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“Alright, Diaz take the hose around the south side! Wilson, Han take the north. In this wind, the fire can carry, lets make sure it doesn’t!” Captain Bobby Nash orders as the 118 scurries around a home in the hills of Los Angeles fighting a residential fire.
“Sir, is there anyone else in the home?” Nash asks the resident as he sits on the curb just outside his house. He has a blanket wrapped around him, his glasses fog with the cup of coffee in his hands a friendly neighbor hands him.
“My daughter lives with me every other weekend. She’s with her mom this week. It’s just me in the home, sir,” he responds back to Nash.
“Buck, sweep the inside of the home, quickly. Make sure all electrical outlets are up to code, and check for any electrical or structural fires.” Nash orders Buck.
“Got it, Cap,” Buck says as he heads inside the home.
Buck enters the front door. The living room and kitchen are immediately to his right. He can smell the familiar scent of burning and hears voices to his left- which is the entrance to the garage, the starting point of the fire.
He makes his way through the home, checking room by room.
“This is LAFD! Call out! This is LAFD call out!” He repeats as he scans every room of the home looking for any signs of anybody in the home in case the resident missed something.
He enters an in-home office and rummages through the electrical cords to make sure none of them are burned or hazardous. He sweeps through the next room and the next.
He comes across a teenage girls room. He checks around the bed to make sure all outlets are up to code and before exiting the bedroom he hears a rustling in the closet. He stops and tries to listen. But the sounds of firefighters and hoses overwhelm his senses.
A sound coming from the closet startles him briefly.
“Hello? Anybody in the home? I am a firefighter with the Los Angeles Fire Department. Call out so I can reach you.” He softly says. The home is not in any danger as the fire is quickly dying out, so he tries not to make it an urgent call for any civilians to freak out.
Buck heads back into the bedroom and places his hands around the closet doors.
He opens it and is surprised by two teenagers crouched on the floor hugging each other.
He jumps in reaction, but seeing their young faces he quickly changes demeanor.
“Did you guys not hear me call out?! There’s a fire in the garage you need to get out of the house. Now!” He asserts.
One of the girls goes to stand but the other holds her back, Buck confused by this, motions for them to hurry.
“No! I can’t! I can’t let my dad see me! I’m not suppose to be here!” She cries out.
“I know, he said you were suppose to be with your mom this week. What are you doing here?!” Buck asks out of curiosity knowing full well this is none of his business but he always likes to help and maybe just be a little nosy.
“My mom won’t let us be together,” she interlaces her fingers with her girlfriends, “she’s— difficult,” she continues. “My dad is suppose to be at a conference in Sacramento right now. I thought we had the house to ourselves,” she says choking up.
Buck bends down to get on their level. He looks sincerely into their eyes.
“I understand where you’re coming from. More than you know. But I can’t let you guys stay here. It’s a huge risk and one I am not willing to take. Besides I know your dad will just be happy to know you’re safe. The both of you.” He says.
The girls look up and smile as they allow him to lead the three of them out of the home.
“Dad!” She shouts as she sees the soot lining his face as he sits on the curb.
“Ellie?!” Her dad calls out. He wraps his arms around her squeezing her tightly. He sees the girlfriends standing awkwardly to the side and grabs her arm, bringing her into the hug.
“I’m so glad you’re safe. The both of you,” the father says gingerly to his teenage daughter.
“You’re not mad I snuck in my girlfriend into the house?” She says still sniffling but a slight sigh of a chuckle follows after it.
“Well yes. I was suppose to be out of town, but they canceled all the meetings. But never mind, Listen, Ellie, Brittany-” the father includes her girlfriend- “I know your mother is stuck in her ways and doesn’t understand this, but you can always be honest with me. I will always see you. I will always love you, Ellie Belly,” together they smile and chuckle through the heaviness. They embrace once more.
Buck smiles as he sees their interaction. It gets cut short suddenly when a wave of nausea hits him out of nowhere. He heads over to the truck to grab his water bottle and takes slow sips. He sits on the steps and takes some deep breaths. Just as quickly as it came on, it goes away.
He feels a twinge in his stomach, a slight cramp, but tries to work through it.
“Buck! Breaks over, go help Eddie,” Nash calls out. He closes his water bottle and quickly heads over to help Eddie with the hose and cleaning out any debris.
Later that night Buck unlocks his front door and enters his apartment to the smell of garlic bread heating in the oven.
“Smells good,” he says as he sees Tommy lighting a candle at his dining table. He looks up at Buck as he enters his home, closing the door behind him.
“Reheating the garlic bread in the oven, got the pasta set out already. Hope you’re hungry.” He says waiting for Buck to give him a gentle kiss. Buck pecks Tommy’s lips, he smiles into the kiss.
“Oddly enough, I’m not too hungry,” he winces as he sits at the bar stool as he knows Tommy will have a word to say about getting the Italian food across town on a night he doesn’t have an appetite.
“Babe, I got us the gnocchi you were craving last week,” Tommy, disappointment lacing his tone, says as he takes the garlic bread out of the oven.
“I know, I know. Hey, I’ll have a bite, okay?” He says hugging him as he smiles playfully. Tommy accepts this and sets the bread on the table as Buck washes his hands preparing for dinner.
Sitting at the table Tommy serves them both as Buck fiddles with the utensils in front of him. Buck picks at his food as he feels once again a cramp creep up through his stomach and sit just at the top of his abdomen.
“So how was work?” Tommy asks after taking a bite out of his pasta.
“Fine. Usual calls, nothing major,” he takes a bite out of the side salad. He sips his water. He pushes the feeling of nausea down as he sits uncomfortably in his chair.
“You?” He asks as he watches Tommy take more bites. With his mouth full, Tommy gestures with his face and hands that the day had been busy. He rolls his eyes as he chews his way through the pasta.
“Busy,” Tommy confirms. Buck smiles and nods in understanding and continues to pick at the salad. He tries a bite of the pasta. The taste is amazing. Everything he wanted, but in this very moment— it was not sitting well with him.
“Does this pasta seem off to you?” Buck asks. Tommy juts out his lower lip, shakes his head in denial.
“Not my favorite. But tastes fine to me. Have you renewed your license yet? I saw a letter came in the mail today.” Tommy motions with his fork to the counter with the pile of unopened mail sat untouched.
“Not yet… Did you go through my mail?” Buck doesn’t even really know why he said it. It wasn’t like he needed to hide anything but a slight feeling of the invasion of personal space made him uneasy. But he trusts his boyfriend and doesn’t want to make this a thing. He regrets saying it, but is still curious about the answer.
“No. It was just sitting there. I recognized the logo on the letter, I get the same mail.” Tommy cooly says. He doesn’t sound frustrated, irritated or even a sightly annoyed. This annoys Buck though. Tommy had every right to feel betrayed from Buck asking such a question, yet his response proved otherwise.
“Right, sorry. I just…—No Eddie and I were going to send in the application tomorrow morning,” Buck forces his way out of the conversation.
Tommy pout-smiles nodding an understanding. He doesn’t understand why Buck saying him and Eddie were going to do it together made him feel slightly annoyed but it did. The entire 118 is really close- practically family- so its not surprising that Buck plans to renew his license with Eddie but why couldn’t it have been him and Hen or Chimney?
He pushes these thoughts down.
“Great. Don’t want to sit on it too long,” he says taking more bites from his food. Buck nods in agreement and continues to pick at his food. Tommy can’t help but notice this. He went the opposite direction in LA traffic to go to the Italian restaurant Buck really likes and get this food and yet is barely even eating it.
“What’s wrong you don’t like it?” Tommy asks taking a sip of his beer.
“No, it’s good. I’m just not hungry,” Buck says softly, afraid to disappoint him. The thought of Tommy going out of his way to bring him dinner makes him upset with himself. He wishes he felt more grateful or even more attracted but wasn’t.
“I told you this isn’t even the best gnocchi, there are so many better spots in downtown,” Tommy says. He tries to be playful but it comes off as arrogant. Regrets his tone.
“I’m sorry, Tommy. I know you went out of your way today to get this—,” Buck gestures to the food in front of them.
“Evan, it’s fine. I was joking,” Tommy says.
“I think I’m just tired. It was a long day.” Buck rubs his eyes with his fingers. Tension behind his eyes build and the cramp wavers over his stomach once more before settling at the top again.
“I think I’m going to head to bed.” Buck sits back in his chair.
“I’ll just leave,” Tommy picks up both their plates and places them in the sink.
“No, Tommy, you don’t have to. Just stay,” He says standing. He takes the rest of the dishes to the sink. Tommy smiles. He pecks Buck on the mouth, he returns it as he smiles leaning into him.
He likes the firmness of his body against him, a reason Buck fell for him. Someone stronger to hold him. The need to feel protected or safe was important to Buck and to have a partner feel so much bigger in your arms felt like the perfect safety he needed in his life.
The next morning Buck woke up feeling worse than the night before. He quickly sits up in bed feeling the nausea teeter between his stomach and throat. He forces it down and tries not to get sick, but it is too late. He rushes to his bathroom and expels everything in his stomach.
Brushing his teeth he feels his stomach and notes the tenderness on his right side. He knows all too well that these symptoms can be concerning. But he already feels better after vomiting so he tries not to go down that route.
He dresses for the day and heads downstairs as Tommy pours them both some coffee.
“Sorry, but not today. My stomach is a little sensitive,” Buck taps the counter with his knuckles.
“I told you that gnocchi wasn’t the best—,” Tommy says sipping his coffee.
“No, it wasn’t that,” Buck chuckles playfully. “I was feeling a little off before that, anyways.”
“Your period maybe?” Tommy smiles into his mug.
“Ha-ha, very funny. No seriously I’ve had this stomach ache I can’t shake,” Buck says as he moves his way to the fridge and takes out a premade container of food and places it in his backpack along with refilling his water bottle.
“Alright take some Pepto Bismol tablets and remember to stay away from that junk food you’re always eating,” he says as he brings him in for a kiss. Buck scrunches his eyes, in disagreement.
“I don’t always eat junk food,” he says returning the kiss.
Tommy smiles and heads for the door. “That’s not what your stomach is saying,” he says before exiting.
Buck laughingly brushes this off then he decides to take some anti-nausea tablets before heading out himself.
Buck is changing in the locker room when a sharp pain hitches his breath. It takes him by surprise as he fights the urge to vomit again. He sits on the bench as Eddie enters the locker room.
“What’s up Buckaroo?” He places his things in his locker. Buck takes small sips from his water bottle.
“Not much,” he tries to shake away the pain in his stomach. “Hey did you bring your license renewal form?” He asks as he stands, subconsciously holding his stomach.
“Yeah, got it right here,” he takes it out from his locker showing it off to Buck. “You alright?” He nods to his hand that rubs small circles on his stomach.
“Yeah, no. I think it’s just something I ate,” he says trying not to worry him.
Eddie accepts this. They ate the same things yesterday and seeing as it did not affect Eddie he doesn’t push it any further. “Yeah, you’ve always been a little sensitive,” he playfully teases. Buck smiles. Chuckles into his water bottle.
“Whatever,” he says sipping more water.
Together they make their way upstairs to the lounge. They sit at the table as they begin filling in the paperwork to renew their license. They laugh as they settle into conversation.
They soon get interrupted by the sound of the bell alerting them of an emergency they were being called to.
Sitting in the fire engine, Buck sits back and lets the breeze through the windows cool down his face as nausea and stomach cramping overwhelm him. He scrunches his face as he leans back in his seat.
“Buck you sure you’re alright?” Eddie says leaning toward him.
“What’s wrong with Buck?” Nash says looking in the rearview mirror.
“His stomach,” Eddie reports. Buck glares at him in disproval, but Eddie shakes it off.
“Bad taco?” Hen chimes in.
“Did you go to that taco place on Sunset again?” Chimney joins the conversation.
“Yes,” Buck says as the discomfort increases with each bump in the road.
“I told you the employees don’t wash their hands!” Chimney says as he smacks his gum in disappointment.
“Yes they do! I’ve seen them! Besides they wear gloves!” Eddie returns. He shakes off the scold from Chimney as he looks to Buck in concern. Chimney puts his hands up in surrender but his face displays that of an ‘I told you so’ notion, chewing his gum loudly.
“Look we both had the same tacos and I feel fine,” he says to the rest of the crew, he turns his attention directly to Buck, “are you sure it was something you ate, Buck?” He asks him gingerly.
“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine. It’ll pass,” Buck says as he sits up in his seat. He clutches his jacket as they continue along their way, the pain tapers off as it comes in waves and takes the opportunity of the dismal pain to wave Eddie off. He can’t have him worrying about his condition when they’re out on a call. Not only is it not professional and unsafe, it also puts him in a bad place to make Eddie worry about him when he’s got a lot on his plate as it is.
He puts on a brave face and smiles up at Eddie as Eddie’s brown eyes burrow their way into Buck’s blue eyes. Scanning to find any signs of a lie, but Eddie quickly sees Buck is toughening something out and prays it isn’t serious. But he trusts Buck that its just a stomach bug and focuses on his work instead.
“Alright, great job 118! Let’s pack up and head out!” Bobby calls out as the crew finishes their duties as they were called to a four car pile up including a city bus. They were able to quickly and efficiently do their jobs— Buck roamed at the edges and took it easy for the day by request of Bobby. He didn’t argue which concerned Bobby since he knew Buck was tough enough to argue these things.
Buck was still feeling unwell and didn’t want to disagree to laying low- he even welcomed it. This concerned himself as it is atypical of his nature. He sits at the bottom steps of the fire engine. He leans back a little as the stomach cramping increases. He allows the slight breeze wash over him.
“You doing alright, Buck?” Eddie says as he puts equipment back into its place on the engine. Buck wants to respond, to have him not worry, but his body goes against this. He clutches his side.
“I just need to go home,” He says as he tries not to vomit.
“You still have more left on your shift?” Eddie asks although he knows the answer. Buck nods and tries to fight through the pain.
“Alright, let Bobby know you’re feeling worse and I can take you home,” Eddie says unzipping his coat. He wipes at his brow and leans against the truck.
“I can take myself,” Buck says softly. “I’m off in twenty anyways,” Eddie says. Buck doesn’t argue.
“You should get up in bed and I can make you some tea,” Eddie says as he places Buck and his things on the dining table as Buck wearily takes off his jacket and places it by the front door.
He again doesn’t argue with Eddie and takes aim for the stairs, he climbs up a couple before the nausea cuts through interrupting his steps.
“Oh god,” Buck says covering his mouth in case he gets sick all over the floor. He pivots and goes down the stairs to his bathroom on the first floor.
“Buck? Buck, you alright?” Eddie says waiting in the kitchen to give him space. He lingers until he hears Buck finishing in the bathroom.
He exits and finds a seat on the couch, a loud sigh following. Eddie hands him a tea as he sits across from him in a chair. Buck rests his head back clutching his stomach.
“You good?” Eddie asks resting his elbows on his knees, intertwining his fingers. He looks between Bucks pained face and his hands holding abdomen. Buck doesn’t want to worry Eddie, he pushes aside his pain.
“Yeah, just… sucks,” he says as sips his tea before setting it down on the table in front if him.
“You don’t have to stay you know,” Buck gets comfortable on the couch, his eyes close and he relaxes himself.
“Here take this,” Eddie places a thermometer into Buck’s palms.
“You know, it’s kinda scary how well you know where everything in my home is,” Buck puts the thermometer under his tongue.
“Besides, I’ve got nothing better to do,” Eddie says. Buck smiles as he knows he’s in need of company ever since Christopher left for Texas. Buck always welcomes his company.
“Hey. Seriously, are you feeling okay?” Buck smiles even wider as he take the thermometer out of his mouth, it reads 99.6.
“Yeah, see? Just fine,” Buck says. Eddie glares warmly at him, he peaks a grin. A warm feeling creeps through his chest, a slight giddy feeling settles in his bones. A cramp ruins the feeling though and he decides to lay all the way on the couch. He likes when Eddie cares for him.
“Just cramping a little. Nothin’ I can’t handle though,” Buck says, eyes closed as he settles into the couch.
“Okay, I’ll be here if you need me,” Eddie whispers.
Buck finds sleep easily as his body doesn’t fight the fatigue. He sleeps a little over an hour before waking up to the sound of the TV on in front of him.
He rubs the sleep from his eyes as he sits up. His stomach aches with pain as he finds the pain next to unbearable. Though not there yet, he still manages to function.
“Wha—?” He says still groggy. He sees Tommy a couple of snacks opened and displayed on the table. His tea, now cold, sits off to the side.
“Tommy?” Buck sits up. He groans in pain.
“Hey, Buck. Sorry, did I wake you? The games on though,” he says taking a sip of his beer as he continues watching a baseball game.
“No. It’s fine. Where’s Eddie?” Buck tries to muster the strength to sit all the way up, the pain in his side hisses and he clutches his stomach. Buck pails over and his jaw clenches as he tries to swallow the ever familiar feeling of bile rising.
“He got called in. I just got here couple of minutes ago,” Tommy says, eyes still glued to the television.
“Oh,” Buck rubs sleep from his eyes. He collapses in himself, sitting up fully makes his stomach burn with pain, so he settles for this awkward crouch.
“You hungry?” Tommy takes a sip of his beer once more, eyes still locked into the players running on the screen, Buck peaks at the TV, the brightness irritates his tired eyes.
“No,” Buck leans back into his seat. He tries to fight the nausea but it is now overwhelming.
Buck groans as he shifts his weight on the couch. The pain in his side and stomach are both dull and sharp, completely overcoming and consuming.
“You want some tea or something?” Tommy asks, his attention still not fully on Buck.
“No, I can’t stomach anything right now,” Buck hunches over in his seat.
“Evan I think you’re just hungry. When’s the last time you ate?” Tommy asks, his eyes scanning Buck’s figure.
“I don’t know. There’s something wrong,” Buck says, breathing heavily through the nausea and pain.
“Yeah, you rejected food. I’d say there something really wrong,” Tommy tries to lighten the mood.
“No, Tommy, seriously. I think there’s something wrong,” Buck says.
“Well do you need a hospital? I can take you—,” it comes off more aggravated than concerned. Tommy knows this, regrets it, but the weariness from work and an even busier week had caught up and being able to finally sit down and watch the game was all he wanted.
A sound of the bat cracking on the TV captivates Tommy as he nearly stands to cheer, he claps and shouts his excitement.
“No. I just need sleep. I’m heading to bed,” Buck stands. “Goodnight,” Buck says in between Tommy's hollers as his unblinking eyes glue to the game.
“Yeah, ‘night, Evan. Feel better, I’m here if you need me!” He shouts after him, his eyes scan to Buck for a second before returning back to the TV.
Buck crawls into his bed and sleep tries to easily welcome him but the pain lingers heavily, it makes breathing feel laborious. He tries to hold himself together, a single tear trails down his face. He isn’t even aware that the pain settles this deeply and that he’s actually suffering, he just figures its from the lack of food he’s not gotten in the past 24 or so hours.
He breathes through the pain and eventually sleeps.
Sometime in the night— Buck checks the clock, it reads 12:01 AM— he suddenly sits up in bed. He tries to adjust his eyes to the darkness, he listens to his home. The nausea tugs at his stomach and he runs to the bathroom, violently getting sick. He finishes and sits back in his bed.
He sees he has four unread text messages. Two from Tommy and two from Eddie. He reads Eddies first.
“Sorry had to bolt— got called in.”
The second read:
“Tommy should be on his way to take better care of you ;)”
Buck can’t help but to smile.
He opens Tommy’s-
“On my way! Hope you’re hungry!”
Then the second text:
“Sorry, Evan, I got called in, but left some soup in the fridge. Xx”
The slight feeling of disappointment settled into his chest and he slumped his posture reading the text messages. He wants to respond to both but doesn’t know what to say to either so he clicks off his phone and places it back on the nightstand to charge.
He gingerly walks down the stairs and opens the fridge. Sure enough there’s a white Styrofoam container of soup sitting on the top shelf. He smiles and takes it out and places it on the counter. He grabs a bowl from the cupboard. Opening the lid of the soup he sees its chicken noodle- his favorite. He pours some in the bowl, places it in the microwave and waits for the beep.
Buck makes his way to the dining room table and sits down, a cramp sharply cuts into his right side. He pushes the pain aside and takes a couple bites of the soup. It was really delicious and spoons more bites into his mouth. He nearly finishes the bowl when the familiar tug sits in his stomach and doesn’t wait for him to decide as it already begins to sit in his throat and back of his mouth.
Running to the bathroom, Buck expels everything groaning though the process. The pain overwhelms him this time and he can’t take a deep enough breath. He grips the bowls edges and hangs on for dear life. He finishes and sits against the wall as he flushes the toilet. He can’t manage to stand as the pain in his side burns deeper and settles through his ribs and upper abdomen.
Buck writhes in pain as he moans and groans. He bites his lower lip and scrunches his eyes shut, every reaction tries to subside the pain but nothing works to cope and he lays on the bathroom floor in severe pain.
He finally makes the decision to call 9-1-1, but his phone isn’t in his pockets. He’s left it on his nightstand…upstairs. Great.
He cries as he tries to sit up. He finally after painstakingly getting on all fours crawls up the stairs. Each step felt like electricity bolting through his nerves and the feeling of fatigue surprises him. He wants to sleep right there and knows this is a sign of fainting. He pushes through as finally reaches the top steps and crawls his way to his phone.
Yanking it off the charger he dials—
“9-1-1 what is your emergency?”
“I…need…an ambulance. To this address. I may have ruptured my appendix and am on the verge of losing consciousness. Please send paramedics to my location.” Buck calmly says into the phone. He does exactly as he figured and passes out.
He wakes when paramedics are shaking him awake. They assess him and get IV’s started and administer pain medication. He gets loaded onto a gurney and they wheel him out of his apartment.
“Buck?!” Buck’s eyes were closed, but that familiar voice shoots his eyes right open. Eddie.
“Eddie?” Buck says. The blanket slides down his body and swiftly Eddie grabs it and places it back over him. Buck leans to the side to try to get closer to Eddie, tries to cling to him. Eddie grips Buck’s hand, they squeeze.
“What happened? Are you okay?” Eddie worriedly says as he matches the pace of the paramedics as they wheel him out.
“My appendix,” Buck says as he squirms in discomfort still from the pain. He holds tightly onto Eddie as they load him onto the bus. “Can I come too?” Eddie asks the paramedic. He looks at Buck and he smiles and nods his approval.
Sitting in the back of the ambulance Buck gets suddenly emotional. He tried to stay calm and not freak out about his pain and illness but knew his intuition told him otherwise. He didn’t listen though because he didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. But Eddie’s worry and steady support gave Buck all the comfort and safety in the world.
“I’m sorry,” he says to Eddie who was leaning in his chair off to his left. Eddie, hearing Bucks sad voice, sits forward to hear him.
“What are you sorry for, Buck? I should be sorry,” Eddie says, tears threatening to spill as he dances between anger and disappointment. He knew he should have stayed with Buck despite being called into work—
“I should have told you I was in more pain than I showed,” Buck says. A single tear rolls down his face. Eddie bites his lip and hangs his head.
“No, Buck. It’s not your fault. I asked Tommy to stay the night to watch over you, I should have just stayed myself,” Eddie shakes his head. He regretted trusting Tommy. He regretted not being more concerned for Buck.
“Well it really isn’t your fault either, Eddie,” Buck reaches out to hold Eddies hand. He stares at his open palm, pale and red at the knuckles, he examines the hand he wished to hold on so many occasions. His eyes water with tears as he takes Buck’s hand into his own and gives it a squeeze as he rests it at Buck’s side.
Eddie lingers in the hospital waiting room pacing back and forth as he wrings out the knots in his neck. He lightly taps the leg of the chair in front of him when he hears a familiar voice.
“Eddie?” Eddie looks up and sees a frantic Tommy enters the waiting room. “What the hell happened?!” He says palms up, shoulders shrugging in confusion.
“His appendix ruptured. He’s in surgery now,” Eddie calmly says as crosses his arms, leaning his head back he examines Tommy.
“His appendix? What I thought this was just food poisoning? He never said he was in pain?!” Tommy says scratching his head. He places his hand on his hips.
Just then, Chimney and Maddie enter the room, followed by Bobby and Athena.
“Eddie,” Maddie says as she embraces him. He wraps his arms around her and they settle into the hug. Chimney quickly hugs him too as they wait for Eddie’s report.
“He’s okay, he’s in surgery,” he says to them as he greets Bobby and Athena.
“Hen and Karen are on their way,” Bobby says. He places a gentle hand on Tommy’s shoulder as Tommy’s crossed arms in front of him tighten just a little more.
“His appendix?” Athena asks as she stands next to Bobby as he places his arm around her.
“Yeah. Doctors said he was septic when he came in and had a fever of 104,” Eddie says as Maddie clutches her chest, desperate to hold her little brother in her arms. Chimney holds her as she clings on to him.
“He’s gonna be alright?” Bobby tensely says. Eddie nods a yes.
“He’s in surgery right now, they’ll come out to update us soon,” he says resting his hands on his hips.
Maddie sits in a chair as Athena joins her and rubs small circles on her back. Chimney sits beside her holding her hand.
“I’ll get us some coffees,” Bobby says as he exits the room and heads to the vending machine out in the hall.
In a heavy sigh Tommy sits across from Eddie— who tiredly slumps in a chair— placing his head in his hands, defeated and scared.
“I thought you were going to stay with him,” Eddie says after a moment of silence, a brief awkward pause in their stillness.
“I went over as soon as I could. I got called back in,” Tommy defends himself.
“He got worse and no one was there,” Eddie mostly says to himself, upset that he didn’t try to care for him better.
“How was I suppose to know he had appendicitis? Besides weren’t you with him all day?” Tommy says with a slight bite to it. He was tired and frustrated. He missed huge signs that could have gotten Buck help sooner. But he chose to trust Buck to be the adult and care for himself as well.
“Excuse me?” Eddie bites back. He seriously doesn’t expect Eddie to have laser vision and automatically detect when Buck would need serious medical attention?
“Eddie, Tommy. Enough,” Maddie quietly, monotonously says. Her red eyes, groggy voice signals them to put their differences to rest for right now.
“Boys,” Bobby says as he hands each of them a small cup of coffee.
“Thanks,” Tommy says taking the cup. “Thank you, Bobby,” Eddie says letting the warmth settle into his palms.
“Please tell me he’s alright?” Hen says entering the waiting room. The silence that stales the air lifts slightly as her worry pierces the atmosphere. It brings Eddie back as he realizes he began drifting into his imagination. The thought of losing Buck began to creep into his thoughts— an unwelcoming thought.
“Hey, Hen,” Eddie stands to greet both her and Karen. “He’s still in surgery.”
“Thank you for coming,” Tommy follows suit and stands to greet them.
“Of course,” Karen says returning the embrace. “He’s family,” Hen says as she sits beside Chimney and Maddie who they also greet.
Just then a doctor in scrubs enters the room—
“Evan Buckley’s family?” He interrupts their small conversations.
“Yes?” Tommy says. “That’s us,” Eddie says at the same time.
The doctor looks between each of them and beyond to the rest of the family behind them. He smiles and clasps his hands together.
“I’m Dr. Hernandez, I performed Evan’s surgery. He did great. Surgery went well. It was a pretty bad rupture, lucky he was brought in when he was. But we expect a full recovery.” He announces as the room releases a sigh of relief and they smile and hug and sit lighter.
“Thank you,” Tommy says shaking the doctors hand. The doctor smiles and turns to leave.
“Wait, Dr. Hernandez! When can we see him?” Eddie says. The doctor whips around, his tired eyes.
When Buck was out of surgery it was still in the middle of the night. So they each slept for three hours in the visiting room as they waited for morning as the visiting hours rolled around.
Maddie and Chimney had finished their visit speaking with Buck for a few minutes before they left him with clothes to change into and his favorite breakfast spots’ oatmeal (gross, he knows, but its the only thing he can stomach at the moment). Bobby and Athena snuck in next to drop off flowers and a ‘Get Well Soon’ balloon as they each kissed his forehead and left for home. Karen and Hen brought a cute little teddy bear covered in bandages and wrapped in gauze and a T-Shirt reading ‘Please Bubble Wrap! Accident Prone!’ They laughed at this as they hugged him and left for the morning.
Eddie finally was next. Buck was lightly sleeping as the morning sun shone through the window casting a beautiful sun ray across his face, his birthmark glowing in the sunshine. He smiles as he sees the monitors reading his vitals— he is healthy and strong.
He sighs in relief as he scoots the chair closer, Buck wakes with a gentle yawn.
“Hi,” he smiles as Eddie settles in the chair. Eddie looks down at Buck, his blue eyes reddened from tiredness.
“Hey,” Eddie responds. He rests his cheek in his palm as he smiles. Not fully knowing what to say. They just sit in their presence not really knowing who will be the first to speak but also not really caring if they just sat in the silence. Their hearts spoke mostly. A silent conversation between their minds, eyes shifting between other features of their face, their shoulders releasing their tension, their jaw unclenching. They sit in the quiet, comfortable just to be in their presence. Safe and home merge when they are around each other.
“Thank God, Buck,” Tommy says in the doorway. Buck and Eddie break their eye contact as they see him enter.
“Hi, Tommy. I’m fine,” Buck says lightly chucking. He extends his hand out so Tommy can take his hand. Tommy takes his hand and holds it for a second before dropping it. Buck furrows his eyebrows, Eddie tries to avoid their conversation.
“What’s up?” Buck says confused.
“You lied to me,” Tommy says. “I lied to you?” Buck questions.
“Yes, I asked if you needed to go to the hospital last night and you said, no.” Tommy shifts his weight between each foot.
“You were barely even acknowledging me! I told you there was something seriously wrong—,” Buck says irritated.
“Don’t put this on me,” Tommy says disappointed.
“Look at me Tommy! I almost fucking died!” Buck angrily says. He grimaces with pain as the incision sharply reminds him that he is still in the beginning stages of healing.
“Buck,” Eddie warns him. Buck, aware of his care, brushes him off as his anger still lingers for Tommy.
Tommy scoffs at Eddie, “Stay out of this, Eddie,” he glares at him. He notes that both Eddie and Buck's hands are inches away from touching.
“Excuse me? You wanna step outside?” Eddie says. “Eddie,” this time Buck warns him.
Tommy scoffs again, he throws his head back, through his hands up in defeat.
“You’re fucking joking,” Tommy says under his breath.
“Look, Tommy. I really don’t want to do this here,” Buck says, his voice quivering.
“No, let’s, Evan. Whatever it is that’s going on here,” he motions to Buck and Eddies body language as they are leaning toward each other, subconsciously. “I would love to hear what you really feel.”
“Are you serious, Tommy. Buck is in the hospital and you want to fight?” Eddie protectively says. “Eddie, seriously. Stay out of it.” He glares at Eddie before Eddie, a sarcastic grin on his face, shakes it off and surrenders as he leans back in his chair. “Evan?” Tommy impatiently asks.
“I’m too tired,” Buck leans his head back on the pillows. Tommy closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“I’ve tried, Evan. I have given you plenty of opportunity to let me in. To let me take care of you. To let me be your boyfriend,” Tommy pleads. His voice is quiet but stern, the veins in his neck bulge out in anger.
A pregnant pause lingers in the room for a moment before Buck starts.
“And you don’t think I haven’t tried? I have given you everything that I possibly can! You know how hard it was for me to open up. This was all new to me and you never gave me the grace to let me figure my shit out! You forced my hand to either be out or to hide as if I was a coward. Sometimes it just takes time to understand what you want.”
Buck says as a tear rolls down his cheek. He was tensing through his words, his abdomen ached and the sharp pain on his right side stabbed at him like a knife. Blood spotted through his gown.
“I will always be grateful for you being my first boyfriend, but I just don’t think we are the same page now,” Buck finishes.
“Wow. So that’s it, Evan?” Tommy says, his hands resting on his hips, his eyebrows deeply furrowing.
“Buck,” Buck begins, “My family call me, Buck.” He finishes.
Tommy shakes his head. He can’t even look him in the eye. He stares out of the hospital window. “I’m sorry, Evan,” he says before exiting the room.
Buck exhales as more tears freely flow. Eddie wants to hold his hand. He lingers just starring at his fingers.
“Buck. I’m so sorry,” Eddie says after a moment. Eddie gathers his thoughts for a moment before he checks his side, more blood was seeping through his hospital gown.
“You popped your stitches. I’ll go get a nurse,” Eddie says standing.
“Wait,” Buck reaches out for his hand, grasps it firmly. He looks into Eddies eyes. They stare as words unspoken seem to pour through their brown and blue eyes as they fill in the blanks to questions they never thought they were asking.
“Thank you,” he simply says as Eddie smiles and exits the room.
A nurse comes in to fix his stitches as visiting hours for the morning close and Eddie is forced out of his room. He sits outside the building as he stews in his thoughts. He runs the conversation, the lack of words between them but all the emotion. Is he making things up? Just wishful thinking? Eddie wants to so badly go back in there and tell him everything. Everything he is feeling right now, but he would have to wait.
Unfortunately he waited another three days before he would see Buck again. Eddie got called into work and every time he was off duty was during off visiting hours and Buck was sleeping most of the time.
He goes to the hospital to pick Buck up and not many words were spoken as they drove to Eddies house. Seeing as he needed some company to help heal, he felt he could spent the weekend at Eddies post surgery and post break-up.
Eddie goes around to open Buck’s door as he helps him out of the car. He awkward stands at the threshold and waits for Eddie to find his house keys in his pockets.
“Sorry, one second, just finding the key,” Eddie stumbles as he fishes for the right one, seeming slightly nervous, the tension between them lingers and Buck can feel it.
“There we go,” Eddie says as he unlocks the house. He grabs Buck’s bag and goes to step inside.
“Eddie?” Buck says before Eddie enters the house, “what’s wrong? You okay?” Eddie asks.
Before he even realizes, Buck grabs Eddies face and brings it in, their lips lock and after a few seconds of awkward stiffness, Eddie lets his bag drop to the floor before he grabs Bucks waist and brings him even closer. They breathe in each others scent and passionately kiss. Buck leans into his chest, feels the strong broad pecks against his own. The feeling of strong, stable, safe arms wrap around him. He feels at home. This is what love feels like, Buck thinks.
They finally part after a minute to find air. Buck loses his footing for a second as his head swims, lightheaded from the kiss. They smile and laugh into each others faces, their foreheads touching, Buck’s nose grazes Eddie’s.
“Took you long enough,” Eddie says smiling into Buck’s lips as they giggle. Eddie pecks Buck’s smiling lips as they hold each other. It was always Eddie. What he was looking for was always by his side all along.
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I am very sorry for the jinx I may have caused by this post. Completely unintentional. But in my defense in the world of whump emotional pain is underrated and am glad they explored at least that.
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underrated part of whump is when other characters talk about whumpee worriedly in completely separate conversations… like “they keep saying they’re fine but I know they’re hurting and I’m worried about them” kinda thing
Hello Besties! So I wrote this short Ripley whump because I believe in Luke Mitchell whump good god!!!!! This takes place right after 9x13...
hope it reads well, I write late into the night and never really edit them so sorry for that but here ya go!
Frustrated, Dr. Mitch Ripley, kicked a nearby trashcan. It bangs loudly in the hospital's empty parking lot, the clock nearing midnight.
Pawel, a disgruntled previous patient who sued Ripley a few week prior came rolling into the ED. He states he was beaten by Ripley, his sister also points fingers directly to him.
Shit. Ripley feels all eyes on him. His coworkers, friends, even the police all- accusingly- veer their eyes toward him.
I mean it makes sense, Ripley thinks. He knows his past and his current situation combine for a recipe of disaster. Why wouldn’t they think it was me? Ripley thinks once more.
His unsteady confidence, his anger, the lack of support he’s felt his entire life come tumbling at the forefront of his thoughts. He knows he doesn’t have many strong arguments for believing in him and that he thoroughly makes it difficult for anyone to get close. But despite all this he still wants to be believed. To be trusted and supported and fought for.
Ripley, hands on his hips, paces back and forth. The thoughts of the past few hours, and even weeks, play over and over in his mind. He struggles to compose himself.
In the distance he can see Pawel’s sister, Liliana, talking to a few men in the parking lot. They all glance at Ripley. He shakes his head mumbles a “great,” under his breathe.
The group talks more, of what Ripley is not aware of. They are too far to hear their conversation but all eyes are on him. Again.
Liliana points at him. Ripley stops in his tracks. He is a dear in headlights. Caught between escape and brute force that feels inescapable. Where can he go?
Don’t run, Ripley thinks. The men approach him.
“Hey!” One man shouts. Ripley shakes his head, irritated that his night continues to get worse. He rubs the back of his neck. His other hand firmly stays in his pants pocket.
He begins pacing again.
Once the men reach him Ripley turns his back to them.
“Hey! You’re the one beating Pawel?” The man asks in a thick Russian accent. Ripley bites his tongue. He bounces his leg, unable to contain his disproval.
“Look. I don’t know what she’s told you,” he sneers at Liliana, “but I have nothing to do with what happened to Pawel.” He locks eyes on the one who first approached Ripley. The leader.
The man returns the stare, he squares up Ripley.
“Liliana says you do this,” his prominent frown furrows in his anger, “and I believe her.”
“I don’t care. I’ve done nothing. I’ve had a terrible day. So you don’t want to mess with me,” Ripley firmly says.
The men laugh. Ripley bites his lip. His fists ball up. He can feel the nails dig into his skin. He feels his heart thump.
“Poydem,” he hears Liliana say, “come now,” she gestures for the men to follow her. But they don’t.
“You think you tough guy?” The big Russian man taunts. Ripley stands his ground. The grip of his hands tighten. His knuckles crack. He grinds his teeth.
“I’d walk away if I were you,” Ripley cooly says.
“And if we do not?” The leader once more taunts. He cocks his head to the side, he inches toward Ripley. A sly smile creeps across his lips, the other men sneer and smile and snarl at Ripley.
Beside the leader that speaks, there are two on his left and two on his right. Five men total. Ripley takes count. He takes a stance. White knuckles shake as he readies himself.
“You’re weak,” the leader softly says. He spits at Ripley’s feet.
Ripley looks down at the gross gob of spit at his feet. He pushes his tongue around his mouth. He fails to find words and thinks, hell, why not?
And takes a swing. But a man on his right catches his fist. The men laugh, Ripley tries to push through, but the man is too strong. He takes a swing at Ripley and it lands square on his left eye. Ripley staggers back.
He grabs his face, but quickly tries to return another swing. The leader dodges it as Ripley falters toward them. The two men on his left push Ripley toward their leader.
The leader grabs him by his shirt collar and throws a punch to his gut. Ripley loudly moans and folds forward. The air knocks right out of him. Other men throw punches to his face, head, one to his stomach, and another upper cuts his jaw and his head whips back.
Ripley stands there, arms outstretched. Eyes focusing on the stars above him.
“Hey,” one of the men says. He nods toward a group of people walking out of the hospital entrance. They are too exposed out here in the open parking lot.
The leader demands for the men to grab Ripley. They roughly tug at his arms as they drag him around to the back of the building, out of sight.
They throw him against the brick wall, his head knocks against it with a sickening thud. He whips back again and the men push him against the wall and pound him, repeatedly.
Ripley takes each punch and tries to return some, but none land and he can feel his head spin.
He takes a swing, but one man catches his wrist and does a spin move, his foot landing right on his temple.
Ripley lands on the ground, hard. The five men stomp on his chest, stomach, back, legs and head. No mercy.
He can feel his shoulder dislocate. He screams out in pain. He feels the blood oozing down his face coming from his hairline, his temple, his eyebrow, his mouth.
A deep, sharp pain stings in his stomach. His ribs scream in agony. He can’t take in a deep breath, he can feel his lungs scream as if the were on fire.
Crack! He feels someone kick his left wrist as the bones shatter. He growls in pain. He grits his teeth unsure of how long he’s been down.
There is ringing in his ears, he can no longer see out his right eye. His right cheek is being pined down on the pavement it scrapes against the small rocks and they dig into his skin.
Then, nothing.
He hears nothing.
He feels nothing.
He stays there, curled in a ball laying on his right side. He wants to roll onto his back, but he cannot muster any strength to do so. So he stays laying there.
Suddenly he can hear someone in the distance. He opens his eyes- not even realizing they were closed- and sees through teary eyes a man running to him in a long white coat. Ripley doesn’t recognize who it is, but knows it’s one of the Chicago Med doctors.
The five men scramble and leave Ripley there.
The leader leans down into Ripley’s eyesight as he whispers, “this is for Pawel.”
He stands and with one quick stride stomps onto Ripley’s right knee, shattering it.
Ripley screams out in pain. He takes a deep breathe before another guttural scream leaves his body. He sees black and white stars dance in his vision. He can feel his body shake in distress. Shock settles into his bones, he knows he will pass out, and soon.
The doctor shouts at the man and sprints as fast as he can toward Ripley.
He arrives quickly, but Ripley is already swaying in and out of consciousness.
“Hey, hey!” He shakes Ripley. He moans in pain as sleep tries to overcome him. “Stay with me, Ripley,” he hears the doctor yell at him.
“I need help over here!” Yells the doctor.
A herd of medical staff along with a gurney rush out to him.
Ripley can hear ringing in his ears. The doctors barking orders sounds muffled and his eyelids feel too heavy. But his body screams in pain. His ribs, wrist and knee all broken feels as though the bones shift and scatter inside him as shards float through his body freely. He doesn’t feel intact. And this overwhelming pain takes hold on his thoughts.
This is it, he thinks.
Hands grab and pull him as they lift him onto the gurney and whisk him into the ED.
- - - - - - - — —
As doctors wheel Ripley’s unconscious body into the ED, they start an IV line directly into his left arm. Another places an oxygen mask over his face, loosely.
Scissors go to ripping off his shirt. Hands assess his abdomen as an Xray scan captures images of his torso. The picture displays on the screen. They see fractures line six of his ribs.
Someone takes a wand and ultrasound his stomach. Free fluid is found in the scan. Blood. Kidney is damaged. Most likely his spleen as well.
Another Xray of his wrist, broken in three places. Someone wraps it in the meantime. Pain meds are administered.
One more image is taken of his right knee. It does not look good. The patella is dislocated and the ligaments are snapped as if they were rubber bands.
Surgery is immediately needed.
“What the hell happened?!” Demands Goodwin. She stands at the foot of the gurney looking between monitors, images and the doctors tending to Ripley.
“He was attacked,” Dr. Marcel cooly says.
“Okay, enough gawking, we need to get him to the OR,” Dr. Archer says, arms crossed.
“Alright let’s hang the O-Neg,” he tells one nurse.
“Another unit of fentanyl, please,” he orders another nurse.
“His O2 sats are at 92. BP at 89 over 56 and falling,” a nurse reads.
"We’ll need to intubate,” Archer says. The nurse nods and she preps the tools for him to intubate. He swiftly places the bougie down his throat and attaches it to the bag as a nurse pumps air into his lungs for him.
“Okay, he’s as stable as he’s going to get. Send him up,” Archer directs.
They nod and begin wheeling him to the elevators.
- — - - - - - - - - - - - - -
In the operating room surgeons, Dr. Marcel and Dr. Tanaka-Reed cut him open to fix his spleen and place screws in his rib, they repair a flailing lung, but could not salvage the kidney and remove it.
Other surgeons fix his knee and place screws there too. Meanwhile a nurse wraps his wrist in a cast and together they sew Ripley back up.
- — - - - - - - - — - - - - - —
They wheel Ripley into the ICU and hook him up to machines and monitors. They add another bag of blood, more IV fluids and pain medication.
Pale and weak, dried blood sticking to his hair and beard. His nails dirty, sweat pooling and drying under his armpits and back and chest as he lay unconscious in bed.
The sun slowly crawls back up, another day lulls around. In the night, Ripley woke as the anesthesia wore off. A night nurse was there to greet him. Explained to him where he was and what happened and how his surgery went. None of it stuck. It went in one ear and out the other. Sleep took him.
He woke in the early hours, he saw nurses and doctors, patients and family members walk around the ICU. None take notice that he is awake. He tries to reach for the tube down his throat.
His left wrist, heavy from the cast barely makes it to his chest. His right arm takes over and reaches the tube.
Just do it, he thinks. He tugs at the tube and pulls with all his might and it scrapes through his throat. Tears welt up and his throat burns. He tugs more and gags in the process.
“No, no, don’t do that!” A nurse rushes to his aid.
He ignores her and pulls the tube the rest of the way out.
He gasps for air and none fully enter his lungs. He chokes and sputters air that never reaches as a full cycle in and out. He panics.
The nurse grabs a face mask and places the oxygen mask over his face, he tries to take deeps breathes.
“That’s it just breathe,” the nurse soothes. She calls for backup as he hears people running into the room.
Dr. Archer and Dr. Hannah Asher enter. Asher takes a deep breathe, sighs in relief. She stands at the doorway.
Archer goes in and assesses Ripley.
“Welcome back,” he smiles down at him.
“He pulled out the tube himself,” the nurse reports.
“No,” Ripley croaks out. He coughs against the words he’s trying to get out.
“Don’t speak,” Archer says.
“No DNR,” Ripley stubbornly whispers.
But going unheard Archer reports back to Ripley that he will need to re-intubate as he can’t hold his own O2 sats himself.
“Look, Mitch, you’re still weak from surgery,” Asher walks over to him. She places a hand on his leg.
Ripley reached out and grabs Archer's coat.
“No,” he pleads.
“Can’t buddy. If you don’t go back on the vent your O2 sats will just keep getting worse. You won’t be able to breathe on your own,” Archer explains.
Ripley nods.
“It’s for the best,” Asher adds.
“No DNR,” he says as he pulls the oxygen mask down his face. Archer furrows his eyebrows.
“What?” Asher says.
“Ripley.” Archer sternly says.
“No DNR.” He repeats.
Archer and Asher share a look. Ripley coughs and wheezes, he squeezes his eyes in pain. He grips at his chest as his O2 sats plummet even further.
“No, Mitch, no, you’re down to 87. You get any further down and you’ll…” Asher can’t finish her sentence.
“Hannah, step outside please,” Archer says.
“What?! No! Archer, no! He’s-“ she tries, Archer holds out a hand. He commands her to stop speaking. To hold her breathe.
She stomps out of his room.
Archer follows.
“We can’t ignore his wishes,” he states.
“He’s not in his right mind, Dean!” Asher retorts.
“Hannah-“ he tries.
“No! He hasn’t signed anything yet. I’m not making him sign anything. As far as any of us are concerned it’s just hearsay.” She says trying to compose herself.
“Hannah we can’t do that,” Archer sighs. He pockets his frustrated fists into his white coat.
“No. I’m not letting him die, Dean. I won’t.” She pleas. “I am going to fight for him. I will fight for his life. If he doesn’t want to do it, I will do it for him. And I will not let him give up, Dean. I am not going to watch and participate in this. So don’t ask me to.”
She walks away.
Archer stands as he watches her re-enter Ripley’s room.
Just then Goodwin walks in.
“What’s going on?” She asks.
Archer takes a long pause. He shrugs his shoulders. But he watches as Hannah sits beside Ripley’s beside. She takes his hand into hers. He can see she is about to cry, but holds strong for Ripley.
“Nothing.” Archer says.
He too will save Ripley. He won’t give up on him.
“He’s off the ventilator already?” Goodwin asks.
“Yeah, but we’re just testing his lungs out, might put him back on this afternoon.” He says.
She nods her approval. “Keep me updated please. I will need to talk to him but I’ll come back later, when he’s stronger,” she says as she heads out the ICU.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Ripley’s lip shutters as tears spill uncontrollably down his cheeks. Along with the pain in his chest from the ribs, a new searing hot pain surfaces as his lungs ache to breathe.
His O2 lingers at an 86 and Asher sits starring at him as they stand-off, each trying to be the victor in the fight for his life.
“Why?” Hannah finally says.
He shakes his head.
“Why are you trying so hard to punish yourself, Mitch? Because if you think for one second that you deserve any of this then your wrong. I hope you know that I am not giving up on you. I will fight for you to live.” She stands and leans over him in his bed. She stares into his eyes.
He cries out again in pain. The oxygen mask fogging and clearing with each pull of his breath.
“Please,” he croaks. “Let me go.”
“No. I know you. I know this isn’t what you really want. You want to punish yourself, but you don’t want to die.” She says calmly.
He bites his lip. Suddenly he has the urge to kiss her. But it could be the oxygen deprivation.
Stars dance in his vision again. His head floats above his body.
“Come on, Mitch. If you really wanted to be dead you would have done something by now,” she provokes.
Tears spill as Ripley writhes in pain.
“Please stop this and let me intubate you,” she says.
She takes hold of his hand. She brings it up to her mouth and she softly kisses he fingers and palm and back to his fingers. She places gentle soft kisses all over his hands and holds them steady in her own. She breathes in his scent.
“Please, please, please, please, please, please,” she repeats as she holds his hand in hers as she keeps them on her lips. Tears spill. She continues pleading for his life.
Ripley tries to fight. But against his own will he can’t stand the pain anymore and he nods a yes.
Asher smiles and lets out a sigh of relief. She presses the call button as she asks for assistance in re-intubating Ripley.
It slides down his throat and a sweet relief settles over his body. The discomfort of the tube lodged in his throat quickly overlaps the pain he experienced from the oxygen deprivation.
He looks into Hannah’s eyes and sees belief. Sees hope and signs of faith. He sees a way out of the darkness and maybe a way into the light.
Hello Besties! So I wrote this short Ripley whump because I believe in Luke Mitchell whump good god!!!!! This takes place right after 9x13...
hope it reads well, I write late into the night and never really edit them so sorry for that but here ya go!
Frustrated, Dr. Mitch Ripley, kicked a nearby trashcan. It bangs loudly in the hospital's empty parking lot, the clock nearing midnight.
Pawel, a disgruntled previous patient who sued Ripley a few week prior came rolling into the ED. He states he was beaten by Ripley, his sister also points fingers directly to him.
Shit. Ripley feels all eyes on him. His coworkers, friends, even the police all- accusingly- veer their eyes toward him.
I mean it makes sense, Ripley thinks. He knows his past and his current situation combine for a recipe of disaster. Why wouldn’t they think it was me? Ripley thinks once more.
His unsteady confidence, his anger, the lack of support he’s felt his entire life come tumbling at the forefront of his thoughts. He knows he doesn’t have many strong arguments for believing in him and that he thoroughly makes it difficult for anyone to get close. But despite all this he still wants to be believed. To be trusted and supported and fought for.
Ripley, hands on his hips, paces back and forth. The thoughts of the past few hours, and even weeks, play over and over in his mind. He struggles to compose himself.
In the distance he can see Pawel’s sister, Liliana, talking to a few men in the parking lot. They all glance at Ripley. He shakes his head mumbles a “great,” under his breathe.
The group talks more, of what Ripley is not aware of. They are too far to hear their conversation but all eyes are on him. Again.
Liliana points at him. Ripley stops in his tracks. He is a dear in headlights. Caught between escape and brute force that feels inescapable. Where can he go?
Don’t run, Ripley thinks. The men approach him.
“Hey!” One man shouts. Ripley shakes his head, irritated that his night continues to get worse. He rubs the back of his neck. His other hand firmly stays in his pants pocket.
He begins pacing again.
Once the men reach him Ripley turns his back to them.
“Hey! You’re the one beating Pawel?” The man asks in a thick Russian accent. Ripley bites his tongue. He bounces his leg, unable to contain his disproval.
“Look. I don’t know what she’s told you,” he sneers at Liliana, “but I have nothing to do with what happened to Pawel.” He locks eyes on the one who first approached Ripley. The leader.
The man returns the stare, he squares up Ripley.
“Liliana says you do this,” his prominent frown furrows in his anger, “and I believe her.”
“I don’t care. I’ve done nothing. I’ve had a terrible day. So you don’t want to mess with me,” Ripley firmly says.
The men laugh. Ripley bites his lip. His fists ball up. He can feel the nails dig into his skin. He feels his heart thump.
“Poydem,” he hears Liliana say, “come now,” she gestures for the men to follow her. But they don’t.
“You think you tough guy?” The big Russian man taunts. Ripley stands his ground. The grip of his hands tighten. His knuckles crack. He grinds his teeth.
“I’d walk away if I were you,” Ripley cooly says.
“And if we do not?” The leader once more taunts. He cocks his head to the side, he inches toward Ripley. A sly smile creeps across his lips, the other men sneer and smile and snarl at Ripley.
Beside the leader that speaks, there are two on his left and two on his right. Five men total. Ripley takes count. He takes a stance. White knuckles shake as he readies himself.
“You’re weak,” the leader softly says. He spits at Ripley’s feet.
Ripley looks down at the gross gob of spit at his feet. He pushes his tongue around his mouth. He fails to find words and thinks, hell, why not?
And takes a swing. But a man on his right catches his fist. The men laugh, Ripley tries to push through, but the man is too strong. He takes a swing at Ripley and it lands square on his left eye. Ripley staggers back.
He grabs his face, but quickly tries to return another swing. The leader dodges it as Ripley falters toward them. The two men on his left push Ripley toward their leader.
The leader grabs him by his shirt collar and throws a punch to his gut. Ripley loudly moans and folds forward. The air knocks right out of him. Other men throw punches to his face, head, one to his stomach, and another upper cuts his jaw and his head whips back.
Ripley stands there, arms outstretched. Eyes focusing on the stars above him.
“Hey,” one of the men says. He nods toward a group of people walking out of the hospital entrance. They are too exposed out here in the open parking lot.
The leader demands for the men to grab Ripley. They roughly tug at his arms as they drag him around to the back of the building, out of sight.
They throw him against the brick wall, his head knocks against it with a sickening thud. He whips back again and the men push him against the wall and pound him, repeatedly.
Ripley takes each punch and tries to return some, but none land and he can feel his head spin.
He takes a swing, but one man catches his wrist and does a spin move, his foot landing right on his temple.
Ripley lands on the ground, hard. The five men stomp on his chest, stomach, back, legs and head. No mercy.
He can feel his shoulder dislocate. He screams out in pain. He feels the blood oozing down his face coming from his hairline, his temple, his eyebrow, his mouth.
A deep, sharp pain stings in his stomach. His ribs scream in agony. He can’t take in a deep breath, he can feel his lungs scream as if the were on fire.
Crack! He feels someone kick his left wrist as the bones shatter. He growls in pain. He grits his teeth unsure of how long he’s been down.
There is ringing in his ears, he can no longer see out his right eye. His right cheek is being pined down on the pavement it scrapes against the small rocks and they dig into his skin.
Then, nothing.
He hears nothing.
He feels nothing.
He stays there, curled in a ball laying on his right side. He wants to roll onto his back, but he cannot muster any strength to do so. So he stays laying there.
Suddenly he can hear someone in the distance. He opens his eyes- not even realizing they were closed- and sees through teary eyes a man running to him in a long white coat. Ripley doesn’t recognize who it is, but knows it’s one of the Chicago Med doctors.
The five men scramble and leave Ripley there.
The leader leans down into Ripley’s eyesight as he whispers, “this is for Pawel.”
He stands and with one quick stride stomps onto Ripley’s right knee, shattering it.
Ripley screams out in pain. He takes a deep breathe before another guttural scream leaves his body. He sees black and white stars dance in his vision. He can feel his body shake in distress. Shock settles into his bones, he knows he will pass out, and soon.
The doctor shouts at the man and sprints as fast as he can toward Ripley.
He arrives quickly, but Ripley is already swaying in and out of consciousness.
“Hey, hey!” He shakes Ripley. He moans in pain as sleep tries to overcome him. “Stay with me, Ripley,” he hears the doctor yell at him.
“I need help over here!” Yells the doctor.
A herd of medical staff along with a gurney rush out to him.
Ripley can hear ringing in his ears. The doctors barking orders sounds muffled and his eyelids feel too heavy. But his body screams in pain. His ribs, wrist and knee all broken feels as though the bones shift and scatter inside him as shards float through his body freely. He doesn’t feel intact. And this overwhelming pain takes hold on his thoughts.
This is it, he thinks.
God just take me, he thinks.
Hands grab and pull him as they lift him onto the gurney and whisk him into the ED.
- - - - - - - — —
As doctors wheel Ripley’s unconscious body into the ED, they start an IV line directly into his left arm. Another places an oxygen mask over his face, loosely.
Scissors go to ripping off his shirt. Hands assess his abdomen as an Xray scan captures images of his torso. The picture displays on the screen. They see fractures line six of his ribs.
Someone takes a wand and ultrasound his stomach. Free fluid is found in the scan. Blood. Kidney is damaged. Most likely his spleen as well.
Another Xray of his wrist, broken in three places. Someone wraps it in the meantime. Pain meds are administered.
One more image is taken of his right knee. It does not look good. The patella is dislocated and the ligaments are snapped as if they were rubber bands.
Surgery is immediately needed.
“What the hell happened?!” Demands Goodwin. She stands at the foot of the gurney looking between monitors, images and the doctors tending to Ripley.
“He was attacked,” Dr. Marcel cooly says.
He maneuvers Ripley’s shoulder back in place. Marcel asks the technician for another scan of the shoulder. It clicks, they watch the screen and sees it’s back in place.
“Okay, enough gawking, we need to get him to the OR,” Dr. Archer says, arms crossed.
“Alright let’s hang the O-Neg,” he tells one nurse.
“Another unit of fentanyl, please,” he orders another nurse.
“His O2 sats are at 92. BP at 89 over 56 and falling,” a nurse reads.
"We’ll need to intubate,” Archer says. The nurse nods and she preps the tools for him to intubate. He swiftly places the bougie down his throat and attaches it to the bag as a nurse pumps air into his lungs for him.
“Okay, he’s as stable as he’s going to get. Send him up,” Archer directs.
They nod and begin wheeling him to the elevators.
- — - - - - - - - - - - - - -
In the operating room surgeons, Dr. Marcel and Dr. Tanaka-Reed cut him open to fix his spleen and place screws in his rib, they repair a flailing lung, but could not salvage the kidney and remove it.
Other surgeons fix his knee and place screws there too. Meanwhile a nurse wraps his wrist in a cast and together they sew Ripley back up.
- — - - - - - - - — - - - - - —
They wheel Ripley into the ICU and hook him up to machines and monitors. They add another bag of blood, more IV fluids and pain medication.
Pale and weak, dried blood sticking to his hair and beard. His nails dirty, sweat pooling and drying under his armpits and back and chest as he lay unconscious in bed.
The sun slowly crawls back up, another day lulls around. In the night, Ripley woke as the anesthesia wore off. A night nurse was there to greet him. Explained to him where he was and what happened and how his surgery went. None of it stuck. It went in one ear and out the other. Sleep took him.
He woke in the early hours, he saw nurses and doctors, patients and family members walk around the ICU. None take notice that he is awake. He tries to reach for the tube down his throat.
His left wrist, heavy from the cast can barely move, his shoulder screams in pain. He winces. The right arm takes over and reaches the rest of the way to the tube.
Just do it, he thinks. He tugs at the tube and pulls with all his might and it scrapes through his throat. Tears welt up and his throat burns. He tugs more and gags in the process.
“No, no, don’t do that!” A nurse rushes to his aid.
He ignores her and pulls the tube the rest of the way out. He gasps for air and none fully enter his lungs. He chokes and sputters air that never reaches as a full cycle in and out. He panics.
The nurse grabs a face mask and places the oxygen mask over his face, he tries to take deeps breaths.
“That’s it just breathe,” the nurse soothes. She calls for backup as he hears people running into the room.
Dr. Archer and Dr. Hannah Asher enter. Asher takes a deep breath, sighs in relief. She stands at the doorway.
Archer goes in and assesses Ripley.
“Welcome back,” he smiles down at him.
“He pulled out the tube himself,” the nurse reports.
“No,” Ripley croaks out. He coughs against the words he’s trying to get out.
“Don’t speak,” Archer says.
“No. DNR,” Ripley stubbornly whispers.
But going unheard Archer reports back to Ripley that he will need to re-intubate as he can’t hold his own O2 sats himself.
“Look, Mitch, you’re still weak from surgery,” Asher walks over to him. She places a hand on his leg.
Ripley reached out and grabs Archer's coat.
“No,” he pleads.
“Can’t buddy. If you don’t go back on the vent your O2 sats will just keep getting worse. You won’t be able to breathe on your own,” Archer explains.
Ripley nods.
“It’s for the best,” Asher adds.
“No. DNR,” he says as he pulls the oxygen mask down his face. Archer furrows his eyebrows.
“What?” Asher says.
“Ripley.” Archer sternly says.
“No! DNR.” He repeats.
Archer and Asher share a look. Ripley coughs and wheezes, he squeezes his eyes in pain. He grips at his chest as his O2 sats plummet even further.
“No, Mitch, no, you’re down to 87. You get any further down and you’ll…” Asher can’t finish her sentence.
“Hannah, step outside please,” Archer says.
“What?! No! Archer, no! He’s—,” she tries, Archer holds out a hand. He commands her to stop speaking. To hold her breath.
She stomps out of his room.
Archer follows.
“We can’t ignore his wishes,” he states.
“He’s not in his right mind, Dean!” Asher retorts.
“Hannah—,” he tries.
“No! He hasn’t signed anything yet. I’m not making him sign anything. As far as any of us are concerned it’s just hearsay.” She says trying to compose herself.
“Hannah we can’t do that,” Archer sighs. He pockets his frustrated fists into his white coat.
“No. I’m not letting him die, Dean. I won’t.” She pleas. “I am going to fight for him. I will fight for his life. If he doesn’t want to do it, I will do it for him. And I will not let him give up, Dean. I am not going to watch and participate in this. So don’t ask me to.”
She walks away.
Archer stands as he watches her re-enter Ripley’s room.
Just then Goodwin walks in.
“What’s going on?” She asks.
Archer takes a long pause. He shrugs his shoulders. But he watches as Hannah sits beside Ripley’s beside. She takes his hand into hers. He can see she is about to cry, but holds strong for Ripley.
“Nothing.” Archer says.
He too will save Ripley. He won’t give up on him.
“He’s off the ventilator already?” Goodwin asks.
“Yeah, but we’re just testing his lungs out, might put him back on this afternoon.” He says.
She nods her approval. “Keep me updated please. I will need to talk to him but I’ll come back later, when he’s stronger,” she says as she heads out the ICU.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Ripley’s lip shutters as tears spill uncontrollably down his cheeks. Along with the pain in his chest from the ribs, a new searing hot pain surfaces as his lungs ache to breathe.
His O2 lingers at 86% and Asher sits starring at him as they stand-off, each trying to be the victor in the fight for his life.
“Why?” Hannah finally says.
He shakes his head.
“Why are you trying so hard to punish yourself, Mitch? Because if you think for one second that you deserve any of this then you’re wrong. I hope you know that I am not giving up on you. I will fight for you to live.” She stands and leans over him in his bed. She stares into his eyes.
He cries out again in pain. The oxygen mask fogging and clearing with each pull of his breath.
“Please,” he croaks. “Let me go.”
“No. I know you. I know this isn’t what you really want. You want to punish yourself, but you don’t want to die.” She says calmly.
He bites his lip. Suddenly he has the urge to kiss her. But it could be the oxygen deprivation.
Stars dance in his vision again. His head floats above his body.
“Come on, Mitch. If you really wanted to be dead you would have done something by now,” she provokes.
Tears spill as Ripley writhes in pain.
“Please stop this and let me intubate you,” she says.
She takes hold of his hand. She brings it up to her mouth and she softly kisses he fingers and palm and back to his fingers. She places gentle soft kisses all over his hand and holds them steady on her lips. She breathes in his scent.
“Please, please, please, please, please, please,” she repeats as she presses his fingers to her lips. She squeezes. Tears spill. She continues pleading for his life.
Ripley tries to fight. But against his own will he can’t stand the pain anymore and he nods a yes.
Asher smiles and lets out a sigh of relief. She presses the call button as she asks for assistance in re-intubating Ripley.
It slides down his throat and a sweet relief settles over his body. The discomfort of the tube lodged in his throat quickly overlaps the pain he experienced from the oxygen deprivation.
He looks into Hannah’s eyes and sees belief. Sees hope and signs of faith. He sees a way out of the darkness and maybe a way into the light.
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Wooooah that’s crazy! I didn’t even realize I’ve been on here that long. I only started actively using tumblr about a year ago and it’s been such a joy making people laugh with my crappy memes. I hope to bring more crap to more memes and hopefully make y’all laugh more. 🫶🏽🫶🏽
I am back in my obsession with sam winchester whump like I was in high school 💔🚫🪖🥃🛌
(I mean it’s not like I ever truly stopped but I am rewatching the show since early college and it’s been a roller coaster of emotions in the first place but now as an adult woman it’s been so difficult to really compose my self after every sam whump episode and I am only but a wee human I have wants and needs like the next girly but by god I am at my wits end with all his beauty and whumpability I only have so much strength—)
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BISAN IS AFRAID THIS MAY BE HER LAST VIDEO. THE OCCUPATION IS PLANNING TO INVADE NASSER HOSPITAL IN KHAN YUNIS, THE LAST FUNCTIONING HOSPITAL IN THE GAZA STRIP.
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