First Steps to Recovery (100moods - Prompt #50: Hopeful)
Title: First Steps To Recovery
Fandom: Trauma Center
Characters: Victor Niguel, Derek Stiles, Tyler Chase
Prompt: #50 (Hopeful)
Word Count: 1158
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Swearing.
Summary: If anyone were to ask, the biggest puzzle of all is myself.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.
A/N: Written for yuka02 - request here.
First Steps To Recovery
All I've known in life are puzzles.
Some I can solve with no problems whatsoever. Like humans, for example. Stupid, idiotic, completely predictable. Lazy and pathetic, unable to think of anyone but themselves most of the time. And medical mysteries? They're as easy as breathing. That's all there is to say about that. Honestly.
Other puzzles, however... are still a complete mystery to me, though I'd never say so.
(Actions speak louder than words. I'd never admit to that, either.)
*
If anyone were to ask, the biggest puzzle of all is myself.
And I sure as hell can't solve it. I've been trying for over twenty years. Haven't even put one piece where it belongs yet.
There's a part that says researching and finding cures to life-threatening diseases is what I was born to do.
But something's not right, because it doesn't fit with anything or anyone.
(At least, it's hard to believe that that's true.)
*
If anyone, Derek can solve it. Me. It.
No one agrees with me. It. And, really, I don't blame them. He's just like them. He can't do anything without assistance at his side, without luck coming to his rescue.
But he's saving the world from GUILT. He's keeping millions of heartbeats alive and he's making the impossible become possible.
Maybe... he can do it one more time.
Maybe.
(Probably not. But maybe.)
*
Derek likes to point out the fact that he's never seen me smile, has never heard me laugh.
I don't quite give a fuck if this is true. Laughter rings through my ears and it's quite a pain in the ass, and smiles can fade away just as fast as the appeared and it's one huge disappointment after another.
It's not worth it, I say.
Derek must think differently, because he sends Tyler into my lab from time to time when there's a sign on the door that clearly says that I don't want to be disturbed. He sends Tyler to tell the best jokes he can, because he knows that he can't do it. And when I'm done yelling and chasing the annoying asshole out of my lab, I can hear Tyler saying how it was another failure and I can hear Derek saying that they'll "have to try again another day, when he seems to be in a better mood."
"Like that'll ever happen," Tyler adds as he starts to walk away.
"It will," Derek says as he pauses, then soon follows the other doctor.
Fuck that, I think as the sound of their footsteps disappears.
(But if Derek came in just once and tried, maybe I'd give a little effort.)
*
The days blend together for me. They don't have a beginning, an end, or a middle. Nothing. When the sun rises, I don't know. When people say that it's time to go home, I don't think it's nighttime.
It's always just time to keep working, to keep moving forward. Or backward. I don't really know.
Derek always seems to bring me an apple in the morning when he comes in. It's always seven o'clock then, he tells me. Seven o'clock? The only place that the number seven belongs in is in my equations.
And at night, Derek always seems to bring me a cup of coffee before he leaves. It's always eleven o'clock then, he tells me. Eleven o'clock? I'm never done by then. I'm never even close to being done by then, so I add another sleepless night to the list before the night even passes.
"Fuck off," I say. "Can't you see that I'm working? I don't need anything right now."
And he just shrugs and leaves and shuts the door, leaving the items behind where I can see them.
I--sometimes eat or drink what he brings, and he continues to do it every single day no matter how many times I tell him to leave me the hell alone.
(I don't mind, I suppose.)
*
"You have one main objective. Do everything I tell you to."
I've said it before. I'm saying it again, because they're simple words, yet effective. Right?
"What kind of objective is that!?"
Ugh. Wrong. Again.
They're still demanding, yet still vague and useless. How unfortunate.
So I tell him what I think he wants to hear. How to defeat the damn GUILT. How to save the patient when he knows it's over, when I know it's over, when everyone knows it's over.
And I have to resist the constant urge to say... what I really want to. What I really need to.
Don't. Say. Anything.
Don't even think about it.
It's not allowed anymore.
(But Derek nods even when I don't say a word, like he already knows everything.
And I already know that he knows everything.
Damn it all.)
*
Sometimes, Derek just likes to stop me in the middle of those rare times that I'm walking in the hallway.
It's a mistake--
"You need to get out and show these people what you were born to do," he says.
--a really, really huge mistake, but it's his choice, I suppose. A choice he'll regret. Hopefully.
"I'm trying, but you're in my way right now," I say harshly, quietly, because no one needs to hear this and he needs to get the point.
But he doesn't, and yet he does.
"I, for one, believe in you," he says, not moving an inch.
"Everyone does. They know what I'm capable of, so they believe in me, too."
"I'd bet my life on you."
Why is he ignoring me? So ignorant. Such a fool.
"Lives are not to be toyed with. You of all people should know that."
I try to push him out of the way, but he stops me by grabbing hold of my wrist--and I can't help but be surprised at his strength. He appears so skinny and so frail and so weak and--
Oh, wait. Wrong person.
"Sorry. But it's funny what fear does to you, isn't it?" he says, releasing his grip and walking away. He walks ever so slowly, or maybe it's just me. All I know is that he looks back once and his eyes show me that he was serious and--sad at the same time.
Whatever that means.
"I know what you mean," I say softly, hoping that my voice is inaudible. It turns out that it's not as he turns around again and smiles and it feels like a goddamn eternity before he's finally gone.
(He means that he was right and that I'm the ignorant one and that I'm the fool, not him.
...I know what that means.
I've always known what it means.
And now he knows, too.
And suddenly, the puzzle feels complete, and now, I just need to make it reality--but I won't tell him that, because he probably already knows and he's probably already planning to be there every step of the way, anyway.)
Fandom: Trauma Center
Characters: Victor Niguel, Derek Stiles, Tyler Chase
Prompt: #50 (Hopeful)
Word Count: 1158
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Swearing.
Summary: If anyone were to ask, the biggest puzzle of all is myself.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.
A/N: Written for yuka02 - request here.
First Steps To Recovery
All I've known in life are puzzles.
Some I can solve with no problems whatsoever. Like humans, for example. Stupid, idiotic, completely predictable. Lazy and pathetic, unable to think of anyone but themselves most of the time. And medical mysteries? They're as easy as breathing. That's all there is to say about that. Honestly.
Other puzzles, however... are still a complete mystery to me, though I'd never say so.
(Actions speak louder than words. I'd never admit to that, either.)
*
If anyone were to ask, the biggest puzzle of all is myself.
And I sure as hell can't solve it. I've been trying for over twenty years. Haven't even put one piece where it belongs yet.
There's a part that says researching and finding cures to life-threatening diseases is what I was born to do.
But something's not right, because it doesn't fit with anything or anyone.
(At least, it's hard to believe that that's true.)
*
If anyone, Derek can solve it. Me. It.
No one agrees with me. It. And, really, I don't blame them. He's just like them. He can't do anything without assistance at his side, without luck coming to his rescue.
But he's saving the world from GUILT. He's keeping millions of heartbeats alive and he's making the impossible become possible.
Maybe... he can do it one more time.
Maybe.
(Probably not. But maybe.)
*
Derek likes to point out the fact that he's never seen me smile, has never heard me laugh.
I don't quite give a fuck if this is true. Laughter rings through my ears and it's quite a pain in the ass, and smiles can fade away just as fast as the appeared and it's one huge disappointment after another.
It's not worth it, I say.
Derek must think differently, because he sends Tyler into my lab from time to time when there's a sign on the door that clearly says that I don't want to be disturbed. He sends Tyler to tell the best jokes he can, because he knows that he can't do it. And when I'm done yelling and chasing the annoying asshole out of my lab, I can hear Tyler saying how it was another failure and I can hear Derek saying that they'll "have to try again another day, when he seems to be in a better mood."
"Like that'll ever happen," Tyler adds as he starts to walk away.
"It will," Derek says as he pauses, then soon follows the other doctor.
Fuck that, I think as the sound of their footsteps disappears.
(But if Derek came in just once and tried, maybe I'd give a little effort.)
*
The days blend together for me. They don't have a beginning, an end, or a middle. Nothing. When the sun rises, I don't know. When people say that it's time to go home, I don't think it's nighttime.
It's always just time to keep working, to keep moving forward. Or backward. I don't really know.
Derek always seems to bring me an apple in the morning when he comes in. It's always seven o'clock then, he tells me. Seven o'clock? The only place that the number seven belongs in is in my equations.
And at night, Derek always seems to bring me a cup of coffee before he leaves. It's always eleven o'clock then, he tells me. Eleven o'clock? I'm never done by then. I'm never even close to being done by then, so I add another sleepless night to the list before the night even passes.
"Fuck off," I say. "Can't you see that I'm working? I don't need anything right now."
And he just shrugs and leaves and shuts the door, leaving the items behind where I can see them.
I--sometimes eat or drink what he brings, and he continues to do it every single day no matter how many times I tell him to leave me the hell alone.
(I don't mind, I suppose.)
*
"You have one main objective. Do everything I tell you to."
I've said it before. I'm saying it again, because they're simple words, yet effective. Right?
"What kind of objective is that!?"
Ugh. Wrong. Again.
They're still demanding, yet still vague and useless. How unfortunate.
So I tell him what I think he wants to hear. How to defeat the damn GUILT. How to save the patient when he knows it's over, when I know it's over, when everyone knows it's over.
And I have to resist the constant urge to say... what I really want to. What I really need to.
Don't. Say. Anything.
Don't even think about it.
It's not allowed anymore.
(But Derek nods even when I don't say a word, like he already knows everything.
And I already know that he knows everything.
Damn it all.)
*
Sometimes, Derek just likes to stop me in the middle of those rare times that I'm walking in the hallway.
It's a mistake--
"You need to get out and show these people what you were born to do," he says.
--a really, really huge mistake, but it's his choice, I suppose. A choice he'll regret. Hopefully.
"I'm trying, but you're in my way right now," I say harshly, quietly, because no one needs to hear this and he needs to get the point.
But he doesn't, and yet he does.
"I, for one, believe in you," he says, not moving an inch.
"Everyone does. They know what I'm capable of, so they believe in me, too."
"I'd bet my life on you."
Why is he ignoring me? So ignorant. Such a fool.
"Lives are not to be toyed with. You of all people should know that."
I try to push him out of the way, but he stops me by grabbing hold of my wrist--and I can't help but be surprised at his strength. He appears so skinny and so frail and so weak and--
Oh, wait. Wrong person.
"Sorry. But it's funny what fear does to you, isn't it?" he says, releasing his grip and walking away. He walks ever so slowly, or maybe it's just me. All I know is that he looks back once and his eyes show me that he was serious and--sad at the same time.
Whatever that means.
"I know what you mean," I say softly, hoping that my voice is inaudible. It turns out that it's not as he turns around again and smiles and it feels like a goddamn eternity before he's finally gone.
(He means that he was right and that I'm the ignorant one and that I'm the fool, not him.
...I know what that means.
I've always known what it means.
And now he knows, too.
And suddenly, the puzzle feels complete, and now, I just need to make it reality--but I won't tell him that, because he probably already knows and he's probably already planning to be there every step of the way, anyway.)