PHOBIAS - BLURB: Robby/Jack/Brendon:
I'm in a period where it's hard to think of fanfic ideas, so I wrote this so it wouldn't seem like I did nothing all weekend:
Warnings: vomiting; pregnancy; broken bones; cuts; fear of blood; fear of vomiting; fear of broken bones; fluff; me trying to be funny (it's a warning, I have no idea how to be funny)
"Robby… Robby, I'm dying," she said, hugging the toilet bowl before having another bout of nausea. "Robby! I'm dying!" she said in between heaves. "I'm seeing the light, Robby! I'M SEEING THE LIGHT!"
"It's the bathroom light, honey," he said, crouching beside her and helping her wipe her mouth.
"I hate this. I hate throwing up."
"I know, darling. I'm sorry… I brought the medicine, but you need to wait a little before taking it. To make sure you don't throw up again," he spoke so softly and so kindly. She wanted to punch him.
"You did this to me, Michael. You made me throw up—" in the middle of her sentence, another wave of nausea took over her body. At least she managed to turn back to the toilet.
"Well… Takes two to tango," he replied with a smile.
"I hate you," she replied, her head still inside the toilet bowl.
"JACK!" he opened his eyes so fast that before he knew it, he was already running down the hallway after her. He didn't even remember putting on his prosthetic. He just heard her, and ran in her direction.
"JACK!" she was holding her own hand with the purest look of panic on her face. Her skin was pale. Drops of sweat were already running down her skin. She was already trembling like a green branch and he knew it would be a short time before she passed out. The reason: a small cut on her finger.
"Oh honey…" he said, taking her hands and placing them under the cold tap water. The problem with cuts on the hand was that they always bled a lot, even if the cut wasn't deep. And the biggest problem with that? Well, she had a phobia of blood.
"JACK! Jack I… I—" she barely managed to say before her eyes closed and her body collapsed in her husband's arms.
A few minutes later, she woke up on the sofa. Her legs were propped up on a cushion and a dinosaur band-aid was on her finger. And Jack? He decided to finish making lunch… Just to be safe.
He had just gotten home, and of course the first thing he heard was his wife falling in the shower.
"I'm going to die! Brendon, I'm going to die!" she screamed, looking at her own arm twisted in the opposite direction. "Oh God," she had a wave of nausea.
"I told you not to look!" Of course, the greatest irony in Brendon's life was marrying someone who had a phobia of broken bones.
"Oh God! I'M GOING TO DIE!"
"DON'T LOOK!" he shouted, helping her put on some clothes. After all, he had to take her to the hospital.
"BRENDON!" she had another wave of nausea.
"Love, look at me." She did, even with tears in her eyes and panic in her body. "At the hospital, they're going to put you on painkillers and then I need to align your bones."
"I'm going to put your arm back in place," he said, expecting another wave of nausea or more screams of despair. Instead, he got a fit of laughter followed by a fainting spell.
It doesn't need to be said how much the hospital found it hilarious that the great shark orthopedic surgeon's wife had a phobia of bones.
