an emilio shepherd self para
when: the evening of the accident, after amelia was transported to sgmw
where: well.. in a ct machine/ct machine room at seattle grace mercy west hospital
who: amelia shepherd, elaine sawyer, sofia sloan-torres ( the gang is all here )
triggers: head injury, seizure, brain tumor
“Nothing quite like seeing my Head of Neuro in a CT machine and not being notified,” Elaine snapped, causing Sofia to jump in her chair at the woman’s sudden entry.
Sofia’s mouth fell open to speak, but nothing came out. Amelia was crystal clear when she said she wanted nobody around. Even though Elaine was standing right before her, and the cat was just about as out of the bag as it could get, Sofia was still ready to deny the fact like a child denying coloring on the walls with markers in her hand.
“Please go back to the pit, Doctor Sloan-Torres.”
Now that, that was enough to get Sofia to stand up. “This is my patient. I’m working with a patient right now.”
Narrowed eyes stared back at the younger surgeon, and Elaine couldn’t help but smirk a little. “Not anymore. Get your little nepotism ass back to the pit before I transfer you back to Hopkins. Am I clear?”
She sure was. Sofia was gone in the blink of an eye, and Elaine was studying Amelia’s chart closely while the machine whirred in the background. No signs of head injuries, unresponsive but awake for three minutes and twenty-six seconds, extremely disoriented. Elaine wasn’t a Neurosurgeon, but she had common sense. She was about ready to mouth off to Amelia, giving her shit for her inability to diagnose herself, just when the scans lit up on the monitors before her.
Elaine helped Amelia out of the machine, and Amelia must’ve been able to read the redhead’s expression immediately, because she sat up right away and glared at Elaine.
“What’s wrong? Why’re you here? Where’s Sofia?”
“Nice to see you too.” Clearing her throat, Elaine shrugged, “she was needed back in the pit.” Her tone was softer than usual, and she was having a hard time keeping eye contact with Amelia. Before giving Amelia any time for questions, Elaine slipped her hands into the pocket of her cardigan, nodding toward the door for Amelia to follow her into the attached room. Pulling a chair closer to the one she was sitting in before, she began logging back into the computer.
Amelia knew things weren’t okay. That was made clear by the fact that Elaine hadn’t just told her nothing was wrong and sent her home. She was waiting to hear about bruising, bleeding, anything. But instead, she was stuck in the silent room listening to Elaine’s nails on the keyboard.
“Two things,” Elaine spoke, breaking the silence. “First thing, you’re suspended from surgery, effective immediately. And the second thing, is, um.. did you know that you have a mass in your brain?” Elaine got the scans back up, tilting the monitor back to Amelia. Amelia’s expression said it all; the other surgeon had no fucking clue. Elaine sat silently for a few moments, mentally acknowledging that it was much easier to tell strangers that they had these sorts of things. “I guess.. you go home, now. It’s probably for the best that you don’t drive, given that it’s... you’re very prone to seizures. Which is what happened back at the scene, I’m guessing. But I’m not going to tell you that you can’t operate and can’t drive at once, that’s just mean, so do whatever.” Elaine glanced back at Amelia, raking her bottom lip between her teeth.
Amelia shook her head quickly. “You’re just going to clear me to go home now. And I’m going to go home. I’m not driving because my car’s not here.. not because you’re advising against it.”
Head nodding, Elaine looked back down at Amelia’s chart. This wasn’t a time for advice. She wasn’t going to tell Amelia that she needed to figure things out quickly, because Amelia wasn’t an idiot ( well, not entirely ). There was really nothing left for Elaine to say or do.
“And you’re not going to tell anyone about this.”
Red hair flipped over her shoulder as she turned to Amelia quickly, an insulted expression on her face. “Okay, whoa, I’m a massive bitch, but I am not a HIPAA violator, Shepherd." Elaine stood from the chair she was in, pushing it in under the desk. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m assuming, for consults. Because you doctors are the worst fucking patients. I’m not going to be extra nice to you either, by the way. Tumor or not, you’re still an ass and you piss me off.” Shrugging, Elaine left the room, closing the door behind her.
Which left Amelia alone in the dimly lit room, staring at the monitor. Staring at her brain. Her tumor.
It’s fine.
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While I do find it funny that henchmen in Gotham probably warn each other about the Red Hood because he's a bat who will actually kill you. I think it would be better if Jason was actually seen as some sort of savior or idol to like 90% of the goons scattered around Gotham. Doesn't matter who they work for, they all know Jason, former crime-lord that took over majority of Gotham's underground in one night.
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Jason, years after the events of UTRH, now fighting crime alongside the batfam, except every goon he runs into immediately recognizes him, stops fighting, and starts begging.
the first time it happens, Jason assumes they're begging for their lives only to hear them begging for him to return to the crime lord business so they can work for him and not Gotham's current money-stingy, abusive rogues (Black Mask lol)
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Jason showing up to patrol as backup for Dick in an overrun warehouse full of Two-Face's henchmen and as Jason's about to interfere, one of the men stops dead in their tracks and stares really hard at Jason until:
Goon: Oh my God, boss, is that you?
Jason, pulling out his guns, about to shoot:
Goon: Mr. Hood, sir???
Jason, halfway about to pull the trigger: Wait a min–Jeremy? Oh wow, it's been ages! How's the wife?
Goon (Jeremy): Oh my God it IS you, holy shit where have you BEEN? Me and the guys miss you, man!
Dick, with a knife at his throat: What is happening right now
Jason: Ahh, well, crime-lording just wasn't fitting in on the daily schedule. Tryna turn over a new leaf and all that
Goon (Jeremy): Aw, that's disappointing. We really liked working for you, right guys?
[Chorus of enthusiastic "YEAHS" from the rest of the henchmen (even the one holding Dick at knifepoint)]
Goon (Jeremy): Well, anyways, I can't beat you up knowing you're my old boss! You gave us the best health benefits! We'll just let you take the evidence and leave.
Jason: Aw, thanks guys :)
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And that's why 95% percent of Jason's missions in Gotham end in success. Not because he's willing to kill people or because rogues are terrified of him, but because 90% of the rogues' henchmen once worked for Jason and fuckin love him lol.
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papa nanami and how he can't decide which fleece jacket he should buy for his little girl—
they’re tiny, the length of the fabric spanning his two palms and a half. he’s thinking hard on this one—tan or pink? tan or pink… tan or pink.
the store is closing soon; the only free time he had was after work, now, half an hour before dinner. he should hurry so he can go home already—to his little girl and you.
he sighs, holding the jackets up again. tan or pink...
hm.
he makes his choice.
.
when he arrives home, crouching low as his little girl comes crashing into him—the shopping bag falls to his side, hands holding her close. you peek from the kitchen, smile warm and in love.
kento always makes it in time for dinner, no matter what.
after tickles and giggles and a big munching on her cheek, your little girl pulls her papa by his pinky, dragging him over to you.
you always give him a kiss on the cheek.
“welcome home, my love.” you whisper by his ear, setting the last bowl of food down on the dining table.
you spot the shopping bag by the foyer, sneaking him a look, “did some early gift shopping?”
he follows your eyes, picking up your little girl as he sets her down on her seat.
“bought some fleece jackets for her, before it gets too cold.”
your lips curl up, knowing you chose the right man; his foresight, the way he looks after you both—it makes your heart swell as you walk to pick up the shopping bag.
when you pry it open, you’re met with fuzzy bundles of tan and pink. you snort, “couldn’t pick?”
he flushes, cheeks turning the same shade as the fabric in front of you—he points to his suit, “she said she wanted to match with me.”
your mouth forms an ‘ah’, still smiling, “and the pink?”
“i thought it’d look cute on her.”
he turns to your little girl, grip tight on her silicon utensils as she stabs around her food. she’s almost on her way to full sentences now and it shouldn’t make him this sentimental, but it does.
he wants her to stay this tiny forever.
his little girl.
“what do you think, baby?” you hold up the pink jacket beside you, speaking to your daughter.
she giggles, silicon fork in hand as her bib bounces; her eyes, the same brown as her papa’s but shaped like yours, sparkles, “pwitty! pwitty on!”
“papa always has good taste doesn’t he?” you look at your husband fondly.
your little girl babbles, giggling.
and nanami doesn’t know what he did to deserve this—your little family, but if he has to buy every fleece jacket in the world to keep you both warm and toasty, he will.
he’ll even make you all matchy.
comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡
@kentoangel @em1e @augustinewrites @crysugu @soumies @itadorey @mididoodles thought about u all while writing this 🥹
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