#jckabbt

@jckabbt  has a very reluctant patient, and it's  ...  IZAL.

          IZAL HATES HOSPITALS.  not because he was raised to mistrust all forms of science and modern medicine, not because he's  learned  to be wary of probing, judging eyes, but because of the aura of  desperation  and  helpless dread  that seems to linger within their walls ⸺ in emergency rooms, especially. families praying to gods that don't exist to save their loved ones that likely won't make it through the night, the nurses and doctors scrambling to make it happen ⸺ or to at least prolong the inevitable to keep the families from spiraling.  it makes his skin crawl.

          he feels a twinge of regret for the doctor  ( what's his name ?  he can't remember )  that catches the tense, unhappy set of his jaw, the uneasy fidget of his fingers that dig and dig into the stiff hospital bed under him. he hopes he chalks it up the pain, perceives it as a grimace in reaction to the pain radiating in his side and making drawing breaths difficult, the throbbing ache in his temples that occasionally blurs his vision.

          it's not you, doctor whatever-your-name-is. just your work environment. and the fact that i have to be in it.

         “   funny. didn't seem so bad when i hit the ground,  ”    he tries for levity, trying to push the beeping monitors and worried questions and distant sobbing from his mind.  “   hurts like hell, now though, after moving around. how many of them are broken ?  ”  

      *⭒🢖 FROM 𝄈 jack abbot ( @jckabbt )         *⭒🢖 TO 𝄈  donomie cole                     ❴  “really? more judgement from you?”  ❵

           “ WHO SAYS I'M JUDGING ?  i haven't said a word, doc. ” it's true ⸺ well, partially true. his lips haven't made a single peep, but his face may as well have spoken a whole monologue. even then, though, donomie wouldn't exactly call it judgement, so much as he'd call it a knowing kind of amusement. no, the judgement was coming from the eyes of irritable patients, the eyes of disapproving superiors ... maybe even a couple of the surgeons. but donomie ? donomie, the man that shamelessly spoke of his fleeting trysts in dark alleyways and grungy, gritty bar bathrooms with dull, flickering lights and broken tiles that scraped his knees when he ⸺ the point is, this, specifically, is something donomie would never judge anyone for.

          but laughing ? he'll definitely laugh. even if the sound isn't coming out, it's dancing in his eyes, it's playing at the edges of his lips that he's had set in a painfully firm line since the moment he'd caught the exchanged looks between one very irritable dr. robby and one rather guilty dr. abbot. and then, once again, the dark splotch of skin just high enough above the collar of robby's scrubs to be considered indecent ( he might have burst into laughter when he saw it, but abbot wasn't here for that ).

          but now, with this man standing here looking properly chastised and snipping at him with guilt branded across his forehead ? this usually confident ass man that's always telling him to straighten up when he gets a little too comfortable on this uncomfortable ass hospital bed ? yeah, he's laughing now. quietly, but hard enough that there's tears threatening to spill over the corners of his eyes.  

          “    so,   ”    he mutters softly, once he's finally calmed down enough to speak, leaning closer to be heard easier over the buzz of the room,   “    how much trouble are you in ?   ”