Lost Girl fanfic - At My Side
Title: At My Side
Rating: PG-13 for descriptions of violence.
Pairing: Bo/Lauren = Doccubus
Summary: Takes place sometime after 3x03, Confaegion. When Lauren is badly injured in an attack by a group of underfae, she struggles to piece together her hazy memories as she recovers, even as she remains constantly aware of the presence of the succubus close to her.
Disclaimer: Lost Girl doesn’t belong to me. Lost Girl is the property of Showcase, Prodigy Pictures, CanWest, Michelle Lovretta and all those fine folks. No copyright infringement is intended.
I can sense the smile in Bo’s voice as she replies to my flirtatious tone. I can’t help but grin, as I tell her that I’ll be making a stop at the Dal and then be right over. And that if she’s good, we can do a little role playing tonight. Where I’ll play the good doctor and she’ll be the obedient patient. I’ll even wear my lab coat.
When she grumbles about the futility of wearing clothes in the first place, I reply that I’m still wearing the lab coat, regardless of her protests. I pause for maximum effect, than utter the magic words. Only the lab coat.
My grin threatens to grow even wider as I hear Bo’s breath catch in anticipation. She asks if I’m secretly a succubus in disguise. I laugh and tell her that my blood tests are normal - that I’m 100% human. And that she hasn’t seen this human’s entire range of positions in bed - yet.
I hear what I’m sure is a pillow stuffed in my girlfriend’s mouth to stifle a squeak. Followed by a groan of frustration, and a command to get my cute little doctor’s ass over to the clubhouse, stat!
Biting my lip to keep my laughter contained this time, I repeat that I’ll be over right after I talk to Trick and drop off some books I’ve had out on loan. I reassure her that I’ll keep the meeting with her grandfather brief. Extremely brief.
I end the call and put my pocket my phone, my senses enveloped in a happy daze. Most days, I still can’t believe that this is happening - that after all Bo and I have been through and done to each other, that we’ve reached this point in our relationship. That we’re even acknowledging that it is a relationship.
The mornings I wake up in her arms, I find myself pausing before I fully open my eyes. I inhale a lungful of her scent and hold it for several seconds, as my fingers reflexively tighten on the firm body beneath me. I want to know that it’s not a dream. And if it is, I want to stay in that nebulous space between wakefulness and sleep for one more precious second longer. Then I feel long fingers gently combing through my hair, and a low voice whispering good morning, before tiny kisses are dropped on my head, my cheeks and finally upon my willing lips. And my chest expands with a mixture of relief and euphoria, as I lose myself in her. And I relinquish the fact that it’s not a dream.
They have surrounded me before I’m even aware of their presence. My head jerks up, as I’m abruptly pulled out of my thoughts, sensing the charged energy in the air around me. I smell them before I see them - unwashed bodies, mixed with a lingering odor of rotting soil. The first shadow moves out of the darkness into the light cast by a single, low-watt bulb. My body tenses as I recognize the type of underfae before me - a grotesquely muscular frame that is over six feet tall, covered in tribal tattoos - a troll.
The underfae hisses out a command, as his forked tongue sputters from his lips. My bag and laptop. I give a negative shake of my head, as I refuse in a firm tone. This research is more precious to me than any amount of money or favors. It contains not only crucial data on many types of fae, but the latest work I’ve done in trying to refine Bo’s injections. Trying to find a serum, anything, to replace the strength I know she’s losing in remaining faithful to me. Bo thinks I haven’t noticed, but I know she’s weakening every day. She can barely heal herself, much less anyone else. This research could mean life or death for the woman I love. And I will not part with it easily.
I hear a similar hiss, as my peripheral vision picks up another troll to my left. He snarls that neither one of them will ask again. They’ll crush my puny human skull if I dare move.
Balancing my weight on the balls of my feet, I tense my muscles as I refuse again. Even though the pulse point is jumping in my carotid artery, I keep my voice level. I calmly, logically state that no matter who has sent them, they’ll need me intact and unharmed to interpret the research. You need to have more experience and intelligence than a common lab tech to understand what I do.
Ignoring my argument, the troll in front of me lunges forward. But I am ready. I remember what Bo once told me when she faced similar trolls during her trial. Trolls are incredibly strong, but slow and ungainly. The troll’s arms close around my waist, but finds only air, as I roll between his legs. I regain my footing and start to run, ignoring the confused howls of the two underfae behind me. Pumping my arms, I force more speed from my muscles, knowing that if I’m lucky, I can outrun them.
I round the corner and see the lamp of the Dal at the far end of the alley, just a few blocks away. My lungs are starting to burn and heave with the effort, but I press on. So close.
The third troll takes me by complete surprise as a fist crashes into my side. My legs fly out from under me, as I literally become airborne from the force of the blow. I land hard on my side, then roll stomach down, disoriented, panting.
Pressing my palms into the sharp gravel beneath me, I struggle to push myself to my knees. But my strength is gone. My breath escapes from my lips in a thin wheeze, as I feel the pressure in my chest building. The pain flares through my right side, hitting me so hard, I bite my lip until I taste blood. My brain races as I catalog my injury. Pneumothorax. My ribs are broken, possibly crushed, one or more having penetrated my lung. I won’t be able to breathe like this for long. Unless I get help soon, I’ll die.
Through a monumental effort, I move again, managing to shuffle awkwardly forward on my forearms. Ignoring the groan that comes from my lips as I feel the damaged bone and tissue within me shift. Ignoring the heavy, lumbering footsteps behind me. I can still see the lamp of the Dal through my blurred vision, calling to me like a beacon.
I hear a low growl as the troll crouches over me. He pays no attention to my cry of pain as he rips my bag from my shoulder. I can feel a shifting of wind as a heavy fist advances toward my head.
A strange, hollow crack echoes through my ears. Darkness.
___
Floating. Flying? No control of my body. My arms and legs hang, useless.
My body jerks. Trying to wake up. Wake up! No! They have me, they’re carrying me. Struggle. Can’t escape. Too weak. They’re too strong. Please. Please don’t hurt me again.
Warmth. Her pulse, her touch. Calming me. I relax. Feel her press my body against her own. My head. Cradled upon her chest.
She whispers. Got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.
___
Wood. I feel wood underneath me. Fingers explore the weathered bar top. Smell alcohol. The Dal?
Cloth gently pressed to my head. I whimper. Can’t stop the tears. Head split open. Feels like it’s going to explode.
Sorry. She apologizes. Her voice anguished. Her fingers. Wiping at my wet cheeks. Got to stop the bleeding.
Rumbling, male voices. The wolf. The Blood King. They’ve called for help. Ambulance. Light fae lab.
Getting harder to breathe. Voices raised in concern, argument. The Blood King speaks, sure, unfaltering. He has seen this injury before. Need to get items quickly. Her knife. The strongest alcohol available. Clean towels. A small, hollow tube. A pen would do fine.
She argues, no. She can’t do this. She can’t hurt me. Her grandfather is tough, determined. Grips her arm, tight. Says I will die before help comes. If she is not strong enough. She nods. Tears in her brown eyes.
Everything is ready. She rips my shirt open. Alcohol swabbed on my side. Poured over knife. Shaking, my hand takes her wrist. Positions the knife point at the right angle. I nod. I trust her. Trust her with my life. To save my life.
Strong hands hold me down. I take a last breath. So does she. Can’t move. Have to stay still. Or else I’ll die.
The blade pierces my side. Deeper. Through muscle. Through tissue. Don’t know whose scream is louder. Hers or mine.
Feel the hollow pen inserted. Quickly. Before I can take another breath. Then I take another. And another. It worked. Breathing comes easier.
She kisses my forehead over and over. Sorry, so sorry I had to hurt you.
I try to smile. Try to reassure her, but can’t. Too tired. My head lolls to the side. Darkness again.
___
Fighting. Trying to escape their grasp. Won’t let the underfae take my research. Won’t let them take her from me. What could be her last hope.
Sweating. Tangled in something. Fist lashes out, feeling a stinging pain. Where am I? They have me, they must have me…
Her arms surround me. Heat pulses through me. Calm. She’s with me again.
Shh. You’re safe. I’m here. I’m always here.
She untangles the sheets from my legs. Presses her fingers against my wrist, stopping the bleeding. Torn out IV. Monitors beeping erratically.
Still so tired. Fading away.
___
Fire. The world is on fire. The mortar shell explodes in front of the truck. The force of the blast knocks me back in my seat.
Wresting my way out of the damaged door, I get out, unharmed. Feel the sting of sand in my eyes, in my mouth. The charred heat on the back of my tongue. The smell of burnt bodies. Almost tastes like barbeque.
I make my way to the first one still alive. Harrison, a young kid I’ve come to admire. He’s only 22. From Fresno, California. He calls me the prettiest doctor on base.
He’s in bad shape. The right leg is gone from the thigh down, destroyed by the IED. Quickly, I fashion a tourniquet, even as I feel his body going into shock. Stay with me kid, stay with me. Blood spurts out of his mouth. I turn his head towards me to look into those green eyes. Don’t give up on me, kid.
I recoil in horror. It’s not Harrison. It’s her. Her eyes. Her face. Her beautiful brown eyes. The life is fading in them, faster than I can repair the damage. I rip open her uniform. Shrapnel deep in the chest, in the heart. I start CPR, but nothing. She is gone.
I raise my hands and feel them coated her with her blood. Still so warm, so red. Blood soaking through the sand, through my uniform as I kneel next to her. So much blood.
___
Blood. The blood continues. My throat is filled with it. I cough, trying to get rid of the blood. Can’t breathe. Lungs are filling with blood.
I feel her grasp my body. Turn me on my side. Her voice, panicking, screaming for help.
Coughing never ends. Blood on the pillowcase. Blood on the sheets. Feel like I’m going to cough forever and never breathe.
A breath. Another. Relief.
Darkness again.
__
More beeping. Steady beeping. My hand twitches. I try to move it. Can’t. It’s captured in her grasp.
I hear her voice. It’s pleading, begging. Filled with tears.
Come back to me. Lauren, please come back to me.
I love you.
I try to smile, to respond. Can’t. Frozen.
Darkness again.
___
My tongue explores my mouth, as I taste dry cotton and a hint of blood. Water. I could use some water. Or maybe a drink, since my head is pounding so hard.
I inhale a breath, then another. That’s better. The pain in my side is still present, but manageable.
Fingers graze the bandage on my head so lightly, I’m not even sure if they’re there. They move to cup my cheek, replaced by a pair of lips. Her voice reaches my ears.
Lauren? Sweetie, can you hear me?
My eyes open to the sight of her face, as radiant and gorgeous as ever.
“Bo.” I whisper. “My Bo.”
She laughs through her tears, as she drops kisses on my cheeks, my forehead and my lips. I tell her not to cry. That I remember her. I know who she is. Which means I’ll be fine.
We are interrupted by Kenzi as she bounds into the room. Seeing that I’m awake, she proceeds welcome back the mighty Dr. Hotpants and proclaims that the succubus is not the only one who knows a thing or two about healing. That I do a pretty damn fine job of healing myself.
The younger girl pauses in exclamations and comes to the other side of the bed. Leaning down, she drops a kiss on my forehead, saying how much she missed me. Since a sad, devastated succubus put to shame any previous succubus break ups that she’d witnessed.
Kenzi turns serious for a moment and says that she’s glad I woke up, since it means that her best friend could now go out and get a real meal of ice cream and pizza. She says that Bo has not left my side in five days.
I gaze at her, feeling the tears well in my eyes at the depth of such love that her actions have revealed. She shrugs offhandedly, saying that of course she wouldn’t leave me. She is playing it off as nothing, but I can tell she’s trying to keep from tearing up again.
The only thing that wrested her from my side was word from Dyson this morning that he had tracked down those that had attacked me. I see the flicker of cobalt blue in her eyes and know that the trolls are now no more. And she reassures me that my research was found, unharmed.
Kenzi gives me a gentle hug, gives her friend a good natured punch in the arm, and turns to leave. But not before saying she’ll be back to sneak in the best pizza that the city has to offer.
I see her shake her head, bemused, before she stands up and strips her jacket and boots off. She slides into bed with me, careful to avoid the myriad of wires and tubes that are attached to my body.
I sigh contentedly as I lay my head on her chest, listening to the comforting sound of her heartbeat. Feeling her fingers delicately stroking my back. Knowing that I will be fine. Knowing that I have my Bo.
Rating: PG-13 for descriptions of violence.
Pairing: Bo/Lauren = Doccubus
Summary: Takes place sometime after 3x03, Confaegion. When Lauren is badly injured in an attack by a group of underfae, she struggles to piece together her hazy memories as she recovers, even as she remains constantly aware of the presence of the succubus close to her.
Disclaimer: Lost Girl doesn’t belong to me. Lost Girl is the property of Showcase, Prodigy Pictures, CanWest, Michelle Lovretta and all those fine folks. No copyright infringement is intended.
I can sense the smile in Bo’s voice as she replies to my flirtatious tone. I can’t help but grin, as I tell her that I’ll be making a stop at the Dal and then be right over. And that if she’s good, we can do a little role playing tonight. Where I’ll play the good doctor and she’ll be the obedient patient. I’ll even wear my lab coat.
When she grumbles about the futility of wearing clothes in the first place, I reply that I’m still wearing the lab coat, regardless of her protests. I pause for maximum effect, than utter the magic words. Only the lab coat.
My grin threatens to grow even wider as I hear Bo’s breath catch in anticipation. She asks if I’m secretly a succubus in disguise. I laugh and tell her that my blood tests are normal - that I’m 100% human. And that she hasn’t seen this human’s entire range of positions in bed - yet.
I hear what I’m sure is a pillow stuffed in my girlfriend’s mouth to stifle a squeak. Followed by a groan of frustration, and a command to get my cute little doctor’s ass over to the clubhouse, stat!
Biting my lip to keep my laughter contained this time, I repeat that I’ll be over right after I talk to Trick and drop off some books I’ve had out on loan. I reassure her that I’ll keep the meeting with her grandfather brief. Extremely brief.
I end the call and put my pocket my phone, my senses enveloped in a happy daze. Most days, I still can’t believe that this is happening - that after all Bo and I have been through and done to each other, that we’ve reached this point in our relationship. That we’re even acknowledging that it is a relationship.
The mornings I wake up in her arms, I find myself pausing before I fully open my eyes. I inhale a lungful of her scent and hold it for several seconds, as my fingers reflexively tighten on the firm body beneath me. I want to know that it’s not a dream. And if it is, I want to stay in that nebulous space between wakefulness and sleep for one more precious second longer. Then I feel long fingers gently combing through my hair, and a low voice whispering good morning, before tiny kisses are dropped on my head, my cheeks and finally upon my willing lips. And my chest expands with a mixture of relief and euphoria, as I lose myself in her. And I relinquish the fact that it’s not a dream.
They have surrounded me before I’m even aware of their presence. My head jerks up, as I’m abruptly pulled out of my thoughts, sensing the charged energy in the air around me. I smell them before I see them - unwashed bodies, mixed with a lingering odor of rotting soil. The first shadow moves out of the darkness into the light cast by a single, low-watt bulb. My body tenses as I recognize the type of underfae before me - a grotesquely muscular frame that is over six feet tall, covered in tribal tattoos - a troll.
The underfae hisses out a command, as his forked tongue sputters from his lips. My bag and laptop. I give a negative shake of my head, as I refuse in a firm tone. This research is more precious to me than any amount of money or favors. It contains not only crucial data on many types of fae, but the latest work I’ve done in trying to refine Bo’s injections. Trying to find a serum, anything, to replace the strength I know she’s losing in remaining faithful to me. Bo thinks I haven’t noticed, but I know she’s weakening every day. She can barely heal herself, much less anyone else. This research could mean life or death for the woman I love. And I will not part with it easily.
I hear a similar hiss, as my peripheral vision picks up another troll to my left. He snarls that neither one of them will ask again. They’ll crush my puny human skull if I dare move.
Balancing my weight on the balls of my feet, I tense my muscles as I refuse again. Even though the pulse point is jumping in my carotid artery, I keep my voice level. I calmly, logically state that no matter who has sent them, they’ll need me intact and unharmed to interpret the research. You need to have more experience and intelligence than a common lab tech to understand what I do.
Ignoring my argument, the troll in front of me lunges forward. But I am ready. I remember what Bo once told me when she faced similar trolls during her trial. Trolls are incredibly strong, but slow and ungainly. The troll’s arms close around my waist, but finds only air, as I roll between his legs. I regain my footing and start to run, ignoring the confused howls of the two underfae behind me. Pumping my arms, I force more speed from my muscles, knowing that if I’m lucky, I can outrun them.
I round the corner and see the lamp of the Dal at the far end of the alley, just a few blocks away. My lungs are starting to burn and heave with the effort, but I press on. So close.
The third troll takes me by complete surprise as a fist crashes into my side. My legs fly out from under me, as I literally become airborne from the force of the blow. I land hard on my side, then roll stomach down, disoriented, panting.
Pressing my palms into the sharp gravel beneath me, I struggle to push myself to my knees. But my strength is gone. My breath escapes from my lips in a thin wheeze, as I feel the pressure in my chest building. The pain flares through my right side, hitting me so hard, I bite my lip until I taste blood. My brain races as I catalog my injury. Pneumothorax. My ribs are broken, possibly crushed, one or more having penetrated my lung. I won’t be able to breathe like this for long. Unless I get help soon, I’ll die.
Through a monumental effort, I move again, managing to shuffle awkwardly forward on my forearms. Ignoring the groan that comes from my lips as I feel the damaged bone and tissue within me shift. Ignoring the heavy, lumbering footsteps behind me. I can still see the lamp of the Dal through my blurred vision, calling to me like a beacon.
I hear a low growl as the troll crouches over me. He pays no attention to my cry of pain as he rips my bag from my shoulder. I can feel a shifting of wind as a heavy fist advances toward my head.
A strange, hollow crack echoes through my ears. Darkness.
___
Floating. Flying? No control of my body. My arms and legs hang, useless.
My body jerks. Trying to wake up. Wake up! No! They have me, they’re carrying me. Struggle. Can’t escape. Too weak. They’re too strong. Please. Please don’t hurt me again.
Warmth. Her pulse, her touch. Calming me. I relax. Feel her press my body against her own. My head. Cradled upon her chest.
She whispers. Got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.
___
Wood. I feel wood underneath me. Fingers explore the weathered bar top. Smell alcohol. The Dal?
Cloth gently pressed to my head. I whimper. Can’t stop the tears. Head split open. Feels like it’s going to explode.
Sorry. She apologizes. Her voice anguished. Her fingers. Wiping at my wet cheeks. Got to stop the bleeding.
Rumbling, male voices. The wolf. The Blood King. They’ve called for help. Ambulance. Light fae lab.
Getting harder to breathe. Voices raised in concern, argument. The Blood King speaks, sure, unfaltering. He has seen this injury before. Need to get items quickly. Her knife. The strongest alcohol available. Clean towels. A small, hollow tube. A pen would do fine.
She argues, no. She can’t do this. She can’t hurt me. Her grandfather is tough, determined. Grips her arm, tight. Says I will die before help comes. If she is not strong enough. She nods. Tears in her brown eyes.
Everything is ready. She rips my shirt open. Alcohol swabbed on my side. Poured over knife. Shaking, my hand takes her wrist. Positions the knife point at the right angle. I nod. I trust her. Trust her with my life. To save my life.
Strong hands hold me down. I take a last breath. So does she. Can’t move. Have to stay still. Or else I’ll die.
The blade pierces my side. Deeper. Through muscle. Through tissue. Don’t know whose scream is louder. Hers or mine.
Feel the hollow pen inserted. Quickly. Before I can take another breath. Then I take another. And another. It worked. Breathing comes easier.
She kisses my forehead over and over. Sorry, so sorry I had to hurt you.
I try to smile. Try to reassure her, but can’t. Too tired. My head lolls to the side. Darkness again.
___
Fighting. Trying to escape their grasp. Won’t let the underfae take my research. Won’t let them take her from me. What could be her last hope.
Sweating. Tangled in something. Fist lashes out, feeling a stinging pain. Where am I? They have me, they must have me…
Her arms surround me. Heat pulses through me. Calm. She’s with me again.
Shh. You’re safe. I’m here. I’m always here.
She untangles the sheets from my legs. Presses her fingers against my wrist, stopping the bleeding. Torn out IV. Monitors beeping erratically.
Still so tired. Fading away.
___
Fire. The world is on fire. The mortar shell explodes in front of the truck. The force of the blast knocks me back in my seat.
Wresting my way out of the damaged door, I get out, unharmed. Feel the sting of sand in my eyes, in my mouth. The charred heat on the back of my tongue. The smell of burnt bodies. Almost tastes like barbeque.
I make my way to the first one still alive. Harrison, a young kid I’ve come to admire. He’s only 22. From Fresno, California. He calls me the prettiest doctor on base.
He’s in bad shape. The right leg is gone from the thigh down, destroyed by the IED. Quickly, I fashion a tourniquet, even as I feel his body going into shock. Stay with me kid, stay with me. Blood spurts out of his mouth. I turn his head towards me to look into those green eyes. Don’t give up on me, kid.
I recoil in horror. It’s not Harrison. It’s her. Her eyes. Her face. Her beautiful brown eyes. The life is fading in them, faster than I can repair the damage. I rip open her uniform. Shrapnel deep in the chest, in the heart. I start CPR, but nothing. She is gone.
I raise my hands and feel them coated her with her blood. Still so warm, so red. Blood soaking through the sand, through my uniform as I kneel next to her. So much blood.
___
Blood. The blood continues. My throat is filled with it. I cough, trying to get rid of the blood. Can’t breathe. Lungs are filling with blood.
I feel her grasp my body. Turn me on my side. Her voice, panicking, screaming for help.
Coughing never ends. Blood on the pillowcase. Blood on the sheets. Feel like I’m going to cough forever and never breathe.
A breath. Another. Relief.
Darkness again.
__
More beeping. Steady beeping. My hand twitches. I try to move it. Can’t. It’s captured in her grasp.
I hear her voice. It’s pleading, begging. Filled with tears.
Come back to me. Lauren, please come back to me.
I love you.
I try to smile, to respond. Can’t. Frozen.
Darkness again.
___
My tongue explores my mouth, as I taste dry cotton and a hint of blood. Water. I could use some water. Or maybe a drink, since my head is pounding so hard.
I inhale a breath, then another. That’s better. The pain in my side is still present, but manageable.
Fingers graze the bandage on my head so lightly, I’m not even sure if they’re there. They move to cup my cheek, replaced by a pair of lips. Her voice reaches my ears.
Lauren? Sweetie, can you hear me?
My eyes open to the sight of her face, as radiant and gorgeous as ever.
“Bo.” I whisper. “My Bo.”
She laughs through her tears, as she drops kisses on my cheeks, my forehead and my lips. I tell her not to cry. That I remember her. I know who she is. Which means I’ll be fine.
We are interrupted by Kenzi as she bounds into the room. Seeing that I’m awake, she proceeds welcome back the mighty Dr. Hotpants and proclaims that the succubus is not the only one who knows a thing or two about healing. That I do a pretty damn fine job of healing myself.
The younger girl pauses in exclamations and comes to the other side of the bed. Leaning down, she drops a kiss on my forehead, saying how much she missed me. Since a sad, devastated succubus put to shame any previous succubus break ups that she’d witnessed.
Kenzi turns serious for a moment and says that she’s glad I woke up, since it means that her best friend could now go out and get a real meal of ice cream and pizza. She says that Bo has not left my side in five days.
I gaze at her, feeling the tears well in my eyes at the depth of such love that her actions have revealed. She shrugs offhandedly, saying that of course she wouldn’t leave me. She is playing it off as nothing, but I can tell she’s trying to keep from tearing up again.
The only thing that wrested her from my side was word from Dyson this morning that he had tracked down those that had attacked me. I see the flicker of cobalt blue in her eyes and know that the trolls are now no more. And she reassures me that my research was found, unharmed.
Kenzi gives me a gentle hug, gives her friend a good natured punch in the arm, and turns to leave. But not before saying she’ll be back to sneak in the best pizza that the city has to offer.
I see her shake her head, bemused, before she stands up and strips her jacket and boots off. She slides into bed with me, careful to avoid the myriad of wires and tubes that are attached to my body.
I sigh contentedly as I lay my head on her chest, listening to the comforting sound of her heartbeat. Feeling her fingers delicately stroking my back. Knowing that I will be fine. Knowing that I have my Bo.