#and it's just like... sir we see each other in a clinical and professional setting

[phoenixyfriend]

Rex and Anakin Raise a Family: Part Two

Part One

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Anakin takes the news with... not grace, really, but an odd sort of resignation.

"Room to fix things," he mutters to himself, eyes set unseeing on Luke's tiny form.

Twins are often born smaller than single births, Rex remembers hearing somewhere. He hopes that's the only reason these two are so small. Leia feels absolutely minuscule in his arms.

He wishes he could ask Kix.

"Do you want to find Jango?"

Rex lifts his head to find Anakin staring at him with an earnest kind of depression. It's strange, and sad, and not helping with the question. "What?"

"You... you grew up with a lot of family," Anakin mutters, eyes cutting away to the side. "Fett would be a kid right now, yeah? He's... young. And you don't have the family that you used to have, but--"

"I'm not going to go out and find Fett to adopt him," Rex says firmly. "He was a genetic donor and once or twice a teacher. I have no interest in forming any bonds there."

He hesitates, but that was--Anakin was trying. Not succeeding, but trying. "Thank you for asking. It's... maybe if my childhood had been a little different, I'd have wanted that. But I don't, here."

Anakin winces. "Right."

Rex watches his general bounce a newborn, and thinks this is my life now.

There is no GAR to fight for, no brothers to save, no Empire to fight against. They'd thought there would be, but there isn't, not yet. They could find and warn the Jedi, but none of them would know Anakin. Nobody is going to look at Rex and see a clone. He's older than Fett, now.

"We're staying here," Rex decides. Anakin looks up from Luke's little face. "I'll figure out how to get us some Republic Idents. We'll get the twins registered. This planet is safe and out of the way, and we can figure something out for the money. You're a good mechanic, that's honest work, and I'm... I don't know. We've got a ship, so I can maybe do what Fett did and take bounty work. We'll figure something out."

"I can't ask you to stay with me."

"You're not asking," Rex says firmly. "I'm telling you. You don't get to push me away, sir. We're all the other has left, and you're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Okay," Anakin says. "If that's what you want."

------------------

They don't have a whole lot of money personally, but this was Padme's ship. She'd been rich, and prone enough to danger to know the worth of hiding money where she could. They may not have more than a few weapons on here, but they have money.

For now.

Rex knows his general is itching to go to Tatooine, sees the man muttering and twitching about it, needing to do something, and that the something has to do with Tatooine.

"Can it wait?" Rex asks.

Anakin stares at him, uncomprehending.

"Your kids are only a week old," Rex tries to explain. "They need you right now. Is this something that can wait a few months, where I can watch them while you take a week or two to handle what you need to do?"

Anakin takes Leia from Rex, and doesn't bring it up again.

------------------

Rex goes with Anakin, when they visit the nurse. He catches gossip about the two of them, but people don't go out of their way to approach. Mostly, people are just repeating the 'died in childbirth' cover that he gave before, telling each other who the strangers are, and why they shouldn't try to get involved.

The nurse asks only enough questions to get a medical baseline established for the twins. Anakin doesn't volunteer much, and when the Twi'lek woman asks if they'd like her to set up medical files for either of them, Rex has to immediately decline.

He has no idea what his blood is going to turn up. Genetic fuckery and something to deal with the advanced aging, maybe. He's not sure he wants to know, but either way, it's probably not going to be something this small clinic can handle.

"I'll have to set one up if you want to take the lactation aid," she tells Anakin.

"Yeah, okay."

She takes blood. Almost everything is mostly normal, except.

"Your midichlo--"

"I know."

"Are you--"

"Jedi aren't allowed to marry."

She doesn't dig further, just glances at how Anakin's holding Luke, and nods.

"It doesn't seem like there are any complicating factors. I can write up a prescription right now and you should be able to get it filled same-day. There will be a list of instructions and side-effects on flimsi when you pick it up, but I'd like to go over it in person first. Do you want Mr. Torrent to stay here with you as we do that, or to wait in the hall?"

"Up to him."

"I'll stay," Rex promises.

------------------

Three pills a day, one with every meal. Tissue stimulation by massaging the pectoral area, and allowing the twins to suckle even before there's anything to actually drink. Expect soreness and increased appetite, don't drink caffeine or take any form of stimulant while nursing. Here's a list of possible side-effects, the best way to handle the minor ones, and which ones to contact a medical professional about.

All very normal.

Anakin's rarely ever done anything with less than his whole heart, and Rex isn't surprised to know that Anakin is this dedicated a parent as well. He's... he was proud to serve his general, but he thinks there's something just as fulfilling as being by his side here and now. There's something better about helping raise the little ones that would never be found on a battlefield.

"Do you want them to call you Uncle Rex?" Anakin asks during a feeding. "Or... ba'vodu? Or do you want to just..."

"Just what?"

"...we're going to be co-parenting," Anakin says, not meeting his eyes. "And every time I try to suggest you go and find something for yourself, something that doesn't revolve around me, a person you were literally tube-grown for, you say you don't want to leave. So if you're going to be sticking around, really staying for years and years... we could tell them to call you buir. If you want."

"Oh."

Oh.

It's a lot. It's something Rex has maybe fantasized about before, getting to be a parent instead of just a soldier, but he'd also resigned himself to the fact that it wasn't really an option. Even now, he'd just expected to be a friend of the father, maybe an honorary uncle if he was lucky, or--

"Are you sure?" Rex asks, before he can start to hope. "I don't--I don't want to take Padme's place."

"You're not," Anakin says, fierce as anything. "You won't--nobody can ever take her place, but there are people with five parents, or none, and I'm not going to--I don't want to--"

Anakin squeezes his eyes shut and breathes harshly for a few moments. Leia fusses, like she's seconds away from crying, and Rex watches as his general holds the child in his arms closer to his chest, visibly focusing on calming down in a way he rarely, if ever, had during the war.

"It's okay, Papa just got a little upset, it's fine, we're calm, I'm sorry I got sad, honey, I'm sorry you had to feel that," Anakin whispers under his breath as he bounces the baby.

(Raising Force-Sensitive children was never going to be easy anyway.)

"You're sure about this?" Rex asks again.

"You want to be involved in their lives," Anakin mutters. "So... yeah, you should get to be their dad in name, too. And if you use Mando'a, it'll be easier for them to have different names for us."

"People are going to think we're together."

Anakin shrugs. "People think a lot of things."

Rex wants this. He wants to imagine the twins toddling up to him, grins on their faces, calling him buir and meaning it. He wants to have what he saw at the Lawquane's, where a lack of blood connection and a half-sliced age hadn't stopped those children from claiming Cut as their father. He's only thirteen, technically, but he wants to have a family, even if it's as broken as what they've found here.

"I'd be honored, sir," Rex says. "I... thank you. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

"You don't have to," Anakin mutters, refusing to meet his eyes. "I can feel it."

Right.

"They already love you," Anakin continues, as if his goal today is to just smash Rex's decorum to pieces. "Part of that is just baby stuff, I think; they don't exactly know more than us yet, but you're around them all the time and are primary caregiver whenever I'm not... not okay. So they love you, so much, and I just... I'm not going to ignore that when you already love them too. So you should get to be their dad. If you want."

He does want.

"I'd like that," he says, and knows that he hasn't bothered shielding in days, so Anakin knows just how sincere that is.

Anakin hesitates, visibly so, and then stands and crosses the room to join Rex on the couch, each of them holding a twin.

A head rests lightly on Rex's shoulder. He lets it.

"There are rites," Anakin says quietly. "On Tatooine, for the slaves lost to the desert. People that died in search of their freedoms, where there's no body to bury but you still need to mourn."

Rex knows this. He says, "the clones had mourning traditions for the brothers who died in explosions or behind enemy lines, the ones we couldn't retrieve."

Anakin knows this as well. He nods.

They sit together, quietly, as calm as they can be for the too-perceptive children in their arms, and they know they need to mourn properly.

Rex can only hold his jagged edges in place for so long.

[buck-buck-boose]

I'll Love You 'Til I Die

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Language, mild descriptions of injuries

Word Count: 2.3k

Author's Note: My apologies, writer's block got the best of me.

Chapter Twenty-Two: The European Theater

June 11, 1943

Lottie’s heart was restless and mournful once more, with every beat she couldn’t help but notice the splinters and cracks that had webbed their way across its surface. Without her two best friends, she could never be completely whole. She put on a strong, clinical face, of course, but there were countless times that her emotional turmoil seemed as real as any wound she’d become accustomed to treating. Months had passed since Dr. Erskine’s assassination. It had been months since she’d been relieved of her duties on Project Rebirth. Months since she’d been torn away from Steve. One year, five months, and twenty-nine days since she’d stood on a train platform, watching as Bucky faded from view.

It had been a rather grim day when she’d received orders that she would be shipped out to London with the SSR. The morning after Dr. Erskine’s tragic death, she and her peers had been summoned to take blood samples from Steve; they were under the impression that it was for continued research purposes. The five of them had been exhausted, nearly asleep on their feet from staying awake all night. They’d tried to sleep at first, but all attempts were abandoned when all they could see was the lifeless body of their mentor every time they shut their eyes. They had held a silent vigil, nestled in their own beds with wide eyes, waiting anxiously for daybreak.

Once their duties had been completed, they followed Steve into the dimly lit central command room of the SSR. The room had been buzzing with energy, with agents milling about and Howard Stark in the midst of it all, tinkering away at some machine. Lottie had looked to Agent Carter, expecting new orders regarding blood sample analysis and re-developing the serum by studying Steve’s cellular structure; Colonel Phillips came along to crush her hopes of continued research.

“As of this morning, the SSR has been re-tasked,” Colonel Phillips began, his gaze firm on the nurses, “The president has ordered us to eliminate Hydra on the front lines. Project Rebirth had been officially shut down, and as employees of the Strategic Scientific Reserve, you ladies will be flying out on a new assignment with us.”

Nancy was the first to protest, “But sir, you said you wanted an army of Super Soldiers—”

Colonel Phillips held up a hand to silence her, “Ms. Powell, we are in the thick of a war, we don’t have the time or the money to redevelop a serum. You are all under contract with the SSR; these are your orders. We’re flying to London tonight.”

All that the nurses could do was look from each other to Agent Carter, who graced them with a small, sad smile. She’d just received the orders as well; it must have been somewhat of a surprise for her.

“What about Steve? He’ll be joining us, right?” Colonel Phillips stiffened slightly at her familiarity with the Super Soldier, most SSR agents accepted their strong bond, but Colonel Phillips never wavered in his beliefs regarding the relationships between soldiers and their nurses.

“Given that Rogers is our only Super Soldier, he is an extremely valuable asset, not one to be thrown willy-nilly into a war. He’ll be staying stateside while we handle the dirty work overseas. Senator Brandt has offered Rogers a promotion, which he's already accepted.”

Frustration bubbled in Lottie’s chest, “So we spent over a year slaving away in that lab and creating the perfect serum for your Super Soldier just for you to toss our hard work aside? He is perfectly capable of being on the front lines!”

The thought of Steve being sent into the belly of the beast that was Hydra had almost made Lottie sick, but the thought of her hard work going to waste agitated her to no end. Going to war was quite literally what he'd been made for, this was the goal from the get-go.

“Ms. Green, we know perfectly well what Rogers is capable of. He has exactly what it takes to carry out his mission here in the states flawlessly.” He dismissed them without waiting for a response, reminding them to “Be ready for takeoff at twenty-one hundred hours.”

The rest of that day had been a flurry of hurried goodbyes and the packing up of what little belongings they’d brought with them. Letting go of Steve was nearly impossible. They bade each other farewell on the runway, the airplane stood in front of them in all of its aluminum glory, moonbeams bouncing off of its surface.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this to you all over again.” Lottie’s gaze was sorrowful, focused on her sturdy black shoes. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye; his eyes always bore through her with an intensity she couldn’t handle at the moment.

“Hey, at least I’ll actually know where you’re going this time,” Steve half-joked. He nudged her foot with his own to draw her attention upward. His face had grown serious, “While you’re over there, make sure you keep an eye out for Bucky, alright? I haven’t gotten any word on where he is, but he’s with the hundred and seventh.”

Lottie knit her brows together and memorized the number. One hundred and seventh. One hundred and seventh. She would have to fight tooth and nail, climb every mountain and ford every stream, just to find James Buchanan Barnes once more.

But at the moment, she had to fight tooth and nail to get this Italian to sit still so she could properly disinfect and stitch his shrapnel-inflicted wound.

Shortly after their arrival in London, the SSR had shipped out to a base in Tunisia from which they could aid in Allied campaigns along the southern coast of Italy; there were plans to capture Sicily, but first, the Allied powers needed to station themselves on surrounding islands. So, they found themselves on the minuscule island of Pantelleria.

Unfortunately, the surrender of the island to the Allied powers was only achieved through 19 days of aerial bombardment. Lottie, her peers, and a small band of fresh-faced nurses had been left to deal with the casualties.

The mousy-haired nurse stood before a bedridden, red-faced man, whose plump fingers were wrapped around his thigh in an attempt to compress his wound. Lottie was armed with her newly acquired Italian-to-English dictionary, penicillin, bandages, and all that was needed to stitch up his wounds. She flipped through the pages of the dictionary; her mouth set in a firm line.

“Bisogno,” she began, gesturing to his freely flowing wound, “Pulire e cucire. Io aiuto.”

Half a dozen other nurses had attempted the same thing, all had offered to treat him, but the man had treated them all with the same oafish aggression that he was showing her.

“A fanabla! Non ho bisogno del tuo aiuto.” He used his free hand to wave her off, spittle spewing from his lips due to his intensely glottal speech. The movement of his deep brown eyes, how they flickered to and fro, indicated his increasing agitation in such a high-stress environment. Lottie genuinely understood his hesitation to accept her help; he and his kinfolk had just spent the past nineteen days trying to survive a deluge of attacks from the Allied forces. Why should he accept help from the very people who nearly destroyed their island?

Lottie gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on her dictionary, “Prego, signore!” For once, she wished that Nancy would show up out of the blue to push her aside and take matters into her own hands, but there were far too many injuries for multiple nurses to work on the same patient at once.

“Lasciami in pace, cretina!” He growled, flinging his free hand out to knock her tray of supplies aside. Lottie stabilized the tray on his bedside table before any supplies could become contaminated, no way in hell was she going to spend another fifteen minutes re-sterilizing those damn syringes.

She’d about had it with the man. If she transferred him to another nurse, the SSR would surely doubt her abilities as a well-established nurse. Lottie would surely deal with more aggressive soldiers on the front lines. Forgoing any sort of decorum or professionalism, she pinned his free wrist down to the cot with her right hand, “Io aiuto. O tu morire.” The foreign words were awkward on her tongue and she didn’t sound nearly as assertive as she’d wished, but the Italian man finally gave in, grumbling what was probably an assortment of curses at her.

Lottie made quick work of removing the shrapnel that had embedded itself into the man’s skin in muscle. It was relatively easy, as she’d had enough practice that morning, dealing with what felt like dozens of injuries just like his. When the island had finally been surrendered, a bevy of nurses and medics had been flown in, Lottie and her peers included.

The Cadet Nurse Corps’ newly initiated training programs had been quite beneficial for such circumstances, but with such accelerate courses of study, many of the nurses were inexperienced and uncertain in their abilities. Thus, most of the morning was spent overseeing the work of the newer nurses; the advice was administered when needed and tasks were delegated to the older nurses when stitches were too tight and fingers too shaky.

The Italian man’s wound was just one of many, at this point. The only remarkable aspect of the interaction was his temperament. Sure, many other islanders had expressed distrust and dismay with the Allied forces, but they had at least been more eager to be treated for their injuries.

“Fatto presto, signore,” she murmured as she began the careful work of stitching his lacerations shut. Her Italian was dreadful, comprised entirely of juvenile phrases and briefly memorized words that could just barely communicate her intentions to her patients. She knew that she probably looked to be a bumbling idiot in their perspectives.

By the time she was finished, nearly every inch of her skin was damp with sweat— although the medic tent provided shade from the sun, its heat, combined with the body heat of so many civilians seemed to suffocate her. The air was thick, her curls clung to the nape of her neck, and her once crisp white dress had become damp and splotched with various hues of orange and blood, remnants of blood and dust.

The former nurses of Project Rebirth remained close, even after the termination of their research, they were often found huddled in one corner of the nurse’s tent, playing cards and smoking, or whispering gossip of their next assignment.

“How long do you think they’re gonna keep us here?” Mary glanced over the edge of her letter, looking to Gladys expectantly. Gladys was always in the know with these sorts of things, keeping quiet and listening in around the higher-ranking officers.

Gladys hummed in thought, rolling an unlit cigarette between her fingers, “From what I’ve heard, we might be heading toward mainland Italy soon. But I’m not sure.”

Lottie frowned, “But what about Operation Husky? I mean, we just bombed this damn place for a good base to capture Sicily.”

“Well, I’ve heard there’s a Hydra base on the mainland. These girls might stay behind for Operation Husky, but we’re better prepared for whatever Hydra has in store for us.”

Betty groaned, “I don’t care where they send us, so long as the soldiers aren’t great louts like these guys.” Lottie had to agree, the soldiers stationed with them in Tunisia and on Pantelleria had been rather uncouth. They drank far too heavily most nights, which typically resulted in uncomfortable interactions between the men and the nurses.

A voice piped up from the other end of the nurse’s tent, a girl of only around 19— her name might have been Nelly —smiled at them brightly over a newspaper, “Well wherever you go, I hope you get to see a USO show because I’d give anything to see Captain America!”

“Sorry, who?” The name was somewhat familiar to Lottie, but she and the other women had never shown particular interest in the USO. All that she knew was that their shows usually had chorus girls all dressed in short skirts and red lipstick, just what a soldier needed to see after what seemed like an eternity in hell.

Nelly ambled over and tossed her newspaper onto Betty’s bed, which the women usually crowded around. None of the women spoke as they took in the headline: “The Star-Spangled Man’s European Tour.”

“What the hell?” Betty broke the silence and held the newspaper up to the light, squinting at its front page. The mouths of the other four nurses were agape, they were at a loss for words as they processed the fact that the culmination of their hard work was being brandished as some sort of cheery mascot for the war effort.

Lottie felt a righteous anger building within her. It was one thing to separate her from one of her best friends for the sake of pursuing separate missions, but this? This was a joke. Laughable, really. She could only think of the late nights, the early mornings, every moment of their time at Camp Lehigh had been dedicated to perfecting the Super Soldier serum. Now that they had their Super Soldier, they decided to waste his talent and their hard work. It was a slap in the face, a punch to the gut. Lottie could only hope that Steve would be reassigned after his European tour; he was destined to be more than just a show pony, she was sure of it.

[professional-benaddict]

🖤 shoelaces 🐾 starker petplay au

A collab between @rustedstarker​ and @professional-benaddict

Daddy/master Tony, +18 puppy Peter, vet Stephen, dog and cat hybrids are known, dog-boys (Peter has ears, tail, teeth etc), medical examination, medical procedures, whump, hurt, comfort, fluff, 5k

Or Peter swallows a shoelace.

Peter sat fidgeting on the floor, batting his favourite toy back and forth between his hands as he waited impatiently for his owner, Tony, to come home. Every so often he looked up at the clock, waiting for the moment that the big hand would reach the bottom of the face, which is when his owner said he would be home from work. His ears were drooping a little as he huffed, leaning in close to head-butt his stuffed octopus once and then crawling away from it. Peter moved to sit by the penthouse windows, gazing out at the city below and wondering where Tony was in relation to their home.

Tony knew he was screwed as he stopped for another red light. It was like the world was against him today, and the CEO honked his horn at the traffic ahead, although he knew it was pointless. It was Tony’s promise to his pet that was making him so impatient and frustrated, because he knew he was going to be late, and thus he would have to deal with a dog-boy in a foul mood as soon as he arrived. Everything just became worse as Tony knew that with every minute that ticked by, Peter’s mood would be worse and worse.

Peter was now staring at the clock, and as the big hand passed the bottom of the clock, there was no sign of Tony. The dog-boy growled under his breath, and headed back over to the couch he had been sat in front of. He picked up the stuffed octopus between his teeth and tossed it aside, not interested in playing with it any more. As he looked around the penthouse floor, he spotted a pair of Tony's shoes by the front door, and immediately went over to them. He picked one up between his teeth, and began gnawing at it while rolling on his back. The leather was hard, but broken in by how often Tony wore those shoes, and Peter had no trouble chewing on them out of boredom. He also gave a few tugs to the shoelaces, pulling them out of their holes. In his boredom, Peter had managed to pull one of the shoelaces out of Tony's shoes, and swallowed it. Panicking at the realisation of what he had done, the dog-boy hurried to the bathroom. There, he bent double over the toilet, trying his best to retch in the hopes that vomiting would get the shoelace back up, but it was no use.

Fuck, it was almost 6 pm already, which meant Tony was late by half an hour. To some, it may not seem like a lot, but after owning Peter for the past three years, Tony knew that half an hour is an eternity in Peter’s eyes. And an eternity equals betrayal. The CEO hurried up to his penthouse, counting the seconds as he made his way up the elevator. Finally, he reached his floor and went to open his front door. 

“Peter? Daddy’s so sorry, I got held back at work and traffic was terrible.” Tony started once he had unlocked the door. But, there was no sight of Peter. “Peter?” Tony called out again, stumbling a bit over his shoes that lay in the middle of the hallway. He pushed them aside without much thought, too busy to notice that one shoelace was missing.

“Daddy!” Peter wailed in response. He very rarely responded to talking properly, much preferring to use his ears and tail to show his mood, but this was different. At Peter’s wail, Tony felt his stomach drop in dread. The tone of the wail was urgent, to say the least, and the man rushed to the bathroom where he heard the wailing come from. 

“Peter, what’s going on?” Tony asked and with a few quick strides, he came over to Peter by the toilet. His first thought was that his dog-boy was sick, so he put a hand to his forehead, but found his temperature to be normal. “Are you sick, puppy love? Talk to Daddy now.” The man urged, knowing hybrids’ tendencies to use their body language rather than speaking. But, Tony really needed Peter to cooperate here.

“I-“ The effort of trying to vomit made Peter cough for a few seconds, and he looked pained as he did so. “I-I'm sorry, I- I was fiddling with your sh-shoes, and then I- I swallowed a sh-shoelace. I didn't mean to, I promise!” He whimpered, still coughing in the hopes that it would bring the lace back up.

“You swallowed a what?” Tony asked, his brows knit together in a completely baffled expression. It was common for dogs to eat and swallow inappropriate things, but Tony would have honestly expected more from a dog-boy. Still, this was not the time for lecturing, and Tony swiftly picked Peter up and brought him out of the bathroom. He did not feel comfortable extracting the shoelace on his own at all, so he needed some professional help.

Peter whined as he was suddenly picked up, and carried like a baby back to their bedroom. Peter had his own, separate dog bed that he enjoyed sleeping on, but today Tony placed him down on the king-sized bed in the centre of the room and told him to wait while he made a phone call. The dog-boy whimpered, and curled up into a tight ball with his face hidden from view.

“Strange and Palmer Hybrid Clinic, how may I help you?” 

“I need to speak to Doctor Strange.” 

“I- I’m afraid he is occupied at the moment in surgery. What seems to be the problem?” 

“Then put me through to the ORs or whatever you need to do, just get me in touch with Doctor Strange.” 

“Sir-” 

“Tell him it’s Tony Stark, and it is urgent.” 

“... I’ll see what I can do.”

Peter could not hear much of the conversation, only Tony’s stern tone as he talked to whoever was on the other end of the phone. Peter groaned, and his ears fell flat on his head with nerves. Even his tail was drooped, curled up behind him as he waited for his owner to come back into the room. 

After a few minutes of waiting, Tony finally heard a familiar baritone voice at the other end of the line. 

“Doctor Strange speaking-“

“Peter ate a shoelace.” 

“... Bring him over. Don’t give him anything to eat or drink, just bring him over. I’ll be here once you arrive.” 

And with that, Tony did not need to say nor hear anything else and ended the call. The CEO and vet in question have been friends for a few years now, and they always have a fun time hanging out. The dog-boy, on the other hand, is not particularly fond of the vet, but not because he is unpleasant, but rather because of the things that entail meeting the vet. It always involves poking and a level of discomfort for some time. Still, Peter is smart, so Tony does not try to hide where they are going as he goes to scoop Peter up into his arms again. 

“And off to the vet we go…”

Peter instantly made a noise of complaint at the mention of the vet. He hated being prodded and poked, and going to the vet often meant getting injections of some kind. He knew there was no use in objecting to it, but he still whined pitifully and squirmed in the man’s arms as he was carried out of the bedroom and across the penthouse to the elevator.

“You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, puppy.” Tony soothed as they got into the elevator and rode down to the cars in the basement. “I know you don’t like this, but it has to be done.” He added, then put Peter in his cage in the cat for the ride, adding another blanket under him just in case he threw up. It would not be a long drive, but still Tony had learned how to take the necessary precautions when it came to his precious, and expensive, pet.

Peter hated the cage. He liked being in the front seat with Tony when he drove, with his head out of the window trying to catch raindrops on his tongue if it was raining. Being put in the cage in the backseat was boring, with nothing to look at, and the dog-boy sadly curled up on his blanket with his tail between his legs. By the time they had gotten to the vet, Peter was subdued and sullen, and did not fight when Tony lifted him up out of the cage.

Just a second after mentioning his name at the reception at the hybrid clinic, Stephen Strange came through and gestured for Tony to come with him. Rather than putting his pet down, Tony carried Peter the whole way. And as they walked, Tony could feel how Peter was beginning to tremble in his arms. He kissed his pup in between his ears lovingly. Despite his fear and wish to just escape and make a run for it, Peter was grateful for how Tony was holding him all the way to the exam room. 

“I’m sorry, but we gotta do this, pup...” 

“So, when did he swallow the shoelace?” Stephen asked as he led Tony to a free exam room. Tony put his precious pet on the metal exam table, but kept his hands on him still to sooth him. As he was set down on the table, the dog-boy instantly recoiled at how cool the metal felt against his skin, and whined in protest. His ears were pinned back against his head nervously, and he watched Strange move around the room with a wary eye. 

“I’m not sure, I just came back from work and found him by the toilet trying to throw up.”

“Before Daddy came home. 10... 10 minutes.” Peter mumbled. He did not want to speak at all, but he knew it would make the process more difficult if he did not.

“Good boy, Peter. Thank you for telling.” Stephen praised and Tony stroked in between the boy’s tense ears. Based on the dog-boy’s body language, he was very uncomfortable, and Tony’s heart ached at knowing it would get worse before it would get better. 

“Has he thrown up?” Stephen asked next, getting some gloves to do a quick exam before sedating the pet for the inevitable procedure needed to extract the ingested shoelace.

Both Peter and Tony said ‘no’ at the same time, Peter’s voice more high-pitched and wavering, nervous of what was going to happen next. As each second passed, Peter was becoming less and less soothed by Tony’s petting, his eyes wide and flitting all over the room. There were posters all over the place depicting different hybrid structures, both canine and feline, male and female. Peter tried to read them as a distraction, but could not keep his attention on them long enough.

“Okay, puppy, I’m gonna have a look at you now.” Stephen warned gently as he approached the exam table from where he had logged in his brief observations of Peter in his chart. “Just hold him up and keep him distracted.” The vet instructed to Tony, who nodded in response and got Peter up on all fours before stroking his ears and kissing at his nose. 

“You’re okay, pup.” Tony said in between the kisses. 

While Peter was standing up, Stephen started to gently feel the dog-boy’s abdomen, feeling for any tenderness or swelling. Peter could not squirm much from where Tony was holding him up. He was still upset though, and so avoided making eye contact with Tony as Strange began feeling around his abdomen. He whimpered gently, hating the way that Strange poked him. He hated everything about this, and pursed his lips uncomfortably while his ears still stayed flopped back against his head.

“Shh, I know, I know.” Stephen cooed as he continued to feel Peter’s abdomen for a few more moments before letting go. To make up for the discomfort he caused, he stroked the dog-boy’s back, watching as his tail twitched a bit, but remained in between his legs in a fearful position. “Okay, so since it hasn’t been long since he swallowed the shoelace, it’s probably still in his stomach. We’ll have to sedate him to carry out the ultrasound and then go in with the scope to remove it.” The vet explained while still stroking Peter’s back. Tony looked up as he listened to Stephen, but still cupped his pet’s face in his hands and stroked at his ear. 

“Right now?” 

“Yeah, I’ll just grab a sedative now. Time isn’t exactly on our side with this.” Stephen said and went to retrieve a syringe. “Usually, we give them treats to distract from the shot, but he can’t eat anything, so just do what you did earlier.”

Peter whined again. He could hear Strange moving around behind him, and Tony’s attempts of soothing him were not working. He eventually pulled his face away from Tony’s touch and hid himself by tucking his head in under his arms, trembling with fear.

“You’re okay, puppy, you’re okay. It’s just a little pinch and then you’ll have a nice nap.” Tony assured, but Peter did not seem comforted in the slightest. Gesturing to let Peter lay down, Stephen took a hold of the pup’s thigh, using his weight to hold the limb in place. After exchanging a quick look with Tony, the vet injected the pet swiftly.

A sharp yelp of pain came from Peter’s throat as he was injected, and he looked up from where he previously had his face buried in the crook of his arm to glare at Strange for injecting him. The sedative quickly took over though, and the dog-boy relaxed against the table with his eyes fluttering shut. Once the dog-boy fell unconscious, Stephen carefully straightened his neck out to secure an open airway, then stroked back the pup’s soft ears. 

“I got him from here, you don’t have to worry, Tony.” The vet reassured the clearly anxious owner. After giving his pet a kiss, or maybe a dozen, Tony finally left, although reluctantly. 

A short while later, Stephen had gotten a team of two nurses and an assistant to assist him with the dog-boy and had him transported to be treated. First, they did x-rays and an ultrasound to locate the shoelace, then had Peter readied in surgery to have the foreign object removed endoscopically. The dog-boy pulled through the procedure with perfect stats and all members of staff who saw him could not resist the urge to stop and coo at him. All hybrids are incredibly expensive due to their luxurious status and beauty, but it was clear that Peter was an exception. Everyone said how lucky Tony was to have him, and Stephen could hardly disagree as he looked at the still sedated and stunning pet on his procedure table. 

After the successful extraction of the shoelace, Stephen had Peter brought to recovery to come around from the anaesthesia on a cozy bed on the floor and with a blanket over him. Since Tony was a friend of his, Stephen had volunteered to stay in recovery to wait for Peter to come around, surprising a few nurses by doing so. But, the vet did not mind, and did some paperwork till he heard a soft groan and the shuffling of fabric, which indicated that his precious patient was starting to wake.

As Peter started to come to, he groaned gently. His ears swivelled on his head as he tried to gauge where he was, but his attention was quickly taken by how soft the bed and blanket combo was. He settled back down, feeling slightly groggy. He also felt hurt from having to go to the vet at all, he always hated it here. As not to startle the dog-boy, Stephen carefully approached him and offered the back of his hand to let the pup sniff him. 

“Hey, puppy... You sleepy? I bet you feel real weird now, but you’re okay.” The vet comforted.

Peter looked up to see Strange’s hand in front of him. He sniffed at the hand gently, but backed away from it when he realised that it was the vet. The dog-boy was still mad for being prodded and examined, and most importantly injected, so he curled up under his blanket and hid himself so that Strange could not talk to him any more. Tony did not even seem to be here, which Peter could tell by the lack of his owner’s smell in the room, which only made the pup more upset.

The vet was hardly offended by the pup’s reluctance to socialise with him, and just let his patient be. It was almost hilarious how some patients seem to adore him more than their owners, while the other half hated his guts. 

“Your Daddy will be here real soon, and then you’ll be on your way.” Stephen assured and headed out to let Tony know that his pet was awake and ready to be collected soon. Peter ignored the vet as he left, and continued sulking with his tail firmly between his legs. He did not want to see his Daddy, not when Tony was the reason he was even feeling this ill to begin with. If he had not been late, then Peter would not have swallowed the shoelace, and everything would have been fine. He grumbled to himself as he thought it over.

When Stephen called him, Tony had gone to put on his shoes and coat before even answering the phone and was already on his way when the vet said he could come collect his pet. In the meantime, Peter was moved from recovery to a cage in the normal ward for the other hybrids patients. The nurses had noticed that the dog-boy was in a foul mood, and did not bother him for long. Letting Tony in, Stephen pointed to the cage where his pet was. 

“Hi, puppy love!” Tony chuckled a little tearily and opened the cage door to stroke his pet. “I was so worried- oh, but, you’re all okay now. You’ll be getting so many treats at home, oh, yes you are.”

Peter was facing the wall when Tony came up to the cage he was in, and even despite being upset at his owner he could not resist turning to greet him. However, when Tony held his hand out to stroke him, Peter growled in response. It should have been enough to make Tony stop, but when the man continued reaching for him, the dog-boy lunged forward and bit his Daddy’s hand.

“Ah, fuck! Jesus!” Tony yelped and pulled his hand back, looking up at his pet in shock. He shut the cage door, and then looked at his hand where he had clear teeth marks between his thumb and pointy finger. Peter had bitten him before, but those were nibbles at best, but this was the first proper bite. And Tony was not pleased. “Bad dog.” He said lowly, letting the words sink in before he rose from the floor to stand up again.

It was like a cold bucket of water had been poured over Peter when he heard those words, and he scrambled backwards in his cage as the door shut in front of him. He was trembling again, this time at his own actions of upsetting his Daddy, and he blinked quickly as tears collected at the corners of his eyes.

Tony could see that Peter was upset and filled with instant regret, but this was bad enough for him to not forgive the dog-boy right away. Instead, he raised his hand to let a concerned Stephen have a look at it. 

“Has he bitten you before?”

“Just nibbled, so no, never like this.” Tony said, looking at the marks on his hand where Peter had scraped the top layers of his skin. There was no blood.

Peter went back to facing the wall, but his shoulders were shaking with quiet cries. He also pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and over his head, ignoring the noises from the cages and other hybrids around him. He was scared how Tony would react to being bitten for the first time.

“It’s not deep enough to need a rabies vaccine, but you should still get it cleaned.” Stephen said and showed the way to help Tony clean the scrapes. Before leaving, Tony looked over his shoulder at Peter in the cage. 

“Could you, uhm- have him muzzled when I bring him home?” Tony asked, and hated the fact that he had to ask such a thing to be done to his precious pet. Stephen nodded understandingly, then led the way out of the room.

Peter did not hear any details of Strange and Tony’s conversation, the blanket over his head muffling his hearing. It seemed like forever before he heard footsteps over in his direction again, and he could not resist peeking out from the blanket and looking over his shoulder to see who it was. When it was Strange, accompanied by a male and female nurse, the boy shrunk back again with a fearful growl.

Opening the cage door swiftly, Stephen pulled back the blanket and threw it over Peter’s head, covering him in darkness and disorienting him for long enough for him and the two nurses to lift him out and hold him down to the floor. They kept the blanket over Peter’s eyes, but pulled it back just long enough to work the muzzle on him and secured it behind his head. This was not exactly the first time they had dealt with aggressive and frightened hybrids. Before Peter knew what had happened, he was put back in his cage with a muzzle on his head. 

“Your Daddy will come get you very soon.” Stephen assured to Peter before leaving again.

Peter blinked momentarily, but his gaze was pulled down to the brown muzzle that was strapped around his face. He let out a howl, and instantly began pawing at it to try and pull it off of his face. However, there was no budging the muzzle, even when Peter tried to kick it off by bringing his feet up to his face.

When Peter started howling, some of the other hybrids, both canine and feline, started making noise too in response, whimpering and whining. However, after a while they all settled till Tony returned to the room, accompanied by a nurse this time. The CEO went to the cage where his pet was, and crouched down by him. His hand was now bandaged and he let the dog-boy see it before speaking. 

“This is what you get, Peter, because bad dogs get muzzles. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Peter thought he had finished crying, but when Tony appeared again with a bandaged hand it was enough for him to begin tearing up once more. It took him a moment to speak, as he tried his best to steady his breathing. 

“I’m s-sorry, Master.” The dog-boy had not referred to Tony as ‘master’ since he had first got him, and his voice quivered as he spoke.

That definitely caught Tony by surprise, and he raised his brow as he looked at his pet. All of a sudden he regretted asking the vet to muzzle his boy in the first place, but then he remembered that he had to stand by his punishment. If he did not, Peter would never listen to him again. 

“Thank you for apologising, but the muzzle will stay on till I decide otherwise. Now, come to Daddy.” He said, reaching his hand out once more for his pup. But, this time he did so through the closed cage door. 

Peter hesitated moving forward, but eventually came towards the closed cage door and hung his head low for Tony to pet it through the bars. He relaxed as Tony pet that special spot behind his ears, the one that made him almost purr like a cat. He didn’t say much else, he simply made soft, mewling noises as Tony pet him through the bars.

“There’s a good puppy...” Tony mused as he scratched at Peter’s favourite spot. Although he was a bit mad at the dog-boy still, he could not help but feel incredibly relieved that his precious pet was okay. “You feeling okay, pet? The doctor said you might feel a bit sick and woozy for the next few days. He gave me a list of foods that should make you feel better.”

Peter was feeling pretty non-verbal at that point, so he simply whined sadly in response to Tony’s question. He was almost pushing his head up against the bars of the cage with how much he wanted his Daddy’s soothing touch, one that scratched his scalp. It could not move much further than that though, as the muzzle prevented Tony from petting Peter under the chin, where he liked it.

“Oh, I know...” Tony agreed when Peter whined so pitifully. “We’ll go home soon, pet, once the doctor says we can.” He added and continued to scratch Peter through the bars until he got an idea and turned to the nurse. “Could I sit with him somewhere? To cuddle him?” 

“Of course.” The nurse replied, and showed Tony to some soft mats on the floor. To get Peter over, Tony opened the cage and reached his hands out in a non-verbal question.

Peter hesitated for a moment, but ultimately crawled out of the cage and into his Daddy’s arms. He curled up into a tight ball on Tony’s lap as the man sat down on the soft mat, nuzzling his forehead against his chest. He whimpered, though, at how the muzzle stopped him from properly pressing his face against Tony.

“Shh, you’re okay, you’re okay. Just rest now, Pete. I got you, pup.” Tony cooed when Peter whimpered and began stroking back the dog-boys ears. They were a bit tense still, and drawn back in a fearful and anxious manner. Or remorseful and sorry. “Daddy’s okay, I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.” Tony added, just to be sure in case Peter was torturing himself mentally. Although the hybrids could talk, they only did so when it was necessary.

Finally in his Daddy’s arms, Peter relaxed where he lay across his lap. He had been resting all night since swallowing the shoelace with how the drugs had forced him asleep and kept him groggy. But, laying like this on Tony’s lap, Peter felt himself relax properly. It felt just right. This is where he belonged, and that was the last thought he had before succumbing to sleep, but this time it was peaceful. 

The next time Peter woke up, he sniffed the air experimentally to try and orientate himself. He smelt home, and so he forced his eyes open to see that he was in his own dog bed next to Tony’s bed. He was back home. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over him and he lay back down, but he snapped his eyes open again when he realised that there was nothing on his head. Even in his still drowsy state, the pup remembered what had happened earlier. He had bit his master, and as a consequence he had been muzzled. But, there is no muzzle strapped to his head now. 

“Hey, you up, puppy love?” 

At the sound of a gentle voice, Peter looked to the door and saw Tony walking in. His Tony. Overwhelmed with delight, the dog-boy stood up, only to stubble over his wobbly feet and fall to the carpeted floor. The man rushed over with a few quick strides and crouched down the floor. 

“Hey, hey, easy.” Tony chuckled when he saw that Peter had not hurt himself, then arranged the puppy back into his bed and stroked back his ears. “You need to take it easy, pup.” And Peter obeyed, and closed his eyes again. In the stillness of the bedroom, the dog-boy relaxed fully. With every breath he took, he could smell Tony. The scent was hypnotising to Peter, and he felt himself start to drift off again, but he yipped in surprise at having his shoulder being shaken. 

“How about some food? You must be starving.” Peter did not realise just how hungry he was until Tony said that, and almost on command his stomach rumbled. The puppy even squirmed at the feeling and with a coo, Tony picked him up from the dog-bed. “There’s my good puppy. I’ll get you fed, don’t you worry.” The man cooed again with Peter in his arms. “And something that is not shoelaces.” 

At the sarcastic jab, Peter looked up at his master and started nipping at his neck and ears. 

“Ow, ow!” Tony laughed and tried to dodge Peter’s half hearted attacks. “Hey, hey!” But, Peter kept going for a bit longer to hear more of Tony’s laughter. He could feel how the man’s chest rumbled against his own torso, and it eased away the last of the regret he had in his heart from biting Tony. “Okay, okay. We’re even now. We all good?” 

Peter yipped happily. They were more than good, they were happy. 

[l0vege0rgie]

HATE ME [CH. 2]

GEORGE WEASLEY X RAVENCLAW!OC fanfiction

warnings/tags: not a lightweight story. setting is ootp onwards. slow burn. angst with happy ending. major and minor character deaths. mutual pining. future warnings in future chapters.

posted in wattpad as well!

MONTHS HAVE passed since then. Adhara spent most of her time with her professor, Snape, in the dungeons, when she wasn't at the D.A. meeting. Not because she likes the long-haired professor romantically, but because she wants to learn more about potions.

It was her last year, and she didn't want to waste time moping around because a pink-addict hag was infiltrating the school. That would mean she will take her N.E.W.T.s this year.

Unlike some, she was an outstanding student in Hogwarts. Not as bright as Hermione Granger, but she topped her classes for most of her years. It was a relief she weren't in the same year as the brightest witch of their age. She enjoyed Potions and Charms and that was what she wanted to focus on for her N.E.W.T.s.

She wanted to become a Curse-Breaker in the future.

So she took up Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against The Dark Arts for her N.E.W.T.s. She didn't bother taking Arithmancy again because she already got an Outstanding for it during her O.W.L.s. 

Being a Curse-Breaker wasn't easy. She knew of that already. At first, her father, a co-owner of the shop "Burgin and Burkes", didn't accept her choice of profession. He told her that she would inherit the shop as soon as she graduate, and that she didn't need to go pick a job that would basically be her death sentence. All Adhara could say to her father was, "I don't want the shop, father. Besides, you and sir Burkin is still well enough to make the shop functioning very well. My job could help remove future curses that might be put in your shop. I could put protection spells."

Her father had sighed and just accepted it.

"Miss Burke," She heard a low voice called her. Adhara turned around and saw professor Snape with vials in hand. "Time for your tutoring," He said and walked dramatically, his cape flourishing over like the end of a wedding dress. 

For the past months, they agreed to learn potions alphabetically. Whether it was of N.E.W.T.-level or not. It was harder, but Adhara managed. They already passed the letters A, B, and C. Now Snape will be teaching her how to perfect the Draught of Peace. It was taught already during her fifth year since it was an O.W.L.-level potion, but she still insisted to learn it again.

Snape placed the cauldron neatly, "The Draught of Peace, as you know already, is a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Don't be too heavy-handed with the ingredients. You will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so pay close attention to what you are doing," He paused. "I'm not expecting you to fail a very simple potion, Burke." 

Adhara nodded and went to the shelves of the classroom. She didn't need to ask what ingredients were needed, it was like muscle memory already. Carefully opening the cabinet, she took a hold of moonstones, porcupine quills,  unicorn horn, and hellebore. Opening the next cabinet, she took vials, a mortar, and a pestle. Snape silently watched her movement.

There is no need in denying that the girl was fluid with her actions, as if brewing potions were something she was meant to do, or was born to do. 

"Are you sure you want to become a Curse-Breaker, instead of being a healer or potioneer?"

Adhara shrugged as she made everything except the hellebore into powder. Vigorously using the pestle, she answered without looking at the professor, "I could still do those while being a curse-breaker, except it isn't in a professional way. I could have side jobs in an apothecary. Or maybe help madam Pomfrey here when my schedule is free in the future. Being a curse-breaker isn't an everyday job, anyway." She put all the powders in different cups before extracting the hellebore plant. "Well, then I won't push you further. Answer this last question for me, though. Why do you want to be one so bad?"

She finally looked at him, raising a brow. "I didn't see you as someone who is nosy,  professor."

Snape scoffed, his lips twitching upward with a thin smile. "I suppose I'm not. You haven't answered my question."

"You know why, Snape. There is no need for me to repeat my answer." Adhara answered, now pouring the powdered moonstone inside the boiling cauldron. Snape didn't talk for the rest of the time. She waited until the concoction turned green. She proceeded doing the other procedures.

An hour and a half passed by, and the potion was finally emitting vapours of silver. She made a batch, giving half to Snape. It had been part of their agreement. Adhara will always give half of the successful batches of every potion she will brew. It was to keep Snape's inventory to last atleast two more years. Then Snape would give a quarter of it to madam Pomfrey whenever Adhara would brew potions that are needed for healing and in the clinic. "Spectacular as always, miss Burke. Now run along,"

Adhara almost memorized that phrase, it was always what Snape would say whenever the tutoring would end. She'd nod and exit the dungeon, casting a Disillusionment Charm on herself so Umbridge or the Inquisitorial Squad wouldn't catch her. 

It always worked.

Except now.

She was nearing the top of the spiral staircase leading to her House tower, when she heard a familiar voice. "Freddie, come on. Help me answer the riddle here," she immediately thought it was that pestering Weasley. George.

In panic, Adhara stepped on the stairs a bit louder than she planned. She saw the twins looking around hysterically, muttering curses to each other. "Stupid, stupid, you stupid ginger–"

"Shut up, you'll get us caught,"

"Why are we even here in the Ravenclaw Tower? Last time I checked we were Gryffindors. And our tower is opposite of this wing!"

"Fred–just shut up, okay? Let's just go here tomorrow."

Adhara was breathing heavily, putting a  hand on her mouth to prevent noise. She looked down and carefully went a few more steps.

When she was one step away from her tower, the eagle knocker beside the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw suddenly spoke, as if sensing Adhara. She quickly glued herself to a nearby wall. "Which came first, the phoenix, or the flame?"

"I don't know! Ask Dumbledore!" Fred, who Adhara assumed who he was, said angrily to the eagle knocker. "And why is it a different riddle this time?" Adhara rolled her eyes. She knew the answer, and if only the two fools would go away, she could enter her tower safe and sound. 

But they didn't budge. They were still there. George Weasley was thinking so deep it almost made Adhara think he would know the answer. She waited.

Except minutes later, Fred was still whisper-ranting, and George was still staring at the eagle knocker. So Adhara did the stupidest thing, "A circle has no beginning," she whispered, but it was enough for the eagle knocker to open its bronze knocker. "Who the fu–"

Before she could enter, she felt someone grab her by the arm. "Burke?"

[aureumjeon]

Pitter-Patter (M) || KNJ

♡ Domestic!Au ♡ Husband!Namjoon x Reader ♡ !! WARNING !! Mention of miscarriage, depression, Fluff, Angst, Light smut. ♡ Words: 5.1K

a/n: *Disclaimer: I am not a doctor, nurse, midwife or anything. This was based on my own knowledge (I gave birth twice.) and of course, Google. I literally cried while writing the miscarriage scene. I have no intention of offending women who went through a mc. For those who experienced it recently or 10, 20, or even 30 years ago, I am so sorry for your loss. I will hold a special spot in my heart for you and your child. I am a mere stranger to you but I want you to know that there's a rainbow always after the rain.  🌈

“You’re not going to go through this alone,  I’m with you all the way.”

You were huddled up in thick blankets on the living room couch watching Marvel's Thor: Ragnarok with your loving husband, Namjoon. Too immersed in the comedic yet action-packed plot, you did not feel your husband's hand slither its way down to the apex of your thigh. "Babe..." You whined, wiggling your thigh, trying to shake off his venturing hand. "I'm trying to watch here." You said, completely unamused. He chuckled and retorted "But we've watched this movie THREE times now." With a heavy emphasis on the three. Giggles were the only thing you replied, waving your hands in his face trying to dismiss his logical argument. He snickered at your response and rested his head on your lap, looking up at you and admiring the view. He genuinely felt happy that he gets to spend his entire life with you, for better or for worst. There was only one thing he thought was missing. "Y/N..." He hummed your name sweetly, his voice low and smooth, and it felt like feathers titillating your eardrums. "Yes, love?" You hummed back while brushing your fingers through his silver tinted hair, eyes still focused on the television.  "Maybe..." He paused. Namjoon nervously swallowed a lump in his throat and carried on with what he was saying, “I think we could try again, Y/N. It's been 8 months." Your husband firmly stated, washing off any trace of hesitancy.

It took you a while to process what he was suggesting when it did sink in, the playfulness of your voice dissipated. Your face stone hard and a frown was embossed on your lips. With eyes cold as ice, you stared him down like he murdered someone. You stood up abruptly, causing his head to hit the seat cushion. "Ouch." He hissed. "Good thing its soft and we weren't lying on the floor." going over the back of his head with his fingers. You marched straight up to your shared bedroom and shut the door as loudly as you could. SLAM!

"Aish.." Namjoon sighed, pulling himself up and trailed over to where you headed. "Y/N." He knocked on the wood door twice but to no avail. "Love." He called you again, this time by your term of endearment for each other. You know you can't resist when he calls you that. The way the word escapes his lips, like a hot knife gliding through cold butter. Yes, it’s that smooth. When Namjoon heard the sound of the lock clicking, he slowly held the doorknob and nudged it open. “Y/N...” He whispered, inching closer to the side of the bed where you were seated. “Are you okay?” he inquired, rubbing circles on your back trying to soothe you. “I’m sorry...” you apologized, feeling guilty at your sudden outburst. It wasn’t his fault, and he definitely did not deserve that. You clasped his hand, lightly tugging at it, encouraging him to sit down beside you. He precisely did what you asked, wrapping his arms around you. You felt the warm, comforting heat radiate from his body.

“It’s not your fault, love...” He replied, voice gentle and soft. “Sorry for being insensitive.” He settled his hand on your face, thumb caressing the apple of your cheek. “Sorry if it seemed like I was rushing you.” Namjoon leaned closer to you and placed a kiss chaste kiss on your forehead. [Past] Rewind to the day you found out that you were carrying a little angel in your womb. "Love!" You shouted from the bathroom, your voice was quivering from excitement. Namjoon thought there was something wrong or that you were in trouble, he barged right through the door and exclaimed "Y/N! What's wrong?!” Tears were welling up in your eyes. You held up the at home pregnancy test kit in your hand, two solid red lines showed. After years and years of trying to conceive, the exhausting days filled with mapping out your ovulation period, ingesting an unhealthy amount of supplement that promised to enhance your fertility, and going back and forth with your not-so-affordable OB-GYNE finally paid off. "We're pregnant?" Your thunderstruck of a husband gleefully asked. "We're pregnant!" You jumped into his arms, feeling his familiar embrace. "We're... We're pregnant." He sighed in positive disbelief, tightening his hold on you. "I can't believe it!" He whimpered as his face dived deeper in the crook of your neck, "Finally." You softly hummed. The excitement of knowing that you will become a mother tickled you inside, setting off tiny, little butterflies. The following day you went to the clinic to professionally confirm that you were indeed pregnant. Your doctor delightfully congratulated both of you and enlightened you with everything you needed to know for the next 9-10 months. You took note of everything she advised, from 'what to eat and what not to eat' to 'sleeping facing the left was suggested, because it provided better blood circulation for the child." (A/n: Fun fact, this is true. My doctor advised me to sleep on the left side with both of my pregnancies. ) You were ecstatic, you undeniably were.

The moment you and your husband walked out of the building, your mind was focused on one thing, one thing alone. You looked at Namjoon with sparkly eyes and chimed "Baby clothes, bottles, binkies, shoes, bouncer, toys---" You were interrupted by your dimpled husband "Calm down, love. Isn't too early to buy those?" He chuckled, to which you replied with a pout. "And we don't know our baby's gender yet." His argument was convincing, but your stubbornness was stronger. You crossed your arms in a child-like manner, again pouting your lips into a c-shape while you stomp your feet. Indeed, like a 5-year old who was not allowed to use her tablet because screen time was over. "Come on, Y/N..." Namjoon stated, his hand was on your shoulders, trying to overpower you rebellious stance. "No." You huffed, cheeks puffed out. "Yah. You know you're absolutely gonna be the death of me, Y/N." He worded jokingly, raising his hands up in defeat "Fine." Your eyes grew 10 times wider at his surrender. "We can get a few things--," You yelled in excitement, cutting him off. "On one condition..." He continued, your grin turned upside down. "We will only get essential things." You face was like a clock, changing its direction every second. "Deal!" You joyfully replied, hooking arms with him. - "Look at this, love!" You exclaimed at amazement, pointing at the compact stroller that magically folds into a cube no more than 20 inches in height and width. Namjoon coiled his arm around your waist and kissed the top of your head. You reached the clothing section for 3 months and below. With wandering eyes, you gazed at all the lovely clothes stacked against one another, row after row, and aisle after aisle. They were just as adorable as you expected them to be. Varying from the palest shade of pink to the deepest shade of blue. Onesies, jumpers, sweaters, hats with fluffy cat ears on top, you name it. "Only what's necessary." Namjoon prompted you with a smile on his face, seeing you happy made him happy. "Yes, sir!" You replied. Your husband does have a point; it really was too early for this. You were just excited at the whole ordeal, and you were thankful that your husband was very kind, loving and understanding enough to let you do what you want. "These!" You plucked the 6-set whites onesies from the display hook. "And these, too!" A cute 3-piece pyjama set littered with doodles of cats, dogs and rabbits accordingly. You tossed them in the basket that was held by your husband. He walked behind you, following every twist and turn you took. Humming a song as he observed you with love-struck eyes. You, the love of his life, is now bearing his child. A family, he thought to himself, together the three of you will become a family. After getting what you needed, you hurriedly hauled your husband to the counter to pay for everything you bought. You got to the car and sat in the passenger seat, holding the bag of baby stuff. "You happy?" Namjoon smiled, his free hand resting on your thigh. "Very!" You lovingly replied, clutching on the bag. The first three months were hell, the doctor told you that this period is where your body will start to feel the surge of hormones. Some women feel nothing at all, while others experience nausea, vomiting, fatigue, cravings, smell sensitivity, and many, many more unpleasant thing. Unfortunately, you represent the latter.

You wouldn't survive it if it wasn't for you very supportive husband. He'd remind you when it was time to take your prenatal pills, cook you a full balanced meal, sing you lullabies when you had trouble sleeping, massage your back, legs and feet whenever you feel them ache, and run to the 24-hour convenience store when you want to eat weird combination of food like chocolate covered sausage. He was heaven sent, you looked at him with luminous eyes while he cradled your growing bump in his arms, kissing it more than a hundred times. What have you done in your past life to deserve a man like him? He was an amazing husband, and he will be an amazing father too. "We got a monthly check up tomorrow right?" You asked your husband at you scanned your phone's calendar. "Yes..." He hummed as he placed another kiss on your tummy. "I'm excited to see how much our little one has grown." You smiled. Namjoon crawled beside you, spooning you in. "Sleep, love. It's harmful to stay up late." He stated. You closed your eyes and felt your body drift into dreamland. Tomorrow comes, you were seated at the waiting area with your husband, waiting for your names to be called. "Mr. and Mrs. Kim?" The nurse at the reception desk stated, she smiled and added: "Mrs. Park is ready to see you now." You bowed and entered the room, greeting the familiar face of the doctor you've been seeing for almost 3 years. "How are you feeling, darling?" Your sweet doctor inquired as she gestured for your maternity booklet. "Have you eaten well and are you getting enough sleep?" You nod, while she scanned your previous record. "By the look of it, you're 16 weeks in today, congratulations again." She grinned from ear to ear. Happy to see that the Kims, one of her favorite couple has come a long way. She rose from her seat and guided you over to her examination table, helping you lie down. "Let's see how much the baby has grown." She clapped, reaching for her handy dandy tape measure and measured your bump. "Good, good. This is an appropriate size for a 16th week gestational age." You smiled and looked over your to your right, you husband giving you the thumbs up. "Next, we'll count the baby's heartbeat." She opened the drawer next to the examination table and pulled her Doppler foetal monitor. She uncapped the tube of Aquasonic 100 Ultrasound gel and spread it on the tip of the gadget. You jolt at the sudden coldness you felt. "Okay, stay still mommy. Let's find your angel's heartbeat.

Your doctor furrowed her brows after 6 minutes of searching for your little one's thumping heart. "That's odd." She obscurely said. The look of worry both flooded you and Namjoon's faces. "Is something wrong, Mrs. Park?" Your husband, who was presently standing to your right, impatiently asked while clasping your hand. "I'm having a hard time locating it." She answered, "It is possible your baby's in a very snug position, that might be the reason why my Doppler can get a hold of his/her heartbeat." You exhaled a profound sigh of relief, looking at each other with weary eyes. "It's going to be alright, love," Namjoon assured you, kissing your knuckles. "I'll ask my assistant to prepare the ultrasound room for us. We require a more powerful machine so we will use big Al, that's what we call him here." She smiled. "Please wait a moment Mr. and Mrs. Kim." She then left the room. "Everything's gonna be alright, I promise." Your husband assured you once more, as he felt your hands tremble in fear. "I hope so..." You sighed. You were finally in the ultrasound room, Big Al stood before you. "Okay. This will do the job." Mrs. Park affirmed, "Please." She gestured to the examination table, this time it was a bigger one. "With this, we will be able to locate it 10 times faster." You breathe in and out to release the tension in your body. The sonographer gave Mrs. Park the go signal, she slid the now mightier machine on your stomach again for a solid 3 minutes. You crossed your fingers and hoped for the best, anticipating only positive things. You train of thought was then cut short by the sonographer. "Mrs. Park, for a while." The young lady called to the elder woman. You and Namjoon's eyes were stuck on the both of them. She then muttered something into her ear, causing her happy demeanor to melt into a gloomy one. She cleared her throat and stood firm and professional. "Mrs. Kim." Her voice was laced with sadness, and you felt your own heart rate shoot up a hundred times. "I'm sorry." She outstretched her hand to hold yours, squeezing it tightly. Your mind went dull. "What?" You asked, utterly terrified at what she was about to say next. "The baby doesn’t have a heartbeat." You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces inside your chest, piercing you lungs making you unable to breathe properly. "What?!" Your husband yelled furiously, Mrs. Park was trying to calm him down. It felt like a gun was aimed at your head, and reality pulled the trigger. Big, heavy tears instantaneously fell from your eyes without a warning. You felt the ground swallow you whole. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY?!

You suddenly burst into a desperate cry. You hopped off the table and fell to the ground with a loud thud; Namjoon rushed over and held you in his arms. The pain from the fall was no way near the pain you felt at the moment. Hearing the news with your own two ears felt like a death sentence. "Why?!" You screamed at the top of your lungs. "W-w-?!" sobbing endlessly. Words were not enough to express all the emotions stirring up inside you. If felt painful; it felt horrible; it felt terrifying; it felt excruciatingly unbearable; it felt like you no longer had a reason to live; it felt like all the sense in your mind, and your body was stripped off with just one sentence. "Why?! I did everything right!" You bawled, using your husband as a punching bag. "Why?! Why did it turn out like this?!" Your screams grew harsher that other nurses fled to the room to determine what all the commotion was about. You looked at Mrs. Park and wept "Why?" She bowed her and went down to your level. "I'm extremely sorry, Y/N." Her eyes filled with guilt as she failed you, in the sense that it was her responsibility to take care of the mother and child during the miraculous process of conceiving up to delivering. She did not see your future, and the future of your child turn out this way. "I'm sorry." She truly was. You and your husband were escorted to a private room, where you could take a rest. Your eyes were still bloodshot, red and swollen. You were shivering uncontrollably from head to toe. You were not in the right state for a conversation at the moment, so Namjoom was the one who discussed with Mrs. Park about the next step. Namjoon calmly explained to you that they scheduled you for a labor induction a week from now. Mrs. Park said it would be better to give you time to adjust, time to accept the reality as it is. There was nothing you or he could do to prevent it. Miscarriages happen, even to the healthiest of women. You headed home later that day, you haven't said a single word. It pained your husband to see you like this so he decided to take a whole month off of work, he was fortunate that his boss was kind enough to. He allotted his time to take care of you, making sure you knew you were loved, even at your darkest moments. The cursed day came, and you we're nothing but scared. Your husband looked at you with hopeful eyes "You're not going to go through this alone. I'm with you all the way." He assured you, giving you one last kissed before they wheeled you to the delivery room. "I love you." He voiced out enough for you to hear.

After two gruelling hours that felt like forever, you were able to deliver your child. He was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. You held him in your arms. He was tiny and fragile, no less than 5 inches long. You looked at his face; he's got Namjoon's eyes and your nose. You gently touch his little feet; you were in complete awe at his cute toenails. "Look, love." You hummed to your husband who carried the same face as yours. "Beautiful." He smiled through his faltering voice, "Our baby is beautiful." You looked at you husband and said "Byeol." You smiled faintly, "Let's name him Kim Byeol." He merely nodded "I think that's a lovely name." You tried holding back the tears, for these were moments that needed to be cherished. A mother and child moment that can never be replaced. You were celebrating the birth of your child, your beautiful child. He might not be here physically, but spiritually he is. He was in your heart, in your mind, and in your soul. And he always will be. He was a part of you that can never be taken away. You loved him the day he was created, you love him the day he was taken, and you’ll love him until your last breath. "Byeol." So that every time the sun goes down and the moon takes over its throne, you know he's there. Watching over you while you sleep and dream about him. There may come certain times when the skies are cloudy or filled with rain, he will hide. For just like you, he is terrified. Once the storm calms and there's no more need to be scared, he will show himself. He will show you and teach you that the darker the sky, the brighter your little star will shine. It was time to say goodbye. You were not ready, you were not ready to say goodbye yet. You knew he could not stay with you forever, but when they took him from you, you felt empty. Your life felt empty. It's like a huge shadow was cast over you, engulfing you in darkness. 'No, please.' You whispered to yourself as they took your baby away. You feel asleep almost immediately, your body was tired, of course. You needed to rest, your mind and your body needed to rest. You woke up to the next day. Your husband happily prepared breakfast for you, his eyes were still red and swollen from all the crying he did last night. You were silent; you were confused; you were lost. He was worried you didn't want to eat anything, but he still pushed it upon himself to get you to eat something even if it's a small piece of bread and a glass of water. Once your meal was finished, he handed you a white frame. Two little footprints in the middle of the page, the name "Byeol Kim" written in beautiful calligraphy just above it, and below it, the words "Forever in my heart" pulled a heart string. Each corner was decorated in white lace with intricate design, a pair of angel wings at each side. "A gift." He interjected. "From the hospital." You were still silent, but he knew deep down in your heart that the simple gift meant the world to you. After your induction, she advised you to stay at home, take all the rest you need, eat healthily and take care of yourself. She wished you a speedy recovery.

 The car drive home was quiet. No words, no tears, no nothing. He watched as you aimlessly walk around the house, clutching onto your stomach, mumbling incoherent words. He did not mind he had to feed you, bathe you, clothe you, and brush your hair. He didn't mind any of those things because this was the way he could help your recovery. He loved you, and he wanted to do everything in his power to help you get back up on your feet, even if it's one day at a time. Namjoon woke up with the sound of your cries. He ran to where the sound came from and discovered you on the floor in tears, holding on the clothes that you bought not so long ago. "Byeol..." You sobbed, looking at the baby clothes. "My Byeol.." Striking your hands on the floor. "My baby's gone." You mourned endlessly. "What's the point of living if my baby didn't get to experience it?" The sound of your broken cries echoed inside the entire house. Namjoon picked you, bridal style and carried you to your room. "Hush now, love." He sang, rocking you in his arms. "Byeol's not gone." Namjoon squeezed your hand and placed it against your chest, just above your heart. "He's here." Then he transferred it to his "And here, too." He smiled, "As long as we're here, he will be here, too." His voice was like a lullaby that alleviated your pain. You thought you were alone, that there was nobody that could understand your pain. You carried that child. You carried that burden. You felt sad you forgot about the other most important person in your life, Namjoon. You harmoniously pranced with him through the better, now, you're defying all odds through the worse. Your previous flare-ups with your husband were nothing compared to this, this was a level beyond any other level. You were grateful, extremely. You fell in love with the man who's willing to move mountains for you, search high and low just to make you happy. He would gladly surrender his life in exchange for yours to be spared, eternally, you were grateful.

[Present]

You ran your fingers through his locks, looking intensely at his black orbs. "I love you." He leaned in closer and captured you with a kiss. His hands traveled to the hem of your shirt, lifting it in one fell swoop, you giggled in surprise. Namjoon pushed you further to the bed with hungry kisses, his instincts kicked in when he plopped you, back flat on the mattress. He looked at your shirtless figure below him, and he bit his lip and said: "You’re fucking beautiful." And continued with the interrupted kiss. It felt like a lifetime; it really did. You were so frightened of another heartbreak and going through the same experience again that you cut off all sexual involvement besides kissing and cuddling for 8 months. You were amazed at your husband's strong will but felt bad, too. Because you were blocking something that comes so natural between two people that love each other. He understood where you coming from, of course. There were just times that his naughty little hands found it's under your shirt or inside your panties, it was cute but still. You weren't ready then. You are now. "Oh my god." You hummed. You missed the way his breath felt your neck while he was kissing you there; you missed the way your hands clung onto his shoulders, your digits digging in to his skin; you miss the way your back would arch every time he would suck on your supple flesh, drawing out purple bruise; you simple miss him. "Is... Is this okay?" He broke the kiss, making sure you wanted this as much as he did. "Yes." You mused, shimmying your shorts and panties down. Your action caused his pupils to dilate, breath heavy. "I love you, Namjoon." "I love you too, Y/N." His mouth inched closer to your perked nubs, his warm breath fanning over your skin as he sucked more marks, sending your senses into overdrive. "Uggh-" You moaned, hands curling into a fist. "You enjoying yourself?" He chuckled lowly, taking in your nipple in his mouth which earned another loud moan from you. He sucked on it, tweaking it between his teeth. "Don't... Stop..." You whined. His hands came up and cupped both of your breasts, kneading it with his huge palm and long fingers. Your body once again contorted into an arch, as the bolt of electricity ran through your entire boy. You hustled him away, for a second there he thought you wanted to back out, but to his surprise, you grabbed his shirt and plucked it over his body. "I like seeing you naked." You huffed, scanning his entire figure. He then untied the lace of his sweatpants and pulled it down to his knees before kicking it off. "Me, too." He boasted his hard 7-inch member meeting you tip to eye. His head was glossy due to the beads of pre-cum coming out of its narrow slit. "Wow." You mouthed, eyes still affixed on his dick. "What can I say, it missed you, a lot." He joked while pumping himself. "Want me to stretch you out first? It's been so long." He suggested. You shyly nod and wait for him to descend to you soaked womanhood. "I guess someone misses it, too." He growled, his face mere centimetres away from your core. "You smell as amazing as the day I ate you out for the first time." He groaned through close nit teeth, wanting to eat you whole. "F-fuck!" You whipped when he licked a stripe over you juice stained core. "You're so wet for me, Y/N," He pridefully stated. "And only for me." He was ravenous, like a carnivore that hasn't had a meal in days chomping down on its prey. Boy, he ate you the right way. He managed to pull himself off of your inviting pussy because of the need to fuck you was taking over his body. "Is that okay? You're pretty lubed up now." He gave you a certain glance that could only refer to one thing. You spread your legs, coaxing him to dive right in. Right away, his body hovered over yours, he lined himself next to your dripping core. "Tell me if it hurts, Okay?" He said before gradually pushing the tip of his cock. He went in nice and steady, "God, I forgot you were so fucking tight." He pushed in further, you pussy was swallowing his member inch by inch. Your walls were clenching around his shaft. You yelped at the delicious stretch, his pulsating dick in filling you up so good. The sound of your wanton moans reverberated in his ears making him pulled away and then snap his back into you so fucking hard. "Namjoon-ah!" You screamed as he thrashed you onto the mattress. You grabbed a fistful of his locks; you tuck your butt in and raised your pelvis a bit higher, giving him a better angle to penetrate you. "Shit." His voice was cracked, breathing heavy. "I think I'm about to come... " He whined, quickening his pace. "Cum with me, Y/N." With his words, your velvet walls hugged his hard member perfectly, his thrust we sloppy, an indication of him approaching his climax. "Fuuuuck!" He groaned out loud when he spilled his seed inside of your warm hole. "Fuck indeed." You playfully hummed while he rode out both of your highs. He managed to squeeze in one last push before his member turned flaccid. His body dropped on your own. "You're heavy..." You grumbled, his sweat mixed with yours "Sweaty, too! Ewww!" You joked. Namjoon looked at you and said "Shower?" with a big grin on his face. "Yes please!"

Five weeks have passed, and you were 4 days late for your period. You had been experiencing sudden mood swings and cravings the past week, your breast felt more tender than the usual and morning sickness plague you every single day. You searched for your spare Pregnancy test kit in your medicine cabinet. You peed on the stick, thinking nothing of it, not expecting anything. "Positive" You uttered, speechless at the sight of two red lines. "It's positive." You lowered your voice, hoping your husband didn't hear you. You wanted to surprise him and what great timing you thought, his birthday was just right around the corner. You stuffed the test in your pocket and ran upstairs. Rummaging through your closet, you found the box of your engagement ring. You pulled out all of the foam contents, making sure the small test would fit inside. "Yes!" It was a perfect fit. You couldn't wait for six more, so you had to tell him now. "Love??" You yelled. "Come up here for a second. I need to show you something." "In a minute!" He was hanging the clothes you had finished washing together. "What is it?" He stepped into the room and was greeted by you with a mischievous grin on your face. "Okay..." He cautiously shut the door behind him and continued "What are you up to?" He asked with a doubtful tone in his voice. "You birthday's coming up, and I got you an early gift!" You cheerfully stated. "You know you didn't have to." He tucked the strand of hair behind your ear. "You're already the best gift I received." Placing a gentle kiss on your lips. Your grin grew wider as you said: "I found something better!" You handed him the small box, and he looked confused. "Your? Ring?" He chuckled at your antics. "Open it, c'mon!" The moment he opens the box and laid eyes on whatever was inside, no words were spoken, he hugged you so tight, oh so very tight and said "Okay. This is probably the best birthday gift anybody has ever given me." Fast forward to a year and a half later with you sitting on the living room floor. Same old house, same old car, same old couch, but... Something was different... You were thankful your prayers had been answered as you heard the pitter-patter of little footsteps on the hardwood floor. End.

a/n: somewhat edited. idk 11/22/18

[moreorgans]

Surgery

“I see you’ve got a some scars here”, the doctor said, gesturing to two faint, thin lines that ran down both sides of the patient’s neck. “What’s that about?”

We had barely walked into the room before the question came. The attending had introduced himself and the chief resident and then immediately gotten down to his usual business of seeing barely-there lumps under t-shirts and awkward folds of skin for what they were �� indirect hernias and 24 year old tracheotomy scars. His ability to see on the human body what seems to me so subtle has consistently astounded me. His inability to acknowledge my presence in any room, including to the patients who eye me quizzically from their exam tables, also astounds me.

“Oh, I had some surgeries on my neck, that’s all.”

He was looking into his lap while he fielded the surgeon’s casual inquiry and it was immediately clear to me that he didn’t want to talk about those scars or what had necessitated them. When he finally glanced back up at the doctor under the brim of his “Make America Great Again” hat and realized that more information was expected of him than that, he added “I was stabbed in the neck a long time ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

My attending, of course, disagreed. I’ve learned many things since starting my general surgery rotation 2 weeks ago and one of them is this: there are few things more important to a general surgeon than his or her patient’s surgical history.

“Have you had any other surgeries in the past?”

The man tentatively lifted the hem of his “John 3:16” t-shirt up until it reached the bottom edge of his sternum. A thick scar that began where his ribs met each other in the middle and ended somewhere below the waist of his jeans stared back at us. You didn’t need a surgeon’s 9 years’ worth of medical training to see this one. “Yeah, I also had surgery on my belly.” An understatement, for sure.

He sighed, staring deadpan at the ceiling now. “I’ve been stabbed 42 times. I have some bipolar stuff and I used to be a different kind of person. And, no offense”, he looked emphatically and directly at me now, shrugging a little, “but 11 of those stabs were from women.” Among the things, I have notlearned during my general surgery rotation so far: how to respond to comments like that one. I decided to go with a half-smile and a softly spoken “None taken, sir.”

Both doctors I’d followed into this tiny room chuckled and went about their business confirming the inguinal hernia that had brought this guy into our clinic to begin with. I watched and listened as they muttered to each other about how they’d need to approach the repair in order to avoid the inevitable scar tissue, whether they’d be able to book it before the resident would be moving to his next training site, which OR would likely be available. While their hands and eyes were moving over the patient’s abdomen I took a moment to scan the rest of him.

Middle-aged, white, male, Trump supporting, and Christian, complete with T-shirt and accessory to prove it. Was this man intentionally trying to bring a negative stereotype in my head to life? It sure felt like it.

This man probably thinks my Muslim roommate should be scooped out of our home and sent back to ISIS.

This man has fear and sadness written all over his face.

My brain told me both at about the same time the physicians finished their exam.

“You’ll need surgery to repair the hole in your abdominal wall. We’ll make 3 small incisions the size of a pen in your belly to fix it, you’ll get stitches in each of them and then over top there will be skin glue. You can shower the next day and in 2-4 weeks you’ll be feeling back to normal again. The scar tissue may make things a little tricky, but I’m confident we’ll be able to do the surgery successfully. Any questions?” I’ve heard him say some version of this about 50 times at this point and he says it so quickly that I’m still not sure I actually process any of it, even though I’ve seen been placing those stitches and that skin glue with my own two hands.

I feel pretty sure most of the patients don’t get the chance to process it either.

“I guess not.” We’d been in the room for all of 3 minutes so far, a surgery had been planned from beginning to end, and what I perceived as a look of unmistakable anguish hadn’t left this man’s face. I’d hedge my bets that he did, in fact, have a few questions and I knew for a sure that I did. Are you okay? Are you nervous about another surgery? Is there a backpack full of shame weighing heavy on your shoulders? Are the scars you bare anything more or deeper than lines on your skin?

“Great, I’ll get you scheduled.” The attending briskly grabbed the scheduling form from its place on the wall while the resident turned to open the patient’s chart in search of the abdominal CT scans that would help them with their surgical approach. I peered over his shoulder because I am both absolutely terrible at reading CT images and absolutely sure that they’ll be on my board exam – might as well try to make sense of all those bowel loops while I’m able to ask for help.

Just as I was reminding myself that I need to reorient the mirrored image in order to keep my lefts and rights straight, I heard the patient clear his throat. I looked back over at him to see that tears were quietly streaming from both eyes as he frantically pulled off his glasses to wipe them away. My heart leapt across the crowded little room toward him and I stopped myself just short of kneeling next to his chair to offer some semblance of comfort. This is a man in a room with 2 other adult men and he probably doesn’t prefer that I draw attention to his vulnerability right now. Or does he? Is there a way to communicate that I see and hear him without making it awkward?

I glanced back at the physicians standing within 2 feet of this weeping man, both with their backs to their patient, seemingly oblivious to him in their quest to operate soon and well. As is often the case as a medical student, I am reminded in this moment that I don’t get to set the tone. It isn’t my place to start translating the jargon that bubbles from the lips of medical professionals when patients ask questions; it might draw attention to the fact that doctors aren’t doing a good job explaining things. It isn’t my role to finish a neurological exam with gentle questions about a patient’s crack cocaine addiction, even if it is the reason she suffered a devastating stroke at only 37 years old; it wastes the doctor’s time to start dig up problems like that during rounds. It isn’t appropriate to offer a box of tissues to a man while tears stream down his face; this isn’t a place to shed or wipe tears, it’s a place to pick which mesh will best patch a peritoneal tear.

What felt like an eternity passed while I joined my mentors in pretending not to notice and legitimately not noticing the despair of someone sitting within inches of us. The attending finished filling out the scheduling form, asking a list of yes or no questions over his shoulder for his sniffling patient about blood thinner regimens and comorbidities. The resident finished nodding knowingly at the CT scans that continued to look to me like greyscale impressionist art. They both turned around to face the still tearful man.

“It was great meeting you, Mr. Hart.” They take turns extending their hands for a handshake and hand him the paper that would be his admission ticket to operative hernia repair. “Check out is down the hall to your left – we’ll see you in a few weeks!” Our patient nods passively in reply and as they make their way out of the room, I am torn between total disbelief and heartbreak.

How can you see scars no thicker than a strand of hair, but not that your patient is crying? How can you pick up on radiographic densities more subtle than the difference between grey and greyer,  but not someone’s blatant sorrow? How can you know so much about how to repair the most fragile tissues in the human body, and nothing about how to ameliorate someone’s deeper pain?

Finally, I moved to reach for the box of Kleenex that lives next to wound care supplies in every room of the clinic. I hand it to him with a hand on his shoulder, desperately looking for the right words to take us beyond our many differences to a place of support and human connection. I wasn’t even sure what had brought on the flood of emotion he was experiencing, but putting together the pieces, I had an idea.

“Mr. Hart, you know that no one here is judging you, right? We ask about things that have happened a long time ago so that we can move forward with surgery in a way that will be best for you. But the person you are today is the person we’re trying to take care of, okay?”

I watch as fresh tears rise out and over the edges of his eyes and immediately worry that I have stumbled over an emotional boundary I shouldn’t have. It wouldn’t be the first time.

He takes a tissue from me and grabs my hand with both of his, looking directly at me.

“I’m not that person anymore. I don’t want to be that person anymore or ever again.”

“I hear you.” I point to him. “This person is the person that matters”.

I sit the box of tissues back in their place between the sink and the menagerie of gauze, hearing just how cliché I sound and realizing just how much I mean it.

Mr. Harte wipes his eyes and settles his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

Our gazes meet and he says softly, “Thank you. Thank you so much for saying that.”

We walk together to the check-out desk and I hurriedly wish him well just as I see both of the doctors I am supposed to be working with walk into another patient room around the corner. What will go unseen and unheard and unsaid in that room? In the next? What happens if and when I’m not there to notice?

My third year of medical school is designed to teach me a little bit about what each medical specialty has to offer and to guide me in my decision about which one I will choose to join. What I’m finding in new ways every day is that my rotations are teaching me as much about what the medical field does not do as they are about what it does. Neurology teams identify and treat strokes but they don’t talk about the crack pipes that cause them. Surgeons look at their patients and see surgeries but not the person who lives inside the bodies they cut. I walk into a hospital every morning to learn how to see and do what most people cannot. Often, I walk out each evening worried that in doing so, I am forgetting how to see and do what most people can – to feel deeply, to explain simply, to see the big picture amid the complicated and intricate brush strokes I’m trained to hone in on.

I don’t know which specialty I’ll choose. I don’t know how many more patients I will have to pretend not to notice while I wait for my turn to be the one who sets the tone. I just know that as I learn to become a medical doctor, I so very badly hope that I never forget how to look at a broken person and see something deeper than his scars.

[betweensceneswriter]

Jimjeran-Chapter 16 : Getting to Know You

I needed to give Claire and Jamie a little time to get to know each other better. . . and for Claire to realize how good for her Jamie is. 

Click Here to Hop to the Table of Contents

Previously on Jimjeran--Chapter 15 : The Proposal   Claire is in trouble!

    Dougal was waiting when we came out of the other room.  I wondered how much he had heard.

     “So?” he asked.

     “We…are going to get married,” I said, feeling somewhat incredulous as I met Jamie’s eyes.  “How do we make that happen?”

“Well, you’ll need to see the Secretary of Foreign Affairs at the government office. You’re an American citizen; Jamie’s Scottish, and we’re here in the Marshall Islands. They’ll be able to get you the proper forms. There are shops here so you can get a wedding ring and a dress, if ye want it. I can phone the Iroij and make arrangements for the local reverend to marry ye. Ye might want to buy some extra food while yer here to provide for a party.”

“We also need time for a honeymoon,” said Jamie. I looked over at him in surprise. “There’s no privacy in town, and despite your doubts, I am a virgin, Uncle Dougal, and I’d like a chance to enjoy my new wife.” I tried to disguise the fact that his words had given me shivers, but Dougal noticed. He shook his head and scoffed.

“So this is what we are doing the next few days,” said Dougal. “Making certain the two of you are really serious about this damn foolish plan, and if you are, preparing for a wedding and a,” he glared at Jamie, “SHORT honeymoon, and then figuring out the logistics of the two of you living together on Arno.”

“Logistics?” I said. “Won’t he move in with me?”

“Yer cabin’s not very nice,” said Dougal.

“I think I should be near the clinic,” I said. I looked at Jamie to see if he agreed, and he nodded. “It was fine for me alone, and it’s got room for more than one.”

“I can see to improving it, if needed,” said Jamie. “I dinna see that much else that we’d need to deal with, logistically.”

Dougal seemed mollified that marriage would not instantly make us more demanding. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Have ye eaten since arriving?”

“Not since breakfast,” I said.

“Well, I’ll take ye to my home, then,” he said generously, a gesture which completely took me by surprise.

Majuro was astoundingly busy and urbanized. It made me glad to live on an outer island, seeing the lack of trees and the massive quantity of homes and buildings here. Dougal drove us beyond the edges of the city to a place where more trees seemed to conceal houses set back from the single road. He parked in front of a small but nicely kept up home, and led us inside.

“Ye’ll stay in here with my daughter Revka,” Dougal said, pushing the door of a small bedroom open. “And Jamie, you’ll sleep on the couch.”

A Marshallese woman came out of the kitchen; she had long black hair and a sweet smile.

“Ah, and this is my wife, Moneo,” Dougal said, smiling down at her. She shook my hand, but reached out and hugged Jamie.

(Muh-nay’-oh)

“Auntie Moneo,” he said, “this is my fiancé Claire.”

“Welcome,” she said with a smile. “I look forward to getting to know the girl Jamie has chosen.”

“May I help?” I asked. “Jiban?”

“Aet,” she said, smiling gently. “You can cut up the vegetables.”

“Vegetables,” I groaned. “I’ve missed vegetables. I really need to grow a garden on Arno.”

“Oh, I have seeds that grow well here,” Moneo said. “Remind me to share some.”

Soon we had the table set with coconut rice, barbecued chicken, and fresh vegetables—beans, peppers, and cucumbers. Teenager Revka appeared from somewhere, a lovely girl with lightly tanned skin, light brown eyes, and brown hair. She gave Jamie a hug, and then we ate.

“Be careful about how much of the vegetables ye eat,” said Jamie. “They may not agree wi’ ye if ye havena had any in a while.”

Sadly, Jamie was right. Not long after dinner, I started having to spend some quality time in the restroom. I was extremely grateful they had a flush toilet, and fortunately after about an hour of violent stomach pains I was able to rejoin the family as they visited in the sitting room.

Not long after, Revka, who was a highschooler, headed to bed, and then Moneo and Dougal seemed to be retiring for the night as well.

I changed into some shorts and a tee shirt in Revka’s room where Moneo had set up a pallet for me on the floor, but I wasn’t ready to go to bed. It seemed like such a huge decision to get married that I really wanted to spend time getting to know Jamie better. I peeked my head back out to the living room, where Jamie had taken off his shoes and shirt and was lying on one of the couches.

He almost read my mind. “Uncle, Claire and I would like to talk. D’ye mind if Claire stays out here wi’ me, even after ye and Auntie go to bed?”

“Yer twenty-two, James,” Dougal said, in amusement. “You’re an adult. I’m not going to tell you when to go to bed, or who ye can talk to.”

“But it is yer home, and I dinna want to be disrespectful,” Jamie said.

“Aye, thanks,” said Dougal. “Here’s a blanket. And if the two of ye, well…” he eyed my shorts critically, “For God’s sake, be quiet about it.”

“You still don’t believe us, sir?” I said, chastely sitting on a couch by myself.

“Oh, aye, I believe you might not have been having sex last night…but wi’ my knowledge of the young and the way women respond to getting engaged, I wouldn’t take any bets on what happens in the next few days.” I peeked a glance at Jamie, who was blushing profusely.

Dougal went out to the kitchen, and Jamie and I looked at each other from our spots on the two different couches with a coffee table in between them.

“Is this crazy?” I asked him.

“I dinna think that’s a helpful question to ask,” said Jamie. “By asking it, yer already saying ye think it is crazy.” He paused for a moment. “We don’t have to get married, ye ken.”

“I want to,” I said. “I just want to feel like I know you a little better, and for you to know me. So, why don’t you ask me a question?”

“Okay, then,” he said. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did ye ask me to marry ye?”

“Cause I don’t want to go back to Frank, to America. Because I want to stay on Arno. Because I like you. And when I thought about never seeing you again it nearly broke my heart.”

He smiled at me, “Have I told you yet how lucky I feel?”

“I think I’m luckier,” I said. “You’re very kind, Jamie. I’ve never been with anyone who makes me feel as safe as you do.”

“Well, I’m proud of you, so professional and capable—a nurse,” he said. “You impressed me the first time I met you.”

“You’re a teacher, Jamie,” I said, indicating I didn’t think that was insignificant either. “You know several languages…”

“Will you stop being so damn sappy!” said Dougal, coming out of the kitchen. “Claire already spent enough time in the loo. I don’t want to have to go vomit in there.”

Jamie and I chuckled as Dougal disappeared down the hallway.

“So, Ripālle,” Jamie said, with a curious smile on his face. “I have a question. What were you talking about when you said we were at second and almost-third base today?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That was really rude of me. I wasn’t showing any sort of self-control, and I shouldn’t have…”

“Stop,” Jamie interrupted. “Ye didn’t see me fighting ye off, did ye? I wasna looking for an apology. I just want to know what you meant by ‘second’ and ‘third’.”

I laughed. “Lost in translation, huh? It refers to American baseball, but it’s a euphemism for the steps towards sex. First base is kissing. Second base is above the waist touching; third base is below the waist touching, and a home run is sex.”

“Yer blushing,” he said, grinning at me.

“Well, I’m talking with my virgin husband-to-be about sex.”

“So,” he mused, forehead wrinkled, “I was at second, and you were at almost-third?

“We were kind of both there together,” I said teasingly.

“Now, what made it ‘almost’ third?” Jamie asked, looking confused.

“Over the clothes,” I said, grinning.

“Then I wasna all the way at second, either,” he said, shaking his head at me as his gaze drifted downward.

I stared at Jamie for a moment, and then all of a sudden it hit me. “There’s so much I don’t know about you,” I said. “Are you a club hopper? Do you smoke? Use drugs? Drink a lot?” I started panicking. “Will you want to live in the Marshall Islands forever, or do you think we might live elsewhere—Scotland or America?”

Jamie had been shaking his head through my whole barrage of questions and laughed when I stopped.

I took a deep breath. It was one thing to propose marriage, another entirely to consider the long-term consequences of such a commitment. My brain was swirling with questions and thoughts about what the future could hold; how the two of us could be different, of conflicts that could arise.

“Come here, Ripālle,” Jamie said, motioning to the couch beside him. “I’m not going to attack ye, no matter what my uncle thinks, and I know I can calm you down.”

Stretched out next to him, feeling his warmth, with his arms clasped around me and my head tucked under his chin, I could actually feel my breathing and heart rate slow down.

“How do you do that?” I asked, turning my face up to him, willing him to kiss me. “How do you know what I need?” Jamie stared down at my lips and sighed.

“I dinna ken, Ripālle, I just do. And right now, ye need me to kiss ye,” Jamie whispered with a teasing smile. “But I can only do it if it’s not going to make ye molest me. Do ye think ye can handle it?”

“Cross my heart,” I said, as his gently lowered his lips to mine. I sighed, almost a little whimper.

“I like that,” Jamie whispered against my lips.

“What?” I asked.

“That wee noise ye made just now,” he smiled. “Save that one for future reference.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“It makes me feel things,” Jamie said. “It should come in handy in future.”

Sighing, Jamie leaned his head back against the couch. “So, Ripālle, ye asked lots of questions. Club hopper? No. Dinna have many clubs here, but they seem loud and shallow to me. Smoking? No. Drugs? Not anymore. Drink? Yes. A lot? No. As to Scotland or America, I guess I’ve thought of going home. I love it here, but it is very primitive,” Jamie said. “And I wasna married when I thought of the future before. What ye want matters to me, too, Claire. I think we can decide together. Seems to me teaching and nursing are both flexible careers—we could work anywhere.”

“But what if we find out we don’t like the same things, or we have different interests, or you think I’m boring or I think you’re irresponsible?”

“Claire.” Jamie squeezed me a little to stop my talking. “You’re overthinking it.”

“How?” I asked.

“I’ve been here long enough that the locals call me ri Majeḷ. That’s means I’m not a Ripālle—I’m simple. I dinna need much. Have ye seen the people who live on Arno? Would ye say they were happy?”

“Happier than anyone I’ve ever known in the states,” I said.

“And yet they have so little. Food, water, a place to sleep. Friends, family. Work. Laughter. Beauty around. I’m already happy, Ripālle. Now, if ye add to that a woman I can laugh with, who happens to be very bonny,” he stopped and kissed me on the mouth, “Who has lots of curvy bits I want to touch,” he said, patting my hip, “And if she happens to want to put her hands on me, too; why, I am a lucky man indeed. So ye see, I wasna offended today. It made me happy to know ye want me.”

I sat up straighter and put my hand behind his neck, pulling him down to me for an affectionate kiss.

He grunted, a little husky sound in his throat. “I like that,” I said, smiling teasingly. “You should save that one for the future.”

“And more than that,” Jamie said, “Ye can fix me when I get hurt. And I can hold ye when you’re sad. I’d say that’s all a pretty good place to start.”

I sighed. “Tell me about your parents, Jamie.”

He shook his head sadly. “They’re both gone.”

“I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t have asked if I knew.”

“Dinna fash, Ripālle,” Jamie said. “I want you to know me, and that means my hurts as well as my happiness.”

“Can you tell me about them?” I asked.

“My ma is the reason I’m still a virgin,” Jamie said. “She said once, ‘It’s easy for a man to give himself to anyone. But your da gave me the gift of himself when we were married. And I worshipped him for it, because I never worried if his heart was with someone else.’”

It was a beautiful story, but somehow it made me feel guilty. “Am I good enough, though?” I asked. “I’m not a virgin. I’m older than you. I’ve had other men. I haven’t saved myself for you.”

“Doesna matter, Claire,” Jamie said, pressing his lips to my hair. “Being with ye will be gift enough.”

It was such a sweet thing to say that I reached up again to kiss him.

The look in Jamie’s eyes had intensified as we had continued to kiss. “So, ye said ye willna molest me,” he said; I could almost swear he sounded disappointed.

“No. I’m going to protect your virginity as much as you have up to the present,” I said solemnly.

“What if I said I changed my mind, and that it doesna matter?” he asking, raising his eyebrows.

“I would say, ‘Too bad, buck-O! Not gonna do it.’” I grinned at him.

“What if I wanted to go to almost-second base again?” he asked, slipping his hand up my ribcage from my waist.

I pushed his hand away, and lectured him preachily. “I know how to be a good girl. You need to stay out of the bathing suit area!”

“I like swimming naked,” he said, kissing my neck under my ear. “There is no bathing suit area.”

“Jamie,” I pushed him away in irritation. “Are you testing me?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head seriously. “You’re so sexy when you’re holy. Now I want to be naughty. Must be the Catholic boy in me, who figures he might as well have something to confess.”

“How much have you had to confess?” I asked him nosily. “Second base...third base...Have you been either of those places before?”

“All the way to second when I was 16,” he said, blushing. “First time at almost third—today.”

“You’re kidding!” I exclaimed, instantly regretting it because it seemed to embarrass him. “So, you’ve never had a girl go down on you?” I asked.

He blushed furiously. “No.”

“So you have no preconceived notions about what it’s going to be like with me.”

He nuzzled my neck again, then pulled my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers. “No. But I have a feeling I’m going to like it. So, what if,” he whispered, “I said I wanted to go all the way to third?”

“I would say, ‘Goodnight, Jamie,’” I said, pulling myself reluctantly away from him.

“Are ye serious, Ripālle?” he asked, eyes hooded, his voice husky.

“Yes,” I said with a sigh, then smiled. “We are waiting until we get married.”

On to Chapter 17 : Phoning Home

I really complicated my life by not killing off Claire’s family.

[alexatrevino93]

How Do You Learn Reiki Marvelous Useful Tips

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Reiki Energy Incense Cones

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Crystal Dragon Reiki

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[tunafishtime]

Hanging by a Thread

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Alcoholism, lots-a cursing, homicidal inclinations, major character death(?), PTSD, really bad decisions

Ship: Mercykill

Summary: When Jack returns from his mission bearing news of Ana’s death, Gabriel pins the blame on him, fanning a spark of dissent into a roaring flame.

(This will eventually be put on AO3 as well... had no idea it took so damn long to get an account. Anywho, enjoy my trash ship.)

“Dr. Ziegler, please report with medical team to hangar seven to receive drop ship. Dr. Ziegler, please report with medical team to hangar seven to receive drop ship.”

The urgent tone of the intercom ripped Angela’s thoughts away from the medical file she had been reviewing. Three days ago a strike team had left on a mission to Egypt to investigate Talon activity in the area. Whenever a mission involved Talon, Angela’s stomach churned, knowing that going up against the ruthless terrorist group meant that some of those agents would never return home. The thought of being helpless to those that had fallen caused her heart to sink, but, regardless, she stood from her desk. Now was the time to help those who had returned home.

“Mongelli, Haft, Lopez, grab the emergency response kit and come with me, quickly now,” she ordered, her voice firm with urgency. Angela strode across the room as three medical personnel scurried to gather the necessary equipment needed to stabilize and treat whatever wound the returning agents had sustained, until they got them back to the clinic, anyway. After snatching a handheld device from the charger, she glanced back at her team to make sure they were ready. Like true practiced professionals, everything was in perfect order. Feeling more than a humble swell of pride at her team, Dr. Angela Ziegler set out across Overwatch’s Swiss Headquarters.

Looking to her device as she walked briskly through the compound, her fingers tapped on the translucent blue glass in quick sequence, instantly summoning the medical files of each agent assigned to the mission. Any and all information she needed to treat any of them was at her fingertips. She began to skim over each of them, taking in any possibly relevant information. Of course, Strike Commander Jack Morrison was first on the list. If physical paper were still used, his medical history would take up an entire filing cabinet on its own. So, she did not waste much time going over it. As an enhanced super soldier, she doubted any of his wounds would be severe enough to require her in-depth attention.  Next was Ana Amari, Jack’s second in command with a substantially shorter medical history. Despite being in her fifties, the older woman was remarkably good at staying out of harm’s way. With a swipe of her finger, Angela moved to the next agent. She was not too worried about the imperceptible sniper either.

“Angela,” A smooth and familiar voice greeted her as she reviewed the file of Jonathan Bayless. She could not help the small smile that tugged at the corner of her lips when his heavy steps fell alongside hers.

“Good afternoon, Gabriel,” she responded with warmth, turning to gaze up at the man beside her. He did not return the gaze. With his ever present beanie pulled low over his forehead, he kept his heavy brown eyes, nearly hidden by his thick furrowed brows, focused forward. His stride was stiff and forceful. He looked like a man who was marching fearlessly into the waiting jaws of an angry Hydra. Angela’s smile faded to a soft frown. “Not looking forward to Jack’s return, I take it?”

“When am I ever?” He growled in response. Angela sighed, knowing that once he and the commander had been the best of friends. Ana had shown her pictures; Jack and Gabriel arm-in-arm with faces flushed from alcohol, laughing at some long forgotten joke. “With him here I can barely do my damn job, the way he peers over my shoulder, questioning every decision I make,” Gabriel continued, “As if he could make better choices, heh!”

“I know… but the UN is breathing down his neck too. Especially since… everything was leaked,” Angela said gently, glancing at the insignia embroidered on the sleeve of his uniform. Blackwatch, the covert-ops division of Overwatch that Gabriel was commander of. She remembered when the classified group and their actions had been unveiled to the public little over a year ago. The resulting anger sparked hundreds of protests against Overwatch. Even Angela felt sick thinking of what was in those records. It had lead to many heated arguments between the two of them.

“The UN can go fuck themselves for all I care,” He spat, waving one of his hands to the side dismissively. “They created us to keep the peace. You can't do that without making difficult decisions, decisions I’ve made. Jack and the UN would have us sit around here doing nothing while innocent people die.”

“Gabe-” Angela gently placed a hand on his arm, pressing on him and acting as an anchor, as she so often did when his temper began to flare. She could feel the tension in his muscles, but after a moment, he relaxed, letting out a controlled sigh.

“I know, Angie. But I’m sick of watching Jack lick the UN’s boots. I know those idiots have been crying for my dismissal for months now. It’s only a matter of time before their lapdog gives in.” Gabriel grumbled, voice lowered, but no less hateful. Angela gave his bicep another gentle squeeze.

“No, Jack would never dismiss you. Despite… recent events, you are still his friend and one of the founding members of Overwatch! Besides… you know Ana would never let him fire you,” She reassured him, smiling as she reminded him of the motherly second-in-command.

Gabriel caught a touch of her smile, lips tugging upward just enough to soften his dour expression. “Heh. Good point.” For just a moment, his fingers brushed over hers where they rested on his arm. Her hand reflexively twitched toward the contact, dying to lace their fingers together, but a stifled snicker from one of her medical team behind her snapped her mind back to reality and her hand away from his.

With a grumble, Gabriel’s head twisted around to study the three. “Something funny, Haft?” He growled, brows knitted together in a look that just dared the boy to say something clever. The Blackwatch commander was at least twice the size of the physician and looked more then able to pick the boy up with one hand and throw him down the hall like a javelin. Haft paled and turtled his head between his shoulders under Gabriel's gaze. “No sir…”

“Gabriel, leave him be,” Angela quickly interjected before his deadly glare could completely destroy her medical team, leaving nothing but crisp remains in their place. “We have work to do.” They had arrived at the hanger just as the large air ship was docking.

Machines hissed and whirred to life, holding out metal arms to embrace the ship before locking it into place with a loud clang. Mechanics rushed forward to assess any damage, shouting to each other using jargon that might as well have been in another language. However, Angela did not need to be an engineer to notice the massive stains of black that shadowed the back and underside of the ship, textured by the hundreds of dents riddling the same area. A pit of dread began to grow in her stomach, suddenly afraid to see the ship’s door fold open.

Yet, open they did, with Commander Morrison as the first to step onto the hanger floor. His overwatch coat hung limply on his broad shoulders, pierced and torn with fresh bullet holes. A tear on the upper sleeve caught her attention immediately, as the bright ocean blue fabric around the rip was stained with burgundy. With her team behind her, she rushed forward and grabbed his arm, beginning to remove his coat so she could better assess the damage. However, his other arm reached around to wave her away insistently.

“I’m fine, Angela. There are others that need more immediate attention.” Jack said, his hard voice like gravel being ground through a machine that was one loose bolt away from collapse. He merely waved in the direction of the agents exiting behind him, his blue eyes fixated on the floor in front of him. Angela stared up at him, face set.

“And that is why I brought a capable medical team.” Stealing a glance, she watched her team spring into action, examining each injury and prioritizing the worst. One man left the ship on a stretcher, his suit pant leg soaked in red. A civilian? He was obscured from her view as one of her team rushed to his side. “If they need me-” she looked back at him “- they'll call me.”

“What the hell happened out there, Jack?” Gabriel’s voice snapped behind her as he approached the commander. Several other Overwatch officials flanked him, waiting to hear the report from their commander. Angela felt Jack’s arm tense as she pulled the limb out of his sleeve.

“Verdammt! You didn't even try and patch this up, did you?” She muttered under her breath, examining where the bullet had grazed his bicep and took a hearty chunk of his skin and muscle out with it. Shaking her head in disapproval, she began cleaning off the dried blood and dirt that had caked around his wound. Jack ignored her.

“It was worse than we thought. They were after scientists-” He nodded his head back to the rather shell shocked group of civilians. “- working on a confidential project. When we went in to pull them out- Ah shit!” Jack exclaimed, jerking his arm back from the stinging saline solution Angela poured over the wound. Her grip tightened around his wrist, keeping him steady.

“Eh… The place was crawling with Talon when we came back out. There was a sniper… no, two. I-” Jack sucked in a breath as Angela filled the wound with a clear gel-like substance. He ran his hand through his blond hair, starting at the far wall. “Let’s do this later… I'll give you a proper debriefing in a few hours.”

As Angela wrapped the dressing around his arm, she looked up at Jack with concern. He didn't meet her gaze, nor anyone else's. The confidence of a leader he always tried to wear around others was just gone, as if something had sapped away all of his energy. The others noticed too, exchanging confused glances. What could upset their intrepid commander so much?

Gabriel was the first to notice.

“Where's Ana?”

The hard lump of dread jumped forcefully to Angela’s throat at Gabriel's question. She hadn't seen her exit the ship, but that didn't mean anything. She could have just missed her. Angela desperately scanned the grouped agents and civilians, hoping, praying to see that mischievous but motherly smile. The search did nothing to quell her growing fear. Her eyes turned back to Jack, longing for some explanation, but his head was bowed and eyes avoiding everyone's piercing gaze.

“Where is Ana, Jack?” Gabriel asked again, the pitch of his voice dangerously low in attempt to hide the slight quiver in his words. Jack covered his eyes with his hand, like a child trying to hide from their wrongs.

“I… she,” Jack paused to take a deep breath as Angela’s shaking hands pulled away from his bandaged arm. “She fell behind.”

Jack’s words were arrows that pierced all of them, shattering each heart they landed in. Angela’s hands covered her mouth to hide her gape, tears filling her eyes. She heard some breath “No” as if their denial would make his words untrue. Others slowly turned their heads down in mourning, accepting the words and the sorrows.

Wiping a tear from her eye, she turned to look at Gabriel. His head was down turned, his arms tense, and mouth a gape. In an instant, his face hardened, a mask of accusation to hide behind. His narrowed eyes shot up to stare Jack down, even if the commander would not return his gaze.

“What happened?” His voice rumbled, a quake in the region of an unstable volcano. Jack still did not look up.

“Two of ours were shot down by snipers. Ana was searching for them, but they spotter her first. She relocated and spotted one of the snipers. She boomed the building and created enough of a distraction so that we had a clear path to the landing zone. I ordered her to pull out then… but she… she didn't listen. She never arrived at the rendezvous.” Jack’s voice had become a whisper by the end. Angela's eyes closed as she held back more tears.

“So… you're telling me that when she failed to report in, Jack,” Gabriel's words were laced with venom, spitting out the commander’s name as if it were a curse. “You just left her?” Jack looked up then, meeting Gabriel's accusing eyes with a hard glare.

“I had civilians in my charge and men in need of urgent medical care. The place was crawling with Talon! What would you expect me to do?” Jack shot back in defense, keeping his voice low. Gabriel did not bother.

“I expected you to get your golden ass off that transport and find her!” He roared. Every head in the hanger turned to stare, watching with the same morbid curiosity as bystanders at a crime scene. Jack’s face flushed red as he set his lips in a hard line.

“And endanger every other life under my supervision? Force another EVAC pilot to land in an area under heavy fire? Compromise this entire organization to search for someone who is most likely dead?”

“What the hell is wrong with you? You do not leave team members behind! No one gets left behind!”

“She was my friend too, Gabriel. I didn't want to, but I had to think of everyone!”

“She has pulled your sorry ass out of death’s arms countless times and this is how you repay that? By leaving her out there to die?”

“This isn't like it was during the crisis. There aren't just six of us anymore, there are hundreds! I am not going to prioritize the life of one over the lives of twenty!”

“But you'll prioritize your own over hers? Commander Jack Morrison everybody!” Gabriel threw his hands in the air, addressing the alarmed crowd. “He'll ask you to die for him, but won't risk a hair on his golden head for you!”

“Reyes! You are out of line!” Jack snapped with authority. Gabriel growled and began to pace restlessly. Two steps, then turn, two steps, turn; a spring being wound tighter and tighter. “I will not have you-”

“This is exactly why you never should have been made commander! You're all about teamwork until your own ass is compromised! It's Liao all over again!”

Jack’s voice lowered, breathing heavily. “That was an entirely different situation and you know it. We agreed not to mention-” Gabriel cut him off again, stopping mid-step to stare Jack down once more.

“I'm starting to sense a pattern here, Jack! Liao, Reinheart forced into retirement by you, and now Ana: abandoned and left for dead! Two to go!”

“Just what the hell are you implying, Reyes?”

“You tell me, Morrison.” Gabriel growled.

A moment of silence fell over the two as they stared each other down. It was toxic and thick with tension. No one dared to even breath, lest the sound snap the tightly wound spring. As much as Angela’s feet wanted to carry her Gabriel and calm him, she did not dare. The crossfire between the two was indiscriminate and deadly. Jack’s voice finally tore through the silence.

“I can and will suspend you if you don't get back in line, Reyes. Do not make me.” Jack growled. Angela did not doubt the threat for a second.

Gabriel’s response was a wordless shout of frustration as he threw his arms into the air. “I'm fucking done!” The tension and electricity clung to him as he turned and stormed out of the hanger. Mechanics and agents leapt out of his path, watching him leave with a questioning fear.

Jack let out a long sigh, relaxing his frame as he rubbed his forehead. Murmurs began to spread through the hanger, the fear that kept them quiet fading with Gabriel's departure. “As I said…” Jack breathed, exhaustion clear in his voice. “I will give you a full debriefing in an hour.” He left the officials and Angela standing there, briskly stepping out of the hanger with his torn coat billowing behind him.

Angela chewed her lip with concern. How could this have happened? She looked back at the rest of the agents that had returned from the mission. Only one of her team still remained, the other two having rushed the most unstable patients to the medical wing. Mongelli went to each agent, treating cuts and determining if they needed to report to medical, all with a calm doctor’s smile despite the alarming outburst she had just witnessed. Angela used to be able to do that with ease, but with each passing day, she found it harder and harder to pretend everything was not falling apart.

With a hurried stride, Angela moved beside the doctor, laying a hand on her shoulder. “If you need me, page me.” She said, looking down at Mongelli. She flashed Angela a knowing gaze before nodding gently. Her hand slid off her shoulder as Angela turned back to the direction Jack and Gabriel had exited, all but jogging into the hall.

God he needed a drink. The desire consumed his mind, growing louder and louder with each heavy step. It screamed into his ear, pounded on the walls of his head and begged, no, demanded to be fulfilled. Jack’s words only amplified the intense need, bouncing back and forth, fueling his anger. “The place was crawling with Talon!” and “I didn't want to, but I had to think of everyone” and every other word Jack spat out of his damned mouth, cut in occasionally with images. Vivid, imaginative images that could only be conjured by one who had seen every conceivable horror of the battle field. Images of Ana alone, shot down by a sniper and bleeding out over the filthy floor. Too weak to crawl out of the place she had stationed herself, waiting for help that would never come as the light faded from her eyes.

BANG! Gabriel slammed the door to the blackwatch commons open as he stormed through. The couches and tables were deserted, save for one. The disgraced, and presumed dead, Shimada boy lazed back on the sofa, watching the television with about as much fervor as he put into anything. Genji barely turned his head to acknowledge the commander, seemingly immune to the threatening aura surrounding Gabriel.

“McCree!” Gabriel roared, half expecting the kid’s ridiculous cowboy hat to meekly rise up from one of the sofas, “MCCREE! Where are you, you soggy pile of horse shit?”

“He is in the shooting range,” Genji’s heavily accented voice answered in the absence of a response from McCree as he raised a mechanical hand to change the station. Gabriel growled and snapped his head to the side, starring in the direction of the boy’s living quarters.

“I’ll find it myself then,” he muttered and stormed across the commons into the offshooting hall. He found the door to McCree’s room mercifully unlocked and, with no qualms about privacy, Gabriel pushed his way in. Every inch of the room was covered in junk, not unlike when the tides recede and leave piles of reeking sea trash in its absence. He made a mental note to flay the kid after all this shit was past. He was not living on the damned streets anymore.

With little more thought to the mess, Gabriel dove in, digging through the garbage with a narrow determination. A drawer was opened, majority of its contents flung to the floor, the drawer shoved closed when he failed to find his target, and another yanked open. Rinse and repeat, his temper growing with each failed search. He knew McCree had some in here. The kid was always testing the boundaries, sneaking it in at every opportunity, in spite of Gabriel’s fury when he eventually found the hidden stash. Now, however, he was more than grateful for the kid’s obstinance.

As he rummaged beneath the dresser, his fingers brushed across something cold and smooth. Gabriel grinned and wrapped his hand around the glass, pulling it into the light. A nearly full bottle of whiskey gleamed up at him. Thank whatever sadistic god was out there for that headstrong, lame ass cowboy. He uncorked the top as he stood, bringing the cool bottle to his mouth.

The golden liquid barely touched his lips before he stopped. Was this really a hole he wanted to fall back into? He knew what would happen if he drank the sickeningly familiar smelling elixir. Since he had dug that dark hole in his youth, he had fallen back into it twice, and both times, Ana had helped him get out. This time though… this time she would not be there to pull him up. She was gone. Jack had left her in Egypt surrounded by Talon with no way out. His imagination flared to life, flooding his mind with her screams, visions of pain, her last shuddering breath. Gabriel tilted the bottle up, letting the whiskey pour past his lips.

The alcohol burned his throat, the familiar sting already working to chase away his haunting thoughts. He winced as he swallowed another mouthful, sending another wave of liquid fire through him. The aftertaste lingered on his tastebuds like a puff of cat exhaust. Squinting suspiciously, he examined the bottle to make sure it was, in fact, whiskey and not fermented goat piss. The label loudly insisted on the former, boldly stating the liquid within was aged in the highest quality casks. Gabriel snorted, but brought the bottle back to his lips anyway. Quality was not of the utmost importance.

Hosting little desire to have McCree find his commander standing red handed in his wreck of a room and not-so-slowly getting drunk off his contraband whiskey, Gabriel marched out of the room. He strode past Genji, ignoring the cyborg’s presence as the cyborg ignored his, and out of the commons. In the more work-oriented areas a few Blackwatch agents milled about, but none gave him more than a respectful nod and a murmured “Commander”. They all knew to keep their distance from Gabriel when he passed surrounded by dark, thundering clouds of fury that only appeared after a fight with Jack. However, none of them had heard the news yet. None of them knew how bad it was.

Gabriel wrenched open the door to his office and disappeared within, the door slamming shut behind him. The small, familiar room was bereft of any other life and the door was one no one, not even Jack, would dare open without his say. Gabriel allowed himself to relax, slouching back against the door and taking another swig of the disgusting whiskey. He stared into the bottle, watching the liquid slosh back and forth. It swirled around like the still vivid images in his mind’s eye. The alcohol was not working fast enough. He could feel the warmth growing in his belly and a flush rising to his cheeks, but wave after wave of grief and loathing continued to assault his mind.

Clenching his fist, he stood up from the door and began to pace, using every ounce of his willpower to beat down his thoughts, at least until the alcohol could dull them. Images of Ana, her eyes cold and lifeless, covered in blood, but with skin as pale as her hair. No. A twisted memory from the Omnic Crisis of a slaughter in Germany, the walls dripping with red and chunks of flesh flung about with the only identifiable piece being a scrap of blue cloth. Stop. Jack staring at him coldly as he defended his decision to leave Ana behind to die. Shut up. An overwhelming desire to drive his fist into Jack’s perfect farm-boy face, breaking his nose with the same hand he once used to caress his cheek. Don’t. Gabriel wanted to drag him off his high-horse and beat him into the ground. Stop it. He could smash Jack’s head against the wall, staining it with his blood, hissing into his ear if Jack thought anyone would go out of their way to save him. No… He would watch him sink weakly to his knees and Gabriel would press the end of his shotgun into that boy scout’s cheek, smiling as he pulled the trigger, just like he wanted to. Kill them.

“Damnit!” Gabriel’s fist hit the wall hard enough to crack the reinforced drywall. His knuckles throbbed from the impact, the pain in perfect synchronization with his pounding heart. Wispy black smoke rose off his skin, rippling in the air until he clenched his fist again. The myst reluctantly settled back onto his hand.  Grinding his teeth, he stared at the cracked wall for a long while before taking another deep swig of whiskey. He let out a healed breath as he felt his mind begin to slow, those loud sharp thoughts muddled and dulled by the fog finally beginning to build.

“Gabriel…” it took him a moment to realize the voice that called his name was real. Sluggishly, he turned his head to look as the muffled click of the door closing reached his ears. Angela stood there, looking up at him, eyes full of… sadness? Regret? Pity? Probably all of the above along with a healthy dose of disappointment. He tore his eyes away from her, feeling redness rise to his cheeks that could only partly be blamed on the alcohol.

“I’m fine Angie… just need… a moment” he breathed, acutely aware of how difficult it was to enunciate each word.

“No, you are not okay” she insisted, her tone and words gentle. The tap of her footsteps were just as soft as she moved closer. “It’s alright to be…” her words fell into nothing as she stopped. He tensed as he heard her sigh, waiting for the accusation he could just feel coming. It never did. Instead, her hand rested gently on his arm that hung at his side, weighed down by the nearly empty whiskey bottle. Her other arm wrapped around his middle in an embrace, leaning her head against his back.

“It’s alright to not be okay,” her words were soft, cracked with sadness, “She was your best friend… she was a mother to all of us. You don’t have to… pretend to be alright,” a choked laugh left her lips as she wrapped her arms tighter around him, “I know I’m not.”

Gabriel rose an arm to cover his eyes, taking a deep shuddering breath to attempt to steady himself. “This shouldn’t’ve… it should never’ve happened,” he croaked, feeling the warmth in his stomach condense into a heavy pit. “Fucking… there was no reason…”

“I know, Gabe, I know…” Angela shushed his stammering with her gentle voice. “But there’s… there’s nothing we can do, nothing anyone can do… these things happen and there’s no reason for it.”

“Jack’s the damn reason.” He spat, turning in her embrace to gaze down at Angela. Her watery eyes met his as she shook her head.

“Jack did what he could in the situation he was in,” she insisted cautiously.

“He didn’t, Angie, and you know it. He could’ve gone back, could’ve at least tried to find her. The bastard probably didn’t even wait more than half a minute at the rendezvous.”

“There were injured civilians in his charge. One of whom had lost a leg… I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of all the horrible things that could, would, go wrong if an amputation isn’t properly cared for.” She paused to let out a sigh. “He had to make a choice… please don’t blame him for that.”

Gabriel stiffened in her embrace, her soft words suddenly feeling like an attack. “You’re taking his side.” He spat. He moved to put a foot of space between them, but her arms tightened around him.

“No, I am not,” she huffed insistently, “I’m not saying he made the right call, but he did what he thought was right at the time.”

“Then his priorities need to be sorted better. Your team always comes first. You’re not going to save shit if half the team is down! If I were there, if you were there, she would still…” His words trailed off into nothing. “You know it’s true, Angie.”

A sigh left her lips as she leaned her head against his chest. His own arms wrapped slowly around her narrow shoulders, his free hand twisting to brush through her soft golden hair while the other held his empty bottle of indulgence as far away as possible. The liquor sloshed back and forth as he swung the bottle in slow circles, his eyes staring passed it while his fingers threaded through her ponytail. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he imagined how pissed she would be if he yanked her hair down and shoved her against the wall. Perhaps her anger would subside if he stole her lips away in a deep kiss, his hands tracing along her waist as this clever fingers of hers clutched at his chest…

“I know…” He barely even registered Angela’s whispered voice outside of his daydream. “But… we weren’t there… there isn’t anything we can do.” Reality hit him again, blowing away his fogged, but far more pleasant, visions. His expression hardened as he stared at his fist tightened around the neck of the bottle. He suddenly felt her lift her head off his chest and found his eyes pulled to gaze into hers. Soft hands cupped his cheeks as she looked up at him sadly. Despite the anger that still swarmed his mind, he felt his face relax as he leaned into her hand.

“Angie…” he heard himself whisper. Any words that were meant to follow were lost in the disorganized slurry his thoughts were quickly decaying into. He felt one of her hands move away from his cheek, sliding down his arm and wrapping gently around his hand that still clutched the bottle of whiskey. Her fingers threaded through his in an attempt to loosen his vice-like grip. He did not. A sigh escaped her lips as her other hand ran caressed his cheek and neck.

“Don’t do this to yourself, meine Liebe,” his eyes drifted closed as she spoke softly, “I know it hurts, but this… this will only make it worse.” The tips of her fingers traced around his knuckles with an agonizing gentleness. Slowly, hesitantly, his hold on the bottle loosened and her fingers replaced his seamlessly. She took the bottle from his hand, placing it on the desk beside them before turning back to him with a gentle smile. He felt his head fall forward to lightly rest his forehead on hers as she took his now empty and in hers. Inhaling deeply, he let his mind drift through her scent. The sweet tones of violet and sweet pea mixed with the bitter hint of coffee did more to calm his mind then any drink ever could.

“No one would say anything if we were to take the rest of the day off…” she suggested, running a hand over his chest. “We could go home, watch terrible old movies and then we could cook a nice dinner-“ she stopped as Gabriel’s chest shook with soft chuckles “or, well, I’ll stay out of the way while you cook a nice dinner. Hmm? What do you say?”

Gabriel’s arms wrapped tighter around Angela as he buried his face in her hair. His lips broke into a grin when she began to giggle as the bottom of his goatee tickled her ear. She pinched his side playfully and squirmed as he dragged his scratchy beard across her soft cheek and down her chin. Her giggle faded to a hum of content when he leaned into her neck, peppering her with gentle kisses.

“I say…” he whispered between kisses, “I say we go home,” he placed a long kiss just below her jaw, “forget the terrible movies,” kisses traced back up to her ear, his voice low, “and we find-“

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

The noise drew a groan from both of them, forcing Gabriel to pull away and watch with a blank stare as Angela dug the small pager out of her pocket and examined it. The disappointed expression on her face as her eyes darted across the screen was all he needed to pull his arms away from her.

“Oh… Gabe, I’m so sorry. One of the patients is having complications, I have to go…” her hand reached out to grasp his again, squeezing his fingers together. He turned his head away to stare at the wall, drawing concern and hurt to her eyes. Then, he glanced back at her, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess you’ll have to make up for it tonight.”

She grinned at his words, standing on tiptoe to plant a light peck to his cheek. “I guess I will,” she hummed before leaning away and taking a step back. She jumped as Gabriel lunged forward to grab her neck and pull her into a proper kiss. He smiled as she melted into him, their lips moving together slowly and passionately. After what seemed like forever, but somehow not long enough, Angela pulled away, placing her hand on his cheek with a tender gaze.

“It will be alright…” she whispered against his lips, “I promise.” Placing one last lingering peck on his lips, she stepped away from his embrace. His hand reflexively reached for hers again, but she slipped away from his reach, sliding out the door with only one last look thrown over her shoulder. The door closed and silence smothered his office.

For just a moment, he almost believed her words: it will be alright. That would be nice to believe, to have that optimism, but he had been playing this game too long. He had seen too many people he cared about cut down by stupidity, bureaucracy, assholes in suits who have never even seen a battlefield, yet somehow think they know the best course of action. Now Ana was gone too.

Gabriel reached over to trace the rim of the bottle Angela had placed on his desk, tilting it on it’s corner as he traced the circle. Who would be the next victim of Jack’s stupidity or the UN’s chopping block? Him? Torbjorn? Angela? The bottle slipped away from his finger that held it into place, hitting the desk with a loud clunk. He would never let that happen. He would rip out his heart before he would lose her. Not that his heart would help her much if she had been in Ana’s situation.

The bottle wobbled unsteadily across the desk, what little remained of the liquid inside sloshing back and forth. He had no power to protect her, just as he had been helpless to save Ana. They were far out of his reach, held in Jack’s clumsy fingers along with Overwatch and, quite possibly, the world. How much longer before they all slipped right through?

With one last slow, shaky roll, the liquor bottle tumbled over the desk and smashed onto the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces that skidded across the tiles. Gabriel stared down at the broken glass, his expression set in a hard line. He was done watching the UN pull Jack’s strings like he was a fucking marionette at a children’s theater. They and the public thought they knew exactly what should be done, but they did not have a damn clue. However, Ana did. He did. He knew what needed to be done, and he was tired of not being heard.

Boots crunching against the broken glass, Gabriel moved to sit behind his desk. With a strange determination in his expression, he flipped on the electrical interface that hovered over his desk. His fingers moved quickly to summon a paging window.

“Moria, this is Commander Reyes. Report to my office. I wish to discuss... expediting your research.” The window clicked closed the moment his voice had been transmitted and he leaned back in his seat with a sigh. Angela would hate him for this, he knew, but he would rather she hate him then have her dead due to his inaction. Like Ana.

Overwatch, and everyone in it, was hanging by a thread over a black pit and he would be damned if he just sat and waited for the thread to snap.

[labourpress]

Jonathan Ashworth, Shadow Health Secretary, speech to Unison’s conference

**Check against delivery**

It is my pleasure to be here. As a Labour MP, a trade union member. As a member of your shadow Cabinet and – I hope – as the next Labour Secretary of State for Health.

And it is a pleasure to be here with UNISON a great trade union led by one of the great General Secretaries Dave Prentis. I congratulate all of you for your campaign on public services and the work of public servants.

Dave spoke with great eloquence earlier this week.

And when Dave said that funding’s becoming scarcer – he was right.

When Dave said you’re all asked to do more with less – he was right

And when Dave said you cannot trust the Tories with the National Health Service – he was right.

And that’s what I want to talk to you about this morning.

But my first duty this morning on behalf of the Labour Party and Jeremy Corbyn is to say thank you to this union and your members and indeed all who work in the NHS.

So to the nurses, the midwives and the health care assistants – we say thank you

And because we don’t always remember them but I’ve seen for myself the difference you make when a few years ago I had the honour of shadowing your stewards on facility time at Lewisham hospital. To all your stewards representing you in hospitals we say thank you.

To the porters, the cleaners and the IT administrators – we say thank you

To the medical secretaries, therapists, paramedics and managers – we say thank you too.

For your care, your dedication, your self-sacrifice, every day, your extraordinary efforts, literally often the difference between life and death.

Friends, we are here today. In our various vocations and in this union because we believe in something bigger than ourselves, because we are driven by solidarity not selfishness and we understand, and indeed value the ethos of public service. An ethos that not only runs deep in our history as a trade union movement but defines the character of our country as well.

Because when you look at every stage of life, whether we call it cradle to the grave – or as Shakespeare wrote of the 7 ages of man.

At every stage public servants have been there for us, have cared for us, have nurtured us and made us all what we are today.

Each and every one of them transforming hopelessness into hope.

From the midwives and clinicians who bring us into the world, the teachers who inspire us, the community workers improving our quality of life, to our care workers who look after our frail, weak and vulnerable.

All represented across this union, all everyday showing the value of public services at the heart of a civilized society

And nowhere is that clearer, than in the NHS

A National Health Service is truly visionary – a central part of the values we share as a society.

So today in the run up to this General Election I want to talk to you about the attack on our NHS and on our values by this Conservative Government.

And in this campaign let’s be resolute to not let any Tory run away from their record on the NHS.

Theresa May can insist problems with the NHS are nothing more than a ‘small number of incidents’ but she can’t deny what we see with our eyes to be happening.

The winter crisis we’ve just been through, with ambulances backed up outside of hospitals, patients on trolleys in corridors, operations cancelled, elderly people trapped in beds with nowhere to go.

Ever lengthening queues of the sick and elderly across the land.

Nearly 4 million people waiting for an operation;

Over 200,000 people waiting for four hours of more in A&E in February alone;

The number of people waiting for 12 hours or more on trolleys doubled in a year. Sometimes patients wait over 30 hours on a trolley.

Call it a ‘humanitarian crisis’ as the Red Cross did.

Call it the NHS on a ‘burning platform’ as the CQC Chief Executive did

Call it an ‘existential crisis’ as Sir Robert Francis did

I simply call it what it is – this is a Tory NHS crisis and that’s why the future of the NHS is at stake in this general election.

We have a Prime Minister who even yesterday still refuses to see the truth that the NHS is overstretched, understaffed and under threat.

We have a Prime Minister imposing on the NHS the largest financial squeeze in history.

Who allows hospital trusts to fall into deficit like never before.

We have a Prime Minister who next year will be cutting NHS spending per head.

Yesterday we heard that the NHS has a backlog of £5 billion in repairs for crumbling hospitals and out of date equipment.

They expect the NHS to find £22 billion of so called efficiency savings which no one believes can be found without cutting frontline care.

A health system buckling under the strain of huge financial and operational pressures.

And what does it tell you about the state of 21st century Britain under these Conservatives that the number of hospital beds take by patients being treated for malnutrition – yes malnutrition - has trebled in recent years.

Malnutrition on the rise in Tory Britain; isn’t that a national disgrace; isn’t that a badge of shame.

And because of the pressures on beds in the last few years a million patients have been discharged in the middle of the night.

And the numbers of elderly and vulnerable people trapped in hospital with nowhere to go at record levels.

And why? Because we have a care system that has been savaged by 7 years of spending cuts. We have a care system on the brink of tipping point.

We have over a million of the most elderly and vulnerable people denied the care they deserve. Some maybe our own grandparents or parents, our own relatives.

And yet we have a Prime Minister who walks by on the other side, refuses to face up to the problems and says to councils in the most deprived parts of the country: you can raise your council tax even though it will go nowhere near meeting your social care needs.

Unless of course it happens to be Surrey County Council where you can get a special secret sweetheart deal with Downing Street.

Well I tell you something, under Labour these dodgy deals that demean Downing Street will be gone. We’ll bring back honour and integrity to policy and decision making in No 10. No more special access and mates’ rates but fairness instead for all.

And while this Prime Minister ignores the social care needs of the many she can find millions to build new grammar schools,

She can find billions to cuts taxes for the biggest corporations, but she won’t recognise the demands of the elderly or treatment requirements of the sick.

So let us be absolutely clear – what prevents this Prime Minister from acting is not the financial constraints of the economy but the dogmatic constraints of her ideology.

Things are so bad that even Andrew Lansley – remember him – even Andrew Lansley has complained it isn’t getting the money it needs.

Talking of Lord Lansley, never forget that the priority of these Conservatives – including Theresa May - was always a top down reorganization in the Health and Social Care Act whose very aim was to drive our NHS into the realms of privatisation; 

And I can tell you today we will not yield, we will not buckle.

Labour will defend the National Health Service and axe that Health and Social Care legislation that allows the NHS to be fragmented and sold off.

Privatisation of the NHS will come to an end.

And I tell you what else we will do:

We will reinstate the Secretary of State’s responsibilities. We will reinstate the NHS – publicly funded, publicly administered and yes publicly provided.

And I want our NHS staff and patients to be given an actual real genuine voice in the running of our NHS too.

So I can announce we will also put healthcare professionals, staff and patients on the Board of any organisation providing NHS care.  

And yes this will apply to all private companies currently providing services or we will insist they hand back their contracts.  

But we will go further than that too and insist that Board level representation of professionals, staff and patients is on every organisation providing NHS care - including Clinical Commissioning Groups and all NHS Trusts.  

So Labour will deliver staff reps on boards with voting rights at the heart of our NHS.

Better services

Over this campaign Labour will be setting out our plans to deliver the improvements that patients need.

We want to see hospitals properly staffed, waiting times coming down and emergency care available to those who need it, operating to the standards that patients expect.

Under the Conservatives the 18 week target has been dumped for what they call non-urgent operations.

To paraphrase a famous pre-election speech from time gone by: I warn you that if the Tories win again not to get old, not to get sick.

I warn you that the real cost of the Tories winning again will be felt in longer waiting times, and people spending longer in pain and discomfort for knee replacements and hip replacements.

Let’s be clear what’s happening, step by step, bit by bit.

The NHS under Tories is being pushed back to the bad old days and it will fall to Labour to save the NHS like we have done throughout our history.

So we confirm our commitment to hitting the targets for A&E,

We’ll do so by investing in our NHS, in our community services, and renewing the focus on keeping people well and out of hospital, delivering care closer to home at the time when people need it.

Because those who have given so much all their life deserve security and dignity in retirement we’ll integrate health and social care

And when it comes to the planning and delivery of local services we will always ask what is in the interest of local needs not what is in the interests of filling financial holes.

And we will deliver long overdue improvements to mental health care as well.

We know that mental ill health is the leading cause of sickness absence at work, costing the economy £105bn every year.

And that one in four of us in this room will experience a mental health problem this year.

And yet all we get from Theresa May is warm words and empty promises, but no real meaningful action.

Unlike the Tories, Labour will tackle the underfunded and understaffed mental health system.

We want to see mental health services properly resourced and focused on prevention, rather than just asking the NHS to intervene once a person is already in crisis.

We will give our mental health services the money they desperately need to look after us all, because there can be no health without mental health.

The next Labour government will deliver true parity of esteem between mental and physical health.

We won’t just talk about equality – we will deliver it.

And if we are to deliver these improvements for Britain’s patients, then our starting point will be delivering improvements for our health and care workforce.

Standing up for staff

So today I want to set out Labour’s plans for the staff of our NHS and social care system.

You are the lifeblood of the NHS. You have committed your working lives to caring for others in our times of need.

You deserve to be cared for yourselves, but for too long this Government has taken you for granted.

A pay freeze has seen NHS wages fall 14% below inflation.

Cut backs to training places have meant units are even more short-staffed.

And now Brexit threatens the ability of our NHS to recruit from abroad, and threatens thousands of good, kind European staff who are working in our country already.

So let me make it clear, Labour would make the NHS a priority in the Brexit negotiations, and as Keir Starmer said yesterday we would give an immediate NHS guarantee to all European NHS staff.

Let us send a clear message to the thousands of NHS and social care staff from the EU. You are welcome, needed and your rights will be guaranteed in the UK under a Labour government

You know because you see it every day that staff are being forced by this Government to do more and more with less and less

Giving ever more of your free time to keep the service running – working through your breaks and often long past the end of your shift.

It’s why I say that our NHS staff are the pride of Britain.

Yet you are ignored, insulted, undervalued, overworked and underpaid by this Tory government.

Well not any more. Enough is enough.

NHS staff have been taken for granted for too long by the Conservative Government.

Cuts to pay and training mean hard working staff are being forced from NHS professions and young people are being put off before they have even started.

What is bad for NHS staff is bad for patients too. Short staffing means reduced services and a threat to patient safety.

So I can announce a Labour Government will step in with a long term plan for our NHS which gives NHS staff the support they need to do the best possible job for patients.

NHS staff deserve to be rewarded for the complex, difficult and highly specialized professional work that they do.

So I can confirm today that a Labour government will scrap the pay cap, put pay decisions back into the hands of the independent pay review body and give our NHS workers the pay they deserve.

It’s fair to staff and it’s in the interest of patients too.

And it’s also in the interests of patients that we invest in the potential of our staff.

My long term ambition is for our NHS staff to have the best trained staff in the world ready to deal with whatever they face in the years to come.

As a first step that means giving those who want to enter nursing, midwifery and allied health profession a step up, not kick the ladder away.

So let me commit here today that we will re-introduce bursaries. We will reinstate funding for health related degrees so that people who want to get into health professions – whether they are young people starting out or older students who want a new career after starting a family – don’t feel put off by financial considerations.

Safe Staffing

I know that whenever we need the NHS it’s there for all of us and our families. But all of us are naturally anxious when our loved ones or ourselves need to spend time in hospital.

Quite simply Labour will never compromise on patient safety.

After seven years of Tory mismanagement our health services dangerously understaffed.

We are thousands short on the numbers of nurses, midwives, and paramedics that we need.

And yet the attitude of this Prime Minister remains blinkered in the extreme. Her head buried in the sand. A casual dismissal of the concerns of patients and their families.

So just as I’m passionate about investing in our NHS staff, I will be the real patients’ champion too

Time and again expert reports - including the groundbreaking survey UNISON published this week - have told us that staffing levels are linked to patient safety but this Conservative Government has failed to deliver staffing levels which keep up with demand.

So the next Labour government will legislate to ensure safe staffing levels in England’s NHS.

We will immediately ask NICE to undertake work to set out how safety can be determined in different settings, including looking at legally enforced staffing ratios.

So conference with a Labour government a new law to guarantee safe staffing, so that finances never again take precedent over patient safety.

And unlike the current Secretary of State I don’t make promises on behalf of the NHS while refusing to give the NHS the resources and tools to deliver those promises.

The NHS under Labour will get the funding needed. Over the coming days we will outline a long term plans for the NHS; for how we integrate health and social care.

For too long, NHS staff have been taken for granted by the Conservative Government. Wages falling, workloads rising. Staffing shortages getting worse.

So I’m pleased to be able to launch here today Labour’s three point pledge for NHS staff: better pay, safer staffing and fully funded education.

So yes this election is about the future of the NHS.

And yes, it falls to this movement as it has throughout our history to make the case with passion and yes pride for a National Health Service – free at the point of need for every man, woman and child.

It falls to us again as it has throughout our history to make the argument for collective provision not just for a basic health service but for the very best health service.

Throughout our history, we never lost our ideals and we never faltered in our ambitions for the best health care for everyone.

Because we know that a National Health Service funded through taxation; with treatment free at the point of delivery; where everyone is treated equally based on clinical need not ability to pay is not only the right thing to do but it’s also the most efficient, effective and safest system of health are across the world.

Friends one of favourites poets WB Yeats wrote ‘in dreams begins responsibility” –

Inspired by the solidarity of the communities of Tredegar and motivated by the dream of a fairer society not just for some but for all Nye Bevan took responsibility to bring it about the Health Service

In doing so we escaped from a world of patch work provision and charges for healthcare

So let’s never forget that in that speech introducing the National Health Service Bill he said the NHS, would

“lift the shadow from millions of homes”

“It will keep very many people alive who might otherwise be dead”

And:

“No society can legitimately call itself civilised” he said, “if a sick person is denied medical aid because of lack of means”

They were words that still inspire

And of a cause that still endures;

And now the responsibility falls to us.

So the choice in this election on June 8th is clear

A rebuilt the National Health Service and social care service for the millions who depend on it with Labour

Or cut backs, sell offs and nothing but a rump service under the Tories.

A world class NHS providing the best quality of care – 

Or waiting times get longer, staff demoralised, standards of care plummeting

The choice is clear.

Labour’s commitment; that is our purpose.

Our Values, Labour Values,

Our Policies will protect the future for the NHS and standards of NHS care

Let’s go out and win.

Thank you

Ends

[kkukkung]

Hello Annie, it's me. As a clinical psychology student, I just wanted to drop by to make some remarks. *Please be understanding since english isn't my first language. First: consent, it wasn't clear to what exactly the parts agreed (test, observation, discussing results, counselling). My question is what (& what for) was the purpose of including that activity in the broadcast?

Second, instruments, in a psychodiagnostic it is better to use clinical observation+interview(?)+tests before elaborating a hypothesis. There wasn't any interview to corroborate the observation/tests results, which means that most of the things he said can be wrong guesses! Third, closing interview, neither *patient nor therapist talked to decide what info they would've prefered to avoid discussing in the group meeting or in the broadcast. *Cough, cough, professional secrecy Sir*

According to Pichon-Rivière, Operative group's creator, there are groups centered in a task as knowledge or healing (therapeutic groups used in addictions cases for example). I'm leading to think that his purpose was to implement the second one with Monsta X, in which case he should've explained what is a group meetings, and set the rules, which things are allowed and banned (as making fun of others or sharing unnecesary details) since these things can create conflicts and / or cause resentment.

Plus, there isn't THE TRUTH in psychology (each subject is/lives in his own reality) and that's why we work with hypothesis. ('No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.' - Heraclitus)

TL;DR when statements (personality traits, diagnosis, etc) aren't thoroughly corroborated (clinical observations+tests+several interviews) they're either opinions or inferences. *Considering that the shortest psychodiagnostic process includes at least from 5-8 sessions, and he had zero contact with them prior the last broadcast I personally will take what he said with a jar of salt and pepper.

On Monsta X analysis, focused on Wonho. I don't think he felt lonely with the kids, to me (it's my guess on the matter since I don't know him personally) it brought childhood/adolescence's memories and he cried because he hadn't elaborate those situations.

I'm sorry for spamming your mailbox with those technical things, it's okay if you don't want to post that stuff. I just wanted to share some insight on why I distrust these (broadcasted) analysis in general.

sjhdfgjkdf wow thank you for this i’m sorry about the late reply but rly thank u sm for taking the time to type this out + sharing your insight! can’t believe english isn’t ur first language by the way wow... i feel like the psychologist dude was more of a... pop psychologist or just kinda in it for shits n giggles u know?? like i would’ve been surprised if he went through the proper psychoanalytical procedure since this was rly just for fun and for fans to gush over... what u said abt wonho is interesting tho bc YESS i personally don’t feel like he’s a lonely person either -- in fact he was made out to be very introverted but i rly think he gains energy from being around other people? he’s close w his mother and u can see he cares deeply abt the members and they care abt him and he’s also very open/frank about all his emotions in a rly refreshing way which i imagine would be hard for someone who was genuinely lonely? im sry i can’t... reply to most of this jksdfhgk bc i know like nothing abt psychology... also i imagine my analysis post is a Mess to a real psychologist’s eye bc i guess im more like... a literary analyst lmao but yes thank you thank you for this!! it was very insightful and i hope you’re having a great day! 💖💖

[codyrichards91]

Reiki Healing Yeppoon Incredible Useful Ideas

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Reiki Healing Websites

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William Rand What Is Reiki

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[proverbs1728]

Mental Health Awareness Week 2020

Mental Health Awareness Week is a great opportunity to promote wellbeing.  Mental Health Awareness is like health promotion - we are given information about what can make us poorly and how we can stay healthy.  

It’s not telling us what to do.  If it’s done right it is about making us aware of what might be helpful or harmful.  Then we can have a bit of control and, of course, we have some responsibility for doing what we can.

Mental health and physical health are closely linked.  One effects the other. Things like diet and exercise and smoking and alcohol and medicine are all part of our wellbeing.  

Mental and physical health can be affected by our environment, say pollution for instance.  There is strong evidence that our wellbeing is influenced by social factors like poverty, housing, employment and inequality.  These are some of the things we could be doing something about.

This year, the Mental Health Foundation has chosen ‘kindness’ as its theme for the awareness week.  I pricked up my ears when I heard this as it occurred to me that churches are places where kindness is something that can be found in abundance. Loving our neighbour is exactly our thing.  

The Mental Health Foundation has an excellent website and it says

“Kindness can have real benefits for our mental health and wellbeing.’  They did a substantial online survey with yougov in April of 2020.  63% of UK adults agree that when other people are kind it has a positive impact on their mental health.  The same proportion agree that being kind to others has a positive impact on their mental health.

What I take from this is that as individuals, groups, parishes and dioceses have a great deal to offer.

Let me set out my stall.  As an Approved Mental Health Professional, I am the person who makes the decision about whether a person with a mental disorder is deprived of their liberty.  

It isn’t an easy job and you couldn’t do it without coming away wondering if you have made the right decision.  I will never forget a night when, as a trainee, I walked down the corridor at the Bradgate Unit with a woman who was to be detained.  During that day I had heard about her experience of sexual abuse as a young person.  Many, many years later she had children and was married to a man who worked for a high profile accountancy firm.  

She had taken an overdose and was in the Royal Infirmary threatening to discharge herself so that she could take her own life.   While I walked down the corridor with her I felt that this was a very poor response in a situation of desolation and desperation.  

 I am a provider of mental health services but, twenty years ago, I was an in- patient consumer of them as well.

It’s quite hard to say this.  My head says ‘why, what’s the problem?’ but my heart feels strangely ashamed. I just wanted to say to you that I know how it feels to be told to smoke less or drink less or get more exercise. Back then I could not see how this might help and, frankly, it added to my sense that I wasn’t really being listened to.

 Now then.  Covid 19 and the lockdown have made life difficult. I keep hearing people talking about things getting back to normal.  Folks are looking forward to watching the football, going out for a meal, gathering for worship.   We mourn for the comfortable world from which we have been exiled.  We weep as we remember Zion.

As for me; I’m very keen on folk music and dancing.  Lots of events and gatherings have been cancelled and so lots of seasonal encounters with folky friends have been missed this year.

I’ve been working from home, queueing for my shopping, not able to visit my family or friends.  My holiday in France had to be cancelled.  An appointment for very minor surgery was postponed.

For many people the consequences have been very much more serious. People have lost their jobs. Others have not been able to receive the treatment they need for painful and life-threatening illness.  Families have been separated.  Many people have been confined to a life of loneliness and isolation.  Some have died.  Many are bereaved.  Lock down has reminded us that we have many things to be thankful for.  

Now I want to ask, is normal all is cracked up to be?  I have some statistics for you.  I’m not trying to convince you of anything except to say that we have a high tolerance level when it comes to some things that are ‘normal’.

The average person living in Europe loses two years of their life to the health effects of breathing polluted air.  

Normal is twenty eight thousand street homeless people (according to the BBC)

Normal is that 70.9 million prescriptions for antidepressants were given out in 2018 (there were 36 million in 2008).

There were nearly 50,000 detentions to psychiatric hospital were made under the MHA in the year 2018 / 2019

Approximately 1 in 4 people in the UK will experience a mental health problem each year.

In England, 1 in 6 people report experiencing a common mental health problem (such as anxiety and depression) in any given week.

I could go on and on: addiction, crime, violence, painting a bleak picture. Actually, part of what the statistics tell us it that normal is ok for most people most of the time.  Five out of six of us won’t experience a common mental health problem this week.  We won’t be victims of abuse or lose our jobs.  

I suppose that’s why we can get along with normal.  As a species and especially, apparently, as a nation we like to carry on as though things are normal, even when they aren’t.  We take statins, stimulants, anti-depressants, consume alcohol, blood pressure pills, sleeping tablets.  

I noticed an advert on the tv the other day.  Two blokes, who live next door to each other, go for a night out and get indigestion.  One of the men has an effective, and no doubt expensive, remedy, which means he can start the process over again the next morning.

I’m not knocking normal.  I just want you to think about it a bit.  What then is it like if things aren’t normal?

The lockdown has shown us the world in a different light.  Does anybody remember birdsong being so abundant and so sweet before?  I used to be able to hear the M1 from my back garden but now it’s just birdsong.  Were the birds singing before and I just couldn’t hear them?

Air pollution has dipped.  The water is cleaner.  It’s quieter. Road traffic has diminished to 1955 levels.  People have volunteered to help the NHS in their hundreds of thousands.  £33m raised by Captain, soon to be Sir, Tom Moore. I’m also hearing people saying we mustn’t go back to normal.

But not being normal also means being different.  Different, like being a woman in a male working environment, like not having English as your first language, like being a member of the LGBT+ community in a heterosexually orientated world, like being a wheelchair user in a world of steps and stairs.  Being reminded that you are different all the time is to feel excluded, like you are not wanted.  Never at home.

And not being normal is, pretty much, how mental illness or ‘mental disorder’ is defined. But normality has changed and so being abnormal has too. It took until the nineteen seventies for western psychiatry to decide that to be ‘homosexual’ was not a mental illness.

The diagnosis of mental illness is different.  There is no objective test, as there is for say, polio or meningitis.  The presence of mental illness is identified by reference to a manual of classification.

This is difficult so please stay with me!

I quote from the International Classification of Diseases, ‘The phenomena used to diagnose schizophrenia include thought echo; thought insertion or withdrawal; thought broadcasting; delusional perception and delusions of control; influence or passivity; hallucinatory voices commenting or discussing the patient in the third person; thought disorders and negative symptoms.’  

The doctor will make a diagnosis based on their interpretation of your symptoms.  You could have several people with different sets of symptoms but the same diagnosis.  Then another psychiatrist makes a different diagnosis.  This happens a lot.

The treatment is anti-psychotic medication, which has serious side effects.  Some additional observations here.  One from a clinical psychologist, who said that knowing somebody’s diagnosis is about as useful as knowing their star sign.  

Another writer, who has extensively researched anti-psychotic medication, suggests that you will get tardive dyskinesia, which is a bit like parkinson’s disease if you take anti-psychotics long term and that you are better off living with the psychosis than taking the medication.  Sometimes I can’t tell if the behaviour of the person I am working with is caused by the illness or the medication.

I have endless respect for my psychiatrist colleagues.  We can discuss treatment and plans.  They bring their perspective and I bring mine.  We get input from SALT and OT and nurses and psychology.

The treatment of mental illness is problematic because what is needed is time and space and that’s what we don’t have. The approach is driven by necessity, usually a crisis.  We always seem to be firefighting.

The speed of life increases, social pressures increase and mental illness goes up too. We don’t have the resources or, as far as I can fathom, the will to sort out some of the social problems that contribute to mental disorder.  

In a very large nutshell, this is how mental disorder works.  It’s called the biopsychosocial model.

The biological factors are your genes, brain chemistry, immune response, environmental toxins and soforth

Psychological factors are attitudes and beliefs, learning and memory, coping and emotional skills.

Social factors are work, education, poverty, things like that

Each of us has strengths and weaknesses in these areas and different tolerance levels.  

Some people cope with working and parenting and exercising and not smoking or drinking and burning the candle at both ends and they cruise their way through life.

Some people don’t.  Some people work hard and look after family and they do this for years and then suddenly it comes crashing down.

Some people experience poor mental health from an early age, the opportunities diminish, the treatment takes its toll.  There are combinations of all the above, as many as you can think of.  

Since the latter part of the twentieth century there has been a move away from specialist provision like day care and long stay hospitals and much more of a move towards looking after people in their own homes.   Sadly, we have now lost the concept of asylum.  The huge Victorian hospitals with their acres of parkland have been replaced by pokey little units commissioned and designed by people who never imagined being looked after in one themselves

As in other health services there has been a move to help people to manage their own support and treatment. The focus is on developing insight and living with the condition.  Attitudes to mental illness are more positive than they were last century but people with mental health problems still experience significant discrimination and prejudice.

 Back to normality.  In 1983, 66% of the population describes themselves as Christian.  To be Christian in the UK was to be normal.    In 2018, 38% of the population described themselves as Christian and 12% of these Anglican.  

When I left school in 1983, it was nearly normal to be an Anglican. Nowadays, it’s not normal at all! Brothers and sisters you are beautifully equipped to take this forward.  You are kind and you are abnormal.

 What do we have to do?  We have to be kind to ourselves and to other people.  The covid virus has been awful for lots of people.  It has been incredibly stressful for health and social care workers.  It has been incredibly stressful for people who have been forced into isolation. There has been an increase in domestic violence.  Who knows how much people are drinking.  Non accidental injuries to children have increased.  Services for homeless people, housing and benefits advice, drop ins closed. There is going to be a backlash. We were going to be clearing up for a long time and things won’t be the same.

Let’s be kind.  Let’s be good Samaritans.  The Mental Health Foundation has produced some lovely resources.  There is no point in listing it all here.  Get on their website.  Share it electronically.  You’re all internet savvy else you wouldn’t be here.  It would be great if you could print some of this stuff off and share it safely with friends who are not on line.  

There are so many suggestions but I think we should be getting on the phone to our friends and families.  There are people I haven’t spoken to for soooo long.  Get on the phone.  Talk to people.  Pray with them.  When I have a minute I’m going to write a letter.  I’d love to get a letter with a stamp and ink and everything.

My suspicion is that we are good at being kind to other people but not so good at being kind to ourselves.  Make some me time.  I know that it goes against the grain for many people.  Take time just to be silent and pray for just a few minutes during the day. Do things you enjoy.  Do something different, change your routine, just to see what it feels like.

Relax and reflect on how you’re feeling and how your day or week has been.

Pray and meditate.

Turn off from your social media channels for a day (or even a week).

Stop watching the news (although it is ok to have ‘Today’ on when Bishop Guli does ‘Thought for the Day’).

Treat yourself to something small, such as buying or planting some flowers. 

Spend some time in nature – pray outside.

And check how you are feeling.  Get in touch with the doctor if you need to.  Talk it through with a friend or call the helpline 0808 800 3302

 Moving forward, the church is equipped to support people who have mental health problems.  We have space, we have tea and we have compassion in abundance.   I would really like you to go and think about how the church can help to support people to stay out of hospital and to get them out more quickly.

There is evidence indicating that the opportunity to practice your faith and contact your faith community is central to recovery and good mental health.  We need to be talking to our local mental health trust to see what is needed. There are beacons of good practice and so we need to ensure that we know what’s going on in our locality so’s not to replicate or dilute good stuff that’s going on.

We need to think about how we welcome people who may be experiencing poor mental health when they come to church.  Are we welcoming? Are we overbearing?  Is there a message about mental health coming from the pulpit?  In intercessions?  Perhaps you could offer support to causes that would benefit wellbeing, showing our community that the church has many of the same concerns and putting our shoulders to the wheel.

 To conclude.  My wife and the cat and I have born isolation reasonably stoically.  It has been like being in a tiny little ark, locked into our bubble while we watch the world drowning in chaos.  When we went for a walk, I was struck by the number of rainbows; in windows, on the pavement.  And I remembered

“ Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth.”

So God said to Noah, “This is the sign of the covenant I have established between me and all life on the earth.”

And when I hear the birdsong I think maybe God has been present all along but I just didn’t notice in the busyness of daily life.

[owlways-and-forever]

Not Giving Up (Pt. III)

A/N: Okay, so first off, there will definitely be at least one more chapter of this story and there may be more after that, but I don't want to promise it until I know. I get the feeling that each time I write a chapter it'll just be gauging whether or not it feels 'done'. This chapter... it had a mind of its own, and it went where it wanted to go (which was very different from where I thought). But I think it came out nice in the end, so I hope you all like it!!

WC: 2874 | Pt I, Pt II, or read on AO3, FFnet

o . o . o

“Dr. Glassman?”

Neil paused in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame. Clad in his usual black dress pants and white button down, nobody would ever have known that he’d been on death’s door two months earlier. Unless they happened to know that his shirts usually fit a little tighter.

Dr. Glassman looked up from his desk, where he’d been scribbling notes on a legal pad.

“Dr. Melendez,” he greeted, motioning to the chair across the desk from him. “Nice to see you up and about again. What can I do for you?”

“Do you have some time to talk?” Neil asked tentatively.

“Sure,” the hospital president replied, fixing the attending with discerning scrutiny.

Anxiously, Neil stepped into the office and closed the door behind him, taking a seat in the proffered chair. He felt uncertain, but he didn’t want to hold off until he had things figured out. Dr. Glassman had always been good to him, and Neil felt he owed the man this conversation sooner rather than later. And he really wanted to begin to move forward and put this incident behind him.

“How have you been feeling?” Dr. Glassman asked, when Neil didn’t speak up right away. Somehow the older gentleman always knew exactly what to ask to get you talking.

“Much better,” Neil answered instinctively, before amending his response. “The immunosuppressants make it hard to sleep. And I’m not as steady as I once was.”

He held a hand out in front of him, palm down, and was still for a moment before a small tremor rocked his hand like a low-magnitude human earthquake. Quickly, he dropped his hand to his lap again, folding his fingers together.

“It’s a small price to pay to be alive though.” He looked out the window, not wanting to meet his boss’ eye as he wrestled to regain composure. Despite his determination to stay positive, the tremor took a toll on his psyche every time he saw it.

“No it’s not,” Dr. Glassman whispered, sadness weighing his voice down. “You’re allowed to be upset and angry about it.”

Neil nodded, swallowing tightly as if it would help him keep his emotions down. Just until you get home, Neil. Just don’t lose it at the hospital. He dragged his hand over his face, pulling his composure back on like a mask.

“I guess I’m here to offer my resignation,” he said, finally looking back at Dr. Glassman.

“Why?”

It was a simple statement, but it had Neil’s mind reeling. Why was he doing this? He certainly didn’t want to.

“Sir, we both know I can’t operate again,” Neil answered, forcing himself to say the words that had spun through his mind on repeat. “I’ll be on the immunosuppressants permanently, and the OR is just too risky. Not to mention the side effects… on a lower dose, I could maybe make an argument about managing the risk with extra precautions, but you know as well as I do that a tremor is the kiss of death.”

“It could go away.”

“With all due respect, sir, we both know it won’t.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Dr. Glassman pressed. “Why now? Nobody is pressuring you I hope?”

“No,” Neil confirmed.

“I often pretend to be ignorant of these things, but I am aware of your connection with Dr. Browne,” Dr. Glassman continued. “This isn’t some misguided attempt to smooth things over there, is it? Because Dr. Melendez, so help me god, I do not care in the slightest about convention when it comes to interpersonal relationships. You are both consummate professionals, and I will not allow the HR department to force you out of my hospital just because a bunch of sticks in the mud think it's improper that someone around here be happy for once!”

Neil couldn’t help but smile a little bit at the tirade. Dr. Glassman was always able to work himself up into a frenzy, getting hot under the collar without help from anyone else. But it did make him feel better that if he did stay, it would be with Dr. Glassman’s full support.

“No, it’s not that,” Neil replied, shaking his head. “I can’t continue collecting paychecks from the hospital when I know I’m never coming back. It isn’t right.”

“That’s a load of crap. You’re still on medical leave, and there’s no rush to change that.”

“I have enough money saved, I don’t need the salary,” Neil protested.

“It’s not about the salary,” Glassman said in his lilting staccato. “Insurance. You need insurance.”

Neil knew that he was right. Of course he needed insurance. He was still on seven different medications, and would be for months. Doctors visits once a week. Possible physical therapy to help with atrophied muscles. He’d managed to save a comfortable amount during his years as an attending, but the costs of all his medical care would be pushing the bounds. His pride kept insisting that he not take money he wasn’t earning, but his mind knew it was stupid.

“There are better things to use your savings on,” Dr. Glassman said, as if reading his mind. “Hoard it, if you can, weddings are expensive, and I’m sure you’ll be having one in the not too distant future.”

“I appreciate that, sir, and if there were some possibility of my returning, this would be different, but -”

“Dr. Melendez, if it is that important to you, this is what I propose,” he barrelled on. “You will take one more month of medical leave, to be sure of a full recovery. Then you will return as a consultant to the hospital. No ER, no OR, and no clinic. But you still have a great deal you can teach other doctors here, and you are a valuable diagnostician. You can keep that position until you find a new job that is satisfactory, and even part-time afterward if you want. I should be clear, this proposition is not in any way optional.”

“Okay,” Neil laughed, knowing when a battle was lost. Still, it was oddly touching how much the older man cared, and he felt a little bit overcome with emotion. “Thank you.”

He stood and smoothed his shirt carefully, turning to leave the office.

“Dr. Melendez?”

“Yes?” he replied, turning around.

“There really is no rush,” Dr. Glassman said, sincerity oozing from his wise face. “We take care of our own here.”

“Thank you sir,” Neil answered, a more serious smile twitching across his lips. With a final nod, he ducked out of the office and strolled down the hall, debating whether or not to drop by and say a quick hello to Andrews or Lim.

o . o . o

Claire pushed open the door to Neil’s apartment to find him sitting at the kitchen island, staring at a glass of scotch. For a moment, she felt transported back in time, and all the things she used to feel when her mother relapsed came flooding back to her. Hurt, anger. But she reminded herself that this was Neil, not her mother, and he wasn’t collapsed on the floor with alcohol poisoning. Neil wasn’t an alcoholic, he was allowed to have a drink.

Except that he wasn’t. Alcohol didn’t mix well with transplants, particularly when they involved the gastrointestinal tract, so he was strictly forbidden from drinking until his medication dosages were reduced.

Claire merely raised an eyebrow at him as she walked over to the island. He was an adult, and one with a medical degree no less. He could make his own decisions. Kissing his cheek quickly, she took a seat on the bar stool next to him with an easy, affectionate smile.

“We tell patients none because it’s easier than quantifying that one drink a day might cause rejection, but one drink a month is probably fine,” he observed with a slight smile, tipping his tumbler in her direction.

It made her laugh a little. He was right - the line between what would and wouldn’t cause damage changed from patient to patient, and no doctor wanted to draw it in the wrong spot. Safer to just tell everyone to abstain completely. But she was a doctor, and she still had to give him a little bit of grief for it.

“So this is your one drink for the month?” she teased.

“I haven’t actually had any yet,” he countered, raising the glass off the countertop just a little.

Looking at him carefully, Claire could see a little bit of something behind his happy exterior. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Neil was good at hiding his feelings when he wanted to, but she always hoped that he wouldn’t feel like he needed to hide anything from her. It stung a little bit. But she tried to be rational and remind herself that he was dealing with a lot of changes and complicated emotions, not all of which she could truly understand, no matter how much she sympathized.

“What’s going on today?” she asked, cocking her head to the side as she reached out to fix the flipped-out tag on his shirt and run her hand soothingly across his back.

“I went to see Glassman today,” he said at last, turning to look at Claire. “I offered him my resignation.”

“You did what?” she squeaked, a little bit upset that he would do something like that without at least telling her first. They might not be at the stage of making major life decisions together yet, but she would have thought that he would at least inform her of a decision he had made. She pushed aside her feelings. It wasn’t like he’d hidden this for days or weeks.

“I tried to resign,” he repeated. “It didn’t feel right to keep accepting a paycheck when we all know I’m not going back to work there.”

“You tried? He didn’t accept it?”

“No,” Neal answered, smiling wryly. “He told me to stay on as a consultant until I find a new position. I’m not really sure how much Lim and Andrews are going to need my help - they’ve got a pretty good set of residents after all. But it’s a nice offer.”

Claire felt her mind swimming. She felt so many things, and she didn’t know where to begin to untangle them. She blinked rapidly, thinking it all through.

“Claire?” he prompted, urging her to say something. His brows furrowed as he saw her trying to tamp down her feelings and hide her thoughts from him. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“No, I… it’s good, I’m glad that they’re supporting you, they should do that,” she rushed, saying all the words she knew she was supposed to say and trying to smile.  “And it’ll be nice to have you around the hospital again.”

But?”

Neal quirked an eyebrow at her, but she didn’t elaborate. Instead she chewed on her bottom lip anxiously and tangled her fingers in her curls, scratching at her scalp.

“Claire, it’s okay, you can talk to me,” he assured her, fixing her with a sincere look that made her want to melt.

“I just… what does this mean for us?” she admitted. But she felt selfish as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She knew that Neil deserved nothing but loyalty and support from the hospital, and he deserved to have the time to find a new position that would make him happy, not just rush into the first job he could find. Even if his returning to the hospital did make things more complicated for them, that shouldn’t even be a thought on her radar. “I’m sorry, that’s a selfish thing to ask, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

But Neil’s expression softened, and he smiled kindly at her.

“It’s okay, Claire, it affects you too,” he insisted. “You’re allowed to have questions and feelings about the situation, whatever they are. But to answer your question, technically I won’t be your attending anymore, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Technically,” she repeated. That won’t be how people see it though.

“Glassman also assured me it’s alright, Claire, as long as we’re professional at work,” he continued. “And I don’t think that’ll be a problem, we’ve been managing it long enough.”

“You’re right,” she acquiesced, nodding and taking a deep breath, but she still didn’t relax.

“You’ve got to stop hiding your feelings from me,” Neil rebuked gently. “This is a relationship, Claire, and it’s not going to work if you don’t talk to me. The way you feel is always valid, and it’s always going to be important to me. I promise, I just want to make you feel better.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, taking a deep breath before forcing the words out. “That’s just it though, you shouldn’t have to comfort me right now. You’re the one whose life got turned upside down, not me. It’s so selfish, but I really just thought this was going to be straightforward and easy. It’s not that I hoped you wouldn’t come back to the hospital, I love working with you so much, but it was so convenient. I didn’t have to worry. And I really am glad that St. Bonaventure isn’t forcing you out. It’s just…”

“It’s just more complicated,” Neil completed, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile.

“Yeah,” Claire sighed, deflating a bit.

“You’re right,” he said. “It is more complicated. But it’s not a problem, and that’s the important thing.”

“I know,” she replied, smiling a little bit more genuinely. “I just wasn’t expecting it, I guess.”

He leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“For the record,” he whispered, “you have been incredibly supportive, and it’s not selfish to have your own concerns.”

Claire nodded, and Neal stood at last, pressing another kiss to her forehead, before moving to the stove. He began pulling out ingredients to make dinner, and got to work.

“So, any thought about what kind of position you’ll look for?” Claire asked, letting go of her concerns.

“Probably teaching,” he said. “I should have enough background to join a med school staff, even if it’s not the most thrilling. I think I’ll miss having a new case every day, but I’ll still get to mentor students, which will be nice.”

“No falling in love with your students though,” she teased, and Neil turned to flash her a cheeky grin over his shoulder.

“No promises,” he quipped, winking at her.

Claire grinned back at him. Infidelity was not remotely a concern for her when it came to Neil. Every time he looked at her since the earthquake, she could feel how much he loved her and respected her.

“You should ask Dr. Glassman for help,” she said after a long moment of grinning at him like an idiot. “He’s got all kinds of connections.”

“Definitely not a bad idea,” he replied.

Neil put the finishing touches on the pasta and dished it out into two shallow bowls, placing them down on the island and returning to his seat next to Claire. She took a bite of the delicious dish and they sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, before Claire spoke up. His encouragement to speak her mind had emboldened her, and she was determined to take advantage of the feeling before it flitted away.

“Have you ever thought about moving somewhere new?” she asked, looking at him with curiosity sparking in her eyes.

“Sometimes, but I’m not sure there’s anywhere else that would appeal to me,” he shrugged, looking up and trying to read her expression. “Do you think about it?”

“Yeah, I mean, my residency will be over soon,” she reasoned, “and the hospital can’t keep us all on as attendings. And I’ve never lived outside of California, so it might be nice to try somewhere new. If it weren’t for the situation, I wouldn’t think about it, but since you have to look for a new position anyway…”

She smiled shyly, trying to gauge his reaction to the idea.

“You’re right, it’s worth looking into,” Neil answered. “It might not be that easy though. I’d have to relocate Gabi with me. Not to mention trying to find positions for both of us in the same city could be a challenge, especially if we have to look for different institutions.”

“Plenty of husbands and wives work together and manage just fine,” Claire retorted without thinking. “I’m not sure we need to limit ourselves…”

She drifted off as her mind caught up and she realized her mistake. Neil smirked and raised an eyebrow, taking another bite of pasta to stop himself from laughing at her slip up.

“I didn’t mean that we…” she corrected quickly, getting flustered. “I know we’re not… I don’t expect or think...”

Neil kissed her soundly, putting an end to her stammering. He rested his hand on her waist and was tempted to pull her closer or even tug her into his lap. Instead he pulled away and smiled brightly at her.

“I like the sound of ‘husband and wife’,” he said. “One day.”

“Good,” Claire replied, blushing as she grinned. “Me too.”

They returned to eating their dinner, both feeling happy and relaxed.

[doesitreallywork]

Read inside this post to find out more info about Get Rid Tattoo before committing yourself – see whether it can help you, and just how much.

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Get Rid Tattoo Review – Does It Really Work?

Tattoos constantly look so great when we see other individuals with them. We establish that need to additionally obtain one for ourselves as well as look equally as trendy. This primarily impacts us when we are teenagers. There are numerous reasons that we might wish to obtain a tattoo after that.

Possibly it is so regarding be feared or might be to establish a feeling of belonging with individuals around us or those we appreciate.

They will not constantly look amazing permanently. Eventually in our lives the tattoos we obtained will certainly resemble a dumb choice that we made without assuming effectively. This is not to claim that all individuals will certainly one day hate their tattoos.

No. Elegance depends on the eyes of the observer as well as just how you see your tattoo will entirely rely on you.

What if you have expanded weary as well as no much longer desire to see those patterns or marks on your body? Just how do you do away with them? It is this need that pressed Sir. Jason Carter ahead up with the Get Rid Tattoo overview. In this testimonial, we are mosting likely to consider all there is to find out about Jason Carters Get Rid Tattoo.

What is The Get Rid Tattoo?

This is an overview that was created to assist individuals that wish to eliminate their tattoos. It gives the methods to obtain those prints from off your skin as well as what’s also much better is that it does not broach simply any kind of ways however instead of all-natural approaches.

One point that Jason called he was producing this program was that types of tattoo elimination would certainly position a competitors for him. And also with this in mind he after that proceeded to speak about them in his electronic book and also regarding why they might not be the very best choice for you.

Why do not we take a look at them.

Laser Surgical treatment. This is among the numerous means of breaking down the tattoo on your body. This technique is the most pricey and also one of the most excruciating there is. You might be a hardcore to discomfort (you obtained the tattoo nevertheless!) I ensure you this is an entire various kind of discomfort.

You will certainly not be obtaining simply one laser therapy however instead numerous of them. Their number and also strength will certainly likewise depend upon the kind of tattoo that you have. If your own is tinted and also larger, make certain you remain in for a great deal of them.

The even more complicated and also tinted a tattoo is, the much more pricey the laser therapy will certainly likewise be. Each session sets you back $300 and also over with some approximately $900. By the time, you are via with them all, you will certainly have made use of a great deal of loan.

As well as not neglecting to state that lasers can likewise trigger scarring.

Extreme Pulse Light Treatment. This is much less agonizing than the laser surgical procedure. It is likewise more economical however still extremely pricey.

The over 2 are simply several of the lots of tattoo elimination alternatives that the writer attentively goes over in his publication. Various other techniques consist of:

Dermabrasion

Excision

Cryosurgery

As well as Salabrasion.

These aren’t the approaches we currently desire to carry out. We intend to consider the all-natural options to obtainning tattoo cost-free skin.

What Is Covered in Get Rid Tattoo?

As soon as Carter had actually checked into the fabricated techniques of eliminating tattoos, he obtained thinking about just how they can be gotten rid of normally as well as a result started a research study that resulted in tests and also failings till he thought of the ideal all-natural methods of obtaining that ink to go away with no medicines, lasers or various other types of chemicals. Exactly how do these all-natural strategies function?

There are skin cells referred to as macrophages which are a particular sort of WBCs that are recognized to ruin the mobile particles. This program operates in controling these cells to damage the passing through tattoo ink and also for that reason eliminate it.

There is a lengthy checklist of what you are mosting likely to discover from this overview. I am mosting likely to point out a few of them though they will certainly be simply a portion of the genuine offer.

You are mosting likely to be shown on just how to do away with troublesome tattoos that simply do not wish to disappear. You have to comprehend that not all tattoos put on off at the exact same price, some take much longer others based on their make.

Learn more about 3 easy house components that can be made use of to remove your tattoo.

Discover a particular kind of oil that can entirely remove your tattoos.

There are likewise some kinds of natural herbs that get rid of tattoos as well and also within an issue of weeks. Know them by checking out the Get Rid Tattoo.

Discover on keys that the suppliers of the man-made tattoo elimination techniques will certainly avoid you regarding their items and also exactly how they influence you.

Learn more about what can create skin damages in the elimination of tattoos to make sure that you prevent these materials.

The Rates

The item is extremely economical being cost $49.95. As contrasted to the remainder of the tattoo elimination alternatives, this is the most inexpensive alternative you have actually obtained until now. And also, it likewise includes bonuses and also and also the included benefit that it is entirely devoid of dangers as well as adverse effects. These bonuses consist of:

The Ultimate Overview to Leisure.

Complete Skin Treatment.

Discovering Your Self-confidence.

Final Verdict

This electronic book is well as well as nicely arranged as well as it is mosting likely to make you a professional on alternative tattoo elimination strategies. It has one word for it, impressive. It has actually had countless favorable evaluations and also the individuals are for life thankful to Jason Carter for aiding them obtain their when previous gorgeous skin.

Pros

– The program is not a fraud. It is totally authentic and also is based upon clinical research study that has actually been confirmed to function. You will certainly as a result be obtaining a genuine offer as well as not the straightforward sort of rip-offs that attempt to cheat individuals of their cash.

– It is a healthy and balanced program. With Get Rid Tattoo, all your concerns are gone as you will certainly not experience the results of laser surgical treatment or such type of comparable therapies. You additionally reach stay clear of lotions that have the prospective to result to cancer cells.

– It is extremely economical. You be the court, paying $49.95 to entirely eliminate your tattoo or needing to fish out $300 for every tattoo elimination session, which is the less costly alternative?

– It has bonuses that will certainly show you extra on various other relevant topics such as skin treatment, just how you can establish self-confidence and so on

– You will certainly additionally have 60 days to utilize the program, a time throughout which you can still ask for a reimbursement needs to the program appear unsuited for you. It is as a result take the chance of totally free and also you are not being scammed.

– The writer additionally supplies assistance to his consumers. He has actually supplied an e-mail whereby you can call him in instance you still have much more concerns on the concern.

Cons

– Sadly, this program comes as a pdf that can just be accessed as well as downloaded and install online and also it will certainly for that reason be inaccessible to those without web link.

Summary

Get Rid Tattoo is among the most effective programs there is around as well as I am yet to discover one that defeats it. It is mosting likely to reveal you all-natural treatments from your tattoo elimination as well as it additionally functions quite possibly. You desire that tattoo gone, after that wait say goodbye to, acquire this overview today.

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