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thejolexgroupchat · 4 years

Note

Would love to see a fic of prompt #57 !!! (“So stick that in your juice box and suck it.” ) I have no idea what it would be like but it just sounds fun ahaha

We absolutely LOVE the prompts you all sent us. This fic was written by Nina @doc-pickles and Leya @iamtrebleclefstories

Enjoy the first of many collaborative fics from The Group Chat!

the one with the juice box

It was an unusually hot May day in Seattle, meaning the ER was filled with heat stroke patients that kept everyone busy. Alex had been running back and forth from the peds floor to the ER all day, checking in on new patients while still maintaining his normal routine. To be honest, he was exhausted and all he wanted was to settle in for lunch with his wife. He hadn’t seen her since they’d walked in together almost four hours ago, which wasn’t unusual, but she usually popped by to see him at least once or twice.

Clocking off for his lunch, Alex wandered down towards the main surgical floor in search of his wife. She’d seemed okay when they were getting ready for the day, extreme morning sickness turned to only an occasional swell of nausea now that she was in her second trimester. Still, Alex couldn’t help the worry for his wife that wound itself through his body. He knew that the pregnancy was taking a toll on her, both physically and emotionally, so, although he was sure she was going to be fine, he couldn't help but worry.

After searching and finally asking a few nurses he’d passed, he found Jo laying on an empty gurney in one of the quieter hallways. She wasn’t asleep, just laying on her back and glaring at the ceiling with the most adorable angry pout Alex had ever seen. He smiled because the position she was lying in allowed him to see the tiniest curve of her stomach, so small and barely there that he was probably the only one who noticed.

He came up behind her and pressed a tender kiss on her forehead, “Hi.”

“Shut up,” Jo scowled.

“What?” Alex asked, a puzzled look on his face. “All I did was say hi. You can’t be mad at me for that.”

“I’m not mad because you said hi,” Jo rolled her eyes. “I’m mad at you because you did this to me. You knocked me up and now I can barely stand without feeling like I’m going to fall over.”

Alex wanted to laugh, honestly. But he knew if he did, he’d end up in the doghouse. Jo’s hormones had been a whirlwind lately. Most days, he teetered on the edge of saying something equally snarky back or just taking it in stride. Today, he decided to contain himself, “You’re not dizzy because you’re pregnant. Well, it’s not the only reason you’re dizzy. You’re dizzy because you’ve barely eaten anything all day. This morning when I made breakfast, you almost bit my head off for placing eggs in front of you, and proceeded to tell me how you couldn’t stand the smell and didn’t want to eat anything. I had to practically shove that piece of toast down your throat.”

“It’s still kind of your fault. Because if I weren’t pregnant, then I wouldn’t have weird food aversions that keep me from eating.” Jo pointed out.

“As far as I remember, you’re the one who got us into this situation. You stopped taking your pills, and I told you that I didn’t have a condom but you said and I quote, ‘I don’t care. I’m naked and horny, stop stalling and just stick it in me.’ So really, you did this to yourself,” Alex shrugged.

“Whatever,” Jo glared at her husband. “What do you want?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to come eat lunch with me,” Alex asked sweetly, knowing if he won Jo over with his charm she might not realize he was just trying to get food into her over exerted body.

“I honestly don’t know if I can even get up from this gurney,” Jo admitted, eyes moving up to meet Alex’s. He could see just from looking at her how much of a toll everything was taking on her. “I think I’m just gonna spend the next few months here, then I don’t have to move when I give birth.”

“I’ll carry you over there if I have to,” Alex offered, holding his hand out towards Jo. “Come on, I’ll help you up and hold your hand if you get dizzy.”

“Fine,” Jo huffed and held on to Alex as she let him help her off the gurney.

They got to the cafeteria and Jo wrinkled her nose at the available options. Nothing looked appetizing, prompting her to grab an apple and banana and sit down at a table. Alex joined her a moment later, tray loaded with a burger, a sandwich, two bags of chips, and a fruit cup. He grabbed the burger and bit into it before fixing Jo with a pointed stare.

“Please for the love of god, force yourself to eat something besides an apple,” Alex pushed the tray towards Jo who glared at him. “If you don’t eat any of that, I’m putting you on my service so I can watch you all day and make sure you don’t pass out.”

“I’m not a resident anymore, you can force me on your service,” Jo pointed out, eyeing him warily.

“Dammit. That’s right. You’re a fellow,” Alex wrinkled his nose. “Well, good news is that I’m the chief, so technically I can have you follow me around all day.”

Jo stared him down for a moment, Alex unfazed by his wife’s glare as he bit into his burger. Finally relenting, Jo grabbed a bag of chips and began to slowly eat them between bites of fruit.

“You know I really hate you sometimes,” Jo mumbled as she took a final bite of the apple, a low groan escaping her as she did so. “Bailey would never abuse her power like this.”

“You didn’t know her when I was a resident,” Alex took another bite of his burger. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else? You can have some of my burger.”

“I’m sure,” Jo shook her head, a disgusted look crossing her face as she settled one hand onto her stomach. “Watching you eat is making me feel nauseous.”

Alex sighed, looking to Jo with a serious expression “This isn’t okay Jo. I can’t have you walking around the hospital alone without having eaten anything. You’re with me today, okay?”

“I don’t need to be babysat Alex, I can take care of myself,” Jo whined, crossing her arms across her chest like an angry toddler. “You don’t need to watch me 24/7.”

“You fell asleep on our bathroom floor yesterday after puking for 30 minutes. How about this,” Alex leaned in towards his wife with a small grin. “Shepherd and I have a Peds case together, you can come and help us so it doesn’t feel like I’m just dragging you around to make sure you don’t pass out in a storage closet.”

Jo eyed Alex warily, he was almost certain she was going to fight him on it, but he wore his ‘I’m the Chief don't test me right now’ expression well enough that she finally conceded.

“Ugh… fine,” Jo groaned, standing and reaching for Alex’s hand. “Bailey’s out today anyway, so it’s not like I have anything better to do. But this is a one time thing!”

Alex joined Jo, one arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder as they headed towards the elevators.

“That’s the spirit, your enthusiasm is appreciated,” Alex chuckled as they made their way to the Peds ward. “If you keep eating and stop feeling like shit, maybe I’ll let you do more things on your own.”

Alex led Jo into a patient room, Helm and Shepherd already speaking with a young girl and her mom. Amelia was explaining the procedure to them, so Alex and Jo hung back by the door until they’d finished.

“I brought you something,” Alex whispered, handing a box of apple juice to Jo. “Figured you can keep your electrolytes up.”

Jo rolled her eyes as she snatched the juice box from Alex, sticking it in the pocket of her lab coat. "You're a pain in the ass. Stop hovering."

“Geez, Jo. Why are you so grumpy? I'm supposed to be the grumpy one,” Alex tried joking in hopes of lightening the mood. "You're the nice one in this relationship. "

“Did you forget that I'm literally carrying your genes right now?" Jo stared her husband down. "I am part Alex Karev at this moment and will continue to be for the next five and a half months, so you better get used to this.”

Alex narrowed his eyes at her and reached for the juice box in her pocket. He removed the straw from the plastic and handed both items back to his wife, "Whatever. You can be mean and grumpy all you want, but you're carrying our kid and they need nutrients. So, stick that in your juice box and suck it."

Jo glared at Alex as she stuck the straw in the juice box. She was about to open her mouth in response when her smart remark was interrupted by Amelia calling Alex over to speak to the mom.

“Gracie and Delilah, this is Doctor Karev. He’s the best pediatric surgeon we have and he’s going to help me fix you up Gracie,” Amelia turned from Gracie to her mom. “Seriously this guy is a miracle worker, you’re lucky I convinced him to come consult.”

Alex pulled Delilah aside, explaining in more detail exactly what Gracie’s treatment plan would look like. He could tell she was worried, but hoped that he and Amelia could keep her nerves at bay.

“Any other questions before we start doing labs?”

“Well just one,” Delilah blushed, eyelashes batting against her cheeks as she looked up to Alex. “Would it be inappropriate for me to ask for your number?”

Now, it’s not like Alex had never been hit on at work before. He had been, plenty of times, especially being a peds surgeon that dealt with scared moms daily. But since he’d been preoccupied with his Chief duties, lately he hadn’t spent enough time alone with moms to have them hit on him. Not to mention it was the first time Alex had experienced this since he’d gotten married. He also didn’t expect for his wife to be standing on the opposite side of the room when it happened.

So for that very reason, Alex blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, “I’m sleeping with her.”

Delilah looked stunned and a bit confused, scrunching her face as she looked to the doctors behind them, “Which one?”

Alex looked around the room and saw Jo standing with Amelia and Helm talking to Gracie. Jo clinked her juice box against Gracie’s and took a giant slurp. Alex turned back around to Delilah and motioned to Jo, “The one with the juice box.”

“Oh,” Delilah nodded, a strange expression on her face.

“Yeah,” Alex laughed awkwardly, his hand coming up to rub against his neck. “That’s my wife. My pregnant wife, sharing a juice box with your kid. Who I’m about to operate on.”

Alex and Delilah stood in an awkward silence that was only broken by Amelia announcing that Helm was going to run labs for Gracie before they prepped her for surgery. Alex quickly said his goodbyes to Gracie and Delilah, grabbing Jo’s arm pulling her out of the hospital room.

“Geez you’re eager to get out of there,” Jo joked, sipping off her juice box as they walked down the hall. “What’s up with you?”

“She hit on me,” Alex blurted out, turning to Jo with a shocked expression. “Gracie’s mom hit on me.”

There was a beat of silence between the two before Jo burst into laughter, holding a hand to her chest as she tried to contain the giggles coming from her mouth. Jo wiped a few tears from her eyes, "What did you say? Please tell me you froze like an idiot."

Alex ran a hand over his face in hopes of disguising his embarrassment, "I told her I was sleeping with the one drinking the juice box."

"Oh God… Alex," Jo's laughter started up again. She laughed in between her words. "Out of everything... that's what you said? Did you at least say that we're married. I don't need patients thinking I'm servicing the Chief."

"Of course. I'm not that much of an idiot," Alex sighed. "I don't need patients thinking that the Chief of Surgery is a man-whore."

"He used to be," Jo muttered under her breath, nudging Alex with a smirk.

"Shut up," Alex stuck his tongue out, deciding to mess with Jo a bit. "I haven't been like that in years. You know that you're the only person I've slept with in the past six years? You can't exactly say the same."

"Hey!" Jo gasped and slapped Alex on the shoulder. "I thought we agreed to forget about that. Me sleeping with Schmidt was a momentary lapse in judgement. And I only did it because I was trying to get over you."

"Well, would you look at how that worked out," Alex poked her small bump lightly. "You ended up with me anyway."

"I know," Jo groaned. "And now I have to put up with you for the rest of my life."

"You love me," Alex bent down and gave Jo a quick peck on the lips. "Come on, we've got like forty-five minutes before we've got to meet Shepherd in the OR and I'm going to try to force a granola bar or something down your throat."

"We've got forty-five minutes free and all you want to do is make sure I eat something?" Jo shook her head in disappointment. "Gosh, being Chief has really mellowed you out. Who are you and what have you done with Alex Karev?"

"Huh?" Alex looked at her in confusion. "What did you want to do with your free time?"

"Alex, come on. You can't be that clueless," Jo looked at him expectantly. Seeing that he wasn't going to catch on anytime soon, she decided to spell it out for him. "Dude. I'm fifteen weeks pregnant and my hormones are raging right now,"

A look of realization finally crossed Alex's face, "Oh… Oh! You wanna?"

"Yup," Jo nodded and looked at him with an expression that could only be described as hungrily.

"I could be into that," Alex whispered. "Let's get out of here before someone sees me and decides that they need the Chief."

#jolex #jolex fanfic #alex karev #jo karev #grey's anatomy #grey's season 15 #grey's anatomy fanfic #jolex babies #pregnancy hormones #apple juice #sentence prompt #velociraptor #iykyk #grey's fanfic #greys anatomy #jo x alex #jolex forever #jolex endgame #the groupchat

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jackryanfanfic · 4 years

Text

aftermath | missing scene [1x08]

pairing | Jack Ryan x Cathy Muller, Jack/Greer (friendship)

genre | h/c, mild angst

warnings | blood, flashbacks, PTSD

word count | 3,000

summary: In the aftermath of 1x08 Jack relies on the two people he trusts most.

[Ryan]

I close my eyes and let my pounding head rest against the cool wall of the subway station. An EMT prods at the hole in my shoulder as the buzz of voices slices through my numb mind, making it even harder to think.

A gunshot. Suleiman hits the ground, blood blooming from beneath him.

A hand thunks on my good shoulder, and my eyes fly open, the flashback gone as suddenly as it appeared.

“Good work today, Ryan.” Nathan Singer’s voice is too loud and friendly, and the series of sound slaps he gives my right shoulder sends jarring pain through my left. “You did your country proud.”

My jaw clenches. I just killed a man.

“Excuse me, sir…” The EMT ushers him away, and I sigh with relief, my eyes falling closed again.

Ali staggers and falls, confusion written on his face. He looks at me. Tears leave tracks in the blood on his cheeks. His breath rattles in his lungs, and he goes slack.

The EMT grasps the collar of my shirt, and the chill flat of the scissors sends a shudder through me.

Sayim smiles, aiming his Polaroid at me. Flash.

“Try to sit still, Doc.”

Sayim holds up the grenade, peering at me from beneath dirty hair. He pulls the pin. There’s a bright light, and then pain. The woman in the next seat goes limp against me. Blood pours down Sayim’s face. I can’t breathe, and we fall.

A cellphone rings nearby. I open my eyes. The network must be back up.

Before I have time to finish the thought, my phone explodes with text alerts in my back pocket.

Cathy.

Interrupted once more, the EMT grunts in disapproval as I fish painfully in my jeans for the phone. “Can this wait, Dr. Ryan? I need to stop the bleeding.”

“No,” I glance at him. “Sorry.” I give the barrage of texts a quick scan.

9:03: Are you ok???

9:04: Jack?

9:06: Where are you??

9:17: Jack

9:20: Let me know you’re ok

I punch her number and bring the phone to my ear.

The EMT frowns. “Dr. Ryan–”

“Two minutes.”

Halfway through the second ring, she picks up.

“Jack??”

I let out the breath I was unknowingly holding. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Are you okay? Are you safe?”

“I’m–yeah, uh, I’m fine. I’m okay.”

Relief makes me dizzy. “Yeah??”

“Yeah. I’m okay. Just, uh…Long night at work.”

I can’t help the smirk as I huff in response. “No kidding.”

“Are you okay?” Her voice is serious again.

“I’m fine.” The EMT shoots me an incredulous look. “Relatively,” I amend.

“Jack, what’s going on?”

I sigh. The last of the adrenaline seems to drain from my veins, and I’m exhausted. “I can’t tell you that, Cathy. At least–not yet.” My eyes drift to the corpse of Mousa Bin Suleiman, sprawled in a puddle of his own congealing blood. “But I can tell you that it’s over.”

A beat.

“Okay. That’s good enough for me.”

I groan, shooting a glare at the ceiling. The lights glare back. I close my eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Buster was right. You are too good for me.”

She laughs.

I frown. I wasn’t trying to be funny.

The EMT clears his throat. Right.

“Hey, uh, I’ve gotta go,” I say.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. See you soon?”

“Yeah.”

“Jack?” Her voice is tentative.

“Yeah?”

A beat.

“I - nothing. Just…take care of yourself, okay?” Her voice is soft.

A smile tugs at my lips. “I’ll do my best. Talk soon.”

“Okay.” The line goes dead.

“Like that’s ever been good enough.”

I turn to see Greer standing by the gurney, appraising me skeptically. I realize that if Greer was able to hear Cathy’s admonishment, the EMT must have heard the whole conversation.

I surprise myself by not caring.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” My voice comes out sounding flat.

He grunts. “I read up on you, Bright Boy. Wanna talk about the helicopter crash, of which you were the only survivor, and barely that? Or maybe the ULA attack in London, in which you got shot being an idiot, Sir Jack? The first time I saw you, you were about an inch shy of getting flattened by my car, and the first time I take you out in the field you get yourself kicked into the 22nd century by a couple of trigger-happy terrorists. Now you’re sitting on a gurney with a hole in your shoulder and the nerve to ask me what I mean?” He pauses for air. “It’s a wonder you’re even still breathing, Ryan.”

I blink. “Oh,” I offer.

“Uh-huh.” Greer glances at the EMT, now applying a local anesthetic. “He gonna be okay?”

The EMT nods. “Bleeding’s stopped. Just gonna stitch him up and sling him up, and he can be on his merry way. Provided that way leads to some place he can get some rest.” He looks at me pointedly.

“Won’t get any arguments from me.” I want nothing more than to collapse into my bed.

As if on cue, Singer’s aide materializes at Greer’s side, muttering something in his ear.

Greer sighs. “Yeah, yeah. Give the man a minute to breathe.” He looks at me almost apologetically.

I groan. Of course debriefing would come before sleep.

—————————————————————————————————-

[Greer]

Two hours in, and Ryan’s beginning to droop. As if the kid ain’t white enough already, his face has grown alarmingly pale, exaggerating the dark blotches rimming his bloodshot eyes.

“Okay, Ryan,” Singer glances up before returning to the notes he’s scribbling. “And how did you know they were going to hit the hospital?”

“It was the only thing that made sense.” He drags his hand over his face. “That diner… From a strategic standpoint, there was no reason for bombing that diner unless it was a set up to something bigger. And with the President and who knows how many other members of Congress at the hospital…” He trails off.

“He did the same thing in France,” I assert, “when he took out that priest. A small scale target to provide cover and opportunity for the bigger goal.”

Singer nods, never looking up. He’s been ignoring me as much as possible over the last couple hours. I roll my eyes.

“And how long were you at the scene before you put this together and made for the hospital?” A pause. “Ryan.”

When Ryan doesn’t answer, I look at him. His eyes are lifted, unblinking, skyward. I follow his gaze to the spinning blades of the ceiling fan above Singer’s desk. He shudders. Newspaper photos of a wrecked chopper run through my memory, and I connect the dots.

“We didn’t stop,” I answer quickly. “He figured it out on the way.”

“Mhmm. Am I boring you, Dr. Ryan?”

Ryan’s gaze swivels back to Singer. “What? Uh, no, I–” he glances at me, “–sorry, sir, what was the question?”

Singer inhales.

“Listen, sir, it’s getting late.” I check my watch before meeting his beady eyes. “Or early. What do you say we let the man get some rest, and finish this up tomorrow?” I’m not exactly brimming with energy either.

Singer offers an overly regretful smile. “You know procedure. Memory’s fresher directly after an incident. Afterwards, it all gets jumbled.” He waves his hand for emphasis.

“Singer, there’s nothing remotely fresh about Dr. Ryan right now. Man did good. Not to mention, he took a bullet. I think he’s earned a little sleep.”

Singer looks at Ryan.

Ryan blinks sluggishly. “I’m okay.” I think it may be the first time I’ve heard a word from him that isn’t backed with all the conviction in him.

Singer sighs. “Okay, Jim. You win. Get some rest, gentlemen; I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

Jack and I mumble our thanks and make our way to the elevator.

I hit the button for the first floor as Jack gingerly leans against the wall, emitting a sigh that sounds like it comes from his bones.

Huh. I smirk a little. For all the grief I gave the man in the beginning, he’s earned my respect, and…

I look at him. His head rests aganst the panelling of the elevator, eyes closed. I turn the matter over in my head for a minute longer before reaching my conclusion.

Yes, Jack Ryan, the analyst from the first floor with a Ph.D. in economics of all things, has earned not only my respect, but my trust as well.

I realize that he’s the only one who fits that description right now. Kid’s too good for his own good. He’s seen the worst the world has to offer, and he still reaches out to offer aid and defense.

I know that kind of idealism won’t last long in this line of work. Mine didn’t. The sooner he wises up the better–optimism is all good and well, but in this job… I shake my head. It’s gonna get him killed.

Still. A pang of regret washes through me.

The day Jack Ryan loses his idealism will be a day the world loses something it sorely needs.

A sniffle interrupts my musing.

I look up to see Ryan smearing tears from his eyes with the heel of his (still somewhat bloody) right hand.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What’s up?” Before I know it, I’m at his side, turning him to check his shoulder. “Talk to me, Ryan.”

“No, it’s–I’m fine.” He swats my hand away. “I don’t know–” his breath hitches. “Ah, I don’t know what this is.” He tries for a deep breath.

I consider him for a moment. He appears to be physically fine.

Well, you know. Mostly.

Exhaustion, I figure. Yet another downside to such lofty ideals is the mental and emotional toll that comes with investing everything you’ve got.

He’s got himself mostly under control now, which is fortunate, because the elevator dings and the doors slide open.

“Alright, Bright Boy. Let’s get you to a car.”

He runs a hand over his face and nods.

We make our way, slowly, across the lobby to yet another elevator, this one leading to the parking garage. A receptionist takes in Jack’s disheveled appearance, starting at his sling and making her way past his cut and bloody shirt to his red, swollen eyes.

I level her with the best threatening glare I can muster at the moment. Her eyes retreat back to her computer screen, and the elevator doors whir closed.

When we get to my car, I pop the trunk, rummaging around until I find what I need. Ah. I pull the old beach towel out and make my way over to the passenger side.

Jack frowns. “Planning a beach trip?”

“Nah, this is for when I have to haul bullet-ridden white boys around in my car.” I lean inside, arranging the towel over the seat’s back. “It’s hard to explain away bloodstains to people who think I’m a retired Naval officer.”

“Greer,” he starts.

“Come on.” I straighten with a grunt. “Did you actually think I was gonna let you try to drive yourself home? Get in the car.”

I’m surprised at his lack of protest as he eases himself in. I get in my own seat and start the car.

“Greer.”

I turn to look at him.

“Thanks.”

“You got it, Ryan. Anytime.” I meet his eyes. My meaning goes deeper than my words, and I want to make sure he gets that.

He looks at me for a moment, then nods.

We drive in silence for a while, the city lights flashing past us in the night.

“Lobsters? Really?” Ryan says eventually. He jerks his head in the general direction of the towel.

I shrug. “The other option was Hello Kitty.”

“Hm. Good choice.”

Thirty-seven miles later, we pull up in front of Ryan’s apartment building. Not long after we left Langley, Ryan had closed his eyes, and not long after that, his breathing had evened out in sleep.

Pulling the key from the ignition, I consider the situation for a moment. Ryan’s face is smashed into his good shoulder, head against the window. I wince just thinking about the cricks he’ll have tomorrow.

Then again, I think, eyeing his sling, cricks will be the least of his problems.

“C'mon, Sleeping Beauty. Let’s get you inside.”

Nothing.

“Ryan.”

He jerks, eyes opening sluggishly. He takes in his surroundings. “How do you know where I live?” He slurs.

I almost laugh. “Son, we work for the CIA.”

He blinks. “Oh.”

Shaking my head, I climb out of my seat. I cross to the passenger side and open the door. As Ryan fumbles with his seatbelt, I give the neighborhood a once-over. Apart from the distant barking of a dog, all was quiet. You’d think tonight had been a night just like any other.

Finally winning the battle with his seatbelt, Ryan swings his feet onto the pavement and accepts my proffered hand. Between my haul and his launch, he comes up too quickly, crying out when his shoulder smacks into my chest.

“Easy, easy.” I do my best to steady him, but when he can’t find sure footing I swing his good arm over my shoulder and wrap my arm around his middle. I shift his weight around a bit. “You know, you’re heavier than you look, Ryan,” I grunt.

“Sorry.”

The trip to the door takes way longer than it should, and we’re both out of breath by the time we make it and remember that we’re gonna need a key. I stand there, sweating, as Ryan drunkenly shuffles around in his pockets.

When at last we step into the dark hall, I think my back may never fully straighten again, and Ryan is nearly dead weight.

“Where’s your room, Jack?” I jostle him a bit. “Jack.”

“Hmm?”

“If you don’t tell me where your room is now, I’m going to drop you on the couch and leave you there.”

He tries to point, but it turns out as more of a spasm. I realize his arm must be asleep from the way it’s been pulled over my shoulders. “There,” he tries again, nodding his head towards a doorway in what looks to be a dining-room-turned-office.

Staggering into the room, I free a hand with difficulty and smack along the wall until I find the light switch. From there, it’s three clumsy steps to the bed, where I deposit Jack with a less than graceful flail. I lift his feet onto the bed, pull off his shoes, and plop, panting, on the edge.

When I’ve caught my breath, I turn my attention to Ryan once more. He’s out like a light, but his position looks to be about six different levels of uncomfortable, and as I eye the bandage on his shoulder, it occurs to me that leaving the man in his filthy, blood-crusted shirt probably isn’t the healthiest option.

I heave a sigh and go in search of a pair of scissors. I don’t have to go far–there’s one on the dining room/office table.

I consider the best way to go about the business. Each option involves a fair amount of jostling, and eventually I decide the best plan is to cut the shirt straight down the front and go from there. Ryan stirs as I work it off his right arm, but other than that, my progress goes uninhibited until I make my way to the sling. I curse. How am I supposed to get it around that thing??

After what feels like a long struggle, I successfully complete my task and toss the shirt–now in three pieces–into the nearby trash can. Hope you weren’t partial to that one.

I drag myself to my feet once more and do my best to get Ryan into a position that won’t result in an unscheduled trip to the chiropractor. His pale skin is uncomfortably cool and clammy. Once his head is on the pillow and the rest of him looks reasonably comfortable, I drag the comforter out from under him, desperately wishing I’d thought of that before I put him down. I spread it over him and step back to survey my work.

I sigh in satisfaction. He looks comfortable.

I suddenly become aware of how uncomfortable I am. Exhaustion pulls at my eyelids, my head aches, and my back is cramping from my burden of earlier. I want nothing more than sleep. And my bed is very far away.

Ryan’s couch, on the other hand…

I weigh the idea for a moment.

Then Jack tosses suddenly, a low moan escaping his lips. I step to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay.” After a moment, he stills, and I make up my mind. No way am I leaving him alone.

I grab a blanket from the foot of Ryan’s bed and turn to go to the couch, flipping out the lights as I go.

I pause, turning back in the doorway.

He’s sleeping peacefully now, but…

I want to be where I can keep an eye on him. Apparently the couch is too far away. I spot an armchair in the corner of his room, and head in its direction.

I pause by the side of his bed.

“Ryan,” I say, knowing he can’t hear me. “If you need me, I’m here.”

I sink into the chair, put up the footrest, lean back, and close my eyes. The warmth of the blanket envelops me, and I’m asleep almost instantly.

#jack ryan #jack ryan fanfic #tom clancys jack ryan #jack angst #hurt jack #protective greer #hurt/comfort #ptsd #nightmares #john krasinski #wendell pierce #fanfic #whump #jack/greer friendship #cathy muller #jack/cathy #jackryanamazon #tags to 1x08 #tom clancy

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 5 years

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CSUAVS prt 38 update. I got myself confused

Lance wasn't doing ok. Physically he was getting better, but as the infection in his chest cleared, surgery loomed around the corner. The procedure wouldn't be performed on the Atlas, but instead on New Altea. Lance didn't want to leave so many things unanswered. He didn't want to be pushed aside and disregarded, which was exactly what felt like was happening. Keith was his main line with the outside world. Shiro dropped by from time to time, sometimes Curtis was with him and sometimes he was. Hunk had come by twice but was acting distant, unable to meet his eyes despite the fact he'd nearly crushed him in a hug as he cried his eyes out over being so worried about him. Shay had shyly come to enquire about his health and wish him well. Krolia had thanked him for his service and thanked him for getting Keith back home in one piece. Even Zak had ventured up to tell him he was an "idiot", but "an idiot that had done a good job". He knew Acxa and Keith's team had come by when he'd been napping, catching the tail end of the four of them talking outside the door... So he didn't know why he felt so hollow inside. Actually. He did. His fight with Veronica. His sister angered that he'd taken such measures without thinking of their family, and without consulting her about it. He couldn't admit the truth of what happened with Klearo to her. He couldn't admit that he'd fucked up from the very beginning then was tricked by someone who he looked up to. Veronica had basically insinuated that he was a burden, who didn't know what he was doing and should have stayed on Earth. She didn't get it. She didn't get to him that being a "burden" was his greatest fear. She didn't get that his drug and alcohol abuse had steadily grown worse, or understand the way he wrecked their family with his mere presence. Keith tried his hardest to help him through his moods and panic attacks, but he felt like he was shackling Keith down with his depression. Keith who still treated him like he was the most treasured person in existence. Keith who said they'd work things out... then left things in the air. It wasn't like he wanted to talk to the ship's councillor... but when they didn't come by his room, he had to wonder if Keith wasn't secretly enjoying him being so messed. The disgusting thought left him unable to look his boyfriend's way for vargas, ultimately serving to hurt Keith when he hadn't done anything wrong. Which he wasn't. Shiro's actions had told him that. No. It wasn't fair to blame Shiro. Keith had desperately needed the healing pod, and Lance couldn't be more relieved that his boyfriend had been healed. He just... felt... insignificant. No matter how he sat or laid, some part of his body hurt. He missed eating real food, being stuck on a liquid diet until after the surgery. He missed being able to move around, and shower unaided. Keith had been granted permission to help him shower. Each of the sticky sensor pads had left bruised behind after pealed off his tender skin. He was losing weight again, and losing his drive. He wasn't ok, and was only getting worse as he was kept waiting, unable to feel like he was being punished for getting Keith in harms way, by not being healed. He got that the Atlas couldn't leave it's orbit over the Altean ship while the investigation was on going, but didn't get why Shiro didn't open a wormhole to New Altea so that he could be put in a pod. Being comatose for a phoeb or three sounded ideal when compared to sitting in a very uncomfortable hospital bed, or trapped in his nightmares all night long thanks to the sedatives Daehra had prescribed to help him sleep through his nightly coughing fits. Lance didn't want to take more drugs. The more he craved them, the more he tried to push them away. He knew it was dangerous to fall back into his bad habits, but these new ones were working for him. They weren't filling up that hole in his heart from being unwanted, or easing the guilt he felt from relying on Keith. Quintant after quintant he was left laying there as it blurred together. To him it was like being left that cell all over again. He was constantly waiting to wake up and find himself being dragged out to Klearo's bed. Or to wake up and find himself still in the outpost, with Keith having been stolen away and cut to pieces. He wasn't stupid. He knew there had to be a network of connections when it came to Kre'el. She was just one woman... A woman he wanted answers from. A woman who'd lied to him so seamlessly and easily that the thought of her made him feel physically ill. None of these symptoms were going to clear before he was forced off the Atlas. Shiro probably didn't want him to ever return. He probably didn't want him anywhere near his team, and it didn't matter how illogical the arguments were for why that was so, his anxieties had him wrapped around their little finger. Shiro wouldn't haven't jumped in to help him, had it been him alone. He knew it. Like really knew it. The voice in his head whispered it over and over, never a kind word directed his way. He was his own worst enemy. With each quintant that passed, he was sure he was moving that much closer to insanity... Sure he was slipping away from the most wonderful boyfriend a guy could ask for. He didn't want to tie Keith down with his mental health issues. He didn't want to keep having panic attacks out of nowhere, and dreams he couldn't wake from. He wanted to be strong for Keith, but had no idea where to begin. * With his arms loaded up with bedding from the Telula and a treat from Hunk, Keith was running late. Daehra was on "Lance Duty" for the morning, his panic attacks so bad that Keith didn't want him left alone. He honestly feared for Lance hurting himself without realising he'd done it, or even worse, being caught up in a flashback and lashing out against someone he loved. Neither of them were really happy about Lance being transferred off the Atlas and out to New Altean, without answers. Lance was going through so much and taking him away without giving him answers was cruel as hell. His boyfriend wasn't reacting well to the news, hence why he'd dropped down to the kitchen to see if Hunk had something chocolaty to lift his spirits, then it was down to the Telula to get Lance a nicer blanket than the one on his hospital bed, back up to the kitchen to collect two chocolate milkshakes that looked like everything Lance wasn't supposed to be having. Lance's was packed with extra vitamins and minerals, but Keith had forgotten which one was which. His mind too busy. With Daehra and Lucteal, who was acting like Lance's personal bodyguard and limiting access to Lance's room, he knew he had the time to rustle up his surprise after a quick check up to make sure his ankle was healed properly... only for Shiro to corner him just short of his end goal. The expression his brother wore could only mean trouble... Opening the door to the room beside him, Shiro had planned to ambush him. The conveniently empty room said as much. Taking the milkshakes out of his hands, Shiro placed them down on the desk by the door, before crossing his arms and giving him his best "dad" look "Something you want to tell me?" "Uh? I was grabbing a blanket for Lance..." "Not about that. Well, about Lance, but something a little more pressing" "Not that I can think of..." Keith was confused. Shiro had that calm anger thing going on, like he was ready to snap, or turn on that disappointed tone. Personally Keith would prefer the violence, but knew Shiro would opt for disappointment because it hurt more. Reaching into his pocket, Shiro pulled out a small vial of shimmering red liquid. Keith's shock was written all over his face as he stared at the vial. Daehra wasn't stupid enough to just leave one laying around... and he had no idea how he was about to talk his way out of this. Opening his mouth, he made a weird kind of squeak before getting the words out "How did you get that?" "When Lance kept refusing painkillers, I watched over the camera footage from his room, and what do I see? I see Daehra injecting this into Lance's IV daily. I've had it analysed Keith" This wasn't his secret to be telling... Shiro had no right putting him in this position "Do you want me to tell you what I found? Or should I have you tell me what I found?" "I... ugh..." "You what Keith? Do you know how dangerous this is! You've known about this for phoebs, haven't you!?" Keith wasn't sure how Shiro pulled off apocalyptic rage that sounded do disappointed. Shaking, he nearly dropped the blankets "What were you thinking?" "Lance..." "Lance what? Didn't want me to know? You should have known better. I told you how dangerous this stuff is. If he has a drug problem, you should have told me immediately. Do you know how dangerous this is? How addictive this is? Do you understand what kind of a situation you've put me in?" Tears rolled down Keith's face and dripped onto the blankets, unable to meet Shiro's eyes "Well, do you?" "Sh-Shiro... it's not what you think" "What I think is that Lance has a drug problem you've neglected to inform me of. Do you have any idea what kind of complications that this could have caused during his surgery?" "You don't understand..." "Then tell me!" It'd been years since Keith had felt the fear that had his heart racing and his stomach flipping. The fear that came from parents or parental figures... dropping to squat, he buried his face in Lance's blanket, breathing in his scent as he tried to calm down "Then I'll go ask him..." "No!" "Then start talking. Does Coran know? Is this the secret you've all been hiding from me?" Keith shook his head. Yes, it was a secret, but not that one "You don't understand... what he's been through" "What's that supposed to mean?" "I can't... Shiro... it's not my secret to tell" "I'm sick of hearing that. This stuff could kill him. Is that what you want? Lance dead?" Falling back onto his arse, Keith shook his head "He could have died on the operating table" "Shut up!" "Keith, tell me what's going on!" "They got him addicted to it! They kept him drugged up while they tortured him! We... he... we left him alone... he was doing everything he could to forget... we've been... working on... bringing him off of the drugs. He's been making progress... then this happened. He doesn't want to be dependant on them. He doesn't want to..." Breaking down into sobs, Keith felt awful. Another precious secret gone up in flames because of him. Gulping for air, Keith hugged the blanket tighter as he rocked "We were working on this... he was getting better... you had no right..." "Keith..." "No! Don't you dare! Don't you dare... He's my husband, of course I knew about it. Of course I was helping him with. Of course he was trying to get past it... You have no idea how bad Earth was for him. He feels like he broke his whole fucking family... They kept him on this stuff... and... he doesn't want to be... he doesn't want to take them... that's why he wouldn't take more medication. He knows he has a problem, but you can't even trust him! You couldn't trust that Daehra understood. She didn't know how bad those injections were... not until... until after... I came. He couldn't cope, Shiro. He felt like none of us wanted him... he still doesn't feel wanted. This was his case and you're sending him away with no answers. He was working hard out here... only to be betrayed" Angered, Keith didn't realise the slip of his tongue calling Lance his "husband". He couldn't stop crying "I don't want him to die... I don't want him to die... he's my whole fucking world... Coran... we... would have talked to him... not where you could find out. All he's wanted is your respect. He... can't see how amazing he is... because he feels so inferior to everyone..." Keith hiccuped "He's falling apart because of this... you don't know what it's been like for him..." "Lance could have reached out for help at any time" "No..." "Yes. He knows we would be there" "No he didn't!" "Keith, you need to calm down for me" "How can I do that!? You just accused me of wanting him dead!" "I..." Keith knew Shiro pushed because he worried for the pair of them, but that didn't mean anything. He'd well and truly crossed a line "I'm sorry. But you can understand how much of a shock this has been" "It wouldn't have been a shock if you could just trust people..." "He has a drug problem" "And we were dealing with it" "What if something had happened?" "Like what?" "Like he hurt someone when he was high" "It doesn't work like that. Lance doesn't get violent without a good reason" "Are you saying that as his partner or as his friend?" "Both. He's in so much pain all the time... we've been working so hard to get though things" "And that fight you had, where he left, was that to do with this?" Keith shook his head "That's between Lance and Krolia. As far as I know, she and he have talked" "You've still left me in a tough position" "It doesn't have to be. You're sending him away anyway..." "I'm not sending him away. I'm transferring him so he could have surgery and finally go into a pod" "Something you couldn't have done sooner? You couldn't have shipped Kre'el off to Altea?" "No. You know that as well as I do" "It feels like according to you, I know nothing. It's not my first time around drugs, Shiro. You know what those homes were like. You know you can't do jack shit to help anyone who doesn't want help. He asked for help" Sighing, Shiro moved to squat down across him "You know I care about both of you. I'm just shocked that you didn't come to someone who was more experienced to get advice and help for him" "I talked to you. I talked to Coran. I talked to Krolia. I even talked to Lance's mum. But none of you could tell me what I needed to know. How could I betray his trust like that? He needs safety and stability. He needed to get his feet back under him" "I'm proud of you for trying to help him, but you're not trained in these kinds of things. Frankly I don't know if I can continue to let Daehra treat him when she's been giving him such a dangerous substance. I love you both, and all I want is the best for Lance, but you understand that these secrets aren't helping him, or helping me to figure out how to help him" "Shiro... please..." "We're both going to have a little talk with Lance about this" "You can't" Keith's heart was breaking. Lance was going to be torn apart by this. He was already depressed as it was. The conversations they did have were never about what happened, Lance steering away from the topic every time they nudged it. If they weren't talking, Lance wanted to cuddle... but his husband would stay silent for vargas at an end. He'd been so focused on getting Lance through the surgery and then into some kind of counselling and help like he'd asked for that he hadn't foreseen this kind of a speed bump. Carrying the two milkshakes with shaky hands, Shiro had plucked the blanket out his hold as the pair walked into Lance's room. Lucteal had practically glared at Shiro, acting like he didn't want to allow them access to Lance's room. And quiznak if Keith wished he hadn't. Sitting up in his bed, Lance's face brightened up at the sight of him, before falling as Shiro followed into the space "Babe... have you been crying?" Stupid Lance, seeing right through him even when he was trying to hold it all. Shaking harder, Keith barely made it to Lance's left side, placing the milkshakes down on a rather expensive looking machine that was off "It's ok, babe. I'm ok. Daehra, can you give the three of us a little space?" "She should..." "Shiro, trust me on this. Daehra, it's ok. We just need to talk to Lance about something" Daehra's eyes flicked to the IV bag, her empathic senses probably knowing what this was about "Lucteal and I will be right outside" Nodding, Lance seemed to retreat further into himself "Why don't you two go rest? I have a feeling this isn't going to be all that fun, so I'm already scheduling my after scowling nap. I've already had it all from Veronica, so we might as well get Shiro off the list too" "Alright, I understand. Keith, you know what to monitor for?" Avoiding Lance's gaze, Keith jumped at Daehra's question "Uh... yeah. Go ahead" "Please do not upset him further. He has been through quite a lot. A lot of which you would not understand" There was no settling the silent thing going on between Daehra, Lucteal and Shiro. He'd hoped for Lance's sake the would have patched up their differences over the past three movements, but that remained a big fat nope. Leaving the room, the three of them were left with a few very pregnant moments silence passing between them. Keith couldn't take knowing what was coming. He'd very nearly avoided a panic of his own under Shiro's words. Lance seemed to know whatever was going on wasn't something he wanted to talk about, and Shiro... had flicked out the blanket and was now laying it over Lance's bed. Which was supposed to be his job. He didn't want Shiro's stupid scent on his boyfriend's sheets "What is this about? Can you just spit it out already? Did you get data off the ship from the samples? Is that it?" Lance let out a dry laughed before continuing "So what are you here to laugh at me about? The drugs or what Allura did to my body? Or is it the torture? I had the feeling they filmed it... Maybe... How I fucked up and nearly got Keith killed? There's few things that make Keith cry, and with how guilty he looks, it's not something small" Keith wanted to tell Lance to shut up. His tone hurt to hear, as did him exposing all his secrets to Shiro... He hadn't thought about the fact their sample data may still exist with the outpost being destroyed, but it made sense to him that the data would have been sent on before the scene of their crimes were erased. From how Kre'el opened a wormhole, their had to be a secondary location she'd had in mind. Pulling the vial from his pocket again, Shiro held it up for Lance to see "You told him?" There was that disappointment again... this time from Lance "Keith didn't tell me. When you refused pain medication, I examined the video from this room. For privacy I had the sound turned off, but for security I left the cameras on given the prisoners we have onboard from the ship and from the mining moon the ship crashed on" Lance let out a small "oh" as he nodded "So you know I'm a drug addict?" "Keith told me how it happened. That they drugged you during torture?" "Yep. Can't just quit the stuff because it'll shut down my body if I do" Keith shifted, he didn't want Lance to hate him. He knew Shiro was only being so hard because he cared, but... he didn't know what to do or say in this moment "Lance... I'm sorry this happened to you, but why didn't you tell any of us? We could have gotten you help sooner. This could have seriously complicated your surgery. We nearly lost you... we all nearly lost you" Crossing his arms, Lance huffed "Geez Shiro, why would any want to brag that they were addicted to drugs. That I needed them to get through the fucking day. Let me just casually drop that into a group call. Hey guys, guess what? I'm a fucking druggy who's fucked in the head. Even got that touch of brain damage to prove it. Yeah. Because it's that fucking easy when you were enjoying your lives without me. Also, I heard you. I heard you yelling at Keith. I think the whole fucking floor heard you yelling at him. If you've got a problem with me, then you talk to me. You don't sneak around stealing things from my ship, and you especially don't take it out on Keith when he has been trying his hardest to get me off them. I know you worry for him, but he's the same damn age as when you went missing off Pluto. I don't want you fighting or yelling because of some waste of space like I am" "Lance, that's not what I think at all..." "Babe, no. No, you're not a waste of space" Their words overlapped. Keith could understand Lance lashing out. A tiny bit maybe even pleased that his boyfriend had scolded Shiro for yelling at him "Lance, when I saw you on that ship, cradled in Coran's arms I realised how close we'd come to losing you. I couldn't pull Keith out the healing pod... and I didn't know what to do. I don't know what to do now. I'm honestly scared for you. Scared that this could lead to you dying. And I'm scared of Keith being dragged into a situation like he did in those foster homes. There's safer ways to come off of the drugs. I know you rely on Keith, but I'm worried about the strain it'll cause on both of you" "Shiro, I'm not a kid. Not anymore. I appreciate that you came at Keith's message, and I appreciate what you've done for both of us. But this, isn't your problem. That's why you're not listed as my next of kin and Keith is in charge of my medical decisions. You should forget you saw this. It's being handled" Shiro was trying. Keith knew he was trying. He still held that anger from being kept out of the loop on this, but he was trying in his own way to make Lance see that he wanted to be there for him. Raising his head, he swallowed hard at the expression on Lance's face. It was getting too much for him "I can't forget something like this Lance. And pushing it aside isn't going to help. I care about you. Please rely on me. Please let me help you. I want to help you" "I know! You weren't supposed to know! We were working on it... weren't we?" Red-rimmed eyes looked to Keith for comfort. A hand shyly moving to pat the space next to him. Forcing himself forward, Keith climbed up into the bed, Lance curling into him as he held him tightly, nuzzling into the soft curve of the Cuban's neck as pained scent poured from his love. Shaking, his emotions were bubbling up, the dam breaking as he cried softly "We were, baby. We are. You've done so good. I'm so sorry... I didn't want... I didn't want to tell another secret" "No... shhh, I understand. I'm sorry... I'm not strong enough to..." "You are strong. So strong..." Shifting Lance's legs up and between his, Keith positioned Lance so he was leaning against his chest. The angle better for Lance's lungs "I want to die... I'm so tired... of being disappointment" "When we get to Altean, we're going to get some help. I'm not going anywhere" "It's so busy in my head... I crave it so badly..." "I know" Because he did. Lance didn't need to spend vargas explaining himself. He got it. He wasn't oblivious to the physical pain... but Lance was working so hard at being clean of everything he could be clean of. Working so hard not to keep falling apart and to find a way to keep breathing... despite what he might think or how he might act "I thought you forget... no... no one came to... to talk to me" "You thought I forgot you need help? I thought it might be easier on New Altea. Away from here" "I don't want to leave with everything how it is" "I know" "I don't know how long I'll be the in pod... I hate them. I hate them so much... I don't want to wake up. I don't want to... miss more time" "Babe, I'm not going anywhere. We're accidental married remember. I can't let someone swoop in and whoo my husband out from under me" Lance gave him a wet laugh that sounded like music to Keith's ears "Never. Never... no one but you" They'd forgotten they had an audience. Both of them crying softly as they nuzzled, seeking comfort from the person they loved the most. "I... should be going then... Lance, I want to help you. So think about it, please. Anything I can do... I respect you. And I respect what you went through. I know Daehra doesn't like me, but your team... you've got a pretty amazing team. You're a good leader. I was wrong. It was wrong of me to think I understood things better than you did. Especially out in this area of space. The work you did here, it made a real difference. And you should be proud of that. I'm sorry for ambushing you over this. We nearly lost you and I didn't want to lose you to something like this... something that I could be there for..." Sniffling and hiccuping, Lance was the kindest soul he knew. Touches had been setting him off, as had certain smells, but reaching out his busted arm, he bit his lip at pain as he waved Shiro into a hug. Shiro hugging into Keith more than Lance, most probably out of respect. Sniffling as his eyes grew wet, Shiro was just as bad as the two of them "So, accidental husband's?" Lance let out a laugh "We... didn't know we were getting married at the time. There was this alien princess who stood had us stand in this gold ring and drink this horrible wine stuff..." Kissing Lance's cheek, Keith nodded "It was Daehra's little sister Annla. We got married on their planet before we came back for Hunk and Shay's engagement party. We're still working us out... but yeah, accidentally married the best guy in the universe" "You mean the only guy who could love your mullet" "It's not a mullet" "You could grow it down to your arse and it'll always be a mullet" "That's it. If I stay with the pair of you any longer, I'm going to catch your idiocy. Lance... please, even if it's Coran. Let him in?" "Coran... knows most of it... not... not all of it... but he knows most of it" What Coran did know, Keith didn't. They'd talked before Lance had developed the secondary infection and a little after, privately "That's a really good start. I'm sorry I came down so hard on both of you. You're both like brothers to me" "Thank you, Shiro. And can you keep the whole marriage thing a secret? Hunk would kill me. He already tried to kick me out when Lance was having a panic attack" Lance didn't respond. Shiro didn't seem to notice as he detached from the hug and passed over the two very melted milkshakes. Giving Keith's shoulder on last pat, his brother left them. When the door to his room closed, Lance let out a groan "Babe?" "I fucking hate this" "What?" "He apologised and I know I should feel better or some shit, but I don't know how to feel. I've been so fucking mad at him. He said it was for security but I feel like it was because I'm such a fuck up... I don't even know if he would have come and got me... and... Kre'el... why not transfer her? How's their investigation going? Have they been to Erathus? I feel like... like he can't trust me with any of it... I have... so many... I didn't want to burden you... I..." Lance's breathing was becoming uneven. Rubbing his back with his free hand, Keith sighed softly "No, babe. No. I don't know what Shiro is doing, or why he's running things like that, but there's so many things happening at the moment. I don't doubt he cares for you" "It's... hard to let anyone else in. I feel so weak" "I promise you, secret husband of mine, you're strong as hell" "I take it you're the one who let it slip?" "I'm sorry. Shiro... he brought up some feelings I haven't really dealt with properly. From my time in the system... you know, that disappointed tone that only parents can give" "I'm so sorry, babe. I heard him... and I didn't understand it all. How did he even get the vial?" "I don't know. He shouldn't have called us out like that. It's none of his business" "He's your brother. He's worried for you. Especially after what you went through in the system. God. I wish I could back in time and met you sooner. I wish I hadn't picked so many fights with you... I hate that you went through that" "I hate that you're still suffering" "You're suffering too. I don't like bringing all these memories back for you either. Do you maybe want to tell me?" No. Hell no. Lance was down on himself as it was. Hearing Keith's messed up childhood was the last thing he needed... So why wasn't that what came out? "Only if you want to listen" "Keith, I want to know everything about you... when you're ready. Not when Shiro has scared the quiznak out of you. I can smell your fear all over you. Don't push yourself" Keith let out a deep breath of relief, Lance smacking him playfully with his milkshake "It's not that I don't want to tell you" "You'll tell me when you're ready. Believe me, as the messed up one, I get it. Can we finish these then can you help me shower, Daehra won't let shower alone? It's not Shiro's fault but his scent is setting me off" "I... don't like his scent on you either. We could skip the milkshakes?" Lance shook his head, clipping Keith's chin as he did in his enthusiasm. Cringing back, Lance frowned at him "You promised bed and chocolate... and I might be trying to hard right now not to start crying because you're being too nice to me"

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buglersboots · 5 years

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My Experience with Prostate Cancer

I don't post this wanting anyone to feel sorry for me. I am pretty much recovered from this and am back to hiking 8-10 miles, lifting weights (although I'm not back to my pre-surgery poundage), bicycling 12-15 miles on the road, and 6-10 miles on the trails on my mountain bike. It's just something I want to get off my chest, and the anonymity afforded here makes it easier to say. And who knows, it may give encouragement to a person who is dealing with prostate cancer now.

The genesis of my story was late 2006 or early 2007, my yearly physical check up. My doctor said that since I was 45, he needed to run a PSA test to establish my baseline. About a week later, the doctor's office called and said that my PSA was abnormal and that he had scheduled an appointment with a urologist for follow-up. I kept the appointment with the urologist. He did the normal finger test and said that everything felt right. That was when I learned that a normal PSA is below 3 and that my score was above 10, a certain indication that I had prostate cancer. The urologist scheduled a date for what would become the first of several biopsies of my prostate.

I spent the time between that first meeting with the urologist and the biopsy learning about prostate cancer. First, when caught early, prostate cancer is almost always curable. Second, the cure has some unfortunate, life-long, and life-changing side effects. The most alarming are impotence, no more cum at orgasm, and varying degrees of incontinence. For an active person like me, the prospect of wearing diapers for the rest of my life was not something I looked forward to. Even worse, at 45, I still had hopes of having children, and the idea of being a permanent bottom was not appealing.

The day for the biopsy came, and I must admit that it was not as painful as I feared. Then came the waiting. Do I have cancer or not? If I have cancer, is it localized and treatable? Or has it spread, and I only have a limited number of days left? A week later, back at the urologist to get the results of the biopsy. Good news! No cancer in the biopsy! A month of worry and fret for nothing! But the urologist didn't sound as enthusiastic. Even though he removed twelve plugs from an organ the size of a walnut, all that meant was that there was no cancer in the samples. With my PSA as high as it was, it was a certainty that there was cancer in my prostate.

The next ten years included semiannual trips to the urologist for blood tests and finger tests. My PSA stayed consistently in the high 12s and low 13s. I endured two more biopsies, both of which were negative for cancer. As I said, the biopsy was not really painful, but for the next day or two, there is blood in your pee, and it takes four to six weeks before your semen is white again. But biopsies can damage the nerves that cause an erection. I don't know if it was the result of the biopsies or just my getting older, but my erections went from pointing up to the sky to 45° pointing to the ground.

In 2017 my PSA started rising and at my fall examination, it was over 17. My urologist recommended an MRI this time, saying that an MRI looked at the entire prostate rather than just a sample, and that it would find cancer anywhere in the prostate. Insurance balked at this, but my urologist was able to persuade them to cover the procedure. As with the biopsies before, the results of the MRI were negative for cancer. I dodged the bullet yet again.

My PSA continued to rise, and by the fall of 2018, it was over 23, a full ten points above what had been my normal reading. This time, my urologist wanted to do an extensive biopsy of between 24 and 36 cores. This would require that I be sedated and I would have to have someone drive me back home afterward. Finding a person willing to drive an hour to the hospital, wait two hours while I have the procedure done, and then another hour back home is a challenge for a single person with no family nearby and whose friends all have full-time jobs, but I did manage to get someone willing to kill half his day for me.

I arrive at the hospital and either insurance denied the extensive biopsy or my urologist had a change of heart, but he only took 14 cores. No need to be sedated, no need for a driver, another week of waiting for the results.

November 14, 2018, the results. My urologist walks into my examination room with papers in hand and says you have cancer. OK, is this one of the slow growing cancers that you do watchful waiting with or is it more serious? You have five cores that came back positive for cancer. Two have Gleason Scores of 3 + 3 = 6, two have Gleason scores of 3 + 4 = 7, and one has a Gleason Score of 4 + 3 = 7. These last three are concerning. In addition to that, one core showed cancer in 50% of the sample. The good news is that none of the cores showed perineural invasion, so we can fix you. At his last comment, I said to him that I know he didn't mean it like this, but I couldn't help but picture in my mind someone taking their dog to the vet to be fixed, especially given the similarities of the outcomes. We both had a good laugh over that.

November 29, 2018, preop consultation. During the two weeks following my diagnosis of cancer, I did a lot of research on treatment for prostate cancer. In addition to the three common treatments: surgery, radiation, hormonal therapy, I also learned about several other promising treatment methods in trials that did not result in impotence and incontinence. We discussed each one of the promising new treatment methods, and for each one, he explained why I was not a good candidate for inclusion in a trial. That left the three traditional treatment methods. He recommended surgery as the best option, because if the cancer comes back in the future, radiation or hormonal therapy are viable and relatively easy to do. In addition to that, I would still have viable sperm to harvest if I ever decided to start a family. Then I asked if he would do the nerve sparing surgery. He explained that even though my cancer was limited to one side of the prostate and had not penetrated the perineural, my high PSA, more than 3 positive cancer cores, a 4 + 3 = 7 Gleason Score, and at least one core with more than 35% cancer made me a poor candidate for nerve sparing surgery. So much for me ever being able to get a hard on by myself again. :(

Monday, January 7, 2019, surgery. Don't ask me anything about that day because I don't remember anything after they attached the IV to put me under. I was told that several people came by after surgery and that I carried on intelligent conversations with them. I'll take their word for it. My first post operation memory is waking up the evening after the surgery with crust on my face from my eyes down to my chin, like I had been crying. Was it from pain or because I just lost the ability to have sex on my own? I'm not sure. I don't remember being in pain, but they pump you full of pain killers after surgery also.

Tuesday, January 8, 2019, discharge. After a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, grits, coffee, orange juice, and biscuits, the discharge nurse enters. She provides instructions about how to care for the six incisions in my abdomen, how to care for and clean the Foley catheter, instructions for and limits to my physical activity for the next week, instructions about when to call the doctor or go back to the hospital if certain things happen, and prescriptions for half a dozen meds -- pain pills, antibiotics and such. I am out of the hospital by 10 AM the day after surgery. My driver is kind enough to take me to the pharmacy to pick up the meds. Why is the pharmacy always in the back of the store? It's not like people really want to walk to the back of the store the day after surgery.

Friday, January 11, 2019, return trip. In the four days since the surgery, I followed the discharge instructions as best I could. Don't stay seated for too long, walk at least once every hour for as far as you are able, keep the wounds clean, no lifting, take meds as instructed. But I had not had a bowel movement since the surgery, and it takes less and less food for me to feel full at each meal. After breakfast Friday morning, I try to take my morning meds with a glass of water. That was too much. I barely made it to the bathroom before I began to throw up the contents of my stomach. Uh-oh, the discharge papers say that throwing up is serious and to return to the hospital.

Back at the hospital, a series of x-rays and other tests results in a tube going up my nose, down my throat, and into my stomach to draw out the contents of my stomach. That was an experience I will not wish upon anyone. By that evening, it was determined that I needed to walk as much as I could, so a nurse came in every hour, helped me out of bed and I walked. At first, it was just in the room, and not too bad. By mid-day Saturday, it was "We need you to walk from your room, down the hall and to the nurses station and back." So here I am, showing my hiney to anyone who looks, dragging a rolling stand with my IV bags with one hand, a tube coming out of my nose, and my catheter bag in my other hand. What a frightful sight I was! The night nurse was a really cute, and really nice male nurse who was kind enough to get me a second gown to drape over my shoulders and hide my back side. He also set off my gaydar, I know you are not supposed to be able to tell us from straight people, but sometimes you just have to wonder. For some reason, I decided to lift my gown and look at crotch that evening, and I got the surprise of my life. My balls were the size of grapefruits and my dick had swollen so much that the skin of the shaft covered the head of my circumcised penis. I pressed the call button and a young female orderly came to my room a few minutes later. I did my best to describe my predicament in a way that would not get me labeled as some sexual deviant. She got my nice male nurse. He took one look at it and got the floor nurse because he had never seen anything like it. So now, the female orderly, my male nurse, and the female floor nurse are all in my room, looking at my swollen sexual organs. The floor nurse informs us all that the swelling was normal after surgery and that it takes care of itself in a week or two. That evening I have my first bowel movement since the surgery. It's only liquid, but it's a start.

The next day, Sunday, walking to the nurses station and back wasn't enough, now I had to walk the corridors of each of the four wings of the floor. I was told walking helps the swelling go down. I still had the rolling IV stand, my catheter bag, and the tube out my nose, but thanks to my night nurse, I could at least cover my rear end. By Sunday evening, I was starting to feel much better. I'm not sure if it was all the walking, the suctioning out of the contents of my stomach, or a combination of the two, but either way, my nose hose was no longer being hooked up to the suction pump. The bowels are moving more. In addition to green liquid, I'm pooping stuff that looks like coffee grounds. The nurses have to inspect what comes out each and every time I go to the bathroom. I feel sorry for them.

Monday, January 14, 2019, the nose tube comes out. One week after surgery. I get to drink water and eat ice chips again. Mind you that I have had nothing to eat since Friday morning, and the only times I was allowed to drink was when I took my meds. Since I am now consuming liquids, the IVs are all disconnected. A nurse accompanies me for my first lap around the floor to make sure I am OK. When we return to my room she says now do another lap by yourself. So now I am left to my own to do two laps around the floor every hour. About the time the other patients get lunch, they remove my nose tube, so I am only carrying my catheter bag for my hourly laps. My night nurse tells me that he can't get over how much better I look now compared to Friday night. I have to admit, I was feeling much better, so much better, that my perverted little brain was trying to figure out how I could get him into bed with me.

Tuesday, January 15, 2019, bye-bye catheter. For the first time since Friday morning, I get to eat food. It was only jello and cream of something soup, but hey, food is food. After breakfast I go down to x-ray where they fill my bladder with saline and take x-rays to make sure that the splice in my urethra has healed and is not leaking. If the swelling has gone down, I can't tell. I still have grapefruits hanging between my legs. My urologist comes by and tells me that after they remove the catheter, I will be going home. Excited to go home. Waiting. More waiting. Lunch of more jello and cream of something different soup. Still waiting. Finally two nurses come in to remove my catheter. They draw out the saline that has been keeping it in place in my bladder, and pull. Not a good feeling, but not as painful as I imagined. One of the nurses hands me a container and informs me that before I can be discharged, I have to produce enough pee to get to the mark on its side. If anyone has made it this far in my tale and has never had prostate surgery or never had a catheter for a week, let me educate you on something. When that catheter comes out, you have no bladder control. The kidneys send urine to the bladder and it pretty much comes on out by drips and squirts. So here I am, drinking as much water as I can stand, while at the same time holding that container under my dick, trying to catch every drop that comes out. Between my swollen balls, and surgery shortened still swollen dick, I can't sit down and collect my urine as it comes out, so I have to stand and walk around the room holding the container under my dick. My pee is still stained with a little blood from the surgery and the removal of the catheter, and a few blood clots that have been swept out by all the water I'm drinking. Between the water and the walking, I'm slowly approaching the line that the nurse marked on the container when I bump into the bedside table and drop the container. It hits the floor and spills all the pee I've so carefully collected. I have to start over. I have been so focused on filling the container with my pee, that I failed to notice that it is now supper time. Supper is more jello and cream of who knows what soup. That's when the nurse informs me that help prevent congestion at the front of the hospital, the hospital discharges each floor at a particular time, and that the floor I'm on discharges at 7:30 PM no matter what the doctor says. Finally, around 7:45, an orderly makes it to my room with a wheelchair and I'm on my way home.

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corey-067 · 5 years

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Whump Prompt - Torture

I’m not intending on doing all of these, some of them just don’t work for the mindset of my characters, but getting to know them better somehow always ends up with them having their backsides handed to them.

The list can be found here.

The usual trigger warnings, torture, violence, blood, some injury detail. I didn’t go into nearly as graphic a level of detail as I could’ve, because while I need to see what he’s been through as a play by play, I have no intention of making this a gorefest.

They had been children when the military took them. Seen by some as a threat, as saviors by others the armed forces of each nation took children who were capable of finding their way to the Otherworld, to control their power, both for military and scientific purposes. Those with Psionic abilities were arguably far more capable in handling the enormous mental stresses which the more complex Psuteren machines had on the mind, as though the Psuteren held similar capabilities in a far higher concentration.

Given that children were far more capable of adapting to physical changes than adults were, they took them as young as possible, preliminary testing also suggesting that it was easier to influence them than adult subjects. Medical procedures were rigorous, incredibly invasive, and far from entirely successful. To most, this would've been sufficient to inure them to all but the worst tortures imaginable, but the military, even the Sumeri - who were considered far more peaceful than their Colonial Nation counterparts - wanted to be entirely sure that their Psions, the most valuable assets they held, could not be broken.

Torture, it was also claimed, could enhance an individual's connection to the Otherworld.

Nothing was off the table. Resistance increased the intensity, up until the Psion was unconscious. It was the recruit's job to attempt escape, or at least to throw their interrogators onto a divergent trail. Memorize, take what was dished out, and not utter a word of what could be your salvation, either in life or death.

As though they were mirror images of each other, they fought back, found comfort in the memories of each other, hoping that each was in a better place, though neither were. Though it was almost inevitable that they would never reunite, Gwen and Darian focused on that goal, because it was personal, secret, and could never be taken from them.

"Just tell me what I want to know, boy. The pain will stop."

Darian grinned at the torturer through swollen, blackened eyes, resisting the urge to laugh at his captor once again. The beating the sadistic older man had given him had left him hospitalized for days, even with the advancements in medical technology they'd uncovered here. "You're convinced you're in control here. But if you were, you'd know that I don't know anything that can help your cause. I'd rather die than tell you anything."

On burning muscles, the teenager pushed himself to his feet, his eyes flicking between the shock prod in the man's hand and his own eyes, a soft blue-grey, which held a remarkable amount of humanity for one so cruel. "You know what happens when you attack, boy." He recognized the signs after the first few times.

"Well, they've stopped letting me check myself in a mirror," he spat blood on the floor as he limped forward. "So I guess that's a pretty good indicator." He could feel the fire burning in his chest, a desire to unleash his power on this man. But control had to be maintained. This man wasn't his first torturer, for nearly two years he had been shattered at the hands of the gentlest seeming woman he could have imagined meeting. He remembered thinking that she'd have made a wonderful mother until the torture began. She'd made him feel safe and ripped that away, time and time again.

"Your sense of humor was never your strong suit, boy." It turned out that the Brass thought the best person to work on him after he lost control was her husband, who tried daily to have him experience the pain he himself felt. What he didn't know was that the most painful experience he'd ever felt was when he was torn from Gwen, half a lifetime ago.

"Your wife thought otherwise."

The older man lunged forward, shock prod crackling as his face contorted in a mask of rage. The first shock caught Darian off guard, his muscles not reacting to the threat as quickly as he intended due to his condition. As his body spasmed, the teenager arced his back, slamming his forehead into the bridge of the taller man's nose with a sickening crunch. Muscles screamed as he tried to hold his torturer's arm back, followed quickly by his voice as the contacts struck his bare skin with enough force to pierce it before the older man activated it, sending a surge of power through his kidneys that sent him tumbling to the floor.

With blood pouring from his nose, eyes swelling from the force of Darian's blow, the torturer lunged at him, landing strike after strike on his already battered body. He was beyond trying to extract information, something in him had snapped at the show of violence from his wife's killer. As for Darian, he was taking the beating, trying to avoid calling on his abilities to assist him - though he could feel that he was reaching his boiling point. His power began to manifest, a faint but deadly green glow that colored his skin when an alarm sounded.

"That's enough for today." The Major's voice came over the intercom, so the torturer pulled him to his feet, and Darian knew that he should feel more relief than he did, but that feeling had faded years ago. There was always tomorrow. As if to illustrate his point, a single shock struck him in the chest, knocking him back to the floor, writhing in agony. Waiting several minutes until they were sure he wasn't just going to attack the next person who walked in, a pair of orderlies half dragged, half carried his battered form down to the showers, leaving a pile of clean, dry clothing outside the door to replace the scorched and bloodied garments that were clinging to him now.

It took him several minutes to even gain the strength to reach up and turn on the shower, though he knew he would receive no help, it was all part of the test. In his mind, in the shielded place that nobody could touch, Gwen's hands were the ones who stripped away the clothing he wore, softly working the blood from his face and hair, his vision of her so intensely vivid that he could almost smell her. Darian wept, hoping that life with the Sumeri was better for her than his existence here, hoping beyond hope that she was the light at the end of the immensely dark tunnel down which he traveled.

As soon as his superiors thought he'd had enough time, the water cut, first the hot, leaving him blasted with an icy jet before it petered out completely. They had never broken him, not because of his strength; he was hardly weak - neither mentally or physically - but the reason that they were unable to crush him was that the torture he placed upon himself in those gentle, loving hands, was far worse than anything they could ever do to him.

#Whump challenge #Corey writes original fiction #Corey is an asshole to his characters #Character building #Already working on part 2 #I hate myself for the direction it's taking #tw: torture

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