagan like this. Entirely understandable, given what that fucking warden had done to her, but still… There was a terrible ache in Arden’s heart as she walked with her, hand in hand, toward the morgue, though she was trying her best not to let it show. Teagan needed her support right now, so while she had been feeling incredibly unsteady recently, she had to pull her shit together right now.

Her guard was up, though, her attention split between her girlfriend and their surroundings, dreading that she might see someone matching the description of the man who had attacked the nix. “Yes, she said it was alright for me to be there,” she nodded, full focus snapping back to Teagan. “Whatever you need to feel comfortable.” Or as comfortable as possible, at least.

She agreed with Dr. Kavanagh’s logic, wanting to build a case against this man, get him on the police’s radar. But seeing Teagan freak out, hearing her panicked whimper, she had to wonder if this was the best idea. “Hey, easy there, love.” Arden held her tight with her good arm while she steadied herself, physically and mentally. “You’re okay,” she murmured, pressing their foreheads together, “I’ve got you.” Opening her mouth, she was about to ask if she wanted to do this, reassure her that she didn’t have to, when Teagan straightened and led them inside. However, her confidence seemed to falter again in the presence of another.

With a quick smile and squeeze of her hand, she turned her attention from her girlfriend to the woman, who was looking up at them expectantly. “Marcy, right? Hi,” she greeted, flashing her a polite smile. “We’re supposed to be meeting with Dr. Kavanagh?”

“Two live ones up here for you,” Marcy had texted, and the knowledge of exactly who that was roiled in Regan’s stomach like a bad breakfast. She knew it was an extension of trust that Teagan had been willing to come here at all – evidently, she had woefully little experience with doctors – and despite Regan’s reservations about the entire situation and the person involved, she was going to do her best to live up to that trust.

Regan braced herself for the nettling presence of a fae as she pushed through the door. Her skin prickled, of course. But equally as noticeable was the bandage around the fae’s leg, dotted and decorated with rust-colored stains. Teagan was not placing her weight on it. She sympathized, she did, but the intrigue made her vibrate with giddiness. She kept it carefully and coolly under wraps, doing a more effective job at it than the bandage itself.

“You must be Teagan and Arden. Obviously.” Regan approached, gaze flitting between the two of them. Marcy was shooting the three of them a scrutinizing look, probably having picked up on the fact the couple wasn’t here to identify a body or discuss autopsy findings. This was something else. And while Regan knew Marcy had a mind for gossip, she also trusted the woman enough to hold her silence about matters like this. So what if Regan ushered the occasional unrelated-to-work person down into her office? So what if that camera never seemed to work? They always walked back out, usually in better shape than they walked in.

“I do appreciate you coming, Teagan. I am not an optimist by nature, but I think there is a possibility this is worthwhile. Any details you’re willing to provide may hold value, and I won’t push you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. Well… within reason. I don’t suppose you’re entirely comfortable standing here.” Discomfort and the morgue were intrinsically intertwined to almost all but Regan, and especially given Teagan’s unique concerns.

“Arden, it is nice to finally meet you.” She extended her hand, which was only half as chilly as her demeanor. She had always appreciated Arden’s dedication to her work and her professionalism. Regan turned toward the door she’d come from and carded herself through, holding it for the two of them. “We’re headed to my office, not the autopsy suite. It’s a short walk.” She said, leading them down the agonizingly long hallway. Finally, they reached their destination and she allowed them in. “You can sit down. We should discuss what needs to be done before anything else. Teagan, would you mind inventorying your injuries to me?”

Arden indeed had her girlfriend, becoming a steady rock in the midst of a rushing river. She was struggling herself, and yet she had taken the reins in order to provide any sort of relief. Teagan was grateful, and she made a mental note to do something special for Arden. Without her and her calming touch, she surely would’ve fallen apart.

“Okay.” Sweat began to bead at the edge of the nix’s hairline, heterochromic eyes landing on the source of such a pleasant buzz. It was comforting to feel Regan near, Teagan’s breath calming at the sight of the medical examiner and forgetting Marcy. As cold as Regan had been, nothing could ruin how the gleeful ants beneath her skin made her feel.

“Any discomfort is the pain and not being home. Not the location.” She offered Regan a wan smile and a nod, watching the way she greeted Arden. It was obvious there was a silent respect there, enough to make Teagan’s expression grow fonder at the sight. Of course Arden had Regan’s respect. She was smart and good at her job, with a knack for getting just the right answers. The fae expected nothing less and had to hold back a giddy chuckle. It wasn’t the time or place. She could dote later.

With a proud squeeze of their hands and a faint smile, Teagan limped her way behind Regan and took the first seat she could with a relieved groan. She breathed, giving herself a moment before giving Regan the answers she requested. “Two stab wounds on my leg,” A groan, and Teagan moved her leg to display, deciding to wait on letting her glamour down to show her tail. “And of course, my tail. It’s cauterized, but it still…” The darkness took over Teagan’s sight, the image of the hunter’s, too-wide, too sinister smile making her body tense. She jolted, “It-it still hurts. Can’t move it properly.”

She felt a little nervous as Regan stepped into the room. From their interactions, Regan had always seemed a bit intense and odd, enough so that it made her question if she was actually human. But she was friendly, in that professionally distant way, and open to working with her, and Arden did respect her. It was just much easier to communicate online when she could take her time to craft a response, edit her words, match Regan’s energy. She had managed to gain the medical examiner's respect, and she was a bit worried she would fuck it up somehow in person.

Reminding herself this was about Teagan, she pushed those thoughts and worries to the side. Her life was like a never ending masquerade, and she had long since learned the steps, learned which mask to wear and when. She had gotten herself this far, she could certainly manage another dance, even with her attention laid elsewhere. As long as it was only the metaphorical kind of dance.

“Likewise, Dr. Kavanagh.” With a quick squeeze, she let go of Teagan’s hand to accept the doctor’s handshake. It felt awkward with her left hand, but there was nothing she could do about that one.

They followed Regan to her office, and Arden took the seat next to her girlfriend. Being in a relationship wasn't one she knew all the steps to yet, but she didn't need a mask to play the role of quietly concerned girlfriend. She simply rested her hand on Teagan, letting her know she was there as they spoke, and kept a careful eye on the nymph as she traced patterns over her back.

Seeing the two of them find such comfort in each other made Regan’s head spin. The others were adamant that such a relationship – with a human – was an affront to everything they served. The exception, of course, was for reproduction, should the banshee mother not want to sacrifice a fae father for the good of their children. Humans were just more expendable. So they said. She wondered what Teagan had been told on the subject. While Regan’s beliefs weren’t aligned with the others’, her concerns were more practical in nature. Inequitable lifespans, the risk of hurting someone, the threat of secrets spilled like shrapnel if things went south. How they planned to navigate that, or if indeed there was any planning at all, was none of her business.

The stab wounds would reveal more than the tail injury, Regan was certain. Especially as it had been cauterized. She liked stab wounds. There was much to be learned from them, ranging from the direction of the thrust, how the instrument moved within the wound, how the individual moved, and even the nature of the blade itself. Unfortunately, the living healed, and every minute spent away from documenting the injury was obscuring valuable evidence, hiding it behind a nondescript scab. Hopefully Teagan had made it here fast enough for Regan to glean something. For this to be useful. For the police, and the justice system she was part of and so wanted to believe in despite how much she was learning things operated outside of it.

Regan nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry that happened, Teagan. All of it. Just…” She let silence fill where some spoken emotional sentiment should have settled. But though her chest tightened thinking about what Teagan must have gone through, she, as always, would be the rock. “I’m glad you’re here. I have never examined something like…” Her eyes widened, just a tick, her composure intact, as she realized what she had said. “I have never examined someone like you. Only banshees, aside from humans. As far as live patients go. No tails.” She pulled a pair of nitrile gloves from one of the many pockets in the winter coat – possibly the only thing it was good for – and stretched them over her hands. “Do you know if you have vertebrae in there? That probably accounts for why it hurts so terribly. Even humans have caudal vertebrae, you know.” She turned to Arden. “They’re reduced in us, only three to five.”

She waved her hands, backtracking. “Actually, let’s start with your leg.” If Teagan was going to back out of this at any point, it would surely be when her tail was examined. Regan wanted to be able to record some evidence first. “Can you please remove the bandage? You can put your leg on the table.” In the meantime, Regan pulled out her ABFO number 2 and camera. She tinkered with the flash. Her office didn’t have the same stark lighting as the autopsy room, and she had a feeling, especially once she saw what had been done to the woman in front of her, her determination would be stoked. The photos had to be perfect if they were going to get this guy.

Shaking the thoughts aside and blinking away the tears she didn’t realize had fallen, Teagan nodded languidly. “I have vertebrae there, yes.” Her expression was a stormy sky, tears like rain falling into the breaks. “They’ll regrow. With time.” Lips once curved in laughter, were now a fading sunset, painted with hues of terror and loss. Each brushstroke grazing into the horizon and outlining the haunting image in Teagan’s heart. She was growing lost in the dark canvas, almost straying too far to focus.

The sound of the building’s cooling unit stunned her back into reality, the air like icy fingers tracing her spine. Just in time for Teagan to catch Regan’s mistake and cause her to tense even further. Something. Is that how she really saw the nix? She couldn’t, could she? The warden had seen her as a thing and she couldn’t fathom the idea of her own cousin seeing her the same way. So she wouldn’t. Especially when Regan was determined to help and pave the way to apprehend her attacker.

“Okay.”

If anything more was really said, she didn’t hear it. Her body had, and did as it was told, but amidst the sterile environment and the bright lights, panic threatened to overtake her completely. Her heart was pounding like the rhythm of a wild drum, the only sound Teagan could register as the rest of the world became a distant memory. The rubber of Regan’s gloves, the click of the camera, the scraping of the chair against tile…it all melted away, leaving her in a void of hushed whispers as she let Regan do as she needed.

She almost missed Regan’s slip up, the tears gathering in Teagan’s eyes taking up her attention, but in correcting herself, the doctor only brought more attention to the mistake. It left her feeling unsettled, but she didn’t quite know what, if anything, she should say about it. So, Arden tucked it away for now, the mention of examining banshees drawing her attention.

Banshees were rare, that much she knew, so it wasn’t surprising that combined with the general secretive nature of fae, the Scribes did not have a lot of information on them aside from the basics. She had picked up a few tidbits from Teagan, but apparently banshee were quite insular even within the wider fae community. So, she was mostly in the dark when it came to that particular species of fae folk. It had long since become clear to her that Dr. Kavanagh knew more than she let on, Arden simply didn’t know the extent of that knowledge. But if she had examined banshees, plural… Plus, she had been very interested in that awful shriek that had shattered all of her windows.

Pulling herself away from the evidence board in her mind, she looked up as the doctor addressed her. It was an intriguing fun fact, even if science had never been her forte. Her mom might get along quite well with the medical examiner. “Interesting.” But she had a dance to get back to.

The process was clearly proving difficult for Teagan, her eyes unfocused and full of fear. Arden slipped her hand into the nix’s, squeezing once, twice, thrice. A silent reminder– I’m here. I love you.

Teagan seemed agreeable, and Regan wasted no time, not wanting to give her the opportunity to reconsider. Fear would only shake Teagan more the longer she let it grip her. So Regan dove right in.

It was a small instrument that had made these wounds, that was Regan’s first impression. Second impression: they were… strange, as far as stab wounds went. What they lacked in width, they appeared to make up for in depth. She wouldn’t be able to stick anything in there, given Teagan’s status as “not deceased,” so she would need to make due with what she could see now, and only now. Regan’s eyes flicked from the wounds over to Teagan’s. “Can I touch them? I won’t be putting anything in them, but it may sting as I examine the surrounding area.” She turned her attention to the first one, a gaping insult to Teagan’s biceps femoris longus that had just missed the anterolateral vein. “It’s no wonder walking is difficult,” Regan said, as she set the scale around the purpling margins of the wound and took some careful documentation images. She blinked her eyes, clearing away the lingering burn of the flash. “Beyond the pain, I mean. This muscle is part of your hamstring. It’s going to take some time… even for someone with, I presume, your remarkable healing ability.”

She set the scale on the other wound now, and repeated the process. This one was more posterior, overlaying the vastus lateralis. And, once more, it appeared to have just missed a major blood vessel. “Close to your femoral.” She wondered if Teagan’s assailant had been armed with that knowledge.

Now was her favorite part – actually getting a good look at the wounds, without the camera’s viewfinder in the way. Her initial impression had been correct: these were unlike most stab wounds she saw, those standard faire, predictable slits from kitchen knives or hunting blades. She carefully thumbed the margin. “I will tell you what I’m noticing,” she said, remembering her patient and other present company were alive, and might want to hear such a thing. “These are narrow, and too small to be from most blades. One end of each wound is squared off, meaning that the instrument was single-edged. Not a dagger or push knife. Often, stabbing instruments are driven in with enough force that the hilt or guard presses against the skin. This leaves an imprint.” She lifted her finger from the round contusion, deciding she had seen enough. “This imprint is round. Like it was from an X-Acto Knife. Highly, highly unusual – for us, that means helpful.” She shook her head. “Not that I’m suggesting an X-Acto was used. The wound is much deeper.”

And there was more. “There is also… I don’t believe the blade was of equal width along the entire edge. One side is shallower than the other.” She turned away from Teagan and tugged a piece of paper off the notebook on her desk, drawing out a crude image of the possible instrument that had been used. It had a round guard, and the long edge of the blade was at a steep, tapering slant. She couldn’t be sure what the handle looked like. “Something like this.” She passed Arden the drawing. “Of course, this information is most valuable if the police find a blade that’s consistent with your wounds. But you could ask around supply stores and see if they sell anything like this.”

Teagan shut her eyes, taking slow and steady breaths in an attempt to keep herself from toppling straight into panic. Arden’s presence served well to bring forth a light that laid in front of her like a shield from the dark demons waiting to pounce.

It was strange to be so taken by fear that she curled into herself, protesting anything that may come close enough to harm her. Teagan had prided herself in her confidence and ability to take on the most difficult of opponents, but now this? Sure, hunters had gotten close to killing, utilizing their advantages, but no one had gotten close like him. He was a different species, the desire and need moving him in a way that Teagan had no experience in combating. It made her nauseous.

When she opened her eyes to reassess her surroundings, Teagan’s gaze landed first on Arden and remained there, hoping that her stomach would settle at such a grounding sight. She nodded with a whisper. “You can touch them.” Regan continued her spiel, a tone of expertise evident as she examined the wounds.

It gave Teagan a bit of relief to have answers, even if they weren’t complete. Even if the idea of not having much of anything made tears topple over and trail straight to her ear. They had something to work with, to use as a lead. “Thank you.” She swallowed, the tendrils of panic coiling around her body. The sensation began to mimic the way the sedative filled her with velvet static. The nausea grew. “Can I move? I’m not feeling well.” She swallowed, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

It was interesting to watch the doctor work. As a print journalist, Arden was rarely on the scene, rarely bore witness to the immediate aftermaths of an accident or offense. She was more the person who hounded everyone involved with questions and put the whole story together– the secondary source, not the primary. She had seen evidence reports, but she had never seen the process. It was pretty impressive, though it would be more so if the victim wasn’t her girlfriend.

He had gotten her in the hamstring and nearly hit an artery. Was it luck or precision? She felt she knew the answer already. A man who was taking pieces of people would probably have a solid understanding of anatomy. It was difficult to think about without feeling her stomach turn and her blood begin to boil, so, she shut down that train of thought fairly quickly. Teagan needed her right now. She could have feelings about it later.

Accepting the drawing, Arden caught Regan’s eye. “Yes, thank you,” she said sincerely, giving her a nod. It was something she could look into. It was something.

She carefully tucked the sheet of paper into her bag before refocusing on Teagan. Ah, crap. “Is there a restroom here? Or do you happen to have a trash bin or something?” she asked as she rubbed Teagan’s back. “You’re doing great, love. And, hey, we’ve got a lead to look into.”

Regan pushed the waste bin over to Teagan and looked at her expectantly. “You will be far from the first person to vomit in the morgue. Usually it’s in the autopsy suite, though.” She added, “I make everyone coming in to watch an autopsy sign a waver, you know. A warning, with some advice to eat a good breakfast. Sometimes I see it.” She twisted her lips, a little regretful. “Sorry, that probably isn’t helping.” She stepped back, giving Teagan the clearance to expel whatever she needed to. Arden’s presence – or rather her connection to Teagan – was still shocking to Regan, and as Teagan hunched over the waste bin, Regan stared at the journalist. Studying. There was no judgment in her stare, only alien curiosity. She not only thought such a relationship was unwise, but impossible. “You are very supportive of her.” Regan remarked, the observation probably sounding more pointed than she meant it.

If anyone could track down the instrument that had been used, it would be Arden. Regan knew she had the investigative acumen. Now she also understood that she had the motivation, too.

When some of the color returned to Teagan’s face, Regan spoke up again, trying to prompt eye contact. “Teagan… I believe we have all of the evidence we’re going to get. What happened to your tail sounds… terrible. But as we discussed, it’s not going to help the police. I’m not going to make you show me that.” As much as her curiosity wrestled with the disgust in her gut. Disgust that really had nothing to do with Teagan. “What’s more important are these stab wounds. I’d like to close them for you. Right now, they’re going to be prone to infection, and bandaging them as you are isn’t enough to help them heal properly. They require sutures.” Regan rounded her desk and pulled out her first aid kit, which received an impressive amount of use in her office on patients who were very much alive. Kaden had enjoyed his so much he’d come back for seconds. “What do you think?” She asked Teagan, but her eyes drifted to Arden. A silent plea that she coax Teagan into doing what was necessary, if Teagan wasn’t so agreeable.

The correct answer to receiving stitches was a nod of approval, or a simple yes, but no such gesture was made. At least, not while Teagan’s body wretched with nothing coming out. She suspected as much, having not eaten anything since the day prior. Not even the scent and flavor of the pies Teagan had made were enticing enough to eat. It was better that way, she thought. Less of a mess.

“Fine.” The nix breathed, leaning into Arden’s touch and finally managing to pull away from the waste basket. “I…” Teagan paused, brows furrowing while she internally convinced herself to let her glamour fall. Maybe they didn’t need what was left of her tail as evidence, but she needed to know the proper process of care so it could heal properly. “I’ll show you my tail,” She began, worrying the inside of her cheek and rolling her mother’s ring on her finger. “I want to make sure it heals correctly.”

With a deep inhale and a firm grip on her girlfriend’s thigh, Teagan let the illusion fall. Her skin turned pale, translucent in a way, with a hint of pink. External gills fanned from her face, framing it and complimenting her eyes. Hands turned into claws, and feet grew webbed, the last thing to reveal itself being what was left of her tail. The expression on Teagan’s face was a mixture of rage and shame. She hadn’t willingly shown Arden her form since the attack, and if she had seen it while the nix slept, she didn’t make it known. Teagan prayed to the Fates she hadn’t. She just felt so incomplete.

“Please hurry.”

Even with her focus on the nix, her mouth still twitched up into a small smile as Regan mentioned the waiver. However, the doctor’s next comment caught her attention enough to make her turn. She was staring at them intently, the look on her face not unlike the one she had worn while examining Teagan’s injuries. It brought to mind the face Leah made while taking notes. Arden didn’t really know what to make of that, but she didn’t love it. Donning her professional adult mask, she raised a brow, keeping her tone light. “She is my girlfriend, Dr. Kavanagh.”

Honestly, she was a little surprised that Teagan agreed to the stitches so easily, but no, it seemed her girlfriend was talking about showing her tail. Which also surprised her, because the nymph still hadn’t officially shown her. But Arden’s sleep had been terrible since being kidnapped by vampires. She hadn’t looked on purpose, but… Well, it was probably for the best because when she had woken up and caught sight of Teagan’s tail, she had not reacted well, and the nix didn’t need to see her burst into very angry tears.

The sight still made her chest feel like it might cave in, still made her eyes water. Teagan’s grip on her thigh helped center her a little, though, serving as a reminder that she needed to keep her shit together, that her girlfriend needed her. She wrapped her good arm around her, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I love you,” Arden murmured, low enough for only Teagan to hear. She couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice, though. Thinking back on their conversation after the attack, she felt the need to add, “And, I hope you remember that nothing’s going to change that.”

Arden had responded to Regan’s observation like it was utterly simple. It made no more sense to Regan than it had before, like Arden had declared with all of the confidence in the world that two plus two equals five. She bit her cheek at the response, sensing some defensiveness, and pressed on. Teagan’s stitches were more important and, surprisingly, she had agreed to – wait. She wasn’t agreeing to them. She wanted Regan to look at her tail.

Such a sentiment was so incongruent to all of her previous patient interactions that she didn’t know what to do with it. No one talked about tails in medical school, not a single one appeared in her residency, and she had yet to see any grace her autopsy table. Regan gulped, knowing any second Teagan was about to show her something that both captivated Regan’s mind and made her body sink with dread.

A giant pink lizard thing sat where Teagan had only moments before. And while rationally, Regan understood that they were one and the same, most parts of her brain were cartwheeling to keep up with that understanding. She knew she was staring. She couldn’t help it. Teagan had told her. Even described how pink she was. And though Regan knew enough to believe her, nothing could have prepared her for seeing it. Plumous gills branched from the sides of Teagan’s face and a huge, membranous tail poked out from behind her where there should have been nothing at all. And, well – in a sense, there was nothing at all at the tip. It came to an abrupt end where something sharp had made a clean slice across the tail. Regan knew nothing of tails, not on people, but she could only imagine it hurt. Teagan wasn’t like her. She had not been weaned on pain. It would have been an unwelcome guest, not a tool. And, though Regan couldn’t fathom having such a relationship with her own body, Teagan liked her tail.

She knew she was standing there lamely, staring rather than observing. The distinction was subtle but important. Regan’s tongue felt loose in her mouth and she couldn’t find the words to ask Teagan anything yet. She managed to pull her gaze away from the pink thing, wanting to prompt her brain to do what it ought to. Her lungs pulsed a reminder of how necessary it was that she tighten her control. They would spill out if she allowed them. Or rather, if she stopped not allowing them.

Arden was safer to look at. Her eyes swam with emotion, but certainly not because of what Teagan looked like. Meanwhile, to Regan, it seemed like the lopped off tail was the most normal thing about all of this. She hated thinking that and wanted to turn away from her own mind, but the thought was sticky. Underneath her coat, her wings suddenly felt gangly and ill-fitting, like the result of some freak transplant surgery. She itched to yank them out by the base. Her skin, the tingling having previously subsided, now burned.

Regan sucked in a huge breath. Get over it, she told herself. When she looked back at the pink thing, it looked a little more like Teagan. “I’m sorry.” She did not offer an explanation, nor did she clarify whether she was apologizing for what Teagan had experienced, or her reaction. She had decided it did not matter. She had peeled apart hundreds of cadavers found under the most gruesome of circumstances and rarely had any of it got its claws into her. This was worse. Cliodhna would have had her flung into the woods for a week for reacting this way. Regan tried her tongue again, finding it a little bit easier. “Let’s – let’s look at your tail, then. That’s part of what you came here for. You told me that it would regrow. Has this happened before? What do you know about that, uh, process?” She motioned down at what remained of the tail, then met Teagan’s eyes. “I know I probably have not instilled confidence in either of you. But if you will let me, I’d like to get a closer look.”

The more Teagan moved, the more she revealed the roadmap of memories etched into her skin like a canvas. Like constellations in the sky, they told stories of battles fought, and the resilience of a spirit that refused to be defined by its past. Unbeknownst to her, she was, and it was only a matter of time before her scars became a fragile set of armor she wore to face the monsters. The very ones she saw in the mirror every night.

“I won’t claim to know how you got here, or how you should feel about all this, but…” Looking up at Regan appreciatively, Teagan smiled wanly, taking another deep breath. “It means more than you know that you're helping me.” She grounded herself and leaned toward Arden’s affection, finding relief in the gesture. The words were even further confirmation of that great love, the seeds planted in her chest and blooming into the most welcoming warmth she’d ever known. It was enough to keep herself calm. It was enough to motivate her to nod her head once more.

“I’ve never had this happen, but nixies mirror the animals they appear like. My sister…Efa was like a newt. She regrew her fingers once.” It was easy to recall the memory. It happened when Teagan was a child, and she had been so worried about her older sister. They’d grown back in a matter of weeks, much to Teagan’s relief. “I’m confident it’ll grow back.” She all but whispered, her distraught gaze staying on Arden to keep her grounded. It did, and she replied in quiet earnest and deep gratitude. “I love you, too.”

She turned back to Regan, giving her one more nod of confirmation. “I trust you…c—” She had almost called Regan her cousin, but she knew better than to reveal her nature without her consent. At the very least, Teagan wanted to give Regan the vote of confidence.

She had been in Regan’s shoes before, staring in shock at the sight of the nymph’s true form. Granted, she had been a lot more gay about it, but still. Despite the fact that her guard had gone up a little, she definitely didn’t hold this against the medical examiner, nor did it make her doubt her abilities. While this might’ve been out of her comfort zone, Arden trusted that she would at least be able to give them an informed opinion on the matter, which would be more than they had before coming here, at least. And most importantly, Teagan trusted her.

The nix had mentioned her tail would grow back, but she hadn’t asked a lot of follow-up questions, not wanting to prod her for information while she was struggling. Afterward, there had been some research into axolotls and their ability to regrow limbs, though. This new tidbit about Efa only helped to reassure her, and she always loved to learn more about Teagan’s family. As her girlfriend returned her affections, Arden smiled, gaze soft as she met her eyes. There was a a tangled mess of feelings stirring in her chest, affection and admiration. If the situation were reversed, she didn’t think she would be keeping it together as well as Teagan. She had been through so much, and she shouldn’t have to deal with this in addition to everything else, but she was still staying strong.

I got here by plane, Regan wanted to respond, and I don’t feel anything about it because I am not supposed to. If Arden was allowed to make such seemingly simple yet unbelievable declarations, then why couldn’t she? Her cramping stomach supplied an answer. That was unfair. She hadn’t even spoken the lie yet. Regan’s skin still burned, and her wings still made her nerves writhe, but she was confident she had a tight enough grip on her lungs. After a moment of silence, she addressed the pink thing, who was rapidly becoming Teagan, as her brain adjusted to the swap. “What happened to you… it isn’t right. My work helps bring justice to those who are already dead. It’s nice, every once in a while, to help someone who is alive to benefit from it.” She found her expression growing too soft, and forced it to firm up. “You do squirm too much, though, the live ones. It’s much easier to give sutures to a corpse. I do hope you’ll hold still for me when the time comes.”

A newt. A sister like a newt. There were implications here, surrounding what Teagan’s body was capable of. Huge medical science implications. But any excitement that would have once come with such a thought was smothered under the unbearable weight of reality. Regan shook her head, both accepting what she was being told but feeling like she had once again been thrown into the deepest part of the lake. She offered all she could: “My brothers could not regrow their fingers.”

With more than a little hesitation, she took Teagan’s tail in her hands. Though they were gloved, she could still feel the smooth texture from within the nitrile. Teagan’s skin glided under her fingers, like a snake, but fleshier. But she wasn’t here to gawk, and Regan knew she only had a few seconds of a grace period before Teagan – or Arden – was likely to become irritated by her sluggishness. She slid her hands to the end of the tail, sliced clean off, and gave it a scrutinizing look. It helped to pretend it wasn’t attached to Teagan’s spine, and was instead some free-floating organ that was definitely nothing out of the ordinary. The exposed, raw end was stained in a dark red, though not actively bleeding, and it was set on a moonscape of blisters. Around the margins, Teagan’s skin puckered around the wound, folding in on itself, trying to stretch toward the center. It seemed to be a sign of healing. Rather than looking like a cross-section, the whole area had a hardened look to it, which Regan attributed to the cauterization. Was her assailant trying to prevent blood loss? Why cauterize the wound of someone you just hobbled? She had decided she’d seen enough, and gently let the tail slip out from her hands.

Teagan saying she trusted her was like a jolt. Part of her almost took offense to it – Teagan trusted her because they had something in common. One thing. One deeply unfortunate thing. But she needed the woman to trust her. Regan swallowed her weak protest. Still, she had to clarify. “I’m not helping you because of that.” She wondered how tuned in Arden was, and whether she would gather the meaning of that statement. She probably would. She was a smart woman, and she apparently knew a lot more than Regan had ever suspected.

“I understand this is difficult. Your resilience is commendable.” Regan wished she could extend more than that. This was one of those rare moments when she recognized that the last six years had taken something from her, and the absence was notable. But she didn’t want to dwell on it. She was all business. “I think you’re starting to heal. There’s some new tissue growth, though it’s going to be a long process.” She frowned, thinking of the burn unit. Of the smell. “Cauterization increases the risk of infection. What are you doing to keep this clean? And… you may not know, but I would be remiss if I didn’t ask – why was this done? The cauterization, specifically.”

Regan resisted the buzzing beneath her skin, and what little Teagan knew of banshees helped her understand. They were born fae, but not, in a way. She couldn’t understand how they grew up, nor would she ever claim to, but the more Teagan listened to Regan, the more she suspected that the fae community wasn’t something she was immersed in. Regardless, she wanted to believe that their deeply rooted kinship had something to do with Regan’s motivation to help. “Okay. You’re not helping me because of that.”

She was more than capable of her job, and there was a good reason for that, but in a way, Teagan needed to believe in that connection. That she wasn’t just something to Regan, not just another job. And it helped, if only a little, to hear the word ‘squirm’ slip off of her tongue.

“My mam said the same thing. She said I squirmed the most out of my siblings…that I couldn’t wait to get into the water.” Though the memory was gentle and warm, Teagan found herself burned by the exposure to it, the wound sizzling from lingering in the past hearth. “But I’ll do my best. This isn’t my first time getting stitches. Fates, I think the first time was when I was ten.”

She breathed and focused on her lungs, ensuring that her pattern was steady and even for Regan. There was no way she could count on just two hands how often she’d been patched up, and she knew her girlfriend would pick up on the age and injury, having been told about her past. She was intuitive that way. The very best. Even Arden had done her fair share of mending, much to Teagan’s chagrin. Only two months in, and she’d seen the nix suffer to great lengths. She deserved some sort of reprieve. The nix had plans for that.

“Hm?” Her brows furrowed at the question, uncertain as to how she would know the reasons behind such a horrid attack. She wasn’t a hunter, and she most certainly didn’t take pieces of people as trophies like they were common animals. “I don’t know why it was done. He-he kept apologizing and then he thanked me for giving him my tail when I told him no. I told him no and he still sedated me.” The grip Teagan had on Arden’s thigh tightened, and the tears came stronger than.

“I told him no, and he still pursued me. I told him no, and he-he-he…!” The last syllable became a pained shriek, and Teagan stood suddenly as she gasped. She couldn’t stand to be in that office anymore. They had their answers. It was time to leave. “I’m-I’m sorry. I…” Fearful and embarrassed, Teagan swiveled on her heel and forced her glamour to paint over her body. As far as she was concerned, the assessment was over, and it was time to go home.

It was a nice sentiment, how she helped bring people to justice through her work, and wanted to help do that for Teagan. Through their interactions, Arden had learned that the medical examiner wasn’t fond of the sentimental, and, indeed, she changed the topic before the conversation could go further down that route, bringing it back to work and the tasks at hand. Ever the professional. She had to wonder what Regan’s life was like outside of work, but that was something she could ponder on later.

There was another hint of amusement as she made her brothers’ inability to regenerate body parts known, though it vanished as her attention turned to her girlfriend’s tail. Arden knew that Teagan hadn’t wanted her to see, but her morbid curiosity got the better of her. She hadn’t been able to see it well in the middle of the night, but the light of Regan’s office allowed her to see the angry red, blistering skin. It hurt to look at. It made her feel sick and filled her with that deep rage that tipped over into calmness. So help her, she was going to find that fucking warden.

She tore her gaze away quickly, hoping Teagan hadn’t noticed her staring. Luckily, the doctor spoke up, catching the attention of them both. She wasn’t helping Teagan because of that, a fact that the nymph did not seem to believe. It brought her back to her mental evidence board, the previous idea of Regan possibly being a banshee. Teagan did have a lot of love for her fellow fae, and, well, medical examiner would be a good job for a banshee, wouldn’t it?

Another tidbit about Teagan’s mother, bittersweet as it was. The nix loved the water, it was an intrinsic part of her being. And now because of this attack, she was even struggling to swim. But the nix continued. She’d had her first stitches at ten, the same age she had been when her family was killed, the same age she had been when she ran away to track down and kill the hunters that had been responsible. Ten years old, just a child. Arden was positive that fact would never fail to break her heart, and it only got worse with every specific detail she learned. Had a family member patched her up, or had she taught herself at the age of ten how to stitch up her own wounds? She thought she knew the answer. Blinking away the prickling feeling in her eyes, she gave her girlfriend another quick squeeze.

Regan was speaking again. She appreciated her words, and the confirmation that Teagan was already starting to heal, even if it would be a long process to regrow her tail. As much as it made sense, it still didn’t make it any easier to hear. It was obviously going to be difficult to process this attack, to deal with the physical and mental repercussions, but the fact that she would also have this constant reminder for the foreseeable future? That was going to make it even more difficult.

Arden could understand why the doctor asked the question, but, unfortunately, it was the wrong move. Words spilled out of Teagan’s mouth in an increasing panic, faster than she could stop it. The grip on her thigh became a little uncomfortable, as the nix’s claws began to dig into the denim of the jeans she thankfully had on. Her girlfriend’s pained cry cut straight through her heart, and she quickly wiped away any stray tears that had fallen. Not now. She found herself on her feet a moment after Teagan shot out of her seat.

“Hey, no, it’s okay, honey.” The reassurances were pouring out before she could really think about it. “You’re okay,” she said, gently placing her hand on the woman’s shoulder as she came up next to her and caught her eye. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here, and I’ve got you.” The smile she gave her was slightly sad, her gaze tender despite the worry, but the love and care Arden had for her girlfriend were the most apparent emotions shining through. “What do you need? What can I do?”

She knew the sutures should have come first. Regan had a feeling things were about to go south when Teagan had started stammering. If Teagan was anything like a banshee, this was when things would start breaking – lights exploding, windows cracking – but of course, Teagan was nothing like a banshee. That didn’t mean she wasn’t a threat, and Regan was keen on calming her down as quickly as possible. Arden admirably filled that role. Such a flagrant display of emotion made Regan’s skin crawl even more than being near another fae, and she was relieved to let Arden handle it entirely as she busied herself with the first aid kit. Teagan was going to try to leave now, human skin wrapped all around her again. She couldn’t.

“Teagan – wait.” Again, she looked to Arden for assistance. “You can’t walk out like this. The stab wounds are going to get badly infected, and we need to cover your tail, too. Well, that you can do at home.” She conceded, “But you need sutures.” Regan rummaged through her desk drawer again and found what she was looking for: the lidocaine. “I have topical anesthetic. You’ll hardly feel a thing.” She paused to strain a sigh through her teeth. She needed to do better. To speak more compassionately. “I would not be asking if it wasn’t important. What you’ve already done here today, it might service the community by taking someone so dangerous off the street. Do something just for you, now, and let yourself heal properly.” And though now probably wasn’t the right time to ask, she still needed that blood sample, too. She snipped the needle holder in the air and tilted her head, silently asking Teagan to reconsider. “I’m really quick. I do more of these in a day than practically anyone else.”

Fear-stricken eyes bore into Arden, unable to process what was happening for a few blinks. Both Regan and Arden had roles to play, and they were filling them well. It was Teagan who’d been the most difficult. Perhaps Regan was only playing her part, but what she said had struck a chord with Teagan. It wasn’t just about the banshee’s curiosity or getting samples anymore. The latter was important, sure, but so was the process of healing. Inside and out.

Teagan breathed, fighting the desire to kiss Arden or sink into her and lay there in a heap of useless, depressed limbs. That would definitely alter some of the line of respect Regan had for Arden, and that was the last thing the nix wanted. Teagan breathed again, shoulders settling into a more relaxed position. She needed to be better, fight through the need to escape and first do something…just for her. And in turn, she’d be doing the right thing to help others. They were going to stop that man if it was the last thing they did, Teagan promised.

“Okay, I’ll stay.” She rubbed at her eyes with her palms until she saw stars and went back into position. “Do what you need. Just…no more talking.” The glamour fell just as easy as before, and Teagan took to focusing on a fixed point to muffle everything out into whispers. She landed on Arden’s jeans, staring into the frayed fabric from her panic. She grew lost in it, not knowing if Regan’s process had begun. Regret painted on her features as she carefully grazed the ruined parts with her claws, silently apologizing.

A zap of pain shot through, almost ruining the sentiment, but Teagan controlled herself enough to only allow her palm to press down. She was determined to be better, the knowledge of the finish line being so close was serving well as motivation. Enough that composure was kept, and if Regan had done anything besides the sutures, Teagan didn’t know. Her determination to push herself into a dome of distraction kept her safe, and it would keep doing the trick until she could get home and release the tension embedded within. She trusted Arden to get them both home safely.

While it seemed Regan had said the wrong thing before, she made up for it now. Which was good because she had been ready for Teagan to refuse to do anything more, even if they tried to convince her otherwise. Reframing it as doing something for herself, for her to begin healing, was a sweet sentiment, one that made Arden turn to offer the doctor a quick smile. And, to her surprise, it worked.

She settled back next to Teagan, keeping a comforting hand on her while Regan began to stitch up her wounds. It brought her back to Kaden, the woods, the blood, and that just brought her to the burning barn, Metzli and Emilio, Wynne and Zack, everyone injured, everyone suffering. Not now, she found herself repeating.

She took a few breaths and focused on her girlfriend, the look in her eyes as she traced her fingers over her thigh and the slight fraying of her jeans. Arden could not care less about it. She just wanted this to be over, and to be in bed with Teagan and Alffi. Also, the two of them actually managing to get a good night of sleep would be nice.

Knowing she might not have a very large window to do this cleanly, Regan worked with expert swiftness. While the wounds on Teagan’s thigh weren’t long, they were certainly very deep, and it was important that the sutures securely close them. Arden was offering a good distraction, but this was so crucial to get right that Regan decided she had best offer one herself, too. In medical school, they had always emphasized making conversation while doing this. The dead didn’t care one way or the other, but she supposed it mattered to the living. She spoke as she worked, “Where I lived before… I was the only doctor. The only real one, at least. They didn’t trust me, or medicine at first, either. I imagine your upbringing was similar.”

She finished the last suture, but continued talking, because there was still more to do. Her mind itched with the nagging reminder to get consent, but in this instance, that would need to come after. She didn’t want to frighten Teagan again. She wondered if Arden was watching acutely enough to have questions about what she was doing. Regan traded the needle and holders for a wipe and syringe. She gestured naturally for the woman’s arm, which was rolled toward her without thought. “Close your fist. It’s… strange to me, thinking about how hardly any of them even had their childhood vaccines, or an annual physical, or have any idea how their own anatomy functioned.” Blood filled the syringe. When she had enough, she quickly pulled out the syringe and pressed gauze to the injection site. “Not that my understanding of their anatomy is much better.” There was some bitterness behind the sentiment, but she tried to keep it from staining her voice.

She nudged herself away and looked down at Teagan. “You did well. And if you ever do want those childhood vaccines, you know where to find me. But more importantly –” She held up the vial of Teagan’s blood. “I drew this. We discussed a drug screening to see if we could identify what was used to sedate you. If you don’t want that, I will destroy this sample, and you can watch me do it. But this is not for one of my ordinary cases. I will personally do the ELISA and be the only one with access to the sample, if you want me to proceed.”

The nix had made it clear that speaking wasn’t wanted or necessary, but Regan did so anyway. She spoke of her life before this, and how strange it felt to offer her expertise to people who had never experienced it. Now, Teagan knew very little about a banshee’s upbringing, no one but they did, but she did know they had similarities. Aos Sís meant only for them, locking out the rest of the world so that their secrets could be kept. It was a protective measure Teagan and most other fae could understand.

There was a different standard and set of rules for them, carrying the weight of a whole event that everyone in the world shared. Of course they’d need to keep other people out, even their cousins. Though, to Teagan, it sounded like Regan hadn’t grown up in that setting, and she wondered how jarring it was for both sides when the banshee arrived. Medical expertise meeting holistic beliefs, an understanding still lost in a way that irked Regan. It must’ve been quite the battle for each side to accept, and growing lost in the possibilities helped a great deal. Enough that Teagan didn’t realize Regan had finished her job, having asked the nix to act as needed. She was grateful that her cousin hadn’t listened, and that she had offered even an ounce of herself in the process. Perhaps there was a thin line of kinship after all.

Teagan mostly ignored the mention of vaccines, a quirked brow the only thing her mind had the capacity to respond with. What did she need those for anyway? Besides, answers took precedence, in her mind. “Check the blood. There are answers in that too. He has to be getting the sedative from somewhere.” The image of the hunter flashed behind Teagan’s eyes, face contorting with the discomfort of nausea. She wanted to go home.

“Is it all right if we go? Do you have what you need?”

It was somewhat comical how Regan began to speak after Teagan had requested silence. But it turned out to be another good call, as a bit of the tension seemed to seep out of her body while the doctor shared some of her past with them.

Arden filed the information away for later, intent on focusing on her girlfriend and certainly not on what Regan was doing, stitching up the nymph’s thigh. But again, her morbid curiosity won out and she watched the doctor’s hands, the precise, practiced movements of someone who had done this many times before. She compared it with her previous experience stitching up Kaden. Maybe she could learn something while she pointedly ignored the mess in her stomach and the slideshow of nightmares and memories that were vying for her attention.

Once Teagan was all patched up, Arden was ready to get the fuck out of the morgue– she didn't expect Regan to pick up a syringe. Brow arched, she watched the medical examiner carefully, but Teagan complied, so she didn’t question it. And the doctor continued to share.

So, if she was a banshee, she hadn’t been with that banshee aos sí until she was older? Her limited knowledge made it difficult to put all the puzzle pieces together. She was still surprised by the fact that Dr. Kavanagh was sharing something remotely personal. Maybe it was that fae kinship? But even if it was, she was still present, and the woman didn’t even want Arden to call her by her first name– preferring the professional distance. Had she warmed up to her? She didn’t know. This wasn’t exactly her business, but by this point, there were too many oddities for her to just put it all aside. The medical examiner was a bit of an enigma, and she was too curious for her own good. She needed to see the completed puzzle, to understand.

It only took a moment before they actually finished up. And now she had an answer to why the doctor had drawn Teagan’s blood. It was a good idea, another potential lead.

They both wanted to leave, but Arden had to ask. “What about her tail?” That certainly was a question she had asked. Another moment of surreality washed over her, though she quickly shook it off. “Is there anything we can do to help with the healing process? Or for treating the burns, at least? Any recommendations?” The last thing they needed was for her to get an infection or something, and while she had dealt with a few burns at home before, this was an entirely different, and vastly more serious situation.

Teagan had been as good a patient as Regan could have hoped for under these circumstances, and she didn’t want to keep her longer than necessary. Besides, there was work to do. Teagan’s consent to keep and analyze the blood came as both a relief and surprise, and Regan didn’t want the sample to be stored here for a prolonged period. The last thing she needed was a well-meaning tech to ask about it. Plus, there was urgency behind some of the information that might be gained. “Of course,” Regan said with a nod, backing away. “You can go. Please let me know if you notice anything unusual about the wounds – a strange smell, or new pain.”

Arden had a good question, though. The tail. It was still hard to think of it as Teagan’s tail. She pulled a fresh package of bandages from the first aid kit and handed them to Arden, along with a small tube of aloe vera. “Treat it as a typical burn. Keep it clean with soap and water, and use some aloe vera or petroleum jelly to help with the pain and protection. Change the bandages daily.” She looked between the two of them, unsure who this task would actually fall to. “Can you do all that?” She spoke to Teagan now. “You’ve already started to heal, so I don’t anticipate any big problems so long as you take care of yourself.”

Regan tracked toward the door now, an indication that they should be on their way. The blood sample in her hand demanded her attention… and her curiosity. “I will alert you of my findings. For now, though, I suggest you rest.” She looked at Arden, whose haggard appearance might have been a byproduct of Teagan’s injury, or possibly the result of some earlier promoter of restlessness. “Both of you.”

The glamour flowed over Teagan’s skin, her eyes mistied and red. Regan had done more than just her job. She offered comfort and understanding, even pieces of herself, as vague as they were. “I appreciate all this.” With a swallow, she stood, eyeing the medical examiner for a breath before extending a hand. It seemed to be the extent of affection Regan was willing to participate in. “Really and truly.”

She turned to Arden, offering her a languid smile as she cupped the back of her head and placed a quick kiss to her head. Being an inch taller had its perks. “Shall we?” Teagan’s hand fell to grab her partners, fingers lacing together. She gave Regan one last look, nodding once before guiding the pair in their departure. Resting in a big, fluffy bed sounded like bliss, but sharing it with Arden and Alffi felt like heaven. A safe place where they could leave all the bad things behind for a few hours.

#wickedswriting #waving words #writings #arden and teagan #regan and teagan #when it rains #c: arden #c: regan #medical blood tw #vomit tw

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