Fic: High on the Pain
Title: High on the Pain
Author: kaylynnkie
Disclaimer: Not mine
Pairing: Eduardo & Mark friendship
Summary: Eduardo is in a car accident. What happens when Priscilla tells Mark that he is still Eduardo's medical proxy?
Word Count: ~1,500
Warnings/Rating: none
Notes: Written forlmx-v3point3 's prompt over at comment_fic; “ Any, Any, "Are you crying?" "It's the morphine." ”
Mark never left early without letting someone know. He would forget about eating, showering or his girlfriend's birthday dinner, but he never just vanished. It wasn't that difficult to figure out where he was at any given moment. Yet, here it was, Tuesday at half past three, and he was rushing by Joy with his laptop bag and cell phone clutched tightly.
“I need to go to Summit Hopsital. I'm taking a taxi, take messages, cancel meetings. I'm sorry,” he said, breathing heavily and looking distraught.
A feeling of fear welled up in her chest, and she stood. “Mark, can I help you? Are you sick?”
He was instantly sorry that he had made her upset. He could tell by the way her mouth was open in a small 'o' and how her eyebrows were all scrunched up. She had been working for him so long that she remembered the pajama meeting that he tried in vain to forget. She knew that sometimes, on very rare occasions, he drank tea, usually after fighting with someone on the phone.
“Is Priscilla okay?”
“Yeah. It's...complicated. I have to go. The taxi's waiting.”
She watched his retreating back until he was long gone. When the phone rang, it took three rings before she noticed and answered.
In an ER, Mark felt like he was a little kid, a little kid who hadn't done anything right. His clothes were wrong, he was talking too loud and he was nervous. He'd never been so nervous or scared before. Not even when Eduardo had broken his laptop over the table that time. Not when Eduardo had walked out of the deposition for the last time. Not even when he called up a week after the final signing to ask about whether or not it was true that he owned more than Sean Parker and started to cry. He had obviously been drunk. Mark refused to consider that he would have started to cry otherwise.
He walked up to the reception and tried to ignore the people crying, holding their loved ones close to them and shooting dark glares at the doors leading to the mysterious treatment ward.
“Saverin? Um.” He cleared his throat. “I'm here because of Eduardo Saverin.”
The man looked up at him, then turned to look at the stack of folders to his left. Mark saw Eduardo's name immediately and wanted to point to it, to say something but found that he was unable to move. Finding the folder didn't prove to be that difficult as the man managed to locate it on his own and frowned when he opened it.
“I just have to notify the doctor. Mr. Saverin is currently restricted on visitors. I'll be right back.”
He sat down, next to a little girl with a worried look on her face. The woman next to her, mother probably his brain supplied, was coughing viscous pink fluid into a paper towel. He thought about Priscilla's phone call.
“Mark, you need to go. He's in critical condition, and his parents aren't reachable.”
“He has a family that's supposed to do that.”
“And yet, you're his proxy. Why do you think that might be?” She hadn't waited for an answer. “Mark, he is in a fucking hospital. Do you have any idea how frightened he's going to be? And if he can't be trusted to make decisions on his own, he must be seriously hurt.”
“They didn't tell you?”
“I'm not his proxy. You are.”
He had laughed, not really thinking about what she was saying. “You used to get so pissed when I left to go hang out with him.”
“Mark!” Her tone sobered him. “He could die,” she said softly. “He could die and then you'll never get to be friends again. I never wanted anything like that. I don't hate him. Go on. You need to go right now. Hang up the phone. I already called the taxi, and it's waiting for you.”
“Mr. Zuckerberg? Can you come with me please?” Doctors always seemed so much taller when they had their labcoats on.
He stood up numbly, looking one last time at the coughing woman. It sounded awful, and her daughter didn't look older than thirteen.
“Mr. Saverin is in quite a state. They surgical team is still drawing up a plan for how they're going to remove the glass and stop the bleed in his liver.” His words started to blend together, and Mark found himself staring numbly at the floor. The doctor cleared his throat. Mark looked up.
He looked sideways before saying, “He's incapable of signing the documents himself. We need you to authorize on his behalf and let us go ahead with the procedure.”
“Can't you just go ahead with it since he's seriously injured?”
The doctor looked sheepish. “Listen to me. He won't agree to surgery. I think he's hallucinating, but he won't consent to anything, and the psychologists can't declare him incompetent if he's not definitively incompetent. Talk to him.”
“You're breaking the law.”
“Please. He's going to die.”
But Mark was shaking his head. He had stopped following. “I can't make him if he doesn't want to.”
The doctor was forceful now. His name was Dr. Sharif. It said so on his name badge. “Mr. Zuckerberg, that man is going to die because he's stubborn or angry or just stupid, but he put your name down as his proxy for a reason. Picking a proxy means that you just trust that person with your life, with everything when you can't be trusted. That's an incredible amount of responsibility and trust to place in one person.”
Well, no shit.
“I'll talk to him.”
Sharif smiled, relieved. “Good. Here.”
The room was dark with several stall like structures. A thick curtain partitioned the beds from one another, and there was a soft din of families talking to one another. Eduardo was lying on his side, while a nurse inserted a needle into his shoulder to draw blood. When she was done, and she rolled him back over he understood why. Eduardo's arms were covered with scrapes and cuts and the small space where there was no bruising or cuts was occupied by a needle connected to several bags of important looking fluids. Eduardo's eyes were closed, though his eyes appeared to be moving rabidly beneath them.
“He's in and out. The papers are at the end of the bed.” He nodded towards them once before leaving.
Eduardo looked like shit. From what he had gathered, Eduardo's seatbelt had failed and he's gone through the windshield when the driver of a motorcycle ran a red light and the taxi driver couldn't stop in time. There were shiny bruises of all kinds over his face that made the small shards of glass seem shinier. His left eye was swollen and oozing something that looked like it was more important inside than out.
Mark sat down with a sigh. Priscilla was a lot better at this than he was. He reached for Eduardo's hand, surprised when the fingers curled around his. The grip was weak, nothing like those times when Eduardo would drag him off to a party or to go do something outside, away from the internet.
“You can't make decisions.”
“Says who?” His voice was muffled, weakened by the drugs and the mask around his mouth, but Mark understood what he meant to say. He made to move it away, but the gesture was too much. His hand fell back to the mattress.
His thumb stroked back and forth across the once smooth skin that was speckled with flaky, dry blood. “You can't choose to die, Wardo. It's not something your father would approve of.”
A soft sound like a laugh wheezed out of him, and the fingers in Mark's hands twitched.
“They can't let a young, vital Harvard grad die when a minimally invasive surgery could save him.” He reached for Wardo's cheek with his other hand. “I don't know why you want to die, but we can talk about it when you wake up. I'm signing those papers.”
He turned away and scrawled his signature across the documents. When he turned back, Wardo's entire body was trembling, and he was trying to hide his face. Dismayed, he reached up.
“What is it? What's wrong?”
He took off the oxygen mask. There were long, wet trails down Eduardo's cheeks. Twin trails.
"Are you crying?"
Wardo's voice was heavy and thick, accented with a touch of something South American. He sounded angry and sad at the same time. "It's the morphine."
Of course. Eduardo would never say that it hurt. Even if he couldn't bear it.
Author: kaylynnkie
Disclaimer: Not mine
Pairing: Eduardo & Mark friendship
Summary: Eduardo is in a car accident. What happens when Priscilla tells Mark that he is still Eduardo's medical proxy?
Word Count: ~1,500
Warnings/Rating: none
Notes: Written forlmx-v3point3 's prompt over at comment_fic; “ Any, Any, "Are you crying?" "It's the morphine." ”
Mark never left early without letting someone know. He would forget about eating, showering or his girlfriend's birthday dinner, but he never just vanished. It wasn't that difficult to figure out where he was at any given moment. Yet, here it was, Tuesday at half past three, and he was rushing by Joy with his laptop bag and cell phone clutched tightly.
“I need to go to Summit Hopsital. I'm taking a taxi, take messages, cancel meetings. I'm sorry,” he said, breathing heavily and looking distraught.
A feeling of fear welled up in her chest, and she stood. “Mark, can I help you? Are you sick?”
He was instantly sorry that he had made her upset. He could tell by the way her mouth was open in a small 'o' and how her eyebrows were all scrunched up. She had been working for him so long that she remembered the pajama meeting that he tried in vain to forget. She knew that sometimes, on very rare occasions, he drank tea, usually after fighting with someone on the phone.
“Is Priscilla okay?”
“Yeah. It's...complicated. I have to go. The taxi's waiting.”
She watched his retreating back until he was long gone. When the phone rang, it took three rings before she noticed and answered.
In an ER, Mark felt like he was a little kid, a little kid who hadn't done anything right. His clothes were wrong, he was talking too loud and he was nervous. He'd never been so nervous or scared before. Not even when Eduardo had broken his laptop over the table that time. Not when Eduardo had walked out of the deposition for the last time. Not even when he called up a week after the final signing to ask about whether or not it was true that he owned more than Sean Parker and started to cry. He had obviously been drunk. Mark refused to consider that he would have started to cry otherwise.
He walked up to the reception and tried to ignore the people crying, holding their loved ones close to them and shooting dark glares at the doors leading to the mysterious treatment ward.
“Saverin? Um.” He cleared his throat. “I'm here because of Eduardo Saverin.”
The man looked up at him, then turned to look at the stack of folders to his left. Mark saw Eduardo's name immediately and wanted to point to it, to say something but found that he was unable to move. Finding the folder didn't prove to be that difficult as the man managed to locate it on his own and frowned when he opened it.
“I just have to notify the doctor. Mr. Saverin is currently restricted on visitors. I'll be right back.”
He sat down, next to a little girl with a worried look on her face. The woman next to her, mother probably his brain supplied, was coughing viscous pink fluid into a paper towel. He thought about Priscilla's phone call.
“Mark, you need to go. He's in critical condition, and his parents aren't reachable.”
“He has a family that's supposed to do that.”
“And yet, you're his proxy. Why do you think that might be?” She hadn't waited for an answer. “Mark, he is in a fucking hospital. Do you have any idea how frightened he's going to be? And if he can't be trusted to make decisions on his own, he must be seriously hurt.”
“They didn't tell you?”
“I'm not his proxy. You are.”
He had laughed, not really thinking about what she was saying. “You used to get so pissed when I left to go hang out with him.”
“Mark!” Her tone sobered him. “He could die,” she said softly. “He could die and then you'll never get to be friends again. I never wanted anything like that. I don't hate him. Go on. You need to go right now. Hang up the phone. I already called the taxi, and it's waiting for you.”
“Mr. Zuckerberg? Can you come with me please?” Doctors always seemed so much taller when they had their labcoats on.
He stood up numbly, looking one last time at the coughing woman. It sounded awful, and her daughter didn't look older than thirteen.
“Mr. Saverin is in quite a state. They surgical team is still drawing up a plan for how they're going to remove the glass and stop the bleed in his liver.” His words started to blend together, and Mark found himself staring numbly at the floor. The doctor cleared his throat. Mark looked up.
He looked sideways before saying, “He's incapable of signing the documents himself. We need you to authorize on his behalf and let us go ahead with the procedure.”
“Can't you just go ahead with it since he's seriously injured?”
The doctor looked sheepish. “Listen to me. He won't agree to surgery. I think he's hallucinating, but he won't consent to anything, and the psychologists can't declare him incompetent if he's not definitively incompetent. Talk to him.”
“You're breaking the law.”
“Please. He's going to die.”
But Mark was shaking his head. He had stopped following. “I can't make him if he doesn't want to.”
The doctor was forceful now. His name was Dr. Sharif. It said so on his name badge. “Mr. Zuckerberg, that man is going to die because he's stubborn or angry or just stupid, but he put your name down as his proxy for a reason. Picking a proxy means that you just trust that person with your life, with everything when you can't be trusted. That's an incredible amount of responsibility and trust to place in one person.”
Well, no shit.
“I'll talk to him.”
Sharif smiled, relieved. “Good. Here.”
The room was dark with several stall like structures. A thick curtain partitioned the beds from one another, and there was a soft din of families talking to one another. Eduardo was lying on his side, while a nurse inserted a needle into his shoulder to draw blood. When she was done, and she rolled him back over he understood why. Eduardo's arms were covered with scrapes and cuts and the small space where there was no bruising or cuts was occupied by a needle connected to several bags of important looking fluids. Eduardo's eyes were closed, though his eyes appeared to be moving rabidly beneath them.
“He's in and out. The papers are at the end of the bed.” He nodded towards them once before leaving.
Eduardo looked like shit. From what he had gathered, Eduardo's seatbelt had failed and he's gone through the windshield when the driver of a motorcycle ran a red light and the taxi driver couldn't stop in time. There were shiny bruises of all kinds over his face that made the small shards of glass seem shinier. His left eye was swollen and oozing something that looked like it was more important inside than out.
Mark sat down with a sigh. Priscilla was a lot better at this than he was. He reached for Eduardo's hand, surprised when the fingers curled around his. The grip was weak, nothing like those times when Eduardo would drag him off to a party or to go do something outside, away from the internet.
“You can't make decisions.”
“Says who?” His voice was muffled, weakened by the drugs and the mask around his mouth, but Mark understood what he meant to say. He made to move it away, but the gesture was too much. His hand fell back to the mattress.
His thumb stroked back and forth across the once smooth skin that was speckled with flaky, dry blood. “You can't choose to die, Wardo. It's not something your father would approve of.”
A soft sound like a laugh wheezed out of him, and the fingers in Mark's hands twitched.
“They can't let a young, vital Harvard grad die when a minimally invasive surgery could save him.” He reached for Wardo's cheek with his other hand. “I don't know why you want to die, but we can talk about it when you wake up. I'm signing those papers.”
He turned away and scrawled his signature across the documents. When he turned back, Wardo's entire body was trembling, and he was trying to hide his face. Dismayed, he reached up.
“What is it? What's wrong?”
He took off the oxygen mask. There were long, wet trails down Eduardo's cheeks. Twin trails.
"Are you crying?"
Wardo's voice was heavy and thick, accented with a touch of something South American. He sounded angry and sad at the same time. "It's the morphine."
Of course. Eduardo would never say that it hurt. Even if he couldn't bear it.