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theskyeandsea · 3 years

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When You Get What You Want... || Cutler & Skylar

Timing: Late January 19th, shortly after this chatzy

Location: Clarke’s Convenience Store

Tagging: @clarkesconvenience & @theskyeandsea

Description: Skylar’s rampage around town continues; Cutler offers a helping hand.

Warnings: Drug use, addiction, body horror, memory loss, medical blood

Disoriented and covered in flour and blood, Skylar stumbled down the road away from the shop, a giddy smile still on her face as her feet began to skip across the pavement. She bounded down the road before turning abruptly, eyes caught by the displays in the window. Staggering forward, she pressed her fingers against the glass and the same sticking sensation filled her. The atoms and molecules and all the tiny parts of what made her a person shifted until she was crashing into the center of the convenience store. With a dazed grin on her face, Skylar began to push displays over. Blood trickled down the side of her face from her ear, a clean jagged section of her earlobe ripped free and stuck in the glass of the convenience store. She barely noticed as the liquid splattered across the clean floors while she shoved at the shelves. Cutler had been mentally preparing himself for a break-in since he had come home. It was bound to happen eventually, as it had for his parents several times over the course of his childhood. When it did, he would handle it the same way his parents had: with calm, slow movements and total compliance.

It didn’t go that way.

For one thing, he had expected it to happen while the shop was open and the money would still be in the register. Instead, the crashing sound of displays being toppled downstairs had awoken him in the early hours of the morning. The cool and collected man of his practiced break-in fantasies was quickly replaced with a groggy version of himself in a wrinkled t-shirt and boxers, squinting in the dim light.

Slowly, he took in the scene before him in pieces. Spidery crimson tracks spilling down pale skin and dripping onto waxed tile, collapsed shelving units spilling all manner of dried goods onto the floor, and a familiar, crazed look behind wide, dark pupils. He had dealt with this many times in the ER. Well, maybe not this, exactly, but he knew intoxication when he saw it. His hand hovered over the light switch to his right and he called out before clicking the buzzing fluorescents on above them, “You need some help.” A statement, not a question; carried with the arrogant weight of medical school behind it. “I can patch that up for you.”

Stepping on bags of spices, Skylar took particular joy in watching as the dried herbs crumbled under her shoes. She ran her hand along the shelves, knocking more and more of the goods onto the ground, blood dripping across the crinkly bags. And then, she realized she wasn’t alone. Someone had entered from the back of the shop. Skylar spun around to look at him, tilting her head at him quizzically. “Help? I don’t need help, I have all the help I need.” She said with a giddy smile on her face, her teeth bright and gleaming in the lowlight. “Don’t want patches, nope, I don’t need another patchwork skin, nuh uh.” She said to herself, rubbing the sores on her arms as she spoke. She could feel something leaking from the raw abscesses that dotted her legs, but the pain was like a distant memory, far far away from her right now.

Bright white light washed over the store, revealing the full extent of the damage. Product littered the floor under the shifting soles of his unsteady guest. Cutler dropped his hand from the light switch and walked forward, sidestepping the lentil spillage by his feet. “Uh huh.” The wheels in his mind ground against each other, desperately trying to wake up in time to process the finer details of the situation that wouldn’t come together. Sharpened teeth inside a lazy grin and his front door still locked and unbroken; pieces of a puzzle that refused to click. “Can I take a look?” The wounds on her body were various levels of depth and severity, ranging from dark and old to bright and fresh. The whip-sharp crack of a brown paper bag crinkling under his foot caused him to freeze in place. He stared, cautious and gentle, afraid she would startle like a wild animal. His hand extended slowly, pale pink underside raised to her in timid surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You know it makes it worse when you scratch them.” His voice continued in a muted string of comforting sound, filling the space between them. “Nothing intensive. Just get something on that ear, stop the bleeding. Do a once over for breaks and fractures, maybe disinfect those sores. If it’s food you want, I can get you some of that, too.”

Skylar watched as the man continued to walk towards her, slow, so slow. She didn’t want to slow down, she didn’t want to pause to stop and think and let all the thoughts she’d left behind catch back up to her. She just wanted to ride this wild, cresting high as far as it would take her and this man? No, no, no, he seemed like he’d put a stop to it. When he asked to look at her, Skylar squinted at him. “Why?” She asked. He took another step and then froze for some reason that she wasn’t quite sure of. There was a muffled sound, but she couldn’t tell what it was. Running her finger tips around her ears, Skylar remembered why. “Oh, that makes sense.” She said, tapping the place where her hearing aids normally rested. Focusing back on the man, she laughed. “You can’t hurt me, even if you wanted to. Even if I wanted you to,” Skylar paused, staring down at the blood that covered her. Looking up at him abruptly, she asked, “Do you think I need help?” Cutler watched her fingers lower from her ears, slick with blood. There was no alarm in her face as they came away, only a laugh that felt discordant and wrong. Even if I wanted you to. When her eyes met his, he felt his heart clatter against his ribcage with deafening irregularity. Something distinctly inhuman looked back at him. Or maybe it was the lack of something. “I do.” He replied, hoping his honesty would cut through the frenetic, animalistic energy to the person behind it. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Accepting help.”

Another step toward her. She was almost within his reach now. He blinked slowly, a prayer running across the back of his eyelids: Please don’t fight me. “At the very least, let me get some gauze on that. You’re bleeding all over my floor.” His hand reached up and touched his own ear instinctively, brushing against his full intact earlobe. He ran his tongue across the flat backs of his own teeth, feeling the square edges. Hers were definitely unnatural. Modified, maybe. “I haven’t even asked your name. How rude of me.” A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, echoing the grin he might have worn in lighter circumstances. “I’m Cutler. And you are?”

He thought she needed help. But so had everyone else and that wasn’t what she’d wanted. Erin and Morgan and Leah and even Shiloh and Rio. They all said they wanted to help, but how could she know that? Skylar mulled over his words, tapping her fingers against her chin, ignoring the way the pads of her fingers stuck to her skin. All of them knew her, they all knew her and they knew what she was and who she was and even if they didn’t know why she was-- Skylar didn’t know why she was even though she could remember every pretty little pill she’d swallowed-- they knew what she should be. And this man didn’t. So maybe that made his help real. “Okay.” She said blithely, not realizing how much tension hung between the two of them. “Oh, but there is. Because people will help you and help you and help you and then one day, they leave. Because they’re too tired of putting up with all your shit and think it’s better to quit while they’re ahead.” She said earnestly.

At the mention of his floors, Skylar glanced down to the mess of crushed herbs and ruined inventory that were spattered with a thick trail of blood. “Oh. Whoops. I have a lot,” She said with a nod, before gesturing around at the mess. “Of blood. Lots of blood. This is… probably okay.” She said with a shrug. Squinting at him, Skylar repeated his name. “Cut-ler.” She let out a slight giggle, wondering where her knife had gone. Cutler. She could make that literal. “I’m Skylar.” She said, before looking expectantly at him. “So, are you going to help me not bleed all over your floors?”

Cutler listened intently. Someone had hurt this girl, and he didn't intend to be the next in the long line of grievances she had suffered. "If people desert you, that's their shame. Not yours." The contempt in his voice bled through and he swallowed it back down into his stomach. "I'm not going anywhere."

He followed her gaze down to the floor, and back up to her nonchalant shrug. "That's me. You ever go by Sky? I've gone by Cut to my friends." His mouth moved on it's own, giving his mind a chance to catch up with the unreality of the situation.

"It is a lot of blood, huh. Whooole lotta blood. Still limited supply, though." A deep sigh shot downward as his hands drifted to the resting spot on his hips where his apron drawstrings usually hung. He focused his gaze back on Skylar, unwilling to think about the cleanup he was going to have to do later. Alone, of course. No insurance company is gonna cover an illegal surgery. "Let's get something on that. I've got supplies back here. Gauze and tape and uh, all sorts of stuff. You need a hand?"

Shrugging, Skylar’s mind wandered to all the people she’d loved, who’d left this place, who’d left her behind because they had to go. Nic and Winston and Remmy, they’d left. They hadn’t abandoned her, not the way Ricky and her parents had, but they’d left this town and they’d left her too. “Sometimes people leave and that’s just what happens. And then you’re left trying to figure out who you were without them.” Skylar said with a nod.

“S-K-Y-E, yup. Just friends, though.” She said as she followed behind him, her footprints leaving thick smears against the linoleum flooring of the shop. At his question, she shook her head vigorously. “I don’t want a hand, nope, nope. Got two right here, don’t need more.” She said. “One of my friends kept losing their hands, but now they’re gone.” Skylar said, mostly to herself. “Gone, gone, gone.”

Cutler led the way to the back of the store, propping the EMPLOYEES ONLY door open with a coffee can of ice salt. “Alright, no hands. No problem.” Beyond the crack of the door, a grey cement room stared back at them, devoid of all the usual upholstery; no shelving, or paint, or tiling. The floor sloped ever so slightly downward, puckering at a large metal drain. Under the naked bulbs above him, he knelt to root through a box, pulling out various medical supplies and glancing over every so often to assess the damage.

“Skylar.” He called back, tendons in his neck jumping with the strain. “What hurts? Can you tell me if anything hurts inside?” As he ambled back toward her, his gaze shifted from sympathetic to critical, mind kicking into higher gear. Silicon gloves rolled down his wrists and his hand paused inches from her lesioned arm, waiting for permission. “Is there any point in me telling you to get rest after this?”

Skylar hadn’t been in the back rooms of many stores before, but she had a feeling that they didn’t look much like this. Staring around as he began to pull things out of a box, Skylar’s attention dropped back to the floor as she watched droplet after droplet of greyish red splash against the tile. They began to form a small trickle, flowing down, down, down the drain. At Cutler’s words, Skylar looked up and looked at him. “Nothing hurts. Nope, nope, can’t feel anything.” She said and, to prove it, she reached up with her fingers and grasped the chunk of her ear and pulled on it. Blood ran down her fingers, but she didn’t flinch because there wasn’t any pain to feel. It was all just light and bright and nothing at the same time. Holding out her arms, she shrugged. “I can rest. Sometimes I lie down in the woods for hours and hours.” She replied.

Cutler's lips parted in protest, too late to stop her from tugging on her ear. They came back together in a constricted wince. Crimson slick coated her hand and he redirected his attention from her unusual lesions to the fresh tear beside her face. "Okay. Alright. Let's clean this up." His voice was robotically measured, practiced bedside matter. Whether he was trying to steady her or himself, he wasn't entirely sure. "No pain is good. This still might sting, though. Let me know if you want me to stop."

The act of cleaning a wound is intimate by necessity. In close quarters, he could see the rise and fall of her chest below him and the heat of her skin under the sanitizing pad. He afforded her a gentle smile. It didn't say everything he wanted to say; that he too, had lain for hours in the forest while intoxicated. That he has, on more than one occasion, injured himself while drunk and mercifully felt no pain. Instead, he opted for a subtler approach. "Mhm. That sounds nice. Peaceful. Stay still for me if you can, Skylar." The skin of her neck started to become visible as he fastened a series of bandages to the area and wiped away the gore with soft, consistent movements. "Do you know what you took?"

Skylar was barely aware of the gauze pressed against her face. She could smell the sharp of the alcohol as it was used to clean her wounds, but the moment it touched her flesh, it felt like nothing at all. There was no pain, there was no pressure, there wasn’t even hot or cold. Her entire existence was just the manic thrum of excitement and giddy happiness that she had no control over. “Nope, it doesn’t hurt. You can keep doing your stuff.” She said and let Cutler wash away the blood. Sitting still was hard, but she managed it, even as her fingers felt like they wanted to sink into the nearest wall. She couldn’t do that, no, he wanted her to stay still. And he was helping her.

“Oh, it’s really nice. Really, really nice. Sometimes I’d just stay out there for days and days, because it was better than having to feel. But this, this is even better than that. Because I’m just so happy. So, so happy. I’ve never felt this happy before.” Skylar said breathily. At his question, Skylar grinned, remembering the way the pills had looked in the palm of her hand, the way the smoke had burned in her lungs, the soft burn of the Bliss as it ran through her veins. “Some pills, something in a cigarette, a mushroom or three and lots and lots of Bliss.” She said, her expression dreamy as she thought about the box of “supplies” she had stashed away back in her room.

Cutler concentrated on not letting his concern bleed through his expressions as he listened, resisting the downturn of his mouth and darkening of his brow. His hands moved from wound to wound, adept at giving them exactly the amount of attention they needed before moving on. When he had addressed everything in his view, he extended the white bundle of gauze toward her. “If there’s anywhere else. Underneath your-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Of course he understood that sores don’t end at the boundaries of his patient’s clothing. It was more than likely that she had significant injuries that weren’t immediately visible. But she hadn’t come to him as a client, and he wasn’t about to start peeling clothing off a vulnerable woman, even to help her. “I need to make a quick call, anyhow. Do you mind?” His thumb was already swiping through a digital rolodex of old work contacts, distant friends, and exes. “I’ll be right over here, and you can call me if you need help. How does that sound?”

Skylar didn’t notice the way that Cutler’s expression shifted, she was more focused on the way her fingers were wrapped in gauze. Already, she could see the tips of white beginning to darken as blood soaked through the cloth. What started out as pinpricks of color blossomed into thick circles and Skylar pressed her fingers against the side of the wall, watching as the blood spread through the gauze. As he handed her another roll of gauze, Skylar looked at it blankly for a moment before realizing what he was saying. That’s right, she had the gash-- a gaping slash, a gash-- on her side. Mm, she should take care of it.

With clumsy hands, Skylar slid her hands under her shirt and pressed the pad of gauze against her bleeding side. It was hard wrapping the bandages around, but she managed it after a bit of effort. At Cutler’s words, Skylar tilted her head. “What are you doing?” She asked, standing back up, the world shifting around her as she did. Her head felt light, lighter than air, as her vision went black round the edges, but she didn’t care. Taking a step forward, Skylar shook her head. “Who are you calling?” Doctors? Hunters? People who’d poke her, prod her, hurt her, kill her? No, no, no.

Cutler’s eyes only flicked down to his hand for a moment, enough to dial but not enough time for his impromptu patient to injure herself further. He hoped. Next to his ear, the phone rang out. Once, twice. In his periphery, Skylar wrapped the gauze around her body. She looked strangely fragile in the unshaded bulbs; white fluorescents piercing sickly pale skin to sharp bone underneath. “I’m just making a call.” His chin tilted upward, speaking away from the still-ringing cell. Before he could come up with a lie that she would accept-not that he thought he had one ready-the soft click over the phone alerted him to the presence of someone on the other end.

He shifted away slightly, hoping the broad slopes of his shoulders would shield the storage room from the soft words he was speaking into the phone. “Hi, it’s Cut. Sorry about the hour. Yeah, yeah, long time. Listen, I need a favour. Do you still work at the Crisis Response Unit? I’ve got a young woman here who’s in distress. No cops, she just needs-” He was interrupted by scuffling behind him, turning just in time to see Skylar getting to her feet. She swayed so slowly that the room seemed to tilt with her. “Skylar-” His protest died in his throat as she lurched forward with surprising intensity, causing him to take a mirroring step backward. She was substantially smaller than him, but something in her eyes caused his heart to leap to his throat. It took another step forward for him to recognize it. Hatred. “It’s just an old friend. She might be able to help you. Better than I can.”

As the man turned his back on her, Skylar’s ears strained to pick up his hushed tones. She couldn’t pick up specifics, but her mind was already buzzing with possibilities of who was on the other line. Her eyes flicked around wildly, looking at the strange utensils that were laid out neatly on the table he’d taken her to. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered that this was… a store. A shop in the center of town. With packets of chips and gum but also scissors and scalpels and gauze and gloves. Lips curling into a feral grimace, Skylar reached out and grabbed one of the shiny silvery tools from the table and pointed it at Cutler.

“Put down the phone.” Skylar said clearly, glaring at him while blood pounded in her ears. She could stab at him, plunge the tip of the scalpel into his chest over and over and over. She could lunge at him and bury her teeth into the soft flesh of his throat. She could rip him to pieces, she could hurt him, hurt him the way that Hunters wanted to hurt her. A trap, was this all a trap? “I don’t want your friend’s help-- I don’t, I don’t even want your help.” She sneered, tempted to rip the cotton gauze from her hands just to prove it to him. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I could. I could want to hurt you.” She said with another laugh, shaking her head. “So just, just put down the phone.”

The voice on the other end of the line began to rise into a higher register, tinny treble crackling through the rectangular mic at the bottom of the screen. “I’m completely fine. No one’s gonna hurt anyone here. Let me call you back.” Cutler spoke the words loudly and clearly, hoping the slight shaking his hand didn’t translate to his voice. Light flashed off the thin reflective blade of the scalpel. It was a tiny little thing, almost dwarfed in her white knuckle grip, but it could do serious damage. He knew that better than anyone.

“I’m putting it down.” The phone clattered to the cement floor, sending a nervous jolt through his body. Nice, Cutler. “I don’t think-” His tongue felt heavy against his sticky-dry lips, struggling to form the words he wanted to say. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. And I don’t think you really want to hurt me. If you did, you would have done it by now, right? You’ve had plenty of chances.”

Skylar watched as the man spoke, her eyes trained on him. The lights were bright and sharp around the two of them and it made the scalpel in her fingers glimmer like quicksilver. Liquid in her fingers, she could let it flash out, once, twice, a hundred times, she thought. She could let it slither from her grasp and embed itself into the man’s body, she could watch the blood flow, so slow, down down down the drain. It would be so easy, so quick. A sliver of silver, a knife, a life. The dull thudding of the phone against the floor brought her back to her senses and Skylar nodded. “Yup, it’s down.” She said before kicking out a foot, sending the phone skittering away.

“I could, I could. Everyone could. Everyone wants to hurt people, everything’s only ever wanted to hurt me. Why shouldn’t I hurt someone else? Why shouldn’t I be just like them?” Skylar asked, though the scalpel was already lowering in her hand. She didn’t want to. She didn’t really want to do that. Her arms felt weary, heavier than they’d felt in… well, she couldn’t remember. But the weight of the sharp blade in her fingers felt as though it was dragging her to the floor, pulling her down. “I never wanted to be like this.” She said gesturing to herself with the scalpel, hands waving wildly. “I thought I was normal. I thought everyone was normal. But it’s not and I’m not and I’m just some… thing. Some kind of monster.” Skylar said before letting out a watery laugh. Swiping at her face with her free hand, Skylar wondered when she’d started crying-- why was she even crying? There was nothing to be sad about, nothing to feel. “I-- I…” She stammered, shaking her head as she backed away towards the door she’d come from. Tossing the scalpel away, she looked at the man, mind caught between the urge to charge at him and to run far, far away from him. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.” She said, shaking as she turned around and ran.

Cutler watched a thousand emotions pass over Skylar’s face in an instant. One well-placed slash with the scalpel in her hand and it could be over for him. The karmic balancing of the scales; a fitting end for him, maybe. But she wasn’t going to. He could see it even before her arm started to lower. She was at breaking point, tears overflowing their hitch-breath confines and words spilling out of her, stream-of-consciousness. “I know.” He said softly. And he did. He knew that she wouldn’t let him help. That she was leaving, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. “I know.”

For a moment, it appeared as if she had changed her mind and decided to tackle him anyway and he tensed, ready to parry or dodge whatever she threw at him, including herself. At the last second, she pivoted, running by him in close quarters. A quicker man might have blocked the door. A stronger man might have reached a hand out to stop her as she passed. Cutler was neither of these things. Instead, he just watched her go.

#p: wygwyw #tw drug use #tw addiction #tw: medical blood #tw memory loss #tw body horror #//as always if youd like a tw free recap just let me know!#//this was such a cool chatzy to write #p: cutler clarke

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drlahlahroo · 4 years

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A Rare Case

( SNK / Rivetra / Veterinarian AU )

Chapter 1

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She first saw him 2 years ago. Back then, she was on her 4th month as an intern in Trost Veterinary Teaching Hospital and had been assigned in the O.R., where she became one of the lucky few from her university to see him in action.

“They say he’s the best veterinary surgeon in Paradis.”

“But I heard he doesn’t do a lot of surgeries anymore, at least not as regular as most surgeons.”

“I heard it’s because he only takes up rare cases. None of those regular neutering and stuff. He’s just that great!”

“Well he did graduate top of his class back then. So he probably does more than just surgeries.”

“He’s pretty short though. I thought the Doctor Levi Ackerman would be some tall, beefy guy or something after I heard he performed a delicate cesarean on a Chianina cow by himself. Those things are massive, you know!”

“Petra, what do you think?”

Petra had hushed her fellow interns, opting to focus her attention on the ongoing surgery. She recalled looking down at the surgical theatre in wonder as he made one last clamp on a rather large vessel, before he raised a scalpel to make a long cut. Then he and the assistant across from him lifted the basketball-sized tumor from within the abdominal cavity of a Jack Russel Terrier.

No sooner after that, he was closing the dog up. He sutured very quickly – something her professor in surgery would surely argue against, as impatience would lead to ugly stitches and, therefore, ugly scars. But she had attended to that patient post-operation and found his stitches to be so precise and so perfect that it would heal as if nothing ever happened.

It was the fastest splenectomy Petra has ever witnessed in her entire life, especially on a high-risk patient. She never met another veterinarian who could beat his 2 hour and 32 minutes record.

She did come close though. 3 hours and 16 minutes on an almost similar case. Not that time should matter, as surgical success should not be solely based on speed, but it did catch the attention of her dean.

Less than a year after passing the board exam, she received an email from Doctor Erwin Smith, the dean of Veterinary Medicine from her alma mater, allowing her an opportunity to be part of the surgical department in Trost Veterinary Teaching Hospital, one of the top veterinary hospitals in the country. It was an offer she couldn’t refuse.

So here she is now in Doctor Smith’s office in her freshly pressed white-coat, with the name Petra Ral, DVM embroidered on the left breast pocket. They were going through some minor details about her employment when the door burst open and a rather short, dark-haired man stepped in with a scowl on his face.

“Erwin.” It was the first time she heard his voice. It was low and laced with irritation. “What’s with this new team your making that I have to lead and shit.”

“Impeccable timing, Levi. I’d like to introduce you to Doctor Petra Ral” Dr. Smith said with a smile, seemingly unaffected by the other male’s glare. “Doctor Ral, I’m sure you’ve heard about Doctor Levi Ackerman.”

Petra stood and turned fully to face Doctor Ackerman, smiling despite the intimidating stare he gave her. “Um…yes. I’ve heard many great things about you, doctor.” His scowl only seemed to deepen at that.

“Doctor Ral will be a new member of the surgical department. She graduated top of her class and is one of the best veterinary surgical interns I ever met. Quick, but precise.” At Doctor Smith’s praise, Petra dipped her head to hide a blush. She didn’t exactly think she was that great.

The blond veterinarian turned his attention back to the shorter male, who had crossed his arms over his chest. “Her skills almost remind me of yours, Doctor Ackerman. I was hoping that you’d handpick her to join your special team –”

“I don’t need a team.” Levi snapped back, cutting him off.

“A special team?” Petra asked, turning back to the dean.

“Yes. I wanted to form a special diagnostics and surgical team that would focus on high-risk and unusual cases. Something more in Doctor Ackerman line of interest.”

“And something I don’t need a team for. I’ll be fine by myself.”

Levi had walked closer to Doctor Smith’s table until he stood next to her, allowing Petra an up-close inspection of the well-renowned veterinary surgeon. She always thought he would be around her height based on when she first saw him, but it seemed that she was still a little shorter. He looked quite youthful for a man in his thirties, the only indicator of his age evident in the lines under his eyes. Either that or he just didn’t sleep a lot.

It was at this point that Erwin’s smile dropped. “You need a team, Levi. You can’t keep doing things by yourself.” He then reached for a folder on his desk and raised it for him to see. “I got you a case. It’s a referral from Doc Pixis. The patient and the owner are already waiting in Exam Room 8.” He then glanced at her. “I would like you and Doctor Ral to handle this one.”

Petra blinked in surprise. If this was a case meant for the Levi Ackerman, then surely it must be a difficult one. Something a fresh graduate like her would not be able to handle. “Doctor Smith, are you sure about this? I mean, I just started and I don’t think I have the experience to tackle such a case.”

“I trust in your capabilities, Doctor Ral,” he smiled at her, “I know you’ll do just fine. Hopefully, Doctor Ackerman will appreciate your skill sets as well, at least enough for him to be convinced that he needs a team.”

“There’s no need to tag her along, or anyone else for that matter. If I need someone, I’ll just call one of the brats.” Levi complained once again.

At that, Erwin stood, and he stood tall. Practically towering everyone else in the room. It rendered the other male into silence. Petra could tell that this was a topic the two have probably argued about for a long time now. However, she could understand why someone like Doctor Levi would be against the idea of putting up another team. It wasn’t exactly needed, and it was just going to be an extra expense in the hospital’s part. But it was always hard to say no to the orders of their dean. Besides, it was under his leadership that Trost VTH became the success that it is today.

The dean raised his arm, stretching out the folder in his hand towards the other male. “At least assess her competence, Levi. I’m sure you’ll see how she could be a great asset to this hospital.”

From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw him inspect her from head to toe with a grimace. He eventually clicked his tongue before snatching the case file from the dean’s hand. Petra watched as he flipped it open, then skimmed through the contents of the first 2 pages, before shutting the folder again. Then he all but shoved the case file in her arms, much to her surprise, before he turned to the door and exited without a word.

Confused, Petra looked down at the folder in her hands before turning back to the dean, who let out a sigh of exasperation.

She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking her words thoroughly before speaking. ��Uh…Is he always this…”

“Rude? Stubborn?” Erwin completed her sentence for her with an apologetic smile tugging his lips. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it quickly the more you work with him.”

Her smile dropped, “I don’t think he’s even interested in –”

“Oi.”

Petra quickly turned back to the door, where the dark-haired veterinarian was suddenly standing again. He nodded off to the direction of the hallway impatiently. “What the hell are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

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Levi halted in front of Exam Room 8, holding back a grumble in his throat. From the corner of his eye, he watched the ginger-haired vet halt a meter away from him, the case file held over her chest. He turned to look at her and he thought he saw her flinch a bit. She was short, shorter than him, and for once he was glad to find another doctor in this damn hospital that he didn’t have to crane his neck up just to look at. Still, he wasn’t impressed. She looked young and inexperienced – the kind of girl who would rather hug and comfort a horse than drain the abscess from its infected neck. She could be the smartest student in her class but may lack grit in the field. Levi has seen so many veterinarians like her.

Turning away from her for a bit, he called out down the other side of the hall where 3 interns in scrubs were busy mopping near the lobby. “Hey brat.”

A dark-haired male looked up. His green eyes widened at the sight of the doctor and he almost dropped the mop. Petra watched curiously as Levi called him over and the intern stiffly stood between the two of them, his visibly taller height apparent. On his left breast, the name Eren Yeager is embroidered in striking white against his forest green scrubs, which were slightly wrinkled at the edges. She could see the slight apprehension in his features as he waited for the older vet to speak.

“This is Doctor Ral. She’s new. Assist her.”

“Y-yes, Doc.”

Levi handed him the clipboard that hung from the side of the exam room door. “Get the initial signalment,” he said, eyes narrowing, “Don’t fuck it up, Yeager.”

The boy nodded, nervously taking the clipboard before opening the sliding door enough for him to step in.

“Do you always intimidate interns like that?”

Levi turned back to the ginger. She had her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised at him, with a look of annoyance. He clicked his tongue, shooting back a scowl. “His handwriting is shit and he always make a mess in the workroom.” He then crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring her pose. For a while, they exchanged glares.

Then he nodded his head to the direction of the door. “Well, get in.”

Petra blinked. “What?”

“I said get in. You don’t want to keep them waiting.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance before turning to open the sliding door. She steps in just enough to notice the young male intern lift a golden retriever off the weighing scale, when she realized that Levi did not follow her into the room. She turned back to the open door to find him still outside, leaning on the door frame with arms still crossed and eyes closed.

Petra stepped back out the door and faced him. Levi noticed her presence enough to bat one eye open.

“Are you not coming in?”

“No.”

“You’re letting me do this on my own?”

He shrugged. “You interned here, didn’t you? You already know where all tools and the important stuff is. Besides that, you got your license now. Surely you know what to say and do.”

“Doctor Smith said we have to handle this together.”

“Erwin wanted me to assess you,” He uncrossed his arms, opting to slip them into the side pockets of his white coat, “So I’m going to assess you from out here. Now get in.”

She stared up at him with an incredulous expression, mouth slightly ajar. She eventually resigned herself to do the examination on her own, turning back into the room, but not before shoving the folder back at him in almost the same manner he did back in Doctor Smith’s office. She then raised her chin and entered the room, hoping the dog’s owner wouldn’t see the stress behind her smile.

The intern handed her the clipboard, and she gave a glance at the patient’s name in the file before she offered a hand to the older woman in the room. “Good morning, ma’am! My name’s Doctor Petra Ral, and I’ll be Sparks attending veterinarian.”

From his spot outside, Levi watched as the ginger vet performed the basics of physical examination: taking the dog’s temperature, checking the skin, eyes, and ears, running her hands through the fine golden fur and palpating for lymph nodes. All the while, talking animated with the owner, asking the necessary questions while the green-eyed intern wrote as fast as he could.

She had giggled along with everyone else in the room when the Retriever licked her cheeks in affection while she held the bell of her stethoscope to its chest. Levi then saw her squeeze the dog’s face, squishing it. The odd and funny face made everyone laugh. The dog seemed to enjoy the attention (as most dogs do), scooting closer to the female vet and laying its large head on the crook of her arm. The air in the room was calm as she continued with her ministrations. Even the intern, who normally stood stiff and awkward when he was around, visibly relaxed in her presence.

Soon enough, she began asking the more serious questions, and he could see the exchange of worried faces as the owner began to point out her complaints. Levi drowned most of it out. It wasn’t anything different from what he saw in the file from the referring vet: Malaise, continued loss of weight despite normal appetite, and abdominal enlargement with no apparent pain that was first noticed 2 months ago. He was more interested in hearing the tests she’d want to be performed.

“All right,” He heard her say after all questions were asked. He watched her hang the stethoscope around her neck and turn to the male intern, “Eren, let's draw some blood for CBC, creatinine, BUN, TP, and ALT. Then kindly get him to radiology for some abdominal x-rays in left and right laterals and dorsoventral views.”

The intern nodded and began to assist her in drawing the dog’s blood into a few tubes. It didn’t take her long to do the procedure. Levi has encountered many fresh graduates draw blood with shaky hands, but Petra was quick – not a twitch on her wrist.

Soon enough, Eren was leading the dog towards the door and he had to step out of the way as they exited the exam room and continue off towards the radiology department.

Petra made one last conversation with the owner, asking her to wait inside until the intern return with her dog, before she left the room with the tray of test tubes containing the dog’s blood samples.

Just as she slid the door close, she heard him speak, “Why ask for ALT?”

He was still leaning on the wall next to the door, scrutinizing her. She turned to him fully, one hand on her hip and that same exasperated expression on her face. “Well, if only you 'personally' examined the patient, then maybe you would have noticed the abdominal enlargement.”

“Then surely a simple radiograph would have sufficed, don’t you think?”

He saw her roll her eyes at him, which slightly pissed him off, because nobody rolls their eyes at him.

“Well, if only you 'personally' examined the patient,” she repeated with more emphasis, “then maybe you would have noticed that the abdominal enlargement is more prominent on the right side.”

“And you’re suspecting it’s the liver.”

“The liver’s in the cranial right quadrant of the abdomen, is it not?” She stepped forward towards him and, as if trying to match his intimidating air, looked up to see him eye to eye. Petra noticed his irises were an icy blue-grey, almost like steel. “Or do you need help in reviewing your anatomy?”

If he was upset at that, he didn’t show it. Instead he tilted his head to one side, eyeing her back. Levi finally got a good look at her eyes, which were a vibrant but fiery amber.

“There’s no jaundice.” He stated.

She raised an eyebrow. “How would you know that?”

He raised the folder. “It’s stated here. This is a referral remember? Maybe you should opt to read the case files beforehand to avoid wasting time repeating the questions the owner already heard from the last vet.”

Petra glanced up at the folder in his hand, biting her lower lip in annoyance at being bested and for actually forgetting to take a look at the file in the first place. But she still had one counter to his argument.

“Hepatomegaly doesn’t always present with jaundice.”

Levi didn’t change his expression, nor move at all. He did make a low hum, as if in thought. Petra took this opportunity to lightly snatch the folder from his raised hand. She tucked it under her arm and then turned away to the other side of the hall.

“I’m taking the samples to the lab.”

Levi lowered his arm and watched her go. Then he slipped his hands back inside the pockets of his white coat while the corners of his lips tugged upward slightly.

End of Chapter 1

(read Chapter 2 here)

Medical terminologies:

Signalment: the complete description of a patient, like species, breed, age, date of birth, sex, etc.

CBC (Complete blood count): a test to check for the number of red blood cell and white blood cell and other important blood values

CREA (Creatinine): A test that measures the levels of creatinine in the blood, which is a waste product when muscles breakdown. The test determines if the kidneys are functional and has the capacity to excrete the creatinine.

BUN (Blood Urea Nitrogen): a test that measures the amount of nitrogen in the blood, which is another waste product. The test also determines if the kidney is functional enough to excrete the nitrogen.

TP (Total Protein): a test that measure the total amount of albumin and globulin (both are 2 types of proteins) present in blood. It is checked when a patient has unexpected weight loss.

ALT (Alanine aminotransferase): a test that checks for liver damage.

Cranial Right Quadrant: The upper right side of the abdomen.

Jaundice: a medical condition that causes yellowing of the skin, whites of the eyes, gums and tongue, due to excess of a pigment released by a diseased liver.

Hepatomegaly: a medical condition of having an enlarged liver, which often presents as an abdominal mass.

A/N: This was the result of a request by @mare-dogs. And since I am an actual veterinarian, it was something I couldn’t refuse to do. So, I incorporated my professional knowledge and experience into this Rivetra two-shot. I’m also a big fan of House, M.D., so If you’re a fan as well, then maybe the flow of the story might seem familiar to you.

But damn, a medical themed story is really hard to write! Took me a while plotting how this would go, and I had to draw out old files of interesting cases I actually handled to make this feel more realistic. I also needed to review my books to maintain accuracy, especially with medical facts. I might make a few slip-ups here and there, but I’ll try to make it work.

There is no definitive schedule when the next part of the story will be published, but I’m already on it. So let’s hope I managed to get this done soon. So stay tuned. Until then, spay and neuter your pets!

#rivetra #levi ackerman #petra ral #veterinarian #fanfic #AU #attack on titan

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dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

Text

Bluegrass-Chapter One

A special thanks to @statell for your help and wisdom

Chapter One

Claire bounced out of bed feeling amazing and full of energy. From her hilltop home, she could look out over the most beautiful expanse of bluegrass fields below that were covered in misty fog at this early hour. It was an inspiring view of the best Kentucky had to offer. Setting down a steamy mug of strong coffee she went through her morning yoga poses breathing in the crispy air gratefully. She pressed her hands together in front of her heart, bowed slightly, and said “Namaste” to the beautiful day.

“God I love days like this.”

She pulled her scrubs on, and a hat atop her fresh-scrubbed face, and bounced out the front door looking for her ride. Typical, she thought, he is late again. She looked at the hands of her watch, 7:38, that guy will never amount to much being late all the time. She didn’t like the energy shift and carefully pressed her body into a particularly hard yoga pose as she closed her eyes and welcomed her calm center. The pose balanced all her body weight on the ball of one foot, the other leg pulled into the air behind her. She took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. On her second intake of air the ear-splitting horn of her supercharged Ram, a hospital on wheels blared from the road. The shock was enough to topple her pose, twisting just in time to let her ample butt hit the ground first.

Dusty cursed watching her fall, feeling like a total idiot. His excitement was on overload this morning, so happy to finally be early and prove to Claire he could make his commitments. She said 8:00 and it was now 7:45, a true miracle for him, except Claire was now laying on the patio concrete after he scared her half to death. “Goddamnit, when am I gonna think before I do stuff?”

He ran to help his employer off her ass and noticed her scrubs. They were treating the yearlings today at Highland Brothers Farms and they would be there all day. It was a big deal for Claire, and he thought she should have dressed more…something. Dusty pulled his hat off and watched her feet rise into the air as she used her temporary time of the ground to pull a perfect headstand.

“Ah, Doctor Beauchamp, are ye ready to go? I’m sorry I honked at ye and made ye fall. Now ye got dirt on yer pants.” He didn’t dare look at her on the ground, so he spoke to her cowboy boots.

“You are late Dusty.”

He was about to launch into an argument, but her boots swung to the ground and she popped up with a red face and smiled at him.

“Let’s go.”

Claire jumped into the passenger seat of her amazing vehicle. It was her biggest investment after graduation. With a price tag of almost two hundred thousand, the vehicle did everything a mobile vet would need. Claire had structured their working relationship where Dusty would keep her truck at the end of the day. She only had to jump out, wave as she walked up the steps to her cabin in the woods. It wasn’t easy for Dusty to drive away knowing she had no other vehicle, but this is how she wanted it.

As Dusty fell under Claire’s spell he googled the vehicle and almost passed out at the price. With a fully stocked hospital in the converted bed, he estimated two-hundred-fifty thousand dollars. He gripped his computer desk and tried to breathe. The next weekend he recruited his buddies to come and build a garage to park it in. He installed the best security he could buy and finally felt worthy of her trust the first night the electric garage door closed the vehicle in for the night.

The workday did not end when Claire waved him goodbye. Dusty would wash off the caked-on mud and vegetation that collected in the grill and wheel wells from driving into the farms. Once a month he would wax and buff until he was dripping with sweat. Sometimes she would notice, sometimes she wouldn’t. Either way, it was his honor to do it.

Dusty would grimace and complain to his friends about her demanding nature and lack of appreciation, it’s what young men in Kentucky did when they worked for a female, especially a woman doctor. But it was a kaleidoscope of emotions he felt every day, running interference between her and the world. He was in awe of the young veterinarian and her extraordinary diagnostic abilities.

Claire had her nose in a medical book when Dusty jumped into the driver’s seat. He was at war with himself to mention her scrubs and finally asked if she wanted to change before they left. Her head jerked up at him as her heavy black glasses slid down her nose,

“change into what Dusty?”

“Ah, never mind, not important. Let’s go.” He exhaled a miserable breath wanting to kick his own ass for being such a pussy. He had spent half his paycheck on starched new clothes for today to show respect to the great Jamie Fraser, owner, and breeder at Highland Brothers. Claire’s reputation for being a super healer was burning across Kentucky and doors were opening for her in the most prestigious farms, Highland Brothers being number one on the list.

Claire pulled a stack of files onto her lap to update her treatment notes while Dusty drove. She asked him questions on every file she opened.

“What did we do to the Miller gelding?”

“Drained the abscess, front left chest, forty cc’s of penicillin.”

“What about the Hildebrandt mare that foundered.”

“Restrained in her stall, estimated three months, the family wants to save her.”

“Oh! Thank God.”

This continued through the forty-minute drive to Highland Brothers. Dusty had a stunning mind that remembered every detail of each day. Every animal, every owner, breeder, barn ranking, problem mares, sick and injured horses. Drugs, dosages, and who still owed her money. She looked at his handsome face and sighed, making him look at her and blush. He always blushed when their eyes met, and he quickly looked away.

Claire knew he would make huge contributions to equine medicine. He was already an expert on grain nutrition, and he hadn’t started vet school yet. It was the reason she pushed him so hard.

“I really don’t know what I will do without you, Dustin. Have you chosen a school yet now that you have so many to choose from?” She put her hand up to stop him from talking. “I don’t want to discuss it actually, it makes me…. not happy. Hoooooly bloody shit! Look at how the superstars live!”

Claire’s mouth hung open as her eyes took in every detail of the fancy compound. She swept her eyes across the acres of green, as far as she could see. As they got closer, she saw horses on the track with jockeys and trainers, along with mares and foals in the pastures. She looked ahead at a large Bay gelding being led to an outside arena.

“Doctor B, what do ye think of Jamie Fraser?”

“Who?”

“The owner of Highland Brothers.”

“Never met him.”

Dusty rolled his eyes and realized his boss was not impressed with celebrity in the horse world. If he wasn’t hailed in her medical world or mentioned in her books, he was insignificant.

Claire’s practiced eye scanned the horses she could see as they were being led, running the track, or grazing in the beautiful meadows around the complex. She wasn’t happy with what she saw and felt from them.

She approached the Bay gelding and ran her hand down his back while the handler looked annoyed.

“I am Doctor Beauchamp and this horse is sick. Back up please so he can breathe. The man knew who she was and gave her space. Claire placed her open palms on both sides of the horse's face and stood perfectly still for five minutes as the horse dropped his head into her hands. She jumped back into the truck and looked wide-eyed at Dusty.

“He is sick Dusty, he said they all are, even the babies.”

“Ah, Doctor B, here’s the thing, ye need to keep that part to yourself if ye can. We talked about how it creeps-out the breeders and how they don’t believe in yer gift. Remember?”

“I remember something about that, but I don’t have time to pick my words around these people.” Her face had gone white and her eyes wide and worried. “They are all sick. Someone has done this to them,” she whispered.

Claire walked through the large housing facility that kept some of the most expensive horses in the world. She stopped in front of a beautiful gray mare, stunning actually. She approached feeling the horse’s exceptional health and vitality. Claire was doubtful this horse could be immune to whatever this was. She touched the beast and listened. The mare wanted to leave this place, not afraid of getting sick, but to get away from her rider. Claire felt an evil cold settle into her bones.

“I’m here now. I won’t let them hurt you.”

She went stall to stall gaining more of the story feeling alarm bells go off in her head. She looked for Dusty, he had an important role to play in this rescue. What Claire saw next almost made her heart stop and she took off running as fast as she could. The housing complex was huge and a man with the grain cart was shoveling something into the feeders at the other end. She pushed herself feeling her thighs on fire from the effort.

“Stop! Please stop!”

The man looked up at the woman running full speed for him and just stopped like he was frozen. When Claire caught up to him, she was panting but very thankful he listened to her. She could hear Dusty run up behind her and turned to lock eyes with him. Her voice was quiet, but he heard the stress and felt the immediacy.

“They are eating it, whatever it is that’s making them sick! Look at that horse Dusty!”

She pointed to a large thoroughbred that had backed himself into the corner of his stall, as far from the offending food as he could get. Dusty asked the worker to show him where the feed is kept. Claire continued walking the line of stalls.

She found the breeding wing and it almost crippled her when she touched the mares, fat with foals. She touched them and made promises to help, overwhelmed by how many had given up, ready to accept death because they were so sick.

She was running again trying to find Dustin or the owner that let this happen. She felt the enormity of loss that was coming as all these horses would lay down today for the last time. She started yelling for Dusty at the top of her lungs until he was running toward her. His face told her he found something, whatever it was. Dear God, she thought, who could do such a thing.

“I think I found it, Claire, there’s a shiny coating on the rolled oats. I told that man to lock down the feed room, stand guard, and not let anyone in. Fraser is in a meeting you need to pull him out."

“Triage Dustin, back the truck into the complex, park halfway down this aisle, don’t let the motor run for a second longer than you have to. Hurry!” Minutes later her enormous dually was backing down the aisle, just as Jamie Fraser was running for it yelling at Dusty to get that vehicle out of his barn.

Claire watched him run up on Dusty who stood his ground and pointed at her. Fraser was yelling but she couldn’t be bothered with that, she felt a distinctive change in the energy around her and looked to her side in time to see a horse collapse.

When the first horse went down right in front of her, she shrieked for Dustin to bring fluids and rushed into the stall.

“No, no, no, no! Don’t go” she shouted grabbing her stethoscope pressing it into a quiet chest. She heard another horse fall nearby and another. She bent over, sobbing, and held her stomach. They would all die if she didn’t galvanize against the horror. She was running for the truck as Fraser turned wicked eyes on her. He was roaring at her and she hit him at a full run telling him to get out of the way!

She called out a cocktail of drugs to load into 20 CC syringes and a large gauge needle to shoot the life-saving mixture into the jugular. They were both filling syringes as fast as possible.

“I assume you are James Fraser. Your horses have been poisoned, they will all die in the next few hours, many already have. If you want to help, call every veterinarian you know to help us. On the double Mister Fraser!”

Jamie put fingers to his mouth and blew a loud strange whistle. Two men ran toward him, white-faced, and stopped, waiting for orders. Three cell phones came out and the men called for reinforcement. Dusty ran behind Claire with a sack full of filled syringes. She administered the drug cocktail very fast and listened to the heartbeat stabilize before running to the next. Other men were driving their rigs into the complex and running for the drug protocol. Dusty gave the drugs and dosage and the veterinarians stared back at him frozen in place.

Jamie Fraser was on the verge of collapse, but he ran behind one of the doctors holding the precious syringes. Claire was on her knees doing an emergency cesarean section of a dead mare. Her hands were a blur and Dusty stood above her ready to split the tissue and pull the distressed foal out. Another vet stood watching Claire, eyes wide at her ability to move that fast. He grabbed a blanket to cover the foal and rubbed until he saw movement.

Jamie Fraser looked at the body of his favorite broodmare, ripped open savagely to save a baby that was worth a fortune. Claire ran by him coming back in five minutes with a large bottle of warm milk and enormous nipple. She pressed it into Jamie’s hands and looked into his anguished eyes.

“Please, save the ones we can.”

She pushed him gently toward the baby who was clearly needing some comfort. Jamie wrapped his warmth around the baby and offered the bottle, encouraging the colt to drink.

Claire watched with gushing eyes. She knew they had to assess the loss, pronounce prize horses dead, and prepare for the next round of drug therapy. Fraser was so big and strong. He seemed so capable and willing. She felt her body inch toward him and then kneel next to him. She corrected the angle of the bottle and then leaned against him and sobbed.

Jamie was overwhelmed with this little veterinarian who took command like a general and was spot on with the drugs that would save his horses. When she collapsed into him, he quickly wrapped an arm around her and supported her while she fell apart. He held the bottle for the colt in the other hand. Dusty walked over to her and bent to help her up but Jamie shook his head.

“It’s alright laddie. I’d say she’s earned it.”

Just like that, Claire stopped crying and stood up. A nod to Fraser and she was onto her next task.

The next half hour culled the sickest from the rest. Those that were on death’s door were struggling. Claire put her hands on one gelding’s face and heard or felt how sick he still was. She was very sympathetic at how awful he felt and let him know she insisted he live.

“Dusty! Positive-feedback hypovolemic protocol with 5 cc of digitalis, mix with a quarter dose for hypertension, on the double if you please. Claire grabbed a loaded syringe and ran for the sick gelding. He had given up and was taking his last few breaths as she pushed the cocktail into the huge vein in his neck. He seemed paralyzed, his big head suspended and shaking very low to the ground. She watched him as the other veterinarians questioned her protocol suspiciously. She moved to the gelding’s side and he pushed against her needing her reassurance. Dusty sat on the corral bars watching and waiting, hardly breathing.

The horse gave a healthy snort and lifted his head to a normal position. His tail whacked at flies and he shook his head like he was throwing off the illness.

“Dusty, you know the cocktail.”

Dusty dropped off the bars and jogged to the truck with the other vets watching the mixture he pulled into multiple syringes. Three of the vets left saying the protocol was too much risk. Those that stayed bravely followed Claire’s orders and pulled numerous horses from death’s door.

Claire wrote the milk recipe on a notepad and went to find James Fraser. It took all her strength to hold tears back when she saw his grave face. He moved toward her and the little colt followed so close he plowed into his butt when Jamie stopped in front of her. Even this newborn had the strength to knock Fraser right into Claire’s arms as she laughed nervously feeling a jolt of lightening shoot to her feet.

“Sorry. Ye have a theory lass?”

“I’m sorry to say I do Mister Fraser but it’s not a theory. Someone who has access to the horses and their food tried to kill them, all of them, near as I can tell. Dusty, my assistant, is taking blood and fecal samples and we must carefully get samples of every bag of feed, guarding against cross-contamination. Fortunately, we were able to lock the feed room within minutes of arriving.”

“There are feed rooms throughout the building!” Jamie whistled again and the two men came running. Hearing the order to lock down the other four grain rooms they took off in opposite directions. Claire watched them and prepared to tell Fraser what would be needed for the samples when she went rigid and pale. Fraser could see her hands shaking at her sides.

“What is it!”

“Do…do you have a water main that can shut off the water to the horses?”

Fraser heard the tension in her voice and started running. Claire was very aware of the thirst from her drug protocol and wondered how much they had consumed already.

“Sweet Jesus.” Claire ran along the stalls spilling the water as she went. This high-tech facility used floaters in the water buckets to make the water turn on automatically. She pushed the buckets sideways to spill the water only to hear the faucet above them run a fast stream to refill it. “Come on Fraser, turn it off.” Finally, she could spill the water and the faucets did not turn on. She ran along the stalls spilling the water and reached for her phone.

“Dustin! Hold off more samples we need to get the water out of the stalls. The water main is off, hurry!”

Jamie and his two managers came back and joined the effort to empty the water buckets. When Fraser came back to Claire his face was a mixture of fear, sorrow, and white-hot rage.

“Take a breath, Mister Fraser, there will be time for punishment unless we blow it and start making mistakes. I need to think for a few minutes and form a plan” She walked away mumbling and touching her fingers like she was making a list. She intended to lock herself in her truck for some quiet time but there wasn’t time for such a luxury. She ran back to Jamie panting from the effort.

“Those two men you work with can they be trusted?”

“Aye, with my life.”

“Please call them, or whistle, and tell them to listen to me, please hurry.”

Claire watched the large roll away doors to the outside clearly terrified about something. Fraser whistled again and his two best friends since childhood were racing toward him. “Listen to the doctor boys, do as she says.”

Claire pulled the group into a tight circle so she could speak quietly. She explained her fear of the next strike against Jamie.

Someone who was trusted to have access to the horses and feed tried to poison them. Dusty believes it’s a glycol-based poison so it’s cumulative, over time. Somehow they got all the horses to peak at the same time. I would not think it possible, but it happened so this person is knowledgeable, smart, and determined to bring this place and Fraser down in a glorious murder fest by ruthlessly killing the world’s best horseflesh in the process. I don’t know how long it took to pull this off, but I know the person responsible is close by and may know we thwarted the grand plan with minimal loss. This fucked up bastard will be coming for you Fraser, tonight, now!” Pretend you’re him and you can barely contain your rage, what would you do? Right now, what would you do!”

The three men flinched when she yelled the question. “Call the boarders and the trainers. Anyone with notoriety and a horse stabled here. Tell those people they’re all dead and its Jamie’s fault.” Claire waited while the men wrapped their heads around the enormity of the hatred behind this attack. Jamie’s voice was heard above the others,

“He’ll call the press and start a media frenzy that will go around the world. It will be so easy. People will stampede this place and destroy evidence, prevent the samples, maybe put me in jail until every animal is gone and the evidence is ruined. Jesus Sassenach please help me, tell me ye got a plan.”

Claire looked up, surprised all three of them were looking at her to answer. “Dusty has water and bowl swipe samples and every grain that was opened. If we can clear the water as the source and get the buckets full it’s a win for us. She looked at Dustin sitting on corral bars nearby and told him to go. Dustin drove slowly until he was out of the barn where he left tread on stones racing away.

“We need to pull in the authorities. If there’s anyone you know and trust, call them. Mister Fraser, can you estimate the financial loss attempted today?”

Jamie scanned the stalls as he calculated a rough estimate. “Fifteen to twenty million.”

“Well, that pushes into the territory of the FBI and I’m in favor of bypassing local police, at least until we can process the crime scene. For that, we need a forensic team. Let’s hope a twenty- million- dollar loss will get us one. Last, and most important, we need to remove the dead horses and hide them. I am so sorry gentlemen but six horses dead in their stalls will seal your fate. Game over, you lose.”

“I know what to do.” Jamie pulled Angus and Rupert to walk with him while Claire called her friend at the university where a pacing Dusty waited.

The horses were getting desperate for water and Claire felt their tremendous thirst and heard the hooves banging against the bars. What could they do if the water was the source? Turn them all out and let them fight for the little that collected after a rain? It would be brutal and bloody.

Claire felt like she would split down the middle from the accumulating tension. She walked the line of stalls watching for distress in the horses. She stopped and looked up and down the aisle, noticing for the first time how many stalls were empty. She saw name tags on each of them but no horse. She estimated half of the animals were gone.

The walking calmed her down a little but she couldn’t wait any longer to call the lab. She prayed they were done with the water.

“Hello Michael, you are my hero today. Do you have any results on the water yet?” She held her cell phone so tightly she feared it would crack and still could not relax her hand.

“I love hearing your accent, Claire. I’m so sorry about what happened today.”

“The water Michael?”

“Yea, I have the results of the water. The phone in the lab actually has a cord, can you believe it?”

“Michael?”

“Yea, hold on I’ll grab the report.”

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lizziedoesvetpath · 4 years

Text

How to get the most out of your pathology submission (part 2)

Aaaand we’re back with part 2 of making a good pathology specimen. Today: What makes a good biopsy specimen? There are surprise pictures in this one but you’ll have to keep reading to find out of what (nothing gory, promise)

1) Take a good sample:

1a) Sample new, fresh lesions, not really advanced ones, if possible. This applies to skin (take the edge of a lesion or one that’s been there a couple of days, not 3 weeks) and a lot of other organs (if the liver looks cirrhotic, sample the most normal looking bit not the really nodular, fibrotic part). This is because these are the most diagnostic sections - the centre of an old lesion is usually just haemorrhage, necrosis, and fibrosis, none of which are bringing you any close to a diagnosis.

1b) Make your sample a sensible size. Really big samples don’t fix well, so if you need to take something large (a whole spleen for example) consider sending it overnight, fresh, and CHILLED. Miniscule samples are hard to trim and less likely to have good diagnostic information in them, so if it doesn’t have to be an endoscopic punch biopsy, don’t make it that.

1c) Please don’t cut into a tumor just to take a look. If you cut part way into your mass so you can see what’s in the middle, it makes it a lot harder for us to read margins because of the way the ink runs. I understand the urge, and I fully understand that you might not want to submit if it turns out to be something like at abscess, but cutting into it will make it harder for us to read margins and that does take away from what you’re getting. Aspirating is fine, but please try to avoid making cuts!

2) Fix your sample well! A poorly fixed sample will not only be delayed at the lab while we wait for it to fix, it’s also not going to give results. Why is it delayed? Unfixed biopsies are hard to trim well. We have to cut anything you give us into thin slices to even start the process of making a slide, and if it’s not firmly fixed we can’t do that well. Why is it going to give bad results? The longer we have to wait for something to fix, the more the cells are going to autolyse (break down). There is far less information in autolysis than in a sample where the cells look exactly how they did when they were still attached to the animal.

How do you fix a sample well? You should have a formalin:tissue ratio of 10:1 (if using 10% buffered formalin). That means ten times as much formalin as tissue. It’s annoying, I know, but it’s worth it. Also, if the sample is really fatty, consider using more formalin. Fat will partially dissolve into the formalin and make it less effective. For samples that are really bloody (spleens!) try to minimise how much blood makes it into the jar, because this fills up the formalin and then the formalin is wasted fixing all those loose blood cells instead of the tissue you actually want us to look at.

3) Use a sensible container: A good container should be hard to break (for posting, plastic is usually better than glass) and water tight (screw on lids are best). Most importantly, it needs to have a wide opening! If you have to squish your sample through the top when it’s fresh, we are not going to be able to get it out fixed. Samples fix to be very firm, so it won’t squish any more, and they often fix in weird positions - so if it’s something long and thin, it might fit through fine when you can hold it out straight but it won’t when it’s fixed curled up in a ball. Ideally pick a container where the opening is the same diameter as the container. That way you know that if the container is the right size, so is the opening. Good containers look like this:

Bad containers look like this:

4) Make margins or areas you are concerned about clear: If you are particularly worried about one part of a sample, that needs to be easy for us to figure out, and it needs to take into account that things look different once they’re fixed. For example: if you are submitting a uterus you just took out, and you think one ovary looks a bit off but it’s not 4 times the size of the other, find a way to show on the sample which one you’re worried about. Telling us left or right isn’t helpful when it gets to us and isn’t in the animal any more. It’s safer to assume that we won’t know what’s what by the time it gets to us. So you should utilise things like sutures, ink, or separate jars (cut the funky ovary off and submit it in its own pottle!) to make it obvious. And write down what that means on your submission form!

4a) Using sutures well for identification: Write down the colour and look of the suture you’ve used (eg: blue, smooth nylon or purple woven). This is especially important if you’re trying to mark out several things. You can also use different lengths of ends (but make it obvious, cut them very short and very long). More knots is hard to interpret, but more pieces (if they’re nice and close together) can work. We can take the sutures out once we’ve got all the infomation we need so it’s a good way to tell us things without risking negatively affecting what information you’ll get back.

4b) Using ink for identification: Ink can be great if you know what you’re doing. We ink things all the time to identify margins, so you need to make sure that what you’re doing won’t impede how we can then interpret it. If you really want to use ink, I would suggest calling your diagnostic lab and asking for advice. One thing you can do is ink a non-critical surface. What does that mean? If you’re submitting a skin mass, put ink on the haired skin side only. We don’t need any diagnostic marking on that surface because the top side isn’t a surgical margin. So if you want to put some ink on the hairy side, showing us which margin is which, that’s fine! Avoid putting ink on any aspect of the sample you have cut through, because those are the ones where ink can give us serious diagnostic information, so if it’s not done right you are going to lose out. In general I would say that the best markers you can use are ones that we can take off. Ink is permanent so again, if you’re not sure, don’t do it.

I think that’s everything I wanted to cover today folks! For posts on necropsy, histology, and filling in a submission form, check out the “pathology saturdays” tag. And as always, feel free to send in any questions or suggestions for future topics you might have!

#pathology saturdays #pathology #vet pathology #vetblr #vetmed #biopsy #residency #vet #veterinary pathology #pathologysaturdays #pathologysaturday #pathology saturday

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busyfish · 3 years

Text

Tagged by the beautiful @chubabub

▪twenty questions▪ 1: what do you preferred to be called (name wise)? Busy, or Sooyu, whatever

2: when is your birthday? 7 Oct

3: Where do you live? Ontario, Canada

4: Three things I am doing right now? 1. Music

2. Sitting in Arena Queue (WoW)

3. My arena queue just popped so i'm healing 3's

5: four fandoms that have piqued your interest? i'm too shy for actual fandoms but Nier Asano Inio Animal Crossing Fire Emblem

6: how has the pandemic been treating you? Same life as always.

7: a song I can’t stop listening to? Kill the Lights by the Birthday Massacre

8: recommend a movie: it's just people being payed to play pretend :(

9: how old are you? old enough

10: School, University, occupation? I stay at home

11: do you prefer to be hot or cold? Definitely cold. Hot makes me feel dizzy a lot.

12: name a fact others may not know about you?

13: are you shy? i can be unless i'm really into what i'm talking about.

14: preferred pronouns? She/her or whatever honestly.

15: biggest pet peeve? i honestly don't know. unkindness?

16: favourite dere type? Tsundere

17: rate your life 1-10? oh gosh i dunno a 5?

18: what is your main blog? This one

19: list all your side blogs and what are they for? busycrossing is my AC blog

20: is there anything people should know before becoming friends with you? Probably don't hahahaha

I’m going to tag @sarcasm-the-toad @heartfeltghost @theashenone @queerkittens @abscessed @yureisha @dumbbabyelfbitch

#about me

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lemon-writings · 4 years

Text

Hamish Update Pt. III

Genre: Literary fiction // Word count: 77,037

Here we are! Chapters VII-IX! I’ve written these chapters really recently, so I can go a little more in-depth with the process. The second half of this book (and specifically this particular trio of chapters, for some reason) is definitely the part I’m most proud of. Writing everything coming to fruition is just so satisfying. Is this what people who write books with actual plot feel like? Because it makes me consider writing books with real plot.

But in all honesty, I really enjoy writing this part of Hamish. I’m super happy with how everything’s turning out. One problem I do have with the latter half is that it is super depressing to write all the time, especially with the amount of rain we’ve been getting in Ohio right now (we love depression), so it is taking me a little longer to write than normal, since I keep sidetracking with random projects to try taking my mind off the deeper things. But when I am working on it, the words just flow. It’s beautiful.

Chapter VII

Epitaph: “I’m a strange new kind of inbetween thing aren’t I? Not at home with the dead nor with the living.”-Anne Carson, Antigone

Here is what’s been building this entire time: the funeral. That, and everything funerals entail, with the Celebration of Life and whatnot. The first time I wrote this, I read the funeral scene to my mom in full detail, and she started crying, because it reminded her of her father’s funeral. I, personally, loathe funerals, for what boils down to the fact that I am greatly horrified by being in the same room as someone who I once knew to be alive. That, and the crippling fear of death most people experience at least once in their lives.

There’s also a lot of Horacio’s... fantasies. There’s something deeply personal about the way I write him, sometimes, that makes rereading certain parts difficult. Horacio, in his darkest moments, feels he deserves bad things happening to him, nearly craves them, and he hates himself for it. The amount of self-loathing in this work is high.

Excerpts:

Horacio, as always, is concerned about Hamish’s state of being alive, because that man always looks halfway dead, and at times, he’s more ghost than living person

The question of if you were dead or alive laid on my tongue, begging to be asked. Maybe I should’ve asked you. Maybe I should’ve checked your pulse. Maybe I should’ve laid my head on your chest and listened to your heartbeat. Maybe I should’ve left with you then and there and avoided the trap Leon kept guiding us to.

Hot take from a Farm Child: broken machinery is one of the most haunting things you can ever see. I could probably wax poetic about how terrible their beauty is, but I really don’t think anyone wants to hear about farm machines for three hours. (On a completely serious note, my uncle’s coat got tangled in a grain auger yesterday, and he could have died. Be safe around farm machinery. Please. It can be really dangerous, even if you’ve been around it for 60+ years.)

Leon’s descriptions are always some variant of men thinking being tall is intimidating.

Leon bared his teeth once more, the animalistic beauty of it all making me wonder where Leon ended and his rage began. Primal is often used as a way to pull down others, to say you are not advanced the way I am, but Leon’s rage seemed like an advancement of humanity, a way of saying I have advanced my own humanity through my anger. He was gorgeous in the same way broken tractors on the side of the road are, monolithic kings taken over by the passage of time, their steel teeth rusty and eternal.

Did I reference “Father” by Warsan Shire? Yes. Yes, I did. Hamish is a huge Warsan Shire fan, because, like, it has his vibes.

You recited a poem about fathers, about death, about life, speaking it as if it were scripture. When you finished, you began again. Or perhaps you never ended, speaking this poem forwards, then backwards, then repeating cyclically.

Yeet.

Chapter VIII

Epitaph: “I could be a wolf for you. I could put my teeth on your throat. I could growl. I could eat you whole. I could wait for you in the dark. I could howl against your hair.”-Catherynne M. Valente, “The Red Girl”, The Bread We Eat in Dreams

There’s a lot of plot stuff that happens in this chapter, so unfortunately, I do have to be a little shorter when it comes to this summary, but let it be said that I am not meant to be a thriller/action author. Do I enjoy watching Indiana Jones and Star Wars? Yes, I do. Should I be writing anything close to that? Absolutely not. It takes a lot of effort to do, and even with that, I would say that any sort of action scene I write is... not exactly “half-baked”, but most certainly not up to par with the rest of my writing. I’ll need to edit this chapter heavily the next time I go through Hamish.

That being said, there are moments in this chapter that I am proud of. Horacio and Ofelia’s interactions in this chapter are some of my favorites, just because they’re some of the only characters in this book who don’t violently hate/distrust each other.

Excerpts:

When I mentioned kudzu to my mother, she mentioned it was an invasive species she’d seen a lot of during her time in the south, which just confirmed that it was a great metaphor to use. That’s always a sign, right?

I looked down at the flowers, then at her, wiser than anyone I’d ever met, the freedom ripping open her seams like something terrible and sharp, the parts of her that were so carefully cultivated spilling out of her like kudzu.

Horacio feels like he’s the only real person in a world of ghosts. The disconnect between Horacio and the people around him is heavily based upon the first time I disassociated. We watched the Blue Man Group in Chicago on a music/Spanish department trip, and the second I walked out of the building, I thought I was a freaking ghost. I had my first panic attack at 14 because I didn’t know if I was actually experiencing life. It was a wild experience.

Next to Ofelia, I looked out of place. Ofelia was hazy and magical in her presence, looking more like a dreamy memory than a real person, as if I touched her, my hand would touch only air. I was the solid type of real, unfortunately. Tall and unnaturally skinny, with a gritty, starving look to myself, the two of us next to each other were like a pastel-covered, out-of-focus impressionist painting next to a photograph of childhood labor in Industrial Revolution-era factories.

There’s also a confrontation with Leon that has some, um, spoilery moments. Leon is an asshole. I kind of love him.

Chapter IX

Epitaph: “[Grief is pain internalized, abscess of the soul. Anger is pain as energy, sudden explosion.]”-Lauren Groff, Fates and Furies

Again, there’s a lot going on in this chapter. A lot. Marcus the bodyguard makes another appearance (underappreciated character of the book) and acts as a guardian angel. Bless Marcus. Seriously.

This chapter is more introspective than the last, so I enjoyed writing it a bit more. Or... a lot more, actually. I was not created to write action scenes, and I accept my fate. Horacio’s musings on fate are long-winded and beautiful and what I’m meant to write. It’s just a chapter of him reflecting, pining, and wishing he was in a different situation. Which. Fair.

Moments like this make me realize I am a cruel god who treats her characters terribly.

Excerpts:

Starting this chapter strong with the true weighted blanket: death.

Death cloaked me like your blanket.

As I said before, Marcus? Underutilized character. I use him as much as I can, but the plot makes it difficult to use him as much as I wish. He’s the man we deserve.

Marcus was smart, was good at playing the game we all played without making it apparent that he was playing it. He knew what he was doing. “I want the best for Hamish,” Marcus said. He looked into my eyes. “You do, too.”

Horacio takes a moment to think awful, rage-colored thoughts about the people around him, which are, of course, one of my favorite things to wax poetic about. He’s a salty man, and he has all rights to be, because this entire work is just “things to be salty about, the novel”. Poor Horace. He just wants to live in a gay daydream, but he’s stuck in a nightmare.

(Not to sound too Midwestern, but OPE, the shade.)

These people played their sick, twisted games like gods, forcing everyone to play along for their survival while they watched and knew exactly what they were doing to the rest of us mortals around them. In that moment, I was filled with the type of righteous anger that made me understand why people were drawn to religion. I wanted a higher power to strike them down, to make an example of them all, to say don’t do this, or you’ll end up like them.

I sounded like my parents, like all the religious nuts I’d ever met, the ones who said that those who didn’t fall their doctrine were inferior, were going to die, and suffer for being different. Is that how it begins? Is anger the true root of all cruelty?

That last line, is anger the true root of all cruelty? was probably my favorite line when I first wrote Hamish. It’s sort of become a thesis statement for Horacio’s past and the way he sees the world.

Lastly, of course, we have

The Jams

We have a fine selection of songs here, a lot from my Lucy playlist (Lucy has one of my favorite playlists I’d ever made).

Oh No!!! - grandson

Temple Priest (feat. Paul Wall & Kota the Friend) - MISSIO

Destroy Me - grandson

BTSTU - Jai Paul

Seven Devils - Florence + The Machine

Pretty Little Head - Eliza Rickman

That’s the tea, y’all. If you’re interested in this and hearing writing updates for Hamish, then ask to be added to the tags list!

#wip: hamish #writing update #amwriting #writeblr #writers on tumblr #ayyy we're in the home stretch y'all!!!

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montpahrnah · 5 years

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Hi! I’m at an airport in a neverending connection so... chance meeting at an airport in an extremely long layover? Kind of Before Sunrise meets The Terminal but emotionally charged..

anon, i apologize for this–i’ve never flown and have also never seen either film, so this would be ineffective regardless, but it ended up being mostly dialogue, so i’m sorry for that/the emotional charge probably isn’t really there. i do love the idea of this and would love to do something with it one of these days when i’ve like, experienced a layover…

It was about eleven at night and she was eating Frosted Flakes straight out of the box when the woman sat down next to her. She was wearing an oversized flannel rolled up to the elbows and she had a tattoo of flowers or something all up her inner arm, not that the kid was looking or anything. She had a nice jawline and a nice ass, hair tangled, pulled back in a bun, maybe dyed; she was carrying what looked like a guitar in a case and the only other luggage the kid could see was the striped backpack she’d slung over one shoulder and promptly dumped at her ratty gray Converses, limbs spilling out of herself like an overfull teacup. After a minute she crossed her legs, then uncrossed them again; it took the kid a minute to realize she was humming.

“It’s been six hours, man,” the woman said, seemingly to herself, but then the kid realized she was looking in her direction. “This blows.”

“Sure does.”

“You know the last time I flew it was pretty much a straight shot, like I can’t remember ever having to wait this long. There’s only so many times you can watch Twin Peaks or Mindhunter or whatever, you know? When I was a kid my parents flew me out to Utah to this ranch thing for drug treatment, it was like, horses and cattle with the tags in their ears and everything, and even then, when I was coming home—nice experience, didn’t learn my lesson, obviously—it was like, all the way across the country and the layover still wasn’t this brutal.”

The kid stared; she couldn’t help it. The woman reminded her of a twitchy wren, or perhaps a bird of prey: listening to her, the kid suspected she was older than she seemed, but she was wearing an Animal Collective t-shirt under the flannel and she smelled exactly like Starbucks, which, combined with the minor spillage of guts of a mere thirty seconds ago, put her roughly in the range of mid-20s grad student or late 40s Hazelden escapee. She met the kid stare for stare, chin resting on her hand, and smiled. “Where are you headed?”

“Chicago, then home. For a funeral.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I mean I’m mostly going to make sure he’s really dead.”

“Spit on him for me,” the woman said. She talked very loudly, as if she couldn’t quite control the volume of her voice or maybe just didn’t care. “I’m from Chicago. Or I’ve lived all over the country really, mostly in Belleville now, down south. Is that where you’re from?”

“Belleville or Chicago?”

“Either I guess.”

“I’m from nowhere,” said the kid.

“I like that. You’re still like a surly sixteen-year-old kid but you’re obviously like, at least twenty-five.”

“You too.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be twenty-five again for anything. Neither would you when you think about it. You’ll see I suppose. What’s with the security in this place?”

“Something’s going on,” said the kid, which was what she’d been thinking before the woman perched her bird legs and her bird head three seats down and started singing, “they’re talking about people being sick, and there was something on the news about D.C. or something but then they shut it off. Or I guess they shut it off.”

In fact the kid had tried five times to call her mom, who was supposed to be picking her up when they got to Chicago, but she’d never picked up. When she’d tried her roommate she got the voicemail straight away, which she couldn’t ever recall happening in the entire wingspan of their six-year friendship; only now did she realize every single flight on the red neon list up front had been delayed.

“I can’t stand feeling trapped,” she said, which was maybe as intimate and as stupid a thing as she’d ever said to someone she’d only just met. “It does shit to me, you know?”

“Mmm. I know. I’m the same way.”

“Feeling like I should get out of here before shit gets too real.”

“Mind if I come along for a bit?”

“Why?”

“I mean I have some pretty good pandemic skills. End-of-the-world skills. I can start a fire with a bow and like, just a couple pieces of wood. It’s hard but I can do it.”

She wasn’t sure whether the woman was trying to impress her or whether she was genuinely trying to market her apocalypse skills, but the kid also only had one lighter. “Where the hell did you learn that?”

“Utah, like I told you. That’s also where I learned to shoot up.”

“Thought you were there for treatment.”

The woman laughed, hoarse, like a shorebird calling in the dark or a coyote fresh off a kill. “That can’t be forced on you. I think you probably know that, if I’m not wrong, I mean. It’s obvious.”

“What’s obvious.”

“That we’re very similar people. I bet I can play all your favorite straight white indie rock dudes on this thing,” she said, kicking the guitar case.

“So how’s that an apocalypse skill?”

“Everybody needs music. Life is music. You and me, right now, we’re music. You have to learn to listen. I’m not always so good at that so I feel like you could teach me.”

“Symbiosis, man.”

“Exactly what I’m talking about,” the woman said. Her teeth, the kid noticed, were very sharp. “You’re not gonna let me die out there, are you?”

“I’m an EMT,” said the kid. In fact thanks to certain Events she had not been an EMT for some time, but the job—blood and shit and exposed guts and all—remained embedded into every synapse and every muscle memory such that her body moved before her mind, sometimes. “And I can start fires too. I can collect rainwater, all that.”

On the woman’s face the smile was changing shape, like she’d just heard a good song or she’d just gotten a free four-course meal after she’d come in from outside cold and starving. The kid wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“So come with me,” she said. “Let’s see if we can wait this thing out together out here on the prairies.”

“And if we can’t?”

“Then we can’t. I feel like we can both make it out there in the wild, you know. I’ve had an abscessed tooth for months now and I’ve lived. I got MRSA when I was in jail. And I haven’t had a friend in a long time.”

“We’ve known each other for twenty minutes,” said the kid, “we’re hardly friends.”

“No. But you’ve also been staring at me this whole time like I’m a piece of cake and you haven’t eaten in days.”

At this the kid flinched, and the woman made a move like she was going to touch her arm or something, but she didn’t. Instead she kicked the guitar again, tilted her head to the side, and said, “See, I told you we’re similar people.”

Similar stitches, the kid was thinking, the song winging its way into her head, look, we have similar stitches… After a minute the woman got up and slung her backpack across her shoulder again, and for a split second the kid thought maybe she’d offer her a hand to help her out of the chair, but she didn’t. She just stood there, waiting, at maybe the end of the world. Together they took one last look at the list of flights going nowhere on the way out and walked right out the big glass doors into the wild dark anything; if you watched close enough you could just see them turn the corner, and then they were gone.

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fataldrum · 5 years

Text

Ficlet: the doctor is in

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Pairing: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood

Tags: veterinary hospital AU, appearance by the Admiral, pet sitter Jon

Part 2 of The Best of All Possible Martins, a series of Martin Blackwood AU ficlets

Available on AO3

If you'd like to see more Martin AUs, give me a shout!

----

Martin was tying off the last sutures for his rabbit spay when Basira popped her head into the operating theater.

“Warning, boss, we’ve got a live one,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Beg your pardon?”

Then Martin heard it.

“What do you mean he’s busy?” someone was shouting, loudly enough to be heard in surgery. “My cat is sick now! What kind of bloody hospital is this?”

“I see,” Martin said, peeling off his gloves. “Tim, keep an eye on Princess Flufferbuns and give me a shout if her O2 sat’s gone down, alright?”

“In other words, do my fucking job?” Tim griped, adjusting the rabbit’s blood pressure cuff.

“Whatever you say, Tim.” Martin pulled the surgical gown over his head, setting it on the table as Basira handed him a chart.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked her.

“Not a clue,” she said cheerfully. “This idiot won’t stop shouting or let go of the cat long enough for me to find out.”

Taking a deep breath, Martin opened the door to Consult Room Two.

The man inside looked to be about his age, though his hair was streaked with grey and pulled into a messy bun. He was clutching an extremely fat orange tabby like a teddy bear, which would have been cute if not for the worry creasing his brow.

“Where’s the damned doctor?” he demanded. “I’m not risking the Admiral’s health on some intern!”

“Allow me to introduce myself,” Martin said, extending a hand. “I’m Martin Blackwood, and I’m the veterinary surgeon on duty.”

The man blinked in consternation. “Oh,” he said. He didn’t take Martin’s hand.

“And this is…?” Martin asked, gesturing to the cat, who mewed at him.

“The Admiral,” the man said, relaxing his death grip on the creature.

“What seems to be the problem, Mister…?”

“Sims. Jon Sims,” the man said stiffly. “And it’s his leg. It’s quite swollen.”

“Do you mind if I have a look, Mr. Sims?”

Jon deposited the Admiral on the table. The cat immediately walked up and butted his head against Martin’s hand, demanding scritches that Martin willingly gave. True to Jon’s word, there was a large swelling over his right shoulder. A pair of small scabs told Martin all he needed to know as he palpated the area.

“Does the Admiral like to get in fights with other kitties?” Martin asked.

“He’s a bit scrappy, yes,” Jon admitted. “Are you saying you know what’s wrong?”

“It seems like a pretty standard cat bite abscess. Once we drain it and get some antibiotics in him, he should be good as new.”

Jon sagged with relief. “Oh, thank god. Georgie would murder me if anything happened to the Admiral while she was gone.”

“Is Georgie your girlfriend, then?” Martin asked, finding himself just a bit disappointed.

“What? Oh, no. Ex girlfriend. We’re just good friends now.”

“I see,” Martin said, before forcing himself to focus. “Anyway. Let’s get the Admiral sorted, shall we?”

It didn’t take long to drain and flush the abscess, and the Admiral purred through all of it. Even Tim warmed to him, and he hated cats as a rule. Martin was almost sorry to see him go.

“Here you go, Mr. Sims,” Martin said, depositing the purring cat into Jon’s lap.

“Please, call me Jon,” he said. “And, er. I may have overreacted a bit earlier. Can you convey my apologies to the nurse?”

“Of course,” Martin said.

“And, er.” Jon flushed a bit, a charming look on his freckled face. “Perhaps I could make it up to you? Over dinner?”

Martin felt his ears grow hot. His pulse raced, and he found himself completely speechless.

“Or, uh,” Jon said. “If not, that’s fine. I’ll just, er...leave my card, and if you’d like to call me, you...can.”

Martin nodded quickly, still at a loss for words.

“Well, then. It’s been nice meeting you, Dr. Blackwood.”

“Call me Martin,” he blurted out.

Jon smiled, and Martin felt something melt in his chest.

“Nice meeting you, Martin.”

---

Disclaimer: I have no idea what vet offices are like outside the US and Brazil, so forgive my Americanisms. If you're curious, Tim and Basira are battle-hardened veterinary nurses; Basira's wife, Dr. Tonner, is on her lunch break; Sasha and Melanie are receptionists; and Elias and Peter frequently bring in their champion purebred angora rabbits.

#tma #martin blackwood #jonathan sims (character)#jonmartin #jonathan sims/martin blackwood #the magnus archives #veterinary hospital au #idiots in love #i don't know who's worse at flirting

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knittastically · 5 years

Text

A Lioness Amongst the Wolves Pt 23

I love to read your comments and if you could reblog that would be fantastic and much appreciated

If you would like to be added to or removed from my tag list please let me know.

Whirling out into the hallway, my mind is so full of thoughts of Raymond that I don’t even see the young housemaid sidestepping me. Most of the pots on her tray wobble then right themselves, excepting the honey pot that sails over the edge and smashes to pieces on the flagstones.

“Shit, Madame Bérenger will have my hide for this, why don’t you look where you’re going you stupid cow?” Her green eyes are blazing, then she recognises me and as her jaw drops, she backs away from me. “Mam’selle, Mon Dieu, I mean no disrespect, I am so, so sorry.”

“Don’t worry, it was my fault I wasn’t paying attention.” I flash her a broad smile. Small, skinny and probably no more than twelve or thirteen she’s a pretty little thing not least because of her unmarked face and bright green eyes. We kneel together to pick up the potsherds.

“I take it this was breakfast for Sieur Raymond?”

“Yes, Madame Berenger sent it up for him.”

Dear God, milk, bread, honey and pottage, if the she’d taken that in to him it’s likely she’d have had a boot thrown at her head.

“What’s in the jugs?”

“In the small one wine, and hot water for washing in the other”

“Good, take off your head cover” Yanking it off she reveals a shock of thick, copper coloured, hair which falls below her shoulders. “I should have known that with those eyes you would be a redhead.” Her smile disappears and she gasp’s as she realises, I’m pouring hot water onto my veil and using it to wipe the floor, I pass her the jug. “I’ll need you to do the same.”

“What’s your name?” She seems surprised I’d bother to ask.

“Jénnin, Mam’selle.”

“Well Jénnin, tell me about Madame Berenger, the truth mind, I don’t want to hear gossip and tittle-tattle.”

“Oh, she’ll make me pay in some way, that’s for sure.” Jénnin sits back on her heel and shudders, perhaps she has crossed Ghislane before. “That old woman tries to make everyone think she’s a sweet old lady, like she’s everyone’s grandmother; but she looks for some weakness or secret and if she finds it, then God help you she’ll worry at it like a terrier with a rat. Madame Bérenger is a cruel, vicious, old cow; she thinks she rules the Chateau and I hate her.”

Jénnin’s look tells me more than her words, to her Ghislane Bérenger is someone to be feared.

“Just tell her that it was an accident.”

“Huh, that won’t help, she’ll never listen to the likes of me Mam’selle.”

Before I can answer I feel a kick to my arse and a high pitched, nasal voice rings out.

“Get out of my way slatterns, you should have finished your work and be back in the kitchens now where decent folk can’t see you.”

Neither of us had noticed the approach of a beanpole of a woman. As we scramble to our feet Jénnin moves aside but I stand square. Despite her exquisite clothes and a King’s ransom worth of gold and jewels, there is a whiff of something unpleasant about the woman. It’s not easily disguised even by the expensive perfume she wears. Trying to calm the wriggling, whining lapdog clutched against her breast she speaks again barely opening her mouth. “Don’t you know to make way for your betters?” Stepping closer she frees one hand and grabs my arm to pull me aside.

“Madame, I strongly advise you to leave go of me unless would like me to set you on your backside, and please don’t speak to me or any the household staff in that way again; you are a guest here and I would ask that you behave accordingly.” The shock on her face is almost comical to see, I doubt few people have dared to speak to her like that let alone a “Servant”

You,” She snaps at Jénnin, “Go and find Sieur Raymond, he will hear of this insolence.” turning back to me she adds “Doubtless when he hears of your behaviour, you will have the beating you deserve.”

She must be almost as tall as Raymond and I tilt my back head to look at her. “There is no need Madame, I will fetch Sieur Raymond, his chamber is on the other side of that door, and I’m sure my husband to be will be most interested to hear what you have to say.”

Jénnin splutters, hides it with a cough and presses her lips tightly together, I toss our soiled head-cloths onto the tray. “Off you go now Jénnin and remember what I said.”

“Yes Mam”selle.” She curtseys and bustles off down the stairs.

The woman in front of me is tense, the colour has drained from her face. Peering down her long nose she rakes her gaze over me, I can feel it scraping my flesh. “You must forgive me, I’m not used to quaint country manners that allow well-bred women to go about in bare feet and with uncovered hair.” I look beyond her shoulder, Guillaume and Mathieu have ambled towards us and I can tell they have heard everything. Stopping short they stand arms folded, heads cocked watching with growing amusement.

“It’s of no matter Madame, it seems Paris manners are no better, they certainly don’t travel well, oh and dogs will not be allowed in hall during the celebrations, so you will keep yours confined to your chamber; and you will take it outside to relieve itself, well away from the courtyard. I will not have dog shit tramped into the hall.”

“Please couldn’t you make an exception for this one little dog?” Simpering and smiling, she leans in towards me and it’s obvious why she keeps her mouth almost closed; Either she has a festering abscess or her teeth are rotting. The smell almost makes me gag and I try not to breathe in too deeply. “Madame, even Monseigneur Baron and Sieur Raymond have exiled their hounds to the kennels during the wedding celebrations, there can be no exceptions, even for this sweet thing”

“If you insist.” She snaps and with a nasty sneering smile continues, “I suppose Sieur Raymond must know his own mind, but he’ll come to regret it soon enough, that he’s marrying someone with no more manners than a peasant.” Smiling at her small triumph, the beanpole strides past me. I can’t be bothered to be angry with her.

Guillaume and Mathieu are grinning at me.

“What?

Guillaume slips an arm around my waist and pecks my cheek.

“Isabé, you’re magnificent, you look like a scullery maid and behave like a grand lady.” He laughs again. “I would love to hear what Sieur Raymond had to say if he caught sight of you.”

“I should think he’ll say very little, especially if he wants to keep his cods attached!”

“Ahh that’s my feisty sister, bold and brave taking on the Paris dragons and miserable old knights”

“Oh, shut up and let go of me, the peasant must go and change.”

“Did you check Raymond’s wound.”

“No, the binding looked clean”

“Well I’d best make sure, or Anselme will have my hide if anything goes wrong.” “I wish you luck with that Raymond’s weary, sore, grumpy and likely to rip your head off if you pester him.”

Mathieu chuckles and winks at me, “He’s his usual self then, still he’s a strong man and I’m sure he’ll be fit for his wedding night, hein.”

Oh, don’t worry, if he should pull his stitches my flair for needlework isn’t confined to cloth, Henri saw to that, he made me practice on pieces of raw pork!”

“A good skill for the wife of a soldier to have Mam’selle.”

“I suppose so.”

“Is there something else Isabé?

I feel my throat tighten and my eyes begin to sting. “Raymond didn’t have an easy night, I'm just glad he doesn’t remember anything when he wakes.”

Guillaume hugs me tight, “Next time it won’t seem so bad and don’t worry I’ll make sure he has a quiet day.”

“Thank you.” I kiss his cheek.

Mathieu’s mouth widens into a broad smile.

“I promise we’ll try and keep him from doing anything….”

“Stupid?” I offer the word.

“I was thinking reckless, but stupid will suffice.” And I hear. him laugh as he closes the door softly behind them.

I run back to my chamber. As I enter the room, Jehanne spins round and glares at me shaking her head at my appearance.

“About time, I was ready to send a search party, though I’m damned sure I know where you’ve been; I have a fresh gown ready and there is warm water in the ewer.” Not much given to gossip I can tell she is fighting her curiosity and itching to ask about me and Raymond.

“I’ll put you out of your misery Jehanne, nothing happened.” I hope she can't tell I'm lying.

“Isabé how could you even think I would pry.” Her expression is demure but there’s a twinkle in her eye.

“How?” Because you’re practically hopping from foot to foot like an excited child” “I am not.” Pouting, she gestures for me to turn around so that she can comb my hair. “Besides it isn’t my business.” Her disinterest lasts for three strokes of the comb.

“Tell me, how was the handsome Sieur Raymond, was he tender, gentle, passionate, wild or all of those?”

I shoot my elbow backwards and she grunts as I jab her non-too gently in her ribs.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Really, so how did you come by the marks on your face?” Catching hold of my shoulders she turns me to face her. Through narrowed eyes she watches and waits, I feel the flush rise up my neck.

“It was an accident”

“The truth Isabé.”

“It is the truth.” Tightness starts in my chest and moves to my throat, tears form, and I let them come. They fall fast and hot and between hard, heaving sobs I tell her most of what happened. Jehanne pulls me tight against her gently stroking my hair as I bawl against her shoulder, dampening the cloth with tears and snot. “Hush now Isabé, hush sweetheart.” She cups my face in her hands, her voice is gentle and full of understanding “All you can do is speak softly, be calm and afterwards make sure he rests. I have seen your mother do just that for Henri.” She kisses my forehead. “Now, dry your eyes, the redness will soon go, as for your face.” Shaking her head, she clucks at me. With cold cloths, arnica salve and a little of God’s good grace, it might not look so bad come Saturday. You know Isabé, I think, you are beginning to fall in love with Raymond at least just a little.” Beaming, she brings thumb and index finger together until they almost touch.

“No, no I don’t.” Jehanne’s grin is making me more than a little uncomfortable. “If you say so, but I know he can make you burn for him Isabé, I have seen him do it, he must have been Very hard to resist.”

Looking down at the floor I study my toes and watch a spider crawl under the chair. “I admit, when he was himself, I lay in his bed, we curled together, I whispered soothing words and held him as he slept but nothing else take it or leave it. Is that plain enough for you? Breathing deeply to calm myself, I close my eyes against her searching look. She need not know the rest of it, but I can see in her face she knows there is more.

“Isabé, if you say so, then I believe you, but have care for your reputation, it wasn’t wise of you to stay with him all night unchaperoned, especially when we have the King here.”

“I should think His Majesty has more important matters to occupy him and I doubt with his reputation that he would judge me.”

“But are you judging me Jehanne?” I hold her gaze and she steps back. I know I was a fool where Théo was concerned but this is different, I marry Raymond the day after tomorrow so if I should choose to lay with him before our wedding, who am I harming?” My voice is still cool, I don’t care whether she believes me or not.

Her eyes flutter closed as she swallows hard then answers me in a soft voice. “I’m not judging you Isabé, how can you think I would.” She takes hold of my hand “But I still say you’re not quite truthful to yourself, I think you love Raymond at least a little, even after such a short time, you know it here.” She taps two fingers to my forehead then places them near my heart and taps between my breasts. “And you feel it here.”

“No, I made that mistake once before, I shan’t do it again.”

“Be careful you don’t push him away, he’s been hurt before too.”

Jehanne lapses into silence as she finishes combing my hair, and suddenly a dreadful, mean thought worms into my head.

“Raymond knew all about Théo, Jehanne.”

“What?” She lets the ivory comb slips from her hand and clatters on the floor.

“The day he left for Paris I admitted to him that Théo had been my lover, I thought I owed him that much at least.”

“Well, you know people were already beginning to wonder about the two of you, it wouldn’t have been so difficult for him to discover, he is a spy for God’s sake.” I admire her calmness.

“Perhaps that’s true, but then how did he know about the child Jehanne, only you and I knew about that.”

Taken by surprise she pales; her mouth hangs slack, her eyes are wide. “My God, you truly believe I told him?” Her words crack out and she trembles with fury. “Damn you Isabé for thinking I would betray you.” She yells at me now. “How dare you, I should slap you until your ears ring and your teeth rattle.”

“Someone told him, someone close to me”

“Fuck you Isabé, damn you to hell for thinking so ill of me” As she yells at me again, she raises her hand high, palm open.

A tight, cold little smile sets on my lips “Don’t you dare raise your voice and hand to me; If you slap me Jehanne, I’ll set you on your arse and you know I can do it.” We stand toe to toe; her eyes flash fire as she holds my look.

“I give you fair warning, if ever I discover it was you who betrayed me, you will be dead to me.” She drops a curtsey, “If you have no more need of me, I bid you good morning, Mam’selle.” then with absolute calm and grace, she leaves the chamber.

The sheet and coverlet are shoved into in a rumpled heap behind Raymond. Eyes closed, smiling, he sits on the edge of the bed and thinks of Isabé. Seeing again her heavy-lidded eyes and full lips; the triangle of dark curls and the pale blonde hair that slithered and slipped over him as she bruised him with teeth and tongue. Tracing his long fingers over the purple brand on his flesh he knows that he will always belong to her.

Laughing and joking Guillaume and Mathieu enter Raymond’s chamber.

“And what in hell do the pair of you find so fucking amusing this morning?”

“Your Lady Wife to be has just sent one of the noblewomen packing with a very large flea in her ear.”

“Oh, sweet Christ, I swear if we get through this damned wedding without a riot a mishap or a murder, I’ll eat my boots.”

“It was only…Mathieu begins.

“Stop. I don’t want to know.” Raymond sighs and scrubs his hands up and down his face.

“Probably wise.” Guillaume mumbles under his breath and louder adds.“Sieur I must check your wound, Anselme made me swear to do it and if anything should go wrong, he’ll likely flay me alive, provided my Sister doesn’t get to me first.

“Guillaume leave it be, I promise you the dressing is clean, though I’ll admit if it did turn foul, I’d rather face Anselme than Isabé.” Raymond winks at his Squire. Guillaume grins, “Oh, I agree, which is why I insist on checking on it before you attend evening meal,”

“Now find me something decent to wear and for fuck’s sake don’t trick me out like a Palace Peacock.”

“Sieur, we both know you don’t possess a single garment which would transform you into that particular bird.” Is Guillaume’s dry response.

Mathieu bites at the inside of his mouth and Raymond roars with laughter at the accurate assessment of his meagre and not quite fashionable wardrobe.

“And you Mathieu, what have you come to bother me with?”

“Just to receive my orders for the day Sieur”

“Well I’m certain my most capable Captain already has everything in order, so perhaps you could make sure that Isabé doesn’t manage to insult one half of the guests and batter the other half before the wedding.” He raises one eyebrow.

“Of course.” Mathieu tries not to laugh.

“Yes Sieur, with luck and the wind in the right direction, we should just about manage it; but you know how my sister is, I’d sooner try to herd cats.”

The long tunic Guillaume chooses is of fine, tawny coloured wool trimmed on all edges with gold, green and red embroidery. Over it he wears a shorter murrey coloured surcote, with the de Merville arms stitched in gold thread. A long, leather belt, decorated with gold ornaments, and soft brown leather short boots complete his wardrobe. He might not be considered fashionable, but he is as elegant and handsome as Guillaume has ever seen him, and the squires heart aches for what can never be.

“Do you require anything more Sieur; there would have been food for you but there was a mishap I will attend to it.”

“Don’t bother with food, I’m not hungry Guillaume, Mathieu, you and I will speak later about some easy training.” Mathieu frowns.

“So soon, is that wise?”

“Your concern about my health is appreciated Capt.” Raymond gives him a wry smile.

“Forgive me Sieur, but my concern is more with my own health, Mam’selle ordered me not to let you train or exercise.”

“Ordered you? Christ preserve us she has some nerve, now out both of you leave me in peace. Oh, and not a hint to Isabé about what we discussed before we went to Paris.”

Neither of them misses his gentle smile, and before they are even out of the door, he’s heading to the side chamber. From the chest at the end of the room he pulls out a coffret, it’s nothing special to look at, very plain and more than a little battered; but if the box could talk it would speak of joy and kindness, sadness and pain. He lifts the lid and caresses the red silk cloth. On Saturday, for the first time since he returned from Constantinople, he will unwrap the contents offer them to Isabé as a wedding present. By gifting the contents to the woman he loves, he will honour a promise he made five years ago. Sighing he closes his eyes and remembers an olive skinned, dark eyed woman.

“Papa, Papa,”

“Damn.” Raymond digs the quill nib on the document he is signing and ink spatters across it. As he stands up Nicolette races into the chamber and hurtles towards him. Grunting slightly from the pain, he gathers her up in his arms and she squeals with delight as he swings her around and around before settling her on his left hip. Wraps her arms around his neck she snuffles her nose into his beard as he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“You smell nice Papa, and your beard isn’t so scratchy now, I like it better.” Her expression is so serious that Raymond can’t help but laugh.”

“And good morning to you my little tearaway, you look as if you’ve been rolling in the kitchen ashes.”

“Forgive our unruly daughter Raymond, she forgets her manners and looks and behaves no better than an urchin.” With smudges on her face and dress, scuffed shoes and her long dark hair awry, the child certainly doesn’t look as if she is the daughter of a nobleman.

“I wanted to come and see you, but Mama was going to make me wash and change and I couldn’t wait.” From her vantage point she scowls and pouts, bright blue eyes so like Raymond’s flash something like defiance at Eleanor.

“Nicolette,” Eleanor’s voice is sharp “That is not the way to behave.”

“I’ve been riding, that’s what I came to tell you, I’ve been riding very fast, and jumping and..”

“And falling off?” He frowns and looks across at Eleanor, who just smiles, shrugs and nods her head.

Nicolette just giggles at him. “Yes, look,” Freeing one hand she hitches up her skirts and proudly shows off her battle scars of torn hose and a pair of bruised and bloodied knees. “But I didn’t cry, Davide made sure I was all right and I got straight back into the saddle I did it again and went faster and higher and this time I didn’t fall off”

“For pity’s sake child, draw breath.” He gently presses his fingers to her lips and kisses her forehead. She Kisses his nose in return.

“You aren’t cross with me, are you Papa?”

“Of course not.” He is so proud of her, his features soften as he sets her down, but she looks straight up at him a worried look in her eyes.

“Mama said you had been hurt, did you cry?”

“No,” he bends down and whispers, “But keep it a secret, I swore a great deal.” Nicolette puts her mouth close to his ear and whispers solemnly “Oh Papa, so did I, I said Damn it to Hell.”

Raymond sucks in his cheeks and bites down to stifles a laugh.

“Well that’s not so bad but what did Mama say when she heard.?”

“She didn’t hear.”

He seriously doubts that, looks across at Eleanor, winks and realises that she has something on her mind.

“Nicolette, go and fetch the box and board, you can play with it while I talk to Mama.” Apart from her pony it is her favourite thing and she skips away to fetch it. Eleanor grimaces slightly as her daughter tips thirty-two exquisitely carved and coloured ivory pieces onto the bed, but Raymond doesn’t seem to mind as the she clambers up and starts bashing them together, issuing orders to her own little army. To anyone but Raymond, Eleanor’s expression would have given nothing away, but he notices the slight tightness around her eyes, a tension in her shoulders, all signs that he isn’t going to like what she has to say. As she as she tells him about Théo and Ghislane, she watches him closely and is near enough to see tiny flecks of green fire in his blue eyes the twitch of muscle at the edge of his jaw, a sure sign he is raging. Raymond braces the palms of his hands against the table and all he can hear is the thudding of his heart. “I know they are working against the King, but do you really believe they are a threat to Isabé?”

“Oh Raymond, think, what, better way of getting to you and drawing you into their fight.”

“The bastard, I should take a knife to his throat now, as for that treacherous old bitch.”

Eleanor lays a hand on his arm. “Perhaps, but you won’t Raymond, we need to know their plans, their contacts and so like the rest of us you will wait and watch. The King has appointed me Isabé’s protector.”

“What, why you and not me? Raymond slams his hand down.

“If you must ask, then you’re a bigger fool than I imagined; you’re too close to her Raymond it may cloud your judgment.”

Taking hold of her hand he brings it to his lips. “Do what you must then and thank you.

“I’ll do my best, Nicolette, put those aside, we must go.”

“Oh, Mama do I have too?”

Raymond smiles indulgently at his daughter “Leave her with me, I’ve missed the little baggage and every time I come home, she’s changed so much.”

“As you wish.” She nods at Raymond, he could have been a very different father, cold and disinterested; the fact that he isn’t is something she will always be grateful for.

“Holy Mother of God, who’s rubbed you the wrong way, you’ve got a face like a hound chewing a wasp?”

Ghislane grins as Jehanne plonks herself down beside her on the bench “It’s of no matter and besides we have something to settle.” She holds up her hand showing the fine ring with the blue stone. “Eleanor may well have helped with the preparations for the wedding so that half of the wager is complete; but I am certain Raymond hasn’t bedded Isabé. As far as I’m concerned the wager void Ghislane.”

“Oh, and how can you be certain, I know for a fact she spent the night in his room, so do you honestly expect me to believe that they weren’t riding each other into a muck sweat all night?”

“Isabé says Raymond was in no fit state, besides he had an attack of terrors” Jehanne suddenly narrows her eyes at the older woman. “Besides, how do you know Isabé stayed there?”

Ghislane snorts. “Well, you have just admitted she did, but I’m the Chatelaine my dear, not much escapes me, I make it my business to keep a check on all the comings and goings and it pays in every way to know who is doing what and with whom.”

“You mean you blackmail them?”

“Oh, that’s such a nasty word Jehanne, no, people are usually very forthcoming without any encouragement from me. If they chose to buy my silence of their own accord, then why should I stop them?” She leans down and whispers, “I have it on good authority Isabé left his chamber this morning and she had a smile on her face as broad as my arse, now tell me again he hasn’t fucked her.” Jehanne holds firm.

“Well perhaps he hasn’t yet girl, but the wager stands there's time yet for him to get between her legs.”

“It won’t happen.” Jehanne is adamant.

“Think that if you will my dear, but if it does, believe me I will know. Now I have things to attend to, these Paris Nobles are a pain in the arse with all the extra work they’re causing. I’m looking forwards to claiming my winnings from you and I do hope you won’t be a bad loser. Her voice is soft, but Jehanne doesn’t miss the warning in Ghislaine’s parting words and shivers at the subtle threat.

“Dear God, was she the one who told Raymond?”

“Enter.”

The door creaks slightly and Eleanor pokes her head around. “Isabé, I should like to speak with you if it’s convenient.”

“Of course, please come in.” I gesture to the most comfortable chair and pour wine for us both.

Sipping at her wine it’s some moments before she speaks her silence is making me nervous.

“You know, you really are quite a remarkable, level headed young woman.” My wine goes the wrong way down my throat leaving me coughing and spluttering.

“I think others may use very different words Eleanor.”

“Perhaps, but I am not others and I choose my words deliberately."

“I’ll be honest with you Eleanor; I’d rather you weren’t part of Raymond’s life, but you are and there’s an end to it. The day I found you in Raymond's chamber, I was determined to dislike you, even to hate you, but sometimes things never work out quite as we imagine, do they?”

With a wry smile on her face she raises her wine cup in a toast. "You have reconciled yourself to me and Nicolette and there Isabé Pelletier, is the steel which runs through you, when you stepped on to the field, you drew your battle lines straight away. I admire you for that, it must have taken a deal of courage.” "Well I didn’t think Raymond would care to keep playing Solomon as we try to claw lumps out of each other. It’s easier if we know where we stand and at least try to be civil,” I sip at my wine.”

“I agree, now, there is no point my keeping this from you any longer.” When she has finished her tale, I take several slow deep breaths and a mouthful of wine to steady myself. I always knew Théo could be devious, but this? “Does Raymond know?

“He does, and now there are things that we must discuss.” She pours more wine and fixes me with a cool look.

All work finished, Raymond sits on the edge of his bed and watches fondly as Nicolette arranges the chess pieces to her own liking.

“One day I shall teach you how to play the game properly.” Raymond ruffles Nicolette’s hair then without warning he scoops her up from the bed, ignoring the pain as the stitches pull taut “So what do think Ma Petite, shall we go down to the kitchens, beg DuFour for some special treat for you, then off to the stables, saddle up your pony again and you can show me how clever you are.”

“Please Papa, Chef always has honey wafers and I want you to watch me ride, Mama say’s I’m very good.” She plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“Well if Mama say’s so then it must be true.” He laughs and once out of the chamber hoists her onto his shoulders, clamps her legs tightly against his chest and sets off down the stairs.

As they enter the hot, raucous kitchen, he sets Nicolette down and she trots off towards DuFour, as soon as he catches sight of his little visitor, he gives her a wide smile; in a flash she is sitting on a table, swinging her legs and stuffing herself with sweet wafers and milk. Pouring two cups of wine and hands one to Raymond and slides another plate of honey wafers onto the table.

“Sieur, if you would care to try these, I would value your opinion.”

Raymond laughs, “DuFour, you’re asking the wrong man my friend, you should ask my daughter.” Nicolette’s face is smeared with honey and crumbs and there are stains on her gown where she’s wiped her sticky fingers. “There’s your judge man, I’m no authority on food other than knowing what will keep an army on its feet and fit to fight, my expertise ends there.”

DuFour knows damned well that isn’t true, the man has a fine palate, but he doesn’t argue, just watches as Raymond pops a wafer into his mouth, then grins as he hears the little sound of pleasure he makes at the first taste. The wafer melts on Raymonds tongue, the taste of honey, butter and spice fills his mouth bringing back childhood memories. For a moment he closes his eyes, when he opens them, DuFour he raises his brows.

“For the wedding feast Sieur.”

“Isabé will love them and his Majesty will doubtless try to spirit you back to Paris on the strength of them.”

“Ah Sieur on that point.”

“You mean he’s already tried to steal you away.”

“Indeed, but courteously of course, I told him to go F…” Raymond raises one eyebrow and nods towards Nicolette, DuFour coughs. “I thanked him, said I was honoured and then said no.”

“Thank God for that, now seeing that this little mischief would eat them until she burst I think we had best make our way to the stables.”

“Yes Papa.” She mumbles through a mouthful of wafer. Raymond shakes his head, Eleanor won’t be best pleased when she sees the state of her.

They are barely half way across the ward when Fournier strides up to them, he seems tired and anxious.

“Sieur Raymond, if you could spare me a few moments I should be grateful.” “Of course, In fact I was hoping to discuss the special arrangements I mentioned.” He turns back towards the kitchen.

“Sieur, please, I think my chamber would be best.”

Sébastien Fournier is agitated, rarely has he felt this nervous in his life and it shows. Seated in a comfortable chair, with Nicolette on his lap, Raymond sits quietly settles his daughter against his chest and waits. He sees how Fournier’s hand trembles as he pours wine, notices his reluctance to speak. Finally, the Seneschal, calms himself.

“Sieur Raymond, what I have to say to you, may cause you to change your mind about marrying Isabé Pelletier.

Raymond’s voice is low and calm. “I doubt there’s anything that could make me do that, and please, leave the formality aside Sébastien.”

“As you wish, but this is difficult for me Raymond, there is something you must know, my conscience demands it, as for the rest of the household I will leave that up to you……and Isabé to decide. He fixes Raymond with cool stare “Isabé is my Daughter.”

The silence can be sliced with a knife as the men face each other across the table. Half asleep, Nicolette whimpers “Papa you’re hurting me” and Raymond suddenly realises he is squeezing her sticky fingers in an iron grip.

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amelia-blackshepherd · 6 years

Text

Our Name

Apparently today is my 1 year anniversary with Tumblr. And to celebrate I wrote a story. Based on a prompt I received a few days ago. Set after Omelia gets married, Amelia changes her name on her lab coat.

On our honeymoon, which was really just us staying at our new house together having lots and lots of sex, anyway one night after Owen had fallen asleep, I had slipped out of bed and made a phone call. I had to be sneaky about it as I wanted it to be a surprise, we had discussed me taking his name well rather adding his name to mine. I was a successful doctor after all and the name Shepherd carries weight in the medical field, which can be both a pain in the ass and a blessing.

I hadn’t told Owen that I was officially adding his name, he thought I would remain Dr. Shepherd at the hospital, which was fine with him. But, I wanted to surprise him, so I made a call that night to Bailey to get me a new lab coat for my first day back.

After hanging up the phone, I grabbed a glass of water for rehydration in case Owen woke up again. I was just sliding back into my side of the bed when Owen’s gruff, sleepy voice sounded, “Where’d you go?” He cuddles up next to me, placing a few kisses on my shoulder as his arm slips around me and under my shirt.

I turn around, so I can be face to face with him, and wrap my arms around him, tugging gently at his red curls, “Water. Thought I should rehydrate.” I inform him with a happy smile tugging at my lips.

“Good thought.” Is all he says before his lips are back on mine and we are ready to continue our honeymooning.

Our first day back at work we drive in together, after another morning of mind-blowing honeymoon sex. I am so excited for Owen to see the surprise I have for him. When we get to the hospital, we ride the elevator together, he gets off on his floor and I continue up to the neuro floor. Or at least that is what I let him think, I actually get off on the next floor and then go back down to his floor, which is the same floor as the chief’s office.

I sneakily make my way to Bailey’s office, and knock once before letting myself in. I successfully make it there without Owen seeing me.

“Morning Shepherd.” Bailey says in a good mood as she takes a sip from her green health drink.

“Shepherd-Hunt.” I reply with a smile on my face. “And it is a good morning, this whole being married thing is great, makes everything seem better.”

She rolls her eyes at me, “Yeah, come talk to me after a few years when you don’t get any sleep because the baby keeps you awake.” She opens her desk drawer and pulls out my new lab coat, it is still wrapped in plastic when she tosses it to me.

I catch it with ease, of course, because of my quick neuro surgeon hands. “Thanks.” I say referring to the lab coat.

“No problem, Shepherd. And just so I know, you and hunt aren’t already at the baby stage, are you?”

Her question takes me by surprise, but to be fair Owen and I had started talking about marriage and kids and then two weeks later we were walking down the aisle. “No. No little Shepherd-Hunts.” I inform her and then just to tease her a little bit add, “Yet.”

I tried on my new coat and admired the name stamped on it, ‘Amelia Shepherd-Hunt M.D.’ I decide to head to trauma and show Owen my little surprise. I see him barking orders at the interns when I walk in, god I love a man in power, so I head over towards him sticking my chest out to draw attention to the name.

“Hey, Dr. Shepherd, looking fine as always.” Roy flirtatiously says in his usually way. Which only results in a small kind smile from me and Owen telling him to go lance an abscess in bed four.

Owen turns his attention to me, “Did you miss me already? It’s been what 30 minutes.” He teases as he pulls me closer to him.

“Well, that is a new record for us since we got married.” I play along moving closer to him, not caring how unprofessional this looks to anyone watching us.

Owens laughs and nods his head before lowering it so his hot breath dances across my ear. “Well we could fix that.” As tempting as that sounds, both our pagers go off, incoming trauma.

“Save that for later.” I tell him, patting his muscular chest as I head towards the ER doors to take care of our incoming trauma.

Roy runs over to walk with me towards the doors, he hands me a plastic cover and quietly says, “Thought you might want this, wouldn’t want your new lab coat to get covered in blood.” He throws me one of his arrogant smirks before he moves aside so Owen can take his place beside me.

Roy made a good call as our patient within minutes of getting her inside coughed blood all over me. Once it was clear she had no head trauma, I paged another surgeon to tag in and went to clean myself up.

Owen and I skipped lunch, instead we used the time to keep the honeymoon going. Afterwards, I started getting dressed, “What are you doing, Amelia? Stay.” Owen whines which only causes me to laugh at his pathetic attempt at persuading me to stay.

“I’m hungry Owen, let’s go get some food. You can show off your hot wife to everyone.” I say, moving closer to him as I put my lab coat on trying to subtly draw his attention to the name on it.

A smile spreads across Owen’s face, “Oh, I am hungry too, but not for food.” He says pulling me back on top of him.

“Owen, I am serious.”

“So am I. Now take off this lab coat and your clothes and then we can see about getting you some food.” He commands, pushing the lab coat off my shoulders so it falls on the floor. I am going to argue more, but then his lips are sucking on my neck and his hands a lighting a fire across my skin, and I lose all fight left inside me.

It had been a week since I got my new lab coat and so far, Owen was as clueless as an intern. “Hunt still hasn’t noticed the new name?” Alex asks entertained by the frustrated scowl that has been on my face for the duration of our conversation.

“No. And I am running out of ideas of how to get him to notice it.” I sigh. “I’ve tried talking to him, hinting at it, walking so the name is clearly showing, hell, I have even thrown it at him with the name facing him. And he still didn’t notice.” I rattle off some of the ways I had attempted to get Owen to notice it, so much for a romantic gesture.

“Wait, you threw it at him and he still didn’t notice?” Alex’s asks clearly confused how Owen could have missed that.

Meredith chuckles and gives Alex a light elbow and then fills him in, “She was probably taking off her clothes when she did it.”

“Oh. Yeah that might have been why he missed it.” Alex agrees.

“Well do either of you have any ideas?” I ask, slumping back in my chair.

Meredith shrugs her shoulders and steals a fry from Alex’s plate. But Alex offers an idea, “Have you tried wearing nothing expect the lab coat. Then he doesn’t have much else to think about.”

“Except what is underneath.” Meredith points out.

Alex’s nods as he pops a handful of fries into his mouth, “Yeah, well just don’t take it off till he notices.”

I think it over in my head, it might actually work, “Thanks Alex that isn’t a bad idea.”

Alex proudly puffs up his chest and then adds, “Or you could do it somewhere public. That way you know Hunt won’t take it off you right then. Like tomorrow at lunch in the cafeteria.”

Meredith gives him a light slap on his head. And I tell him, “And that is a bad idea.” On that note I get up and leave the table.

Owen is in surgery the rest of the day, which means I don’t have anymore chances to try and get him to notice the new name. I check in with him to see if he will be home for dinner tonight, he said he should be home by seven.

I head home after doing my final rounds, making sure to bring my lab coat home with me instead of leaving it in my locker. Once home, I decided I should cook something and taking Alex’s advise I decided to cook in nothing but my lab coat.

I decide on making us chicken alfredo, as pasta is my second-best dish behind waffles, and spaghetti would be way to messy to cook with my white lab coat. I don’t finish cooking the meal until Owen texts me to say he is on his way home, I didn’t want to make him eat cold food.

I hear the doorknob click as the door opens, revealing a very tired looking Owen. I am just stirring the sauce when he comes into the kitchen and stops short. I can’t help the chuckle that escapes my lips as I look at him, staring at me, eyes wide with his jacket half on half off as he had stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me, standing in the chicken cooking, with nothing back my lab coat on.

“Like what you see?” I quip, I already know he does. He still has not regained his speech skills, so he simply nods, his eyes don’t leave me as he runs them up and down my body.

After a minute he finds his voice, “The only thing that could make it better was if we got rid of this lab coat.” He has a wicked grin on his face as he moves towards me, grabbing the hem of the lab coat.

I feel his warm, strong hand on my leg, but I ignore it and take a step back, “Supper is just about ready.”

“It can wait.” He tries again moving closer to me, putting his hand on my lower back and holding me against him, to keep me from moving away this time.

“Later, Dr. Hunt.” I inform him, a little annoyed that yet again he didn’t notice my new name. I mean what else could I do, I literally took everything else away, he had to notice it this time. “I actually worked hard on this.” I say referring to the dinner, but a small part of me meant the display I put on for him, so he would notice the damn name change.

He smiles at me and loosens his grip, so I can move away. I go to the cupboard to grab plates for dinner, but I turn around when he says, “I know you did, Dr. Shepherd-Hunt.” He must have noticed the shocked look on my face as he explained with a hearty laugh, “What? You thought I hadn’t noticed the new lab coat with the new name. My name? Our name? I love it, Amelia.”

I hate him for playing this game with me, but the way he looks at me and the fact that he did notice makes my heart and other parts of my body ache for him. “How long have you known?” I ask.

“Oh, well let’s see.” He says coming closer to me again, “We came back from our honeymoon and you ‘secretly’ went to the chief’s office. And then came prancing into the ER with your new coat that just so happens to have my name on it.” He acts like it was no big deal, but I can see behind his goofy smile how glad he is I took his name.

I shake my head at him, how could he have pretended not to notice this whole time! “So, you knew this whole time? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because, I wanted to wait till I got this, before I told you I knew.” He says pulling a plastic wrapped lab coat out of a bag he had hid when he came in.

“And what exactly is that?” I ask.

In response he opens it up and puts on his new lab coat, he presses down on the name, and when he removes his hand I see written in little blue letters, ‘Owen Shepherd-Hunt M.D.’

I can’t control the smile that spreads across my face, “Did you really?”

“You aren’t the only one who can do romantic gestures.” He teases.

“You are right Dr. Shepherd Hunt, but I am the only one who can do this.” I say as I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist and pull him into a hot passionate kiss.

When we separate he looks over at the food and says, “What about supper?”.

“Screw supper.” I say with defiance in my tone.

“I’d rather screw you.” He says as he sets me down and slams my back into the kitchen cupboard, instantly ours mouths are back together.

#omelia fanfic #omelia fanfiction #owen and amelia #amelia shepherd #owen hunt #shepherd hunt

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