“We really shouldn’t be doing this…” maybe for ghost ava? - 3 or 5 sentences or however long you’d like :)
Ava did a lot of things she regretted in her life, some of them stemming from her borderline and others simply out of human error. She had been so thoughtful on paper but as she reached her end all she became was impulsive. Looking back her downward spiral was obvious, though perhaps she wasn’t the only problem if no one else had noticed until she bled out under Connor’s scalpel.
Even in death, old habits die hard. It’s what Ava told herself to justify what she was about to do, knowing full well what Jason would say.
“We really shouldn’t be doing this, Bekker…”
He wasn’t there, though. He didn’t see what Ava saw, he never could. As much as Jason wanted to understand her over-emotional attachment to things, he never would. He could warn her about the shadow people all he wanted. It wouldn’t change the fact that ignoring the scene in front of her would make her as heartless as the living chalked her up to be.
The emergency department was crawling with people, as loud and uncomfortable as Ava remembered. It wasn’t the bloodied faces of patients or screaming of grieving family that upset her that day, though. Instead it was the barely there figure crouching behind a privacy curtain, tiny blue socks just peeking through. Ava had watched the scene unfold merely by accident and she knew better than to interfere, yet something in her was screaming not to turn away.
“Hey, little one,” she tried to speak quietly, though her voice somehow rang out over the bustle of the ED. A tiny squeak told her she had been heard, though no words proceeded.
“Harper?” She remembered the name falling from Doctor Marcel’s lips like a broken promise all those months ago. She had watched the toddler follow her father around for weeks, just barely touching him before he slipped from her tiny grasp yet again. Jason never let her get involved, telling her they couldn’t interfere. It would only hurt the baby, risking her becoming trapped in the hospital just like they were. It was too late now, though. Ava couldn’t let the child’s spirit go, not after what she saw.
“P-papa,” her voice was shaky and Ava wondered if she had even used it after her death. She peeked through the curtain at the woman in front of her, Ava tried not to take it to heart when she cried out. The large wound in her neck was a shock to anyone, even without the blood, but to a baby it would be mortifying.
“Your papa is busy helping people now,” she said slowly, “Did you get scared, Harper?”
Blue eyes met hers again, chemo having robbed her of any eyelashes to catch her tears. Instead they slid freely down her cheeks as she nodded, clutching her stuffed animal tightly to her chest.
“I know it must have been scary…” Ava couldn’t help but think of her own childhood, the things she saw before she could tie her shoes would be enough to make a grown woman weep. She knew Harper went through an insurmountable pain before she was out of diapers, so being haunted by it in death was an injustice no one deserved.
“I’m Ava,” she added as an afterthought, “I can help you find a safer place to play, you can wait for your papa there.”
“Wanna see… see papa…”
“He’s working, darling, and this isn’t a good place for you to be. He’s helping people feel better, you know that?”
It took some more coaxing before Harper would come out from her hiding place. She did eventually, though, and Ava couldn’t help but be relieved. She didn’t know where she would take Harper or what would happen now that she spoke to her. All Ava knew was an ED after a shooting was no place for a toddler and she couldn’t let more trauma befall the kid.
So with Harper’s tiny hand in hers, Ava led her through the double doors and down the hall. The surgeon felt a million eyes on her, burning through her very soul, but she had to shake it off. She’d done what Jason had warned her against from the beginning; now she would just have to accept their wrath.
Summary: Crockett is unwillingly left his daughter. (Written for CMP Flash Challenge)
WC: 1k
“Your wife called,” she says. “Again.”
“I’ll call her back later.”
“It’s about your daughter.”
Crockett sighs. “I’ll call her later, okay? We’re getting ready to start the landing process.”
April presses her lips together, but doesn’t argue with him. She doesn’t like the strained relationship between him and his wife, but he doesn’t think it’s any of her business. Women, he thinks, get a little too emotional about these things instead of thinking rationally. If his wife’s role and his were switched, he would understand her need to be among the stars, and do whatever it took to make that happen for her. She’s being selfish.
Crockett didn't want to uproot his daughter's entire life; Harper has had it hard enough already. But there are better doctors in Chicago, and he'll get better insurance working at Med too. She's been battling Leukemia her whole life. He won't give up on her now.
I haven't had another episode, except last night was touch and go + Mr Crockett
Episode | Crockett Marcel
Excerpt from a psych!AU I’ll never write; Crockett is an inpatient in the psych ward and he has therapy with his favourite Psychiatrist
Prompt: “I haven’t had another episode, except last night was touch and go.”
Word count: 1797
CW: Psych ward, talks of depressive episodes, brief mention of dermatillomania, schizoaffective disorder, child death
***
“Mr. Marcel?” the voice at his door made Crockett groan, recognizing the voice as the nurse who always disturbed him at ridiculous hours. He wanted to have a talk with whoever decided pill time would be at six in the morning, how was he supposed to “heal” if they never let him get any sleep?
“Maggie, can’t you let me sleep for another hour,” he rolled over and sighed when she shook her head. Medication and vitals were a morning routine, every day before the sun even thought about rising completely. Routine was good, they told him, a routine would help with figuring out what was reality and what was his mind playing tricks. He didn’t think so, nothing would stop the fact that he saw his daughter clear as day despite the 5th anniversary of her death steadily approaching.
“Up and at ‘em, mister,” the nurse mused as she marched over with his tray and the cart carrying the monitors. He obliged because he had no choice but to do so, even though he hated the way the pills made him feel. Antipsychotics were something Crockett hated, ever since his diagnosis back when he was just twenty-one. They made him feel incorrect, as if he was floating through life with blinders on. He knew they were supposed to help, to show him what was really there, but he couldn’t help but think it made him more miserable.
“You have one-on-one therapy today,” she reminded him as she watched Crockett take his pills and then checked under his tongue to ensure he wasn’t hiding them. He had tried that a couple times and sometimes it worked on the younger nurses, but not Maggie. She knew all, especially these kinds of tricks, and Crockett wasn’t about to risk mandatory IV medications for another month just for one day without the drugs.
“Oh lovely,” he muttered, “Not that Charles guy again, right? He’s insufferable.”
Maggie laughed, “Oh please, Daniel is just fine.”
“Insufferable,” he restated with an eye-roll, still complying when she held out the pulse oximeter to clip it to his fingertip. Maggie just hummed, watching the machine for a moment before speaking.
“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. If it makes it any better, though, you’ll be seeing Doctor Reese today.”
That brought a smile to his face, though it was one that never quite reached his eyes. Maggie wasn’t sure if she had ever seen a genuine smile from Crockett, certainly not since Harper’s death and the worsening of his illness. Still, if one thing made his days more bearable it was sessions with Doctor Reese, who Crockett had started to consider more of a friend than a physician by that point.
“Our Sarah,” he hummed as she took the device off his hand, “She’s lovely.”
“She is,” the nurse agreed, “Now go get ready for the day, Crockett. You’ll be expected in the dining hall by 7:00 and I certainly won't have you slumming around in your pyjamas all day; you know the drill.”
***
By noon, Crockett was ready to go back to bed. Breakfast had been as dull as always, with his friend Ava in solitary for the next two days he didn’t have many people to speak to. Well, Natalie liked to talk to him but, if he was being honest, she could be a little much. She was just excited, Maggie insisted, but she tried to get Crockett to talk about his hallucinations far too often for him to be comfortable.
Jimmy sat with him that day, though. He didn’t talk much, or ever really, but he was decent company. They played cards together sometimes and always partnered for the team-building exercises in group therapy. Crockett didn’t press for verbal communication and Jimmy never judged him for his episodes; it was a friendship built on silent respect and they were both pleased with that arrangement. Still, Crockett often preferred to be alone, and that day was no different, so he retreated to his bedroom the second they allowed him to.
When nurse April arrived at his door with her tablet in hand, Crockett had been staring blankly at the TV. It wasn’t on, never was, but he watched it as if the most riveting program was playing. He wasn’t focusing on a delusion, though, and he promised April that when she asked if he was okay. The meds got rid of most of his visual symptoms, though the auditory ones were still a frequent occurrence with or without the drugs. He just liked to look at the TV, letting his mind wander to a time where he could actually enjoy television. It had been about five years by then, the last movie he remembered watching being the Princess and the Frog. Harper had loved that movie and talked excitedly of visiting New Orleans to see where her papa and Princess Tiana were both from. She never got there, unfortunately; the cancer taking her before her dad had the time to buy plane tickets.
“Come now, Crockett. Sarah is waiting in the conference room for you.”
He let the nurse lead him down the hall, silent because his head was still miles away. He was alert and lucid, that wasn’t the problem. Today it wasn’t delusions that plagued Crockett, instead it was the memories that had started to hurt him the most. Sarah would ask about that, especially once she saw the semi-lunar marks along the inside of his wrists, turning to scratches that curled up towards his biceps. Maggie hadn’t seen them because of his long sleeve shirt that morning but Sarah would check, she always did. It’s not as though Crockett did it on purpose, but when he couldn’t sleep at night and his skin was crawling all he could do was dig his nails in and pray for it to stop. The bugs weren’t there, Sarah always said they weren’t real, but his skin felt wrong and nothing would stop it. He had to scratch, he would tell her; it was the only way to make it stop.
“Crockett,” she greeted him cheerfully the second he stepped into the room, “Have a seat.”
“Hello, Sarah,” he replied as kindly as he could, though he was a bit distracted. His mood had been pretty low all morning, which was probably evident in his posture and demeanour.
“How have you been doing?
Crockett just shrugged, occupying himself with studying Sarah’s name badge. She had gotten a new one, the piece of plastic now boasting “psychiatry fellow”. She had been his secondary therapist since she was just in her second year of residency, so it was nice to see her climbing the ranks. It was well deserved, of course; Sarah had been the one constant in his most recent stay that kept Crockett relatively sane.
“Crockett?”
“Fine, I guess,” he muttered, “I haven’t had another episode… except last night was touch and go.”
“How so?” She was always so patient, not pushing too much, but she did need answers. If he was still having episodes on his antipsychotics, they may need to adjust the dosage again. He hoped she wouldn’t, though, because he hated the constant brain fog that came along with high dosing.
“A low, again.” he was fidgeting with his sleeve, not able to make eye contact at that point. His depression was a topic he never liked to discuss, since it was an aspect of his disorder he hadn’t been aware of until after Harper. Before it was just schizophrenia, a diagnosis that came about after a paranoia episode landed him in handcuffs in the security office at his university. However, when he hit a major low after Harper’s leukaemia was found, his primary psychiatrist noted that his diagnosis may be more than they expected. Schizoaffective disorder with the depression variant, he was told, and that was probably a factor in why he didn’t respond to the medications in the beginning.
“I see,” Sarah typed something onto his chart before looking up at him with gentle eyes, “Do you want to share how you felt?”
“I miss her,” he admitted softly, “It’s hard.”
“I know, I’m genuinely sorry, Crockett. Harper must have been so loved, I’m sure she misses you.”
“The meds…” Crockett huffed, “I can’t see her anymore.”
“Crockett, she’s not there,” Sarah’s words were gentle but still firm, as if he needed a reminder that his only daughter was dead before she even got to live a proper life. That reality was something that never left his mind, a nagging feeling that haunted him every single day. Meds or not, it was hard, but without seeing Harper daily, Crockett began to feel like he would forget her.
“Sarah, I need to see her.”
“I can’t do that, you know how unsafe it can be to take you off such a high dosage. I know you are upset but we can talk through this, okay?”
“No!” he was getting frustrated, even though he hated to yell at Sarah. She didn’t understand how important this was. He didn’t care if she was dead and she claimed the delusions weren’t real, he just wanted his daughter back. Even if it wasn’t the proper reality, maybe Crockett didn’t want to live in one without Harper. He told Sarah that much, upset that she would claim that she isn’t there anymore. She is always there; sitting on his bed and playing with her stuffed bunny, singing songs from those Disney shows she adored so much. Crockett saw her, held her close when the bad feelings returned and he felt like he was drowning. His baby would never leave him, she couldn't; Harper was all he had left.
“Hey,” Sarah spoke quickly when she recognized his agitation, “I’m sorry. Tell Harper I didn’t mean any harm, next time she’s around, okay? Can we start over, please?”
He frowned, knowing what she was doing, but nodded all the same. He didn’t want to fight with Sarah, she was one of the only staff members around here that he properly trusted. She didn’t want to upset him and she didn’t want to take his daughter away, it was just hard to recognize that sometimes. She wanted to help, to understand his mind, and maybe it was time for Crockett to let someone in again. It had been far too long.
“Start from the beginning,” she prompted as he slowly relaxed again, “How long ago did this low start?”
Crockett nods and kisses Harper’s feverish forehead. She’s so little, and in so much pain as the cells accumulate in her body. When she couldn’t eat, couldn’t walk, for how bad she hurts, he knew he had to bring her in.
“I know, honey. But it’s gonna be okay.”
She clings tighter to her stuffed bear and sniffles. Crockett knows there’s likely not much the ED can do, but they may be able to ease her pain and get her seen by an oncologist on site to help her. The pain hasn’t been this bad in a long time, so he’s extremely worried.
The worry turns to panic when Harper’s hands go limp around her stuffed animal and it falls to the ground. Crockett’s throat closes in panic and he scoops up the bear and harper to go up to the desk.
“Sir, the ED is very busy-” the nurse begins, clearly used to impatient family members, before he interrupts.
“My daughter just passed out.”
That gets their attention and, soon enough, Harper is whisked from his arms and placed in a bed far too big for her small body to be examined.
Crockett turns the page for Harper, even though she likes to do it. She needs to keep her arm still for the IV, for the chemo, that’s made her just as sick as the cancer has. She’s too young for it all, he thinks, and too precious to be subjected to the agony of chemotherapy before she’s walked into an elementary school classroom. The little downy coating of hair on her head has vanished. Her cheeks don’t flush pink when she smiles anymore. She sleeps more than she doesn’t. There are bags under her eyes, contrasting her chubby cheeks, making the saddest picture of a child. More than anything, Crockett wishes he could make it better.
He does what he can, though, and sits in the hospital bed with her in his lap, reading “Goodnight Sweet Butterflies” on a brisk winter day. Harper doesn’t like the winter much, and he’d be doing this even at home, but there is a special sadness in his own heart for the family they won’t get to see and the friends she won’t make. Other kids her age have at least a couple from daycare or the like. Harper has nurses, and she has Noah.
Normally, Noah makes a point to come by when Harper has chemo, his presence soothing to her, but he’s busy having his own medical crisis this morning. His sats dropped too low again, meaning he’s back on a proper oxygen mask rather than the cannula and too exhausted and unoxygenated to come visit the pediatric oncology ward where Harper has spent so much time, the nurses have taped her drawings up around the room.
They’ll visit him when her chemo bag is empty, to cheer him up and help wash away his guilt for not being here, misplaced as it is. Noah isn’t Harper’s father. He’s just a friend Crockett made, the only one he has since coming to Chicago. Yet, he’s always here, dependable even when his lips tinge a little purple or he has a coughing fit behind his blue medical mask.
Harper had asked for him when the nurse brought her chemo, citing the fact that it doesn’t ache as much when Noah is here. She calls him Noah in her small voice, but Crockett can nearly imagine a fatherly substitution. It’s silly, he thinks. He’s just lonely. He just misses having another person who loves Harper as much as him and can help him stay upright when the grief tugs him down.
Thinking about the times when Harper was still alive but Crockett couldn’t be on his antipsychotics because he had to pay for her cancer treatments. His episodes were getting worse and he knew he was risking a lot doing this but he had to keep Harper alive and fighting.
The worst was when the delusions would wake him up. His most common auditory hallucination was Harper screaming in absolute agony. It would go on for hours, even though he could see on her monitor that she was fast asleep. His brain convinced him that she was being hurt and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. The bugs would whisper harshly over the sound, going on about how he was a horrible father not doing anything to save her.
The only thing that helped was when he sat in her room, watching her peacefully sleep until his brain stopped lying to him. Other times he would pick her up gently from her bed, bringing her to sleep beside him so he could keep an eye on her. When his daughter was comfortably settled in his arms, one of her tiny hands resting on his cheek, the screaming would stop; at least for a little while.
The wind rattles through the shards of the broken window. All Crockett can do is stare. He’s paralyzed, unable to move but in unbearable pain as someone suckles from a wound on his neck. They broke it first so he couldn’t fight back, couldn’t protect himself or his tiny daughter crying and screaming on a woman’s hip in the corner.
He struggles to move but not a finger twitches. He wishes he could at least scream. A single tear drips from the corner of his eye.
“Aww, he’s crying,” someone coos, and kicks him in the ribs to make his lifeless body roll. The one feeding growls and digs her teeth in harder. He can hear his flesh rip. “Think it hurts?”
“I think he’s worried about the baby,” says the one holding Harper. She cries louder. “Don’t worry, she’s not even enough for a snack.”
Crockett has a moment to be grateful that his daughter will be spared this agony before another vampire finds a mouthful on his shoulder, tearing through his shirt to get to his warm, damp skin. He’s going to die, he suddenly realizes, and it’s going to fucking hurt.
