Winging this shit like my eyeliner

Heart of Rock and Roll Masterlist (SPN) Calling Dr. Love Masterlist (The Pitt)

[sorensonsposts]

Calling Dr. Love (Chapter 24)

This fic may include the following: Blood, injuries of all shapes and sizes, descriptions of surgery, death, deceased persons, situations of sexual abuse, physical abuse, psychiatric issues and all the other horrific and/or hilarious shit you get to see as a healthcare worker. If you thought The Pitt was too graphic, this isn’t for you. This is the only warning you will receive, there will be no chapter by chapter warnings. In the words of Sweet Brown 'Ain't nobody got time for that.'

“You ever had shakshuka? Shit is incredible.” 

“Are you taking pictures of your food?” Maggie asks, taking a bite out of a spring roll.

It’s been twenty years since she and Cam went to high school together. It’s strange, looking at someone who you were close to when you were young, getting sunburnt and freckled at the pool, turning your hair a strange shade of orange with lemon juice and peroxide, to two women graying at the temples.Somehow, they’ve still ended up cramming themselves into a table with their food in a crowded space, likes its sophomore lunch. The Reading Market in Philly is massive, a veritable maze of eateries and vendors. It’s packed, barely enough room to squeeze through the walkways between the crowds, clumps and lines of people. Somehow, they found a table, Cam landing with her Georgian food just after Maggie opened up her bag of Thai. 

“I’m…trying. Maybe too hard?” Cam cringes, sending the photo and flinching as she slaps her phone down on the table. 

“Tighe the terrifying, sending food pics.” Maggie says, smirking, finishing off her spring roll. Cam drops her fork and knife, cringing again. 

“Jesus.” Cam groans. 

“You scared the shit out of most of the football team. Remember when you get the quarterback a shiner?” Maggie laughs, taking a sip of her tea. 

“It was a wayward softball pitch in gym glass!” Cam cries. 

“You got asked by like…6 guys to go to prom.” Cam exclaims, going back to cutting into her bread dish.

“You couldn’t get a date to prom. I couldn’t get a date to prom because we were friends.”

“They were poseurs.” Maggie scoffs. 

“The guy with the liberty spike mohawk died orange wasn’t punk enough for you? God, what was his name?” Cam asks, grinning now at her friend. Maggie had let a lot of her old piercings heal over, but she still had all her earrings, her lip, tongue and nose piercings. 

“Xavier. He was a total fucking poseur. He thought Sum41 was the peak of punk music.” Maggie scoffs, digging into her pad see ew. 

“Ah yes, because everyone knows the Dead Kennedys are really where it’s at.” Cam snorts over a mouth full of food. 

“Don’t besmirch my band.” Maggie cries, pointing her chopsticks at Cam across the table. 

“Hey, I always liked Bikini Kill.” Cam shrugs. Her phone buzzes on the table, making Cam jump. Cam goes to unlock her phone, but lifts her head to look at Maggie, who starts to giggle at Cam’s visible embarrassment.

“This is funnier than your crush on Bobby Boyd junior year. What’s this guy's name again?” Maggie asks, eyebrows raised. 

“Jack.” Cam says, wary of oversharing about a man she’s only been on one actual date with, although it certainly feels like they’ve spent lots of time together. 

“Do we have pictures of Jack?” Maggie asks, holding out her hand expectantly Cam realizes she has no idea how to get a photo of Jack, and then realizes he likely has a medical profile through PTMC’s website. After a bit of scrolling, Cam finds an older picture of Jack, unsmiling, in his white coat, something Cam couldn’t imagine him wearing for even a moment. . 

“It’s an older photo, but…” Cam says, sliding her phone toward Maggie, increasingly embarrassed at her foolishness. 

“Bitch, is he a doctor? Holy shit! Here I am with an HVAC repairman for a husband and you’re out here getting doctors. Oh my God, do you work with him?” Maggie gasps, making Cam want to crawl under the table. 

“Not really. He’s not my superior. He’s a night shift emergency room doc.” Cam explains, waving off Maggie’s conspiratorial gaze. 

“Did he text you back?” Maggie asks, wiggling her eyebrows. Cam unlocks her phone again, going to her messages. 

“I used to work with a doctor from Georgia. His wife made us cheeseboats and puff pastries for christmas one year. The E.D was insane that year with the flu but we ate like kings. Glad you’re having fun on your trip.” 

“Yeah, nothing fantastic.” Cam says, sliding her phone over to Maggie and digging into her food in earnest. 

‘You know what’s missing from that?” Maggie asks, sliding her phone back. “The part that says ‘I miss you’.” 

“Oh, shut up. Don’t put those ideas in my head. We’ve been on one actual date. A date that got interrupted by Owen going to a psychiatric facility. Also, we’re gonna be late for that speaker about shade gardening.” Cam says, polishing off her shakshuka and packing up to leave the crowded market. 

“So, how is a guy that hot single?” Maggie asks, as they flow into the crowd of people heading into the convention center;s lecture area. 

“His wife died two years ago.” Cam replies softly, trying not to announce it to the crowd mingling before the speaker starts. 

“Oooh, hot widower.” Maggie teases, making Cam shush her as they sit on the end of a row of older women. “Did you text him back?” 

“No. not yet.” Cam says, rooting through her purse for nher phone. “I was going to send him a picture of the lecture slide.”  

“Ew that’s boring. You should send him a hot photo. Something with your boobs.” Maggie mumbles.

“Oh my God! Margaret!” Cam shrieks softly. 

“Camilla, your boobs are great, and I’m sure he would appreciate them. You should be more flirty.” Maggie scoffs, shimmying her shoulders at Cam as she nearly sinks to the carpeted floor of the convention center in shame. 

—---------------------------------------------------

They spend the rest of the day at the convention center, heading back to the hotel when Maggie has to call home. 

“If I don’t call Eric and the kids, they’re gonna freak out. Last time I went out for cocktails with some coworkers, I didn’t call home, the kids wouldn’t go to bed. I crawl out of an Uber at midnight, and my fucking kids are still awake. I love them, but Jesus Christ they’re fucking weird.” Maggie sighs, pressing her phone to her ear. “Hiii baby! Where’s dad? Can you put me on speaker?” Maggie coos, the tone of her voice becoming soft and saccharine. 

Cam unlocks her phone, pacing to the back of the small double suite to give Maggie some space. She’s been trying hard not to check her phone every two minutes, but now, it seems like there’s time to indulge in living like a desperate tween. 

“I just got here an hour ago and already could’ve used your talented hands.” 

A wave of heat climbs up Cam’s neck, making her lock her phone and put it down on the desk next to the window. Maggie waves at her silently, phone still pressed to her ear, making strange faces at Cam across the room. Cam waves her off, digging through her duffel bag for clothes for dinner.

“Okay, Mom has to go eat dinner with her friend! Love you guys!” Maggie calls through her phone with a chipper voice. She drops the phone and raises her eyebrows at Cam. 

“You’re beet red, bitch.” Maggie snorts. 

“Shut up.” Cam huffs back. “Where are we going for dinner again?”

—--------------------------------------------------------

“Maggie, this place had better be worth it.” Cam sighs, standing out in the chill. The restaurant is so small there’s no 

room to wait inside without being squeezed. They’ve been standing around, watching drunk people stumble out of the building for nearly an hour. 

“It’s worth it. I’ll order, it’s gonna be great. See? They’re calling me right now.” Maggie says, digging her phone out of her coat pocket. 

The crush of the crowd in the restaurant is worse the further back they go, sliding into a tiny table that Cam feels like she’s being put in the cockpit of a plane. Maggie orders swiftly for them, before draping her jacket over her chair. 

“So, did you text Jack back?” Maggie asks as the waiter fills their water glasses and Maggie scoots her chair in further. Cam shakes her head, going for her water. Cam asks questions about the kids, distracting Maggie into talking about Olivia’s obsession with horses and Daniel’s new fascination with heavy machinery. 

“My living room TV is nothing but youtube videos of CAT excavators. I wake up at 7am on a Saturday to the sound of ‘Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!’ of some asshole on the internet backing up an excavator in a construction site. I thought our neighbor's house was getting knocked down.” Maggie laughs. 

“Here we are, ladies.” The server announces, deftly swinging the two dishes onto the table, a large plate of chicken and a gleaming mussel pot. There’s a mountain of short, skinny fries accompanying it, the small table now fully occupied. Maggie and Cam both thank the waiter, and begin to sort through the dishes. 

“Oooh. I got it. Hold on.” Maggie says, rearranging the table, moving the mussels closer to Cam and sliding the chicken wings back toward herself. “Unbutton that button of your shirt.” Maggie orders. 

“What?” Cam asks, confused. 

“Fluff that side of your hair and unbutton the next button on your shirt, I’m going to take a sexy picture you can send to Jack.” Maggie insists, now grabbing Cam’s phone off the table. 

“Jesus.” Cam huffs, but obliges, her fingers fumbling with the tiny button of her blouse. 

“Pick up the water glass. There you go. Smile. Not that smile. A ‘fuck me’ smile.” 

“What is a—” Cam interrupts, brow furrowing. 

“Shut up. Think of that time that Bobby Boyd rejected you and tried to push you in the pool but you threw him in instead.” Maggie blurts quickly, taking several photos. Maggie hands Cam’s phone back, and Cam barely recognizes the woman in the photos. She seems poised, smart and definitely sexy. There’s a bushel of cleavage showing and Cam wants to delete it, but she turns the phone away from herself. 

“What do I say back?” Cam asks, as Maggie starts digging into the fries. Maggie takes the phone back, looking at Cam. 

“Can I send it for you?” Maggie asks, eyebrows raised as she grabs another fry. 

“Yes.” Cam says begrudgingly. Maggie slides the phone back to Cam, who is far too worried about what Maggie just sent to start on dinner. 

“Sorry, my talented hands are occupied tonight.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------

The Pitt is buzzing, the standard Friday night regulars mixed with the stray true emergencies. Abbot is trying hard to keep up on charting in between supervising residents and the still very young Dr. Shen. His phone buzzes, making him pull it out of his cargo pocket and squint slightly at the notification screen. He unlocks it, seeing a photo of Cam, bathed in warm orange light, obviously taken by her friend. His mouth starts to go a bit dry, looking at the message and the accompanying photo. 

“What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?” He mumbles softly, before turning his phone face down on the desk, trying hard to get his focus back. 

[sorensonsposts]

Me wanting to sew, run errands, garden, do a load of laundry, hit the gym but instead I'm stuck on the couch in my bathrobe like a moron....

[sorensonsposts]

If you write 3 sentences on your work in progress and show me, I will write 4 sentences on my work in progress and show you

I skipped ahead a bit. Here goes!

There’s sweat beading down Cam’s back as she trods around the ambulance bay towards the E.D entrance. She knew that when she got called, it would be messy, but she didn’t think she would have to take the back stairs of the garage to get close to getting in the hospital. She’s pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, relieved by the shade of the ambulance bay when she hears her name called.

[sorensonsposts]

Calling Dr. Love (Chapter 23)

Well, well, well, look who got their shit together to scrape a not half bad chapter together.

This fic may include the following: Blood, injuries of all shapes and sizes, descriptions of surgery, death, deceased persons, situations of sexual abuse, physical abuse, psychiatric issues and all the other horrific and/or hilarious shit you get to see as a healthcare worker. If you thought The Pitt was too graphic, this isn’t for you. This is the only warning you will receive, there will be no chapter by chapter warnings. In the words of Sweet Brown 'Ain't nobody got time for that.'

“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay.” Abbot says as he heads down the road in silence, potholes and road noise punctuating the noiseless cabin. 

“Honestly? This is the most okay. I’ve been in a while.” Cam sniffs, wiping fresh tears that have been intermittently flowing down her face the last ten minutes. “It’s an…explanation. An actual explanation. It’s the most hope for my brother I’ve had in…a decade? It’s a lot to process.” Cam sniffs. Abbot misses the turn for her house, turning down Carson. Cam is confused, but isn’t too upset if he gets lost. Despite her embarrassment, Jack’s company has been good for her, especially in this moment of crisis. It’s an interesting thing, doing everything solo and suddenly you have companionship. Cam wondered for years why so many of her old friends were still with the slacker men they chose years ago; the ones who barely hold jobs, couldn’t take out the trash or run a load of laundry if you put a gun to their head. At this moment, she understands perhaps why they stay with these men. They’re not used to the loneliness of self-reliance Cam is well accustomed to. The car is slowing down, and Cam’s brow furrows. 

“What are we doing here, Jack?” Cam asks, a small smile pulling at her lips. 

“I haven’t been here in forever. I figured we still need to finish the coconut pudding.” Jack says, cutting the engine and stepping out of the car. 

“We’re just gonna move on from the fact that our date got interrupted by my brother overdosing and getting put in a psychiatric facility?” Cam asks before he closes his door. 

“I’m just excited for the coconut pudding.” Jack says dryly, before closing the door and fetching the to-go bag from the back. Cam sighs, shaking her head, but she can’t make the muscles in her face stop pulling into a grin. She steps out of the car, heading toward the top of the incline. 

“You know, you could’ve just taken the coconut pudding home.” Cam says, crossing the two way street and heading toward the old building. 

“You’re not going to push me away, Cam. You can try, but it’s not gonna work.” Jack explains flatly, like he’s reporting blood pressures on a trauma patient.

“I’m not pushing you away.” Cam huffs, pausing at the veterans memorial briefly. Jack turns around, and is close to her before she realizes, nearly making her jump. 

“You can make all the self-deprecating jokes you want, all the excuses, but I’m not going anywhere. We’re gonna look out at the Ohio River and enjoy our coconut pudding. I was hoping we could get a little frisky tonight, but I don’t think either of us are in the right headspace for that.”

“Frisky? Jesus, you are old.” Cam mumbles, a rush of heat washing over her at the thought. 

“Cam, it took me a long time to ask you out. I wanted to ask you out, on the roof, in February. But, I’m a widower, I’m better at banter than flirting, and Robby was a massive cockblock. Now, I’m on a hot streak. I took you to breakfast, I picked you up for dinner, we made a brief stop at the V.A E.D, but I’m still on a roll. Like a runaway train, nothing's getting in my way now.” 

“From getting frisky?” Cam asks, smirking. 

“From finishing this coconut pudding with you. From going out to dinner again, hopefully not getting interrupted, and maybe, then, getting frisky.” He says softly, determination in his eyes, like he just laid out a set of orders for a resident to put into action for a patient. He turns, heading toward the door, and Cam sighs, but follows after as they head into the building, Jack holding the door open for her, sliding into the door to the old station, giving the person at the welcome desk a small nod. They follow the bold, red, vintage signs to the observation desk, a large gust of chilled air hitting them as Cam pushes open the door to the outdoors. They walk up to the iron fencing, both looking out onto the city. The constant drizzle of rain has been the whole city softly glow, a haze of yellow and blue tinged halos around everything laid before them. 

Jack begins to untie the bag, holding their dessert. 

“There’s no tables out here.” Cam says, with a small chuckle. Jack stuffs the plastic bag in his pocket, holding his plastic spoon in his teeth as he hands one to Cam, who leans against the fence, the cold wet metal biting into the flesh of her hip through her jacket and dress. 

“Like you’ve never had a meal without sitting down. You work in healthcare. You tended bar.” Abbot says, taking off the lid of the container and holding out the container to Cam. She delves her spoon into the dessert, moving closer to him in order not to drop any dessert onto the deck. 

“Half the time, I make dinner, and I eat it standing up in the kitchen. I put it in a bowl, but moving to the dinette table? Nah.” Cam says around a bite of pudding. 

“Half the time, I’ll eat it out of the pot.” Abbot says, making Cam snort out a laugh. 

A companionable silence washes over them after their second bites, Cam no longer noticing the chill of the metal as she leans against the railing, admiring the glow of the city reflecting off of the water droplets collecting on Jack’s hair. They finish their dessert, Jack tossing the empty container back in the bag, Cam twisting her plastic spoon in her hands, lost in thought. 

“My brother told me I should go to Philly this weekend. It’s the last weekend of the flower show. I was supposed to meet up with an old friend from high school who lives outside of Philly and we were going to go together.” Cam says, twisting her spoon until the plastic starts to groan. 

“You should go. He told you that you should.” Jack says, leaning on the railing looking out at the city. 

“I know. It just feels a little wrong, leaving him while all this shit is happening.” Cam says, her voice starting to break. 

“Cam, what’s going to happen if you’re home? Anything good?” Jack asks, putting his hands in his jean pockets as they both face the hazy glow over Pittsburgh. 

“My mom and/or my sister will show up to my house, and I’ll get so stressed I’ll strip the basement down to the studs to distract myself.” Cam says, wincing at the realization before starting to laugh. They both chuckle for a moment, Cam sighing and releasing her tortured plastic spoon. “I think I’m scared he’ll disappear again.” Cam sighs, putting her hands in her jacket pockets. 

“I don’t think he’s going anywhere. You know the sobriety stages?” Jack asks. Cam shakes her head, a lump forming in her throat once again. 

“At first it’s a lot of denial, guilt and ambivalence. That’s a circle in and of itself. That one goes around and around pretty quickly.” Abbot explains, his fingers circling around one another. “There’s a getting off point, and that’s confronting denial, and committing to change. Your brother has confronted denial twice.” Jack says, now holding up two fingers. He points to his first finger. “First, about his addictions, secondly, about his mental health.” He finishes, pointing to his second finger. Cam smirks at his gesticulations, making Abbot furrow his brow and put his hands back in his pockets. 

“He made it this far, he’s gone back to the hospital. I’m not saying sobriety is forever, but I think he’s making good progress. I do not think missing your own vacation, not using the tickets I got you to make up for my own idiocy, is going to make this process any better for him. It’s definitely not going to help you.” Abbot shrugs, looking back out over the river. The wind gusts, blowing Cam’s hair into her face, making her push the dampened strands away. 

“I’m sorry, was that the conclusion of your sobriety shadow puppet theatre?” Cam says with a smirk, pushing her hair behind her ears. 

“Can I kiss you?” Jack asks, turning to her, hands still in his pockets. Cam’s mouth goes dry, her face rushing with heat. A nervous laugh bubbles from her throat. 

“What?” Cam asks, her voice cracking. 

“I know it’s been a weird night, but apparently I am supposed to be more open and direct about things. Can I kiss you?” Jack repeats, turning to face her, the mist on his skin making one side of his face glow, while the other is draped in shadow. 

“It’s been such a weird night. I…I’m exhausted.” Cam sighs, wishing she had that plastic spoon back to twist in her fingers. Her heart starts to ache in her chest, a wash of shame rolling over her. 

“That’s okay. I’ll take you home.” Abbot says softly. He doesn’t seem upset, which Cam is relieved. He chats with her about things to do in Philadelphia, places to see, places to eat. She’s grateful they’ve settled despite her rejection, but even more grateful the drive is short. 

“You can text me, you know. While you’re in Philly.” Jack says after he puts the car in park. Cam’s hand is on the door handle when she freezes again. “I would like to text you, if that’s okay.” Jack says, nervously twisting the steering wheel in his hands. Cam wants to speak, but it’s like her mouth is wired shut. She leans back into the car, letting go of the handle before the stupid part of her that wants to run out of the car takes over. 

“I would like to text you. I would like another date. Maybe one that doesn’t end in my brother getting put on a psych hold.” Cam explains softly, shaking her head at her messy family. Jack remains silent in the car for a moment, making Cam think she really did hurt him more than she thought by rejecting the kiss. “Is that okay?” Cam asks, breaking the silence. 

“I mean, I had kind of already planned the next one, so yeah, that’s okay.” Jack says, finally turning to her, that wry microscopic grin pulling on his mouth. 

“Do I get to know what it is this time?” Cam says with a smirk. 

“You hate surprises, don’t you?” Jack asks. 

“I fucking hate surprises.” Cam laughs. 

“You want a hint?”  Jack offers, as she starts to get out of the car. “There might be dancing.” He says, turning the radio on, some funk music playing loudly as he rolls down all the windows. 

“Roller Disco?” Cam laughs. “You better have your hot pants on then, when you pick me up next!” Cam says, heading up the stairs. 

“Good night!” Jack yells over the Bootsy Collins song. 

“Good night! Turn that racket down before the neighbors call the cops!” Cam laughs, getting her keys out of her purse. 

“Now who’s old?!” Jack yells, turning the radio louder before driving back down the road.

[sorensonsposts]

The best space fictions are not about space at all, but about connection and humanity.

See:

Project hail mary

The martian

The Expanse Series

[sorensonsposts]

Calling Dr. Love (Chapter 22)

Happy Memorial Day Weekend to all those who are off on Monday.

In true HCW fashion please remember the following:

Wear a helmet

Don't drive drunk

Don't ride in a car with someone who is drunk

Don't play with fireworks if you like your fingers.

Don't hang with people who think firearms are toys.

Road Rage is not worth your whole ass life.

I'm on call Monday, so let's not, M'Kay?

Without further ado, chapter twenty two!

This might be the last chapter for a bit. Shit's kicking off, and I am very busy.

Cam is trying to focus on not hurling in Jack’s car. He had insisted on driving her there, paid the bill, had them pack the coconut pudding, and they’re heading down Bigelow at a rapid pace. The V.A comes over the horizon and Cam’s heart leaps into her throat. 

“I’m going to drop you off at the E.D entrance, I’m going to find a parking spot.” Jack says, turning into the winding roads that lead to the hospital entrance. 

“It’s okay. I can take an Uber home. Thanks for the ride. ” Cam says, unbuckling her seatbelt and ensuring she has everything in her purse. 

 “Cam—” Jack says, parking the car, but Cam is out of the car and heading through the doors, dropping her purse in the bin for the scanner and stepping through the metal detector, not daring to look back at the doors closing behind her or looking at Jack as he pulls away.

The woman at the desk for the emergency department allows her back, only to be seated in a narrow alcove of chairs near a hallway labeled ‘Behavioral Health Unit’. Cam slouches forward in her seat, pulling her jacket in to herself. She checks her phone, but is relieved that no notifications are on the screen. She prays that by some miracle no one has called any other family and she can get a handle on the situation before her mother blows the doors off this hospital and sends Cam back in time to her childhood of dodging her mother’s mercurial moods. 

Cam can’t help but look up from her seat, wondering if Abbot is already heading home. They finally exchanged numbers, so there’s no reason for him to knock on her door unexpectedly again, although the realization of that almost gives her a pang of sadness in her tumultuous heart. The idea that she should text him passes through her mind for a few seconds, before she realizes she can’t take any more stress, and the last thing she needs to worry about is Abbot texting her back. Cam slouches forward in her chair, rubbing her face with her hands when someone approaches. 

“Are you the family of Owen Tighe?” Cam hears a woman ask. She sits upright, straightening her jacket and dress while nodding. 

“Yes, I am.” Cam says softly, exhaling hard, her chest tightening. 

“I’m Maria, I’m the Nurse Practitioner on the behavioral health team. What’s your name?” Maria asks in a low calm voice. Cam imagines in another life this woman could work for a podcast with her low, soothing tone. 

“I’m Cam. Tighe. His sister.” Cam says haltingly, anxious to know what condition her brother is in since he was brought to the E.D. 

“First, I want to tell you that your brother is doing well. He’s awake. He’s been admitted to the John Heinz campus’ recovery center, just a few blocks away, for our psychiatric residential rehabilitation program.” Maria explains calmly, sitting down next to Cam. 

“Psychiatric? Don’t you mean drug rehabilitation? He relapsed, and overdosed? I was told they found him down.” Cam mumbles, brows furrowing. Maria pauses momentarily, before smiling at Cam, which makes Cam’s brow furrow further. 

“Cam, you seem like a really good sister. I know Owen is grateful for you Maria says, before pausing again.. “ He told me you’re a scrub tech over at PTMC. Are you aware of his previous medical history?” 

“Yes, I am. We really haven’t been that close, but I know about his accident that got him airlifted to Germany.” Cam explains with a sigh, picking at her nail polish she put on for her date. It feels so long ago, even though she’s probably been sitting in this chair for less than twenty minutes. 

“So, your brother got in an accident when he was deployed, and our team looked at his old imaging. Compared to what we know now, he most definitely suffered from a traumatic brain injury.” Maria explains, making Cam huff out a sigh. 

“I always assumed, but I couldn’t ever confirm it. I didn’t want to….He kept disappearing, and when he showed up, the last thing I wanted to do was push him away…by making him…do…anything.” Cam says, tears starting to fall, her breath suddenly hitching as she tries to form sentences. 

“Cam, I’m sure you did your best. It’s never easy to watch family struggle, and you shouldn’t feel guilty for doing what you could at the time. The important part is that he is getting help now.” Maria explains, grabbing a box of tissues from a table behind her and passing it to Cam, who snatches one quickly to wipe her eyes. Maria continues as Cam tries to slow her hitching, hyperventilating inhales. “When he came in and woke up, our team assessed him, and he answered yes to almost all of our questions from our mood disorder questionnaire.”

“Mood disorder questionnaire?" Cam asks, her brow furrowing again, her heart racing. 

“TBIs can cause a lot of long term problems for people, but also long term have been linked to bipolar disorders. Cam, this onset of BPD could be the root cause for your brother's behavior and substance use.” Maria announces softly. Cam stares at the floor, her mind racing through all the times she’s seen her brother since Landstuhl. Sometimes he was so happy. Now she’s wondering if he was manic, and she was selfish to not bother worrying about if he was too happy. Cam sighs, crossing her arms over her body, the rush of adrenaline with no outlet making her feel ill. She could really go for a crash thoracotomy right now, something to put all this heart-pounding adrenaline to good use. 

“I just always thought the drugs happened because of the pain.” Cam says, a sudden rush of relief coming over her body, despite her body shaking and her mind churning. 

“In cases like this, it’s often both. Chronic pain and mood disorders lend themselves really easily to substance abuse.” Maria says, nodding. 

“So, he’s been self-medicating, is what you’re telling me.” Cam exhales, the clarity of the situation bringing her some relief. 

“It’s very common. We all seek to self-soothe, sometimes in ways we don’t realize. You can go see him for now, but they’ll be transporting him down the road to the inpatient facility soon.” Maria says, standing. Cam stands with her, her knees shaking slightly. “Do you have any questions for me?” 

“Uh, did you call any other family? Maureen and Norah?” Cam asks softly, her voice wavering. There’s so much to process, and the idea of having to explain this all to her sister and mother makes her feel ill again. 

“Owen wanted to call you first.” Maria explains softly, a warm smile across her face. “He wanted to see you and then call them.” 

Cam goes to speak, but tears flow down her face and she begins to sob. Ugly, chest racking bawling takes over, and she slams back into her seat. “I’m sorry. Just—I need a second. Can I? Can I have a second?” Cam asks softly as she wipes her eyes. 

“You should take your time, and then you can go see him whenever you’re feeling up to it. Just tell the nurse at the desk when you’re ready.” Maria explains, before stepping away. Cam is gulping air, her throat sticky, desperate to compose herself. Cam uses the terrible tissues that feel like a piece of pine bark to wipe her eyes, inhaling a shuddering breath and exhaling slowly. She slows her breathing until her inhalations are no longer hitching, and stands to head toward the desk. 

The haze of adrenaline and dread has enveloped Cam, as she asks the unit clerk where her brother is, getting directions to the room, traversing nearly identical hallways lit with the same horrific lighting as every hospital E.D. She feels like a zombie, trudging her way though the E.D, stopping by the desk to speak to a nurse before going to her brother’s room. She has to leave her purse at the nurse’s station, and tears begin to spill over her lashes as she walks to the room, seeing locked doors and safety glass on this side of the hall. The nurse badges the door, and pulls the door open quickly before the locking mechanism triggers again.

Owen is sat on the edge of the stretcher, his calves too thin for his tan hospital socks to stay up over his ankles, his head low as he hunches his frame over himself. 

“Hi, Owen.” Cam says softly. His head shoots up to look at her, and her vision blurs with tears again. 

“Cami. I’m sorry.” Owen croaks out. They begin to sob together, Cam squeezing her brother’s slight frame tightly. 

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry. This isn’t your fault. You’re going to get help. Don’t you dare be sorry.” Cam murmurs to him between sniffles. 

“At least this time—This time, I didn’t call mom.” Owen chokes out in a laugh. Cam coughs, chuckling. 

“There is that.” Cam says, reaching for another cheap tissue on the only small surface in the room, which is bolted to the wall. 

“Why do you look so nice? Did I interrupt a hot date?” Owen asks, sniffing as he takes a tissue from his sister. 

“Uh, I was at dinner.” Cam sighs. 

“With Jack?” Owen says in a falsetto, breathy voice. Cam feels heat rush to her blotchy face. 

“Yeah, actually.” Cam mumbles softly, averting her brother's gaze, a small smile pulling at her lips. 

“I’m sorry I ruined your date.”  Owen says softly. 

“No, don’t be. I’m glad you called me.” Cam sighs. 

“You should get out of here, then. After all the bullshit I put you through, I shouldn’t ruin your chances at getting laid.” Owen says, sitting further back on the stretcher. 

“Owen Cillian!” Cam hisses, the idea of her brother’s interest in her sex life painting disgust on her face. 

“Camilla Doireann, you deserve to get laid.” Her brother announces with finality, crossing his arms, one fist holding balled-up tissue. 

“I told him to drop me off. He’s probably already gone home. I’m getting an Uber home.” Cam explains, wiping her nose with another scratchy tissue. 

“No way did he leave you here.” Owen snorts with a small laugh. “Seriously, my transport’s going to be here soon, and they have to call Mom and Maureen eventually.” Cam just stares at her brother, her heart no longer twisting in her chest, but nerves still fraying in her gut. “Cam, I’ve had your cell phone number listed first in my emergency contacts for years. I have it memorized. As soon as they let me have phone privileges, I’ll call you. I promise.” 

“I was supposed to go to Philly this weekend. I’ll cancel it. I don’t—” Cam starts, but her brother touches her shoulder. 

“Don’t you dare put your life on hold for me. I’m not going anywhere, at least for thirty days, likely more than ninety. Go. Go to Philly. Go get laid.” Owen says with a wry smile. 

“It’s very concerning how interested you are in my sex life.” Cam says, eyebrow raised. 

“Cam, if that guy doesn’t want to take you to bone town, I will eat my hat. My favorite hat.” Owen says, making Cam groan at her brother’s crassness. “Get out of here, before they call mom.” Owen says, bumping her shoulder with his own. 

“When you call me, I will happily let you know the total of my Uber out of here, because I’m sure Jack has no interest in sitting in the waiting room for over an hour, especially when I told him to leave.” Cam says, standing. 

“Cam, I have brain damage, and I know he’s not going anywhere.” Owen says with a small smile, making Cam snort out a laugh. “Go, Cami. I love you.” Owen says softly, his eyes misting in the corners. Cam’s vision blurs again as she whimpers out a reply, hitting a button to wait to be buzzed out of the room. Cam sniffles as she collects her things from the nurses desk, winding her way back out into the emergency room in a stupor. 

“Good to see you, brother.” Cam hears a familiar voice say, as she sees Jack at the control desk of the E.D giving someone a hug. He’s down to his grey undershirt and his jeans, swinging around the corner toward Cam. 

“Son of a bitch.” Cam whispers as he walks toward her, doing her best to not laugh aloud, her shoulders shaking despite her efforts. She can’t help picturing the look Owen would have on his face if he saw this.  

“You ready to go?” Jack asks softly, putting his hands in his jean pockets. Cam nods, and they head for the exit.

[sorensonsposts]

Calling Dr. Love (Chapter 21)

This fic may include the following: Blood, injuries of all shapes and sizes, descriptions of surgery, death, deceased persons, situations of sexual abuse, physical abuse, psychiatric issues and all the other horrific and/or hilarious shit you get to see as a healthcare worker. If you thought The Pitt was too graphic, this isn’t for you. This is the only warning you will receive, there will be no chapter by chapter warnings. In the words of Sweet Brown 'Ain't nobody got time for that.'

Cam cannot remember the last time she felt this flustered. She’s dabbled in internet dating on and off for the last few years, with little success. The last actual date she had was in Boston, and she knew the evening was over the moment they met at the restaurant. Cam always tried for coffee dates, but he had insisted on dinner, and what a dreadful mistake it was for both of them. She could tell he was disappointed in how she looked when she walked into the restaurant, and he was as much of a conversationalist as a raw piece of kale. Cam cringes at remembering how miserable she was after that date, sending her into a funk that had her uninstall every app not go back out for weeks. It was one thing to not have a spark, it was another to know in an instant that the other person was essentially disgusted at the sight of you. Cam can’t even remember his face, just the look that washed over his face that meant he was already checked out, and had eliminated her from his mind. 

When she moved back to Pittsburgh, she was too involved with her fathers illness, moving, his death, cleaning the house, renovating the house and her brother's reappearance to even bother with downloading any of the apps again. Part of her had hoped she could keep herself busy enough to not mind being so alone. Most of the time, it never bothered her, but occasionally she would feel that ache for companionship, emotionally and physically. It would set upon her like a wolf to a sheep, tearing into her, leaving her hollow, somber and quiet.  

Now, her hands shake slightly as she tries to feed the belt for her thin duster jacket through the small loops. She worries she’s underdressed, and regret has filled her since she said she was okay with it being a surprise. Cam hates surprises, she was just so shocked at being at breakfast and him insisting on a ‘real date’ that she likely would’ve agreed to be shot out of a cannon if he had asked. 

Cam’s phone pings, an alert lighting up her screen from her doorbell camera. Cam plods down the stairs, snagging her purse. She opens the door, blood rushing in her ears like she’s passing the scissors for a crash laparotomy. Jack’s wearing dark jeans and a button-up with the sleeves rolled up. The collar is buttoned up nearly to the neck, the heathered grey of his undershirt barely peeking out behind the navy blue of his shirt.

“Hi, let me just get my shoes on.” Cam says, swinging back toward the heap of shoes by the door and trying to find her other white Adidas. Cam wanted to wear flats, something more exciting, but all day a bitter cold rain has battered the city, and she knows she’d just end up with wet cold feet that would distract her from dinner, although, maybe a little frostbite could be welcome. 

“You look really nice, Cam.” Abbot says, as she finishes getting off her shoes and smooths out her dress. 

“Thank you, it’s nice to be out of the potato sack that is my work uniform. You clean up really well yourself.” Cam says, smiling at the preening, pleased look on his face when she gives him that compliment. Cam pulls the door closed as Abbot heads down the steps, opening the passenger door of his car and giving her that sly, microscopic smile of his as she slides into the seat. He closes the door gently, walking his way around the hood to get in the driver's side door. Cam takes a moment to huff out a breath, trying to compose herself before he opens his door. He slides in, starting the engine. 

“Do I get to know where we’re going yet?” Cam asks, buckling her seatbelt. 

“You’ll figure it out.” Jack says, putting the car in drive. 

Cam starts getting ideas once they head more north east down Ohio street. Washington Landing passes on her side of the car, lit softly by the lamps of the boat houses. 

“You know, I don’t think people from Duquesne Heights are allowed in Lawrenceville. This part of town is too fancy for us.” Cam comments as Jack turns onto the 40th street bridge. 

“Oh, come on, you’re clearly a history buff for Pittsburgh, far better than me. I don’t think Lawrenceville was originally bougie.” Abbot says, scanning the narrowing streets for a parking spot. 

“Did you use ‘history buff’ and ‘bougie’ in the same sentence?” Cam chuckles, shaking her head. 

“I mean it’s an old part of town, right?” Jack asks, slowing down for an open gap on the side of the street. 

“I mean, Lawrenceville was originally the Allegheny Arsenal, good for its strategic location, then ended up like the rest of the property near the river, used for iron and steel works. It really got popular again after the pedes hospital moved in 2009, then the gentrification started, and now you can’t get a rowhouse for under two hundred grand.” Cam prattles on, trailing off as she realizes they’re sitting in a parked  car, and Jack is looking at her as he turns the engine off. “Sorry. Are we here, or do I need to answer three riddles to get dinner?” Cam says, unbuckling her seatbelt. 

“We’re here.” Abbot says, stepping out of the car. 

They walk down the sidewalk, Cam keeping an eye on her feet, as the one hundred and change year-old sidewalk pieces have all collided with one another in heaps and concaves. Abbot holds open the door to a corner door warmed by the scones on the wall. Cam steps into the entryway, and she knows it’s a high brow restaurant because she can’t fucking see anything. It’s so dark, she’s prying her eyes open farther to try not to walk directly into something. The secondary door opens, and she’s blinded by the efficient, cool lighting of the kitchen up the stairs. Music is playing softly as Cam tries to see beyond the spots in her eyes.

“Welcome to The Parlor. How can I help you?” A woman’s voice asks.

“Reservation for Abbot, for two.” Abbot tells the hostess. If not for the small warm lamp at her station, Cam could’ve walked past, or crashed into the woman. 

“Right this way.” The hostess says, heading past the bar to a table with a large glass lazy susan, the warm light of a candle in a metal votive glowing against the steel table. 

“Thank you.” Cam says, grabbing one of the menus that the hostess has put on the table. Cam is grateful for a shield again, just like the diner last week. 

“Can we start with a pot of dragon's tea, please?” Abbot asks. 

“Any cocktails tonight?” The hostess offers, but Abbot tells her no, and she leaves to get a pot of tea. 

“Have you ever been here?” Abbot asks, picking up his own menu. 

“No. I haven’t had dim sum in ages. I used to go to a small place in Chicago, but that was a million years ago.” Cam says, trying to scan the massive menu. 

“I had a long layover in Hong Kong once, had the best dim sum, slept like the dead in a globemaster for seven hours.” Abbot says, with a small smile. 

“I’m sorry, about rattling on—” Cam starts, putting down her menu. 

“I wouldn’t have encouraged you if I didn’t enjoy your factual regurgitations.” Abbot mumbles with a small grin over his menu. 

“Factual regurgitation?” Cam asks, snickering. 

“There’s something remarkable about hearing you gush about some unpremeditated topic.” Abbot explains, smiling openly at her now. 

“I did that twice! Twice, and you’re still laughing about it.” Cam cries, chuckling. 

“Nikki told me you do it all the time.” Abbot scoffs. 

“Nikki is a fucking narc. Too many years of dayshift for that one to truly understand the sanctity of nightshift.” Cam sighs, picking up her menu again. 

The tea arrives, and Abbot deftly serves her a short decorated cup. 

“To the sanctity of nightshift.” Jack says with a small grin, holding up his own cup to hers. 

“Sanctity over sanity.” Cam says, joining her cup to his with a chime. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The table is littered with bamboo baskets, and Abbot thinks this is the best dinner he’s had in over two years. The food was exceptional, but the company truly makes the meal. 

“So I’m standing there, still holding the fuckin’ ten blade, serous fluid allll over the surgeon’s face. This guy is a barrel full of nitroglycerin on a good day. He would freak out if a drop of blood got on his loupes, and there’s shit on his scrub hat, his mask, his gown, his glasses. Instead of freaking out, he just looks at me, super calm and slow and asks me ‘Do I need to break scrub?’ You could have heard a pin drop in that room. All I could do was stand there, still ready to pass the knife, and nod.” Cam says, cackling. Abbot’s been relishing her company all night, swapping ridiculous stories of work, laughing at things that most people wouldn’t think is funny at all. 

“What’s one case you’ve never done that you wish you had done?” Abbot asks, refilling their tea cups. 

“I haven’t done any foreign body removals.” Cam says, snagging the cup off the lazy susan. 

“From?” Abbot asks, leaning back with his tea, his eyebrow raised. Before Cam can answer, their waiter comes back, and silence washes over the table. 

“Can we interest you guys in dessert?” The waiter offers. 

“I have heard good things about the coconut pudding.” Abbot says, raising an eyebrow at Cam across the table. 

“The coconut pudding is very popular.” The waiter says. 

“Very popular, Cam.” Abbot says with a smirk. 

“Why do I feel like I have to order the coconut pudding?” Cam says with a chuckle.

“Because you do have to order the coconut pudding.” Abbot says, taking another sip of tea. 

“I guess we’re getting the coconut pudding.” Cam sighs at the waiter, a big grin on her face as the waiter nods and heads to the kitchen. 

“Where were we? Foreign body removals?” Abbot says, making Cam snort out a laugh. Cam’s purse jolts to life, her phone ringing inside. 

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. Hang on.” Cam says, reaching inside her purse that's been hanging off the back of her chair. Her brows furrow as she puts the phone to her ear. 

“Hello? Speaking. Yes. Okay. Okay. Uh, yeah, yes, I will be there shortly. Okay. Okay. Thank you.” Cam says curtly, before hanging up the phone. She looks at Jack, the blush from her cheeks getting blotchy as she shoves her phone back in her purse. 

“Everything okay?” Jack asks, setting down his tea cup. 

“Uh, how do you want to do the check? Did you want to split it?” Cam says, scanning the restaurant. 

“Cam? What’s going on?” Jack asks. 

“Uh, I guess I can call an Uber or something. Fuck.” Cam says, fishing through her purse for her phone again. 

“What happened, Cam?” Jack says, more firm now. She looks up at him, the corner of her eyes misting. 

“My brother relapsed. They found him down at his sober housing. He’s at the V.A.” Cam says with a trembling voice.

[sorensonsposts]

Watching the newest episode of The Boys, All I know is...

If Soldier Boy wakes up and refers to himself as "Daddy", Tumblr's gonna have a fucking field day.

[sorensonsposts]

I'm not really posting right now

Because I'm crippling myself trying to meadowscape my backyard.

By my body, I will have whimsy, dammit.

[sorensonsposts]

Calling Dr. Love (Chapter 20)

This fic may include the following: Blood, injuries of all shapes and sizes, descriptions of surgery, death, deceased persons, situations of sexual abuse, physical abuse, psychiatric issues and all the other horrific and/or hilarious shit you get to see as a healthcare worker. If you thought The Pitt was too graphic, this isn’t for you. This is the only warning you will receive, there will be no chapter by chapter warnings. In the words of Sweet Brown 'Ain't nobody got time for that.'

Cam usually never minds what she wears into work. There’s a joke constantly that operating room staff look like bums, like Jules and Vincent from Pulp Fiction after they clean their car. Cam slides on her joggers and t-shirt, wishing she had something a little nicer to put on after ditching her scrubs in the deposit machine. Getting in her car, her stomach turns. Passing the sixteenth street bridge, she considers just heading home, ignoring it all together. She parks her car on the strip, hoping maybe he got caught up in the torrent of the emergency department and won’t be here. She exits her car and crosses the street, the glare of the morning sun blinding her temporarily until she gets underneath the old awning on the building.Cam’s nerves are immediately frayed when she sees him leaning against the wall near the door, having changed into different clothes since she saw him last a few hours ago. Silently, he opens the door for her, backpack hanging loosely off his shoulder, like her own. 

“Thanks.” Cam says quietly, suddenly feeling like a meek little middle schooler on a date. The smell of bacon grease, powdered sugar and coffee fills her nose, sending her back to every late night weekend she wound up here in high school. She had tried to get a job here in high school, but her mom said it was too far for her to take her when she already had to drive to Coraopolis five days a week. 

“Glad you came.” Abbot says, nodding at the hostess and holding up two fingers. 

“Glad I had cash.” Cam says with a chuckle. “The last bastion of cash only places lives right here.” 

“Hi! Booth or table?” The hostess asks. 

“Table, please.” Cam says before Jack can interject. 

“C’mon back.” the hostess calls, traipsing to the further recesses of the restaurant. They sit at their laminate table, the vinyl of the metal chairs crackling under them. 

“I would have covered breakfast, Cam. That was my plan at least.” Abbot explains as the hostess drops the permanently tacky laminated menus in front of them.

“You underestimate my capacity for home fries. I didn’t want to ruin your breakfast budget.” Cam says wryly, her menu covering most of her face. 

“You just came for the potatoes? Not for the sparkling conversation?” Abbot asks, looking over the top of his menu. 

“It’s like a siren song, Abbot. Genetically it’s like a moth to a flame.” Cam chuckles. 

“Good morning! What can I get you guys to drink?” The waitress asks. 

“Good morning, I will have a coffee please.” Cam says, smiling at the waitress. 

“I’ll do a chocolate shake.” Abbot says, making Cam snort out a laugh. 

“I’ll get that started for you, and be back for your food order in a few minutes.” the waitress says before turning toward the kitchen. Cam has her eyebrows raised at Abbot over her breakfast menu. 

“Don’t look at me, you’re the one drinking coffee right before bed.” Abbot murmurs, focusing on his menu. 

“I don’t sleep regardless. Might as well enjoy my favorite beverage.” Cam shrugs. 

“You tried yoga?” Abbot asks, making Cam put down her menu.

“Do I look like I would excel at yoga?” Cam asks. 

“Anyone can do yoga. It’s infinitely modifiable.” Abbot retorts. 

“Honestly, I used to do some yoga. Unless it’s like an actual flow, it’s really not for me.” Cam shrugs. 

“Not a hatha fan?” Abbot asks, crossing his arms and leaning back in the creaking metal chair. 

“If that’s the one where they make you hold every pose until I feel like I’m going to puke while avulsing tendons off the bone,  no, not a fan.” Cam sighs, picking her breakfast menu back up. 

“Here we are. Brought you a carafe as well, and here is your chocolate shake. Are you guys ready to order?” The waitress asks, sliding the drinks on the table and getting out her paper pad. 

“Steel City breakfast. Belgium waffle, add fruit. Hot sausage, eggs over easy, Mancini raisin toast, please.” Cam says, sliding her menu to the edge of the table. 

“I’m going to get the MOAB, please.” Abbot says, sliding his menu on top of Cam’s. 

“I’ll get those in for you.” The waitress says, snagging the menus off the table and disappearing. Cam feels vulnerable, with no sticky plastic to use as a shield, just a small table between the two of them. She focuses on her coffee, pouring it out of the carafe, adding a small cup of creamer, the soft plastic crumpling in her grasp. She wonders how much time she could waste unwrapping her silverware from its paper napkin prison before she has to look up at Abbot. Stirring in the creamer, she glances up at him, finding him intent on stirring the drizzled chocolate adhered to the inside of the glass into the shake with his straw. 

“So, is there a reason you asked me to breakfast?” Cam asks haltingly, averting her eyes the moment she realizes she actually said that aloud. 

“Honestly, Cam, if I say one more stupid thing to you down in the E.D I’m going to literally put my foot in my mouth.” Abbot murmurs, putting down his shake. Cam raises her eyebrows, but her mouth is stuck shut. “I can. It does fit. I found out at a party once.” He says, staring her down across the table. Cam doesn’t know what to do with this, focusing on her coffee rather than looking at him. “You intimidate me.” Abbot blurts out quietly, which makes Cam start laughing. Truly laughing, her eyes closed, all teeth, howling laugh. She knows she should be embarrassed, someone is definitely looking at them, but she can’t help herself. Abbot stares at her, not smiling, jaw set. 

“If I had a fuckin’ dollar…” Cam sighs, composing herself, still sniggering into her coffee. She looks at him, the smile washing off of her face. Abbot rolls up his pant leg, sliding the socket off of his leg, putting his prosthetic on the chair next to him. “What are you doing?” Cam asks, her brow furrowing as he begins to unlace the shoe on the prosthetic. She looks around the restaurant, wondering if anyone else is seeing this display besides them. 

“I’m going to put my foot in my mouth.” Abbot sighs, glancing at her with a look of defiance. 

“Jack!” Cam cries, another chuckle flying out of her mouth as he takes the shoe off of the foot. He rests the leg on his thigh as he stares at her, the smallest smile tugging on his lips. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. How does a guy who’s a fucking ex-military E.D cowboy get intimidated by me?” 

“You’re commanding.” Abbot says, still resting the polycarbonate foot on his leg. 

“I’m commanding?” Cam asks, putting down her coffee cup and raising her eyebrows. “I don’t think that’s a compliment.” 

“I’ve never seen anyone walk into a trauma bay and command more attention. You’re unflappable, reliable and highly skilled.” Abbot lists. 

“You sound like a truck commercial.” Cam snorts, rolling her eyes slightly. 

“You’re hotel sierra.” Abbot says, putting the prosthetic down on his lap and crossing his arms. 

“Hotel Sierra?" Cam asks.

“Hot shit. A fuckin’ smoke show.” Abbot states, his eyes locked onto hers as he says it. Cam averts her eyes, her focus back onto her coffee mug. 

“I don’t think you know what ‘smoke show’ means, Abbot.” Cam says softly, her neck getting flush. 

“A dime, a babe, a honeypot, a bombshell, a knockout, a  stunner.” Abbot keeps listing. Cam’s eyes turn to him, her brows pinched together. 

“No one’s called me a babe since high school when my prom date thought it would get me to open my legs.” Cam snorts, refusing to look up at him. 

“That’s not why I’m saying it.” Abbot says firmly.

“Why are you saying it?” Cam asks, finally looking up at him, her eyes misting slightly in the corner. Her hands are beginning to shake, and it’s not from the caffeine. “Men who look like you don’t typically clamor for women who look like me. Not to mention the concept of ‘don’t shit where you eat’.” Cam says, raising an eyebrow at him before returning her gaze to her coffee mug. 

“You’re the one who called me ‘hot’.” Abbot says, still lounging back in his chair. Cam winces, slapping a hand on her forehead. 

“I was really hoping you hadn’t heard that.” Cam mumbles, returning to the coffee carafe to top up her mug. She takes a deep breath as she sets it back down. “Yeah, you’re hot. I said it. I despise every coworker who thirsts after you, Robby or literally any doctors, but yes, you’re hot. Congratulations.” 

“Wait, Robby too?” Abbot says, with a slight grin. 

“Oh, yes. It’s disgusting the things they say.” Cam rolls her eyes. 

“Like Madison?” Abbot asks. 

“Ugh. Madison. Sweet kid.” Cam says, shaking her head. 

“Told King she wanted to climb me like a tree.” Abbot says with a smirk, and Cam coughs, trying not to spew coffee out of her nose. 

“These fucking kids.” Cam wheezes, reaching for napkins out of the shining steel holder on the table.  

“I don’t know what to do, Cam.” Abbot says with a sigh. 

“About horny gen Z kids?” Cam asks. 

“About us.” Abbot says, going back to his milkshake, one arm leaning on the table. Cam balls up the napkins she used to clean the spill, letting out a heavy sigh. 

“What about us?” Cam asks, rubbing her forehead. 

“We’re adults.” Abbot says, trying to make himself believe it. 

“We work together.” Cam hisses. 

“You’re not my subordinate.” Abbot replies. Cam sits in silence, her gaze drifting elsewhere in the room as her thumb rubs over a chip in her mug handle. “What about dinner?” He asks her, swallowing hard. 

“What about it?” Cam scoffs. 

“Can I take you to dinner?” Abbot asks. 

“Home fries and milkshakes isn’t romantic enough?” Cam asks, eyebrows raised.

“I think I want to take you on a real date. Like adults. Adults usually do dinner, right? Cam, can I take you to dinner?” Abbot asks again, more firmly this time before going back to his shake. The silence in the restaurant is suddenly deafening as Cam blinks at him for about fifteen seconds. Those seconds seem to stretch, like a black hole dilating time. Cam finally shrugs. 

“Sure.” She sighs, slouching in her chair. 

“You work next Tuesday?” Jack asks. 

“Nope.” Cam says with a sigh. 

“You want it to be a surprise? I can pick you up.” Jack asks, leaning forward onto the table. 

“Sure.” Cam says, shrugging again. 

“Eight?” Jack asks.

“PM or AM?” Cam smiles. 

“You should wear that dress you wore at your party.” Abbot says, crossing his arms, not allowing her to derail him and his plan.

“Now who’s commanding?” Cam says with a smirk. 

“You almost brought me to my knees in that dress.” Abbot says matter of factly, making Cam flush brightly. Before Cam can say anything else, the waitress swings around to their table with a full tray. 

“Alrighty, breakfast is served!” The waitress says, laying out the plates and leaving Cam wide eyed, staring at her raisin toast as Abbot digs into his burrito.

[sorensonsposts]

Calling Dr. Love (Chapter 19)

Oopsie! I just realized it's late AF. I've been cleaning, crafting and doing hella other shit. Here's a re-enactment of me hauling ass just trying to keep my own promise of posting every Friday.

This fic may include the following: Blood, injuries of all shapes and sizes, descriptions of surgery, death, deceased persons, situations of sexual abuse, physical abuse, psychiatric issues and all the other horrific and/or hilarious shit you get to see as a healthcare worker. If you thought The Pitt was too graphic, this isn’t for you. This is the only warning you will receive, there will be no chapter by chapter warnings. In the words of Sweet Brown 'Ain't nobody got time for that.'

Tier 1 Trauma, ETA 10 Minutes

 “I show up early and this is the gift I get.” Cam says shrugging, tying her hair up before sliding her scrub cap on her head. “Is it anything good at least?” 

“GSW to the thigh, tourniquet up.” Robby says, putting on an isolation gown. 

“Oh goody. Sounds like a great day for femoral artery exploration.” Cam says with a sigh, leaning on the cabinet in the corner. 

“Thanks again for having us last week. It was nice.” Robby says, putting on his safety glasses. 

“It wasn’t bad.” Cam says with a small smile. Dr. Ellis comes in, grabbing a gown and a set of gloves. 

“Thigh GSW, right?” Dr. Ellis asks. 

“Should be here in four or five minutes.” Robby says with a nod. McKay sees Cam leaning against the cabinet and sticks her head in, giving Cam a quick nod. 

“Hey. Sorry I missed all the fun. I had Harrison, he wanted to go roller skating. Who am I to deny him that joy?” Cassie explains. 

“Of course. We still on for Thursday?” Cam asks. 

“Absolutely. Can’t wait.” McKay says before sliding out the doorway. Cam turns to Robby raising his eyebrows at her, arms crossed. 

“She missed the party, we talked about going out for dinner instead.” Cam shrugs. “I didn’t know you were so interested in my calendar.” 

“What’d I miss?" Abbot asks, swinging through the door. Robby starts to give him report, and Cam looks down at the floor, avoiding his gaze. Looking at him makes her stomach burn with shame. She knows she had alcohol in her system, but she still knew what she was thinking of doing in her old dusty basement was foolish. How could she have been so stupid? Ask a man about his dead wife and then nearly kiss him? Or at least try to, before he stopped her. She keeps running it over in her mind, like when you have bitten your cheek and your tongue can’t stop probing the wound.

“Hey, Cam. You okay?” Dr. Ellis asks, getting closer, making Cam leap out of her own mind and back into work. 

“Yeah. Just thinking about femoral artery exploration.” Cam says haltingly. She can feel Abbot staring at her, but she just gives Ellis a small smile with a nod. 

Cam is relieved when the patient rolls through the door, the tourniquet on one leg, pant legs split open like a banana peel by the paramedics. Blood saturates everything under him from their hips down. Everything below the tourniquet is starting to discolor, his foot pale and blotchy.

“GSW times four, two in the left, two in the right. Access is the 20 in the left hand, 22 in the right AC. Wasn’t holding still for anything bigger than that. Profuse bleeding when we got on the scene, Tourniquet up on the right at 18:37. The left seems to be doing okay with a pressure bandage.” The paramedics report as the patient breathes heavily on the gurney. 

“Okay. Move him over on my count. One, two, three.” Dr. Ellis calls at the head. “Who wants to do the EFAST?” She calls to the room, but Cam is still lost in thought, thinking about her own senselessness.The only thing that can break her out of mind is a soft tapping noise. Cam lifts her eyes from the floor, scanning the room, when she sees the source. The patient's left leg is bleeding, blood flowing onto the stretcher like a gentle bubbling stream. The noise started because it’s now dripping off the stretcher onto the floor, a small rivulet tracing down the saturated chux pad under them. Cam shakes the cobwebs out of her mind, turning to the cabinet she leans on, her pulse thrumming in her hands. She digs through the drawers until she finds it. Ripping the plastic off, she hands it off to Dr. Abbot, eyes remaining on the puddle on the floor. 

“When did the left leg start exsanguinating itself Dr. Ellis?” Dr. Abbot asks, putting the tourniquet on the patient's left thigh.  “Okay, sir, this is going to be painful, but it will help with the bleeding until we can get you to surgery. I have to make this really tight, so it’s gonna get pretty uncomfortable now.” Abbot says, twisting the windlass on the tourniquet, much to the patient's chagrin. 

“Cam, as always, coming in clutch. I think you get your wish.” Dr. Ellis says, taking off her gloves. “You wanna call? EFAST is clear.” 

“Legs are definitely not. The clot probably got bumped loose when we moved him. It’s at least a vein, if not bilateral femoral repairs.” Abbot says, staring at Cam, who in turn begins to relive her shame again.

“Hey? You want me to call the OR?” Dr. Ellis asks Cam again. Cam jumps into action, not allowing herself to be dragged  back into the recesses of her mind. 

“No, vascular will be here any second. I need an MRN number for the charge nurse to book the case. Do you have any patient labels?” Cam asks, turning to Mateo, charting at the computer. He passes her a sticker and she sees the vascular resident heading their way. 

“Hey. This is the thigh GSW?” The resident asks, examining the patient's leg. 

“Tourniquet on the left was just placed. We must have bumped a clot when we moved them. Cam spotted it, because she’s just got the killer instinct.” Dr. Ellis explains, nodding at Cam.

“Bilateral leg exploration?” Cam asks, crossing her arms. 

“Definitely.” The resident says, looking up at Cam as she heads upstairs. 

Setting up an emergency case can feel two ways. Cam was always taught that slow is smooth and smooth is fast. Sometimes it feels like a beautiful dance, flowing freely, getting her a rush the same as people do with free base jumping or any of those other insane high-adrenaline sports that Cam gets nauseous seeing clips on Youtube. 

Sometimes it feels like you’re stuck in a pit of mud up to your waist, unable to do anything efficiently, hands unsteady and her pulse thrumming in her ears. She knows she just put down her knife handles, but suddenly she can’t find them again. How does someone who has been a scrub for nearly seven years misplace their knife handles? Cam’s mouth is dry, getting increasingly frustrated at her fumbling hands, the sweat beading on her temples just past her scrub cap. The patient is already intubated, the nurse slapping iodine on both legs. Cam is so behind, still trying to organize her trays, label her fluids, it makes her head spin. 

“I’ll take towels and a skin stapler.” One of the residents asks. Cam tries not to roll her eyes as she thrusts a stack of them at the resident. 

“Gimme a second to find the skin stapler.” Cam says, sliding some things out of the way of where she last saw it. 

“You alright? You’re never frazzled. You’re unflappable. Nerves of steel. Killer instinct, like Ellis said.” the resident teases as Cam’s hands shake with the drapes. 

“Today, my nerves might as well be tissue paper. Definitely not ‘locked in’ as you kids say.” Cam scoffs, shaking her head at the tangled mess of cords she’s prying loose. 

“My kids say ‘locked in’, not me. Mark the date, February 27th, the day Cam was actually flustered.” The resident says, a small smile behind his mask. 

“Just take the damn knife, Brian. Incision!” Cam yells as Brian takes the ten blade from her and cuts down the patient’s thigh. 

Its nearly dawn when Cam finally breaks scrub, her ankles screaming as she bends down to drop her tray into her case cart. She’s dragging the solid metal box down the hallway, hamstrings burning, when the charge nurse stops her in the hallway. 

“Hey, there’s a trauma coming in 15 minutes. Can you go downstairs?” She asks, her smile turning to a slight cringe at Cam’s sneer. 

“Sure.” Cam sighs, sending her case cart down the elevator, hitting the buzzer as she crams it in with the other five large carts, clanging them together like large, rectangular cymbals. Her knees and ankles scream as she plods down the steps, the dull roar of the E.D flooding in as the glass doors open. Cam nearly stumbles into the trauma room, sliding into the quiet space. It seems no one else has come into the trauma bay yet, supplies still sitting peacefully un-opened on their assigned surfaces, bright blue and white paper and plastic gleaming in the bright light. Cam’s eyes slide shut for a moment as she basks in the silence of the room, a break from the din of the bovie, suction, anesthesia monitors, the cries of patients in the E.D, the cacophony of the  E.D control desk. Her eyes snap open as she hears the door slide, turning to see Abbot entering the room. 

“Hey.” He says, heading toward the head of the stretcher, examining the items strewed around in ordered chaos.

“Hey.” Cam says back softly, pleading with her eyes to break their gaze from him. 

“How’s the bilateral tourniquet patient?” Abbot asks, digging through a cart to find something, the crinkle of paper and thick plastic breaking the stillness between them. 

“Fine. Harvested saphenous, anastomosed it in place for the trashed artery. Fixed the vein. Good pulses.” Cam says with a small shrug. 

“Do you want to go to breakfast?” Abbot asks, making Cam’s brow furrow.

“What?” Cam asks. 

“Do you ever go out to breakfast after your shift? A lot of people like DeLuca’s Diner.” Abbot replies, closing the drawer on the cart and focusing on her across the room. Cam cracks a smile, shaking her head.

“I don’t think I’ve been to DeLuca’s since I was sixteen.” Cam sighs. 

“You like home fries?” Abbot asks. 

“Did you just ask a fat woman of Irish descent if she likes fried potatoes?” Cam laughs, crossing her arms in the corner. 

“Is that a yes to breakfast?” Abbot asks, more firmly now. Cam swallows hard, trying to tamp down the four dozen questions sprinting through her mind as well as the fear that now forms a lump in her throat. Before she can answer him, the trauma bay door slams open, making Cam nearly jump out of her skin. 

“Lady nearly hit an ambulance in the bay!” Mateo yells, swinging the stretcher into the room. Cam unlocks the clean one, sliding it out the door and into the hallway to get it out of the way. The woman is coated in sweat, her breaths labored, chest heaving. 

“Ma’am, can you tell me your name?” Abbot asks as residents, respiratory therapists and nurses pour into the open door. 

“Laine.” The woman groans. “My chest hurts. It hurts to breathe.” She gasps out. 

“BiPap?” Someone calls out from the crowd. 

“Let’s do a proper assessment first.” Abbot calls. “How long has it hurt to breathe, Laine?” Abbot asks calmly, checking her pupils with a pen light as someone begins cutting off her shirt. 

“It just happened. It hurts so bad. I turned my car around and drove here. Sorry about the–” Laine explains, rasping. 

“It’s okay, Laine, we're going to take care of you. My colleagues are taking your clothes off to ensure we do a full body assessment. We’re going to figure out how to help. Any medical diagnoses you are aware of?” Abbot asks.

“I finally got…diagnosed with EDS.” Laine responds, her chest heaving harder than before. Abbot’s head snaps up to find Cam in the crowd. 

“Ehler’s Danlos?” He asks Laine, not breaking eye contact with Cam. Cam snaps into action, digging through the cabinet. She slides past a few people, trying to bring Abbot what she’s sure he wanted. 

“The right lung isn’t sliding.” Ellis calls. 

“Laine, we’re going to put in a chest tube. It’s smaller than our normal ones, though. It’s kind of painful, but I think it’s going to bring you a lot of relief.” Abbot explains, nodding at Ellis as Cam shoves the kit and gloves at Ellis. 

“Due to your hypermobility disorder, the lungs can be at increased risk of creating a small tear, putting air in your chest cavity that compresses your lung down, making it hard to breathe.” Dr. Ellis explains as she puts on the gloves and Cam peels open the kit. 

“Let’s give Laine 15 of ketamine.” Abbot calls out. 

“Cold soap on your side.” Dr. Ellis calls, pouring betadine down the side of Laine’s ribcage. Ellis takes the large, long needle out of the kit, plunging it slowly through Laine’s skin. She snatches the wire, sliding through the needle. Deftly, she takes the needle out of her skin, putting the soft dilator through the wire. Laine winces as she pushes the dilator to her skin. “Going to feel a lot of pressure, Laine.” Dr. Ellis says, straightening the curled end to put the wire through it. Laine gasps as the catheter pushes through her skin, relaxing once Dr. Ellis stops sliding it into her chest cavity. 

“Okay, the hard part is over.” Dr. Ellis explains, adding the valves and loading the suture from the kit. 

“Well, I don’t think this is surgical. We’re gonna send her to CT just to be sure, but I think you’re clear, Cam.” Dr. Ellis says, sewing the catheter to Laine’s skin, glancing at Cam before tying her suture. “How did you know he wanted the Wayne pneumo kit?” Ellis asks softly, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“He looked at me. The chest tube supplies are behind him, but the Wayne pneumo kits are  behind me. Call us if you need us.” Cam says, putting hand sanitizer on as she slides out the door. Abbot sticks his head out the doorway, eyebrows raised. Cam sighs, realizing he won’t let her escape the E.D without an answer.

“I’ll meet you at DeLuca’s at eight.” Cam says softly. “The one on Penn.”

[blessedmoonbeam]

May Shawn Hatosy never get tumblr.

[sorensonsposts]

Shawn, if you read this, I'm innocent. I haven't written any smut.

Yet.

[insaneinpink]

This is the type of greed they wrote about in the bible-

You were blessed with perfection and that still wasn’t enough for you? The fucking audacity-

Throw out the whole man.

[sorensonsposts]

Deceased. Screaming.

[sorensonsposts]

Calling Dr. Love (Chapter 18)

This fic may include the following: Blood, injuries of all shapes and sizes, descriptions of surgery, death, deceased persons, situations of sexual abuse, physical abuse, psychiatric issues and all the other horrific and/or hilarious shit you get to see as a healthcare worker. If you thought The Pitt was too graphic, this isn’t for you. This is the only warning you will receive, there will be no chapter by chapter warnings. In the words of Sweet Brown 'Ain't nobody got time for that.'

Cam’s head is starting to swim as she refills her punch glass and gets Madison a fresh glass of something that isn’t mostly booze. Nearly everyone she invited is here, which is surprising, and suffocating. She’s running out of surfaces for people to sit on, and people are getting increasingly drunk. Cam rounds the corner, two glasses in her hand, as she passes one to Madison. 

“You’re no fun.” Madison grumbles, taking the glass. Cam sits on an ottoman, stretching out and crossing her feet at the ankle onto her area rug. 

“As I was asking before I was so rudely interrupted, where did you get this wallpaper?.” Garcia says, looking at the wallpaper surrounding the fireplace.

“Oh, yeah. Etsy. Scones are from eBay. Lots of this is from eBay.” Cam explains. 

“What about the stained glass, with the foxglove on it?” Robby asks, gesturing at the fireplace grate. A resounding set of ‘oooohs’ flow through the living room when people turn to examine the glass and metal art piece. 

“You know flower names?” Garcia asks with a teasing grin.

“I know my medicines. It’s what digitalis was discovered from.” Robby says, as a few roll their eyes, going back to their own conversations. 

“It’s also a native flower to Ireland, so I had it made custom by someone at the Pittsburgh Stained Glass Studios. The fireplace really shouldn’t be used anymore, it needs to be capped, so I thought I should put something nice in front of it at least.” Cam explains. She looks back from the fireplace screen, and sees Abbot’s eyes boring into her while everyone else has gone back to chatting amongst the small groupings in her house. Cam feels flush, so she slugs back her punch and heads to the dining room for a refill. Cam realizes the ice is melting in the antique crystal bowl, so she heads to the kitchen to grab more ice. Before she can open the freezer, someone grabs her shoulder. She jumps as she turns, disappointed to see it’s Madison, probably heading back for the bottle of rum. 

“How’s it going?” Madison asks in possibly the loudest whisper Cam has ever heard. 

“I’m just getting ice for the punch bowl.” Cam explains, grabbing the bag and closing the freezer door. 

“No, I meant, you know.” Madison hisses with a wink. Cam rolls her eyes. “I just want you to be happy. Or like, laid, whichever you prefer.” Madison says with a giggle. Cam turns around, forcing Madison away from prying eyes and ears in the dining room.

“I don’t need people intervening in my life, is what I need. And you need more water.” Cam hisses, heading into the dining room to pour the ice into the punch bowl. 

“Thanks for having us.” Whitaker says, holding up his beer with a weak smile. 

“You guys survived nights. I think you deserve to have some celebration.” Cam says. 

“Well, anywhere that will buy me pizza is good enough for me, so thank you.” Santos says, leaning on the dining room table. 

“If I hadn’t had a good coupon you probably wouldn’t have showed up then, huh?” Cam says with a grin. She refills her punch glass and turns, nearly running into Jack. 

“Just grabbing another beer.” He mumbles as he slips past her to the kitchen back door. Cam is half tempted to follow him, but only half. Her head is still feeling strange as she heads back to the ottoman she was sitting on and sees that it was taken. The only open chair is Jack’s right next to Robby. Robby is having an animated conversation with one of the O.R nurses, but gestures to Jack’s chair, since she keeps staring at it like it’s some alien spacecraft. She wanted to be excited that he’s here, but she’s scared to be close to him suddenly, as if the house closes up around them every time they get near one another. Cam doesn’t get a chance to sit as someone knocks on the door, and she turns the corner to see Mel waving at her from the glass. 

“Hi! C’mon in.” Cam says, opening the storm door. Mel wipes her feet meticulously on the welcome mat before coming in. “Sorry, it’s kind of loud in here. There’s a cooler out back for beers. The snacks have been decimated, but there’s pizza arriving in under an hour.” 

“Hi. Wow. It’s hot in here.” Mel says, her glasses fogging from the humidity of all the people in the house. 

“To be honest, I didn’t think I was this popular.” Cam mumbles as Mel takes off her jacket and puts it on the coat rack. “Do you want anything to drink? I think there’s beer and wine and stuff for mixed drinks.” 

“Do you have anything non-alcoholic? I don’t really drink that much, and I have to drive back home in a little while.” 

“Yes, I do. I made some punch. Pineapple, mango, passionfruit with a bit of club soda.” Cam says, heading to the dining room and handing Mel a glass. Mel takes a sip and makes a face. 

“Uh, I’m sorry, I really didn’t want to drink tonight. I can do water, or–” Mel starts, making Cam look at the punch bowl.

When Cam was bartending, she always used to test people to see if they were too drunk to be served another drink. She’d hold up two bottles, pretending to be confused about what they ordered. Watching an inebriated person’s eyes try to track as you swing bottles in the air always told her if they were nearly ready to be cut off. She can feel it in herself now, as she tries to force her vision to focus on the punch bowl, and there’s a lag between her brain and her eye movement. Someone poured booze in her punch bowl, and Cam’s drunk. She’s not sure how she didn’t notice the slight burn on her lips, the smell. She was so anxious about whether Abbot was showing up she didn’t really pay attention. Now her stomach is turning, her heart feeling like it’s slamming hard in her chest. Bile is rushing in the back of her throat, and she starts having the dreaded feeling of saliva building up in her mouth. 

“Oh, shit. Well, you know I think I have some orange soda in the basement. Does that work for you? Give me a second, I’ll be back.” Cam says, shimmying past Mel toward the stairs. 

“Oh, I can go get it. I don’t want to impose–” Mel starts, putting her glass down, embarrassed. 

“No, I don’t mind. I’ll be back in a minute.” Cam says, tearing through the kitchen to get to the basement steps without having to navigate the crowded living room. She hears Abbot open the back door just as she closes the door to the basement and rushes down the steps. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Abbot returns to the living room, bringing a fresh beer to Robby. Mel has taken his seat and she stands to offer to return it. 

“It’s fine, Mel.” Abbot says. 

“I should go see if Cam wants help. I told her the punch was too strong for me, and she said she was going to look for orange soda in the basement.” 

“Too strong?” Abbot asks, his brow furrowing. 

“I don’t want to drink tonight.” Mel nods, looking like she feels guilty. 

“Well, she doesn’t drink either.” Abbot says, his brow furrowed as he takes a slug from his beer bottle. “Someone probably spiked the punch bowl.” He says louder, eyeing the room, making a few people look in his direction. 

“Oh, I didn’t know she didn’t drink. Well, I feel like she’s been down in the basement a while, I should go help her grab–” Mel says, starting to stand. Abbot puts his hand on her shoulder, putting his beer in Robby’s hand. 

“It’s fine, King, I can go help her.” Abbot says, sliding through the crowd to get to the basement door. He opens the door and there’s a bare bulb at the bottom of the wooden stairs. He steps lightly down the first few steps, closing the basement door behind him. The basement is unfinished, a shelf of boxes in one corner, an old slider door half covering what looks like a treadmill and weight set. He hears water running and turns the other corner, seeing an old wooden accordion door mostly closed, a light brightening the small opening. He peels the door back to see a laundry room and bathroom combined. It looks like it was pieced together in 1950, the fixtures old and dirty. He sees Cam, on her knees, spitting over a toilet bowl while the laundry sink runs. He takes a few steps toward her and Cam stands up, jumping as she sees him in the dirty mirror over the sink. 

“Jesus, Abbot. You scared me.” Cam says, sniffling slightly. 

“You okay?” He asks. “I heard someone spiked the punch.” 

“It’s not the first time I’ve gotten drunk. I just can’t believe I didn’t notice. It’s better if it’s just...out.” Cam says, shaking her head as she walks to a shelving unit next to the washing machine, digging through a plastic bin until she finds a toothbrush still in the plastic packaging, along with toothpaste. The flushes the toilet, wetting the new toothbrush under the flow from the laundry sink. “You know, I was surprised you came.”

“I told you I’d bring Mike.” Abbot shrugs, leaning against the dryer as Cam brushes her teeth. 

“I figured you’d find a hot date.” Cam says with a mouth full of foamy toothpaste. 

“Why do you think I brought Mike?” Abbot asks, a small grin tugging at his lips. Cam spits, rinsing the toothbrush and shutting off the sink. She reaches into a basket on the shelf, grabbing a blue O.R towel to wipe her face, which she chucks in the open washing machine after she uses it. 

“What about your wife?” Cam asks softly, looking up at him. Abbot sighs, spinning the ring with his thumb.

“She’s gone. Been gone…28 months.” Abbot says quietly, staring at anything but Cam’s face. 

“Fuck. I’m so sorry. I just saw the ring, and I–” Cam says, stepping out of the accordion door and turning the corner. 

“It’s okay. I just…everytime I take it off…it’s still there.” Abbot says, taking off the ring and looking at the pale band of flesh that remains. “Mike keeps telling me I just need to go on a beach vacation and get burnt so it’ll go away. I’m just not sure if I’m ready for it to go away.” 

“Grief isn’t linear. I understand. Trust me. I just feel shitty I didn’t know.” She says softly. 

“We’re too busy cracking chests most of the time.” Abbot says, getting closer to her. The smell of dust and damp concrete is strong, but she’s wearing that perfume he catches occasionally when she comes into the trauma bays. 

“Cracking chests, cracking jokes, same difference.” Cam says, closing the gap between them. She’s nearly pressing into him again, her hazel eyes dilated, locked onto him. She puts both hands on his chest, but he grabs her wrists before something happens. Jack can’t let this happen, not like this, not while she’s drunk, having just brushed her teeth after hurling from spiked punch. 

“You’re intoxicated, Cam.” Abbot says, holding her hands gently before she drops her hands to her sides, flinching. 

“I came down here for orange soda. Fuck.” Cam says, running a hand through her hair. 

“I’m not—” Jack starts, but Cam is turning around the corner to the other side of the stairs, digging through the old, tan fridge and heading up the stairs before he can even consider what to say. 

“Oh! Pizza’s here!” Cam calls, her voice echoing down the wooden stairs, leaving Abbot in the basement alone, the door left open at the top of the stairs.

[frownyalfred]

ao3 authors are something else…

[sorensonsposts]

Me cackling leaving things hanging in the air for seven days for everyone reading. See you suckers on Friday!

[sorensonsposts]

Happy national library week! First, I'd like to thank all the librarians who were good to me as a lonely kid. It was a real balm to have kind adults indulge my strange pre-teen/teen behavior.

I was only allowed to walk to the library, it was my first volunteer job (my mom wanted me out of the house) and I would often walk home with 40 pounds of books up a massive hill. I loved getting heaps of books about cooking, history, cars, whatever crap I wanted to learn about, crash onto my bed with a mountain of books and start digging through them. The dopamine of flipping through a mass of books about a bunch of topics is still so unreal.

My early days of writing was often spent writing at the library because I didn't want my mom reading over my shoulder, and I wanted to print my work, which was accessible through the library and a fuck ton of dimes.

Thank you to all the libraries and librarians out supporting weird kids like me. I mostly use Libby now, but I still love going to the library.

[sorensonsposts]

I posted a new chapter and then realized I haven't watched the finale (I will tomorrow morning) and now I have to stay off Tumblr for the rest of the day.