Eros and Cats Labyrinth

Who is Mephistopheles ‘Meph’ Norwish?

Google would tell you exactly what the modern public should know, but it wouldn’t be the full story. Not by a long shot. But, for the purposes of where this story begins, it will be enough. The tragedy of his existence will become apparent as medical professionals do their best to strip away the layers of this beguiling mystery. For now, enjoy the events that have brought him to his most recent predicament that lands him in a hospital under the nose of a very curious staff. The very last place in the world a man like him should be. The only information to be learned by the medical staff is what his peers and supervisors can provide them.

Boston, Massachusetts: 8pm

He had been busy in the kitchen for the last hour preparing food for his fellow firefighters. He, the most unlikely cook in the entire building, found a sense of relaxation in the quiet of the kitchen and the loose science that is cooking. He had been taught to cook by one of those people that didn’t follow recipes. It was a dash of this, a pinch, of that until it smelled just right and tasted even better. He had never been formally trained in the kitchen, but he understood the mechanics of the art and that was enough for him. Rather, no one had ever complained about the food he put on the table during their shifts and, when he worked, they never asked him not to cook. Not to mention, every plate was usually licked clean. He was laying the table with a spread fit for labor intensive men, when the siren went off. The guys, who moments before had been lounging around on couches and overstuffed arms chairs as they mindlessly watching some sporting event and bitched that the food smelled so good it was making their stomachs hurt, all jumped up and rushed to the kitchen. They grabbed handfuls of the fresh food off the plates and started shoving in their mouths as they all hurried to the garage. He laughed as he grabbed the last steak off the plate and commenced scarfing it down as he followed on the heels of his crew.

The captain was already there, having received a call minutes before he sounded the alarm to call them all to action. As the men pulled on their layers of protective gear they were briefed. “I got a call that there is a six-story office building on fire in downtown Boston. We are the closest, the fastest, and the most decorated ladder available. They estimate the blaze began about an hour ago. We will need the normal search and rescue crew to go in first to do a thorough sweep to ensure there wasn’t anyone inside. The call came from outside the office building so we don’t know who might be in there. People working late, security guards. You will need to do a floor-by-floor search.” The captain’s head turned to look at the man who had just been busy in the kitchen. “Norwish. You take lead on the search and rescue.”

He had just finished pulling on his thick jacket as he stepped in front of the line of guys, all readying themselves for one hell of a fire fight. In a voice full of confidence and a tenor of command, but yet so gently spoken it was difficult to believe the words came from a man that stood at six feet, five inches and looked like Thor’s bigger brother. “There are six floors. I want the team to move in pairs to take care of each other. Jack, Henry – you guys are one and two. Derrick and Pauli – you guys are three and four. I will take five and six with Tim.” The men nodded. This Thor look-a-like might have been the newest guy in the crew, only having joined him about two years ago, but his highly decorated background and specialized training showed in these moments. He was cool, calm, and a natural leader that they all felt safe following. The captain stepped back up in front of the line of amped up firefighters, “Ladder 66! Are we ready?!” Collectively they all war cried back in unison, “AYE, CAPTAIN” Then they were all running to the trucks. They all knew where their seats were and loaded up in order. When they were in, the two trucks clicked on the sirens and lights and tore out of the garages.

As they drove, they all mentally prepared themselves. Some prayed for themselves – to bring them through this fire and allow them to see their families again. Some men nearly bounced in their seats, the adrenaline already making them antsy to act. Then there was him. He never prayed for himself. He never had. He had been put in more dangerous situation than he could have on all his fingers and toes combined but it was never his life he was mindful of. He did pray, however. He prayed for his crew, that they will all make it home to their families and live to fight the flames another day. He prayed for any poor soul that might be trapped inside the burning building, may they get to them in time. And he prayed for any lives lost that they might already be too late to save. He sang a song in his head; it was one he knew well. It was an ancient Viking hymn he had learned as a boy. It called on the Gods and asked them to open to gates to Valhalla for any brave warrior lost in today’s battle.

The wailing firetrucks pulled up in front of the office building. Smoking was pluming out of the windows of the top three floors. There was no sign of life in the windows. No waving arms or shouts to save them. Either the windows had been broken by people who had already perished in the inferno, or the heat was so intense inside the building that the windows had been blown out. His eyes searched the ground for signs that the windows had been smashed, but there were none. No shattered office chairs lying on the ground that might have been used. Only shards of glass that glistened in the flickering flames. His stormy grey eyes lifted from the ground to the search and rescuers. He nodded, a determined and stoic look on his face. That was their cue to go. Two-by-two, the six men jogged into the building as the rest of the crew readied the hoses and ladders. Inside was smokey, but not so thick they couldn’t see. They checked the elevators first and saw the power had been cut. Good, no victims in there. Still in their two-by-two line, they quickly located the stairwell and started up. The stairwell wasn’t smokey. The scent of smoke was in the air, but the air was still breathable here. When they reached the second floor, Jack and Henry put on their oxygen masks, checked each other’s tanks and exited the stairwell to start their search. The four remaining men continued upward in a steady climbing jog. Derrick and Pauli were the next to ready their gear and exit the stairs on the fourth floor to start their search, while Tim and him continued up to the top floor – floor six to start their search. They put their masks on, turned on their tanks, checked each other and opened the fire door to a truly horrific sight. Everywhere they looked there was fire. Black smoke billowed at them immediately and made it black as midnight. Tim’s hand touched the huge man in front of him shoulder, indicating he was ready to follow.

The room had been set up to be an open office area. Cubicles, with walls about waist high, were strategically placed around the large room, allowing for maximum occupancy. They moved forward carefully, testing the floor before they stepped. They weaved a search grid through the cubicles, ensuring no one was under any of the desks. No sign of anyone. They checked bathrooms, breakrooms, all the offices that lined the walls. No one, dead or alive, was found. That was always good news to the rescue team. Still in the lead, he patted Tim’s hand as an indication that they were done on this floor and would be heading back to the stairwell. It wasn’t a long way back, but the smoke was thick and treacherous. It would be easy for anyone to get turned around or just flat out lost with such low visibility. But he was a true pro and navigated them confidently back to the fire door.

Once they were through the door, they both pulled off their oxygen masks and breathed natural air. They had only let in a small amount of smoke and that made its way up the ceiling that loomed another ten feet above them. Panting a little, Tim wiped the sweat out of his eyes and checked himself to make sure none of the fire had damaged his gear. Voices could be heard below from the other two pairs. It didn’t sound like any rescues had been made. They were just all taking a small breather between the floors. They gave themselves a few minutes before, collectively, you could hear the sound of heavy footfalls taking the stairs down to the next floor they would be searching. Floors one, three, and five. Just as before, the oxygen masks went on, they checked each other, and then opened the fire doors to their floors. Unlike last time, when the door to the fifth floor was opened, smoke rushed into the stairwell. The two men darted inside quickly so they could close to the door behind them without filling the stairwell with too much smoke.

As before, he was in the lead with Tim’s hand on his shoulder. Much like the previous floor, this was set up similarly. A sea of cubicles with the waist high walls. He set up a similar grid pattern and off they went. The smoke was thicker, if that was even possible. By looking at how the terrain had already been scorched and consumed, it was clear to the experienced firefighter that this floor was the origin of the fire. He took extra special care, testing the floor before he stepped. This floor, having had the fire burning the longest and hottest, would be the most compromised floor. They began their weaving, checking under desks, inside offices, inside the bathrooms and breakrooms. They were just passing a wall of windows that had been cracked in a spiderweb formation. He stopped and looked at the windows, the signature of extreme heat. His eyes moved down, scanning the floor. The ancient, dirty carpet of this office building had gone up like a stack of kindling, so everything was melted and burned. But instinct told him they were close to something. He slowed his pace, testing the floor even more carefully. In the cubicle closest to the window on this row was the culprit, or what remained of it. A four-by-four personal space heater seemed to have been left on. He motioned towards the box to let Tim know to look and see. However, Tim, misreading the order, stepped towards the desk and made to grab the melted space heater. Keen ears heard the compromised floor creek. Without thinking, He reached for Tim and grabbed his tank, practically lifting him off his feet as he was thrown backwards away from the desk where the fire had originated. Tim was safe, but the damage had been done. He had stepped forward to grab and move Tim and the weakened floor and gone out from under his feet.

Noise. Ungodly loud noise. Impacts to his body that knocked the air from his lungs over and over until he…BAM! He hit the ground hard. Rather the oxygen tank that was strapped to his back hit solid ground, but his ass hadn’t stopped, well not until it hit the ground too. He felt rather than heard the snap. It radiated, it must have been pain, but a pain so intense and severe that the brain couldn’t fully register it. The pain only traveled upward though. He felt it ripple up his spine, his actual bones shifting with the intensity, through his shoulders, down his arms, up his neck and even into his head. But no pain radiated downward. That was strange. He blinked, looking up at the flames that licked at the hole he had fallen through. The smoke was slowly spilling down into the floor he was currently lying on. He turned his head, thankfully he was able to do that. He had missed a desk by less than two feet. If he had hit that, he would have fucked himself up worse than he was. Thank the Gods for small favors, he grumbled to himself in his head.

Tim, having been yanked off his feet, took a moment to understand what had happened. He had followed the signal to check out the desk and then, he was in the air and hitting a desk. He looked to where he had been standing seconds ago and his partner was gone. Frantically, Tim looked around the see if he had just moved to the side. But no. Tim’s eyes lowed and it was then he saw the hole. “Oh fuck,” he breathed out. He grabbed the radio that was strapped to his shoulder and called out to his chief. “Floor five. Meph fell through the floor. Repeat. Meph fell through the floor.” His radio crackled as the Chief responded, “Search and Rescue, stop your search grids. We are looking for one of our own. Meph fell through the floor on five. Fine him!” The captain then moved over to the ambulances that, until now, hadn’t had anything to do. “One of my men fell through the floor in there. Ready yourselves. This is one of our own.”

Meph, mentally checked his body as he laid there. His head was fine. He was able to move his head and turn it from side to side with no real pain. He could move his shoulders, his arms, his fingers. He pulled open his flame-retardant coat and checked his belly, no hardness. He checked his ribs, fine. The ribs towards his spine hurt, but that should be expected considering he landed on the hunk of metal that was his oxygen tank. It was then he realized he didn’t feel his toes moving. He couldn’t lift his legs up or bend them at the knees. Reluctant to believe the worst, he convinced himself for now that he had twinged a nerve, or he had broken some vertebrae that was putting pressure on his spine and not allowing him to feel or use his legs. Yeah, that was it. He couldn’t let himself think of anything else until he was out of this situation.

His helmet was bothering him. It was bumping against the top of the oxygen tank, and it was starting to become bothersome. He removed his helmet and let it fall out of his hand next to him. He then rolled onto this belly slowly, adjusting his legs by pulling on his pants with his hands so they wouldn’t be twisted. He then tried to pull himself in the direction he thought the fire door to the stairwell would be. He pushed himself onto his elbows and began to drag himself, but the straps of his oxygen tank were catching on to the singed and fraying carpet. No good. He rolled onto his side and released the clips that held the tank in place. He let it roll off his back and onto the floor. He then flipped back onto his stomach and began to drag himself towards the fire door. He had managed to move himself about two hundred yards before Jack, Henry, Derrick, Pauli, and Tim found him. “Holy fuck! You fell through three floors.” The other four looked at Tim with a ’shut the fuck up’ look on their faces. It took all five of the brawny men to get Meph the last fifty feet to the door and down the flight of stairs to the first floor. There a gurney was waiting.

A c-collar was put on Meph’s neck, he was placed on a backboard and strapped down tight. Then he was rushed to the ambulance. Once inside, the paramedics went to work assessing him. Before they could leave, Tim approached one of the paramedics to offer some insight into what had happened inside the building and a little information regarding their patient. Like, if they asked him questions, he might not answer. But the door was slammed in his face before he could utter a word.

Meph was awake. Awake and aware. He listened to everything that was said by the paramedics, though his eyes were closed. Apparently, someone had thought it would be funny to make the joke that ‘Thor fell from Asgard and then through three floors before be stopped.’ Meph didn’t care. He laid there listening, his eyes closed, until he heard the doors to the ambulance open and felt the rush of cool air on his hands and the soaking wet, navy-blue t-shirt with the word FIRE printed on it in bright yellow letters. The shirt was stretched over his broad, muscular chest. When he felt the gurney move and then the thump to the ground, his eyes opened slowly. Stormy grey eyes stared up into the face of a doctor.

One night. One night of pure sleep was all Callie wanted. If she had just one decent night of sleep, she probably wouldn’t hit the ground so hard when she got home. That, however, was impossible when she worked nearly 24 hours a day. It seemed that everytime the young doctor would get to go home, she felt like she was called back within hours. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised, she thought to herself as she sat at her desk at 5 P.M, trying to wake her brain back up. She ran her hand through her long, silky jet-black hair, leaning back in her chair as she poured hot coffee into her mouth, nearly regretting the action as it burnt the tip of her tongue. This was Boston, after all. At any time, fires, fights, shootings, drug overdoses, a bombing or two, and of course, sexual and physical abuse victims could walk into the ER at any point. Along with, naturally, all of the usual emergencies ontop of all of that.

Callie Coleman, 27 years old, was one of the youngest surgeons in this hospital, but she had proven her way with wit, sharp talent, bedside manners, and a talent of keeping patients calm, at least long enough that she could explain it to them. She knew how to put her hands in a body, and fix what was wrong with it, and patient enough to deal with the ornery patients who made the nurses cry. Those were her favorites to do battle with, as they always kept her on her toes. It made her day just a little more interesting when she had a plate, bedpan or sometimes purse thrown in her direction because someone didn’t want to take their meds. Or was convinced she was trying to steal their cat. That was usually when Psych was called, something she was reluctant to do, because she hated the main therapist. They always bickered, and she thought he was an arrogant asshole. He thought she thought she was God, and held all power, which in many ways, she did. Except when it came to Psych.

Luckily, none of that was needed thus far in this shift. It was all fairly routine for the most part. She checked in with her patients, and took care of a small nail gun through the hand incident, fairly worried the whole time the patient was going to vomit on her as he kept glancing at the stitches she was putting in, and paling each time he did so. Thankfully, she got through it vomit free, and she sighed to herself as she sanitized her hands before heading into the next room. After checking in with everyone on the floor, gave the appropriate scolding when it was needed to a patient, and letting her team of nurses dictate her time by calling her left, right and center for the next hour or so, she finally made it back to her office to start trying to deal with the notes, and to update the files. This didn’t last long before she was called away, yet again, for something else. This was pretty much how her shifts went, and she honestly loved it. There was hard days, and long days where she wasn't sure how she was still functioning, of course, and sometimes, no matter what she did, she just could not save a patient. Those days were the hardest. But she loved what she did, at the core of it. The ability to heal was a gift she had been given, and every day, she worked to prove she was worthy of it. This is what she was riding on as she made it back to her office for the second time to try and deal with the paperwork, pulling her coat off briefly so she could relax a minute. She got so hard-core focused on the papers that she didn't notice the time slip by until suddenly, a sharp, shrill alarm sounded. Callie’s head shot up immediately, as the alarm slammed straight into her the same instant both her pager and her phone started blaring as well. She shot up and grabbed her coat, slipping it back on as she headed out of her office, and ran almost directly into her friend and nurse, Katie. “Katie. What happened?” Callie questioned as the two hurried down the hall.

Katie, a brilliant, young nursing student, ran beside Callie with the tablet in her hand, as it was uploaded by the EMTs. “It’s one of the firefighters! Responded to fire, serious injuries.” Katie read and ran the best she could. “I don’t know exactly, but they are two minutes out.”

“Then let’s go.” Callie practically flew to the ambulance bay, pulling on gloves, and protective equipment as she went, along with the rest of her team. The firefighters and the cops were all their own, the first-responder bubble, and the medical team was ready to work in an instant. Screaming sirens shot into the bay, and the instant the EMTs were out, she and her team was there. Katie pulled one of them aside to get the information she could, but it wasn’t much more than his name and a basic account of what they knew. Another joke about Thor falling through the building was made to Katie, who had to bite back the laugh as she recorded all the information they had before she moved back to Callie’s side.

Callie was standing at the giant’s side, whose name she learned from Katie, her hands already on his body as she did a scan of the worst of his injuries. Her bright blue eyes were on his face when his stormy eyes opened, and in them, she saw pain and fear, but also an alertness she wasn’t expecting from a man in this condition. He was awake, and alert. Most men in this condition would be screaming, or have already passed out from the pain. Though the noise around them was loud, Callie’s words were soft and calming as she addressed him as she thought she might try to get the patient to tell her what happened, rather than anybody else; ‘I’m Doctor Coleman. I’m going to do everything I can to help you. Can you tell me what happened to you?”

As she waited for an answer, if there was one, and learning as much as she could, she rushed with the gurney and the team, including the EMTs, as it would take much more than her crew to move this man from gurney to operating table. Seemingly on the same track of thought, Katie grabbed a couple of the male orderlies along the way, as Callie turned to call out orders. As they passed by the desk, she called out to their charge nurse. “Charolette, I need extra hands, and an OR prepped, now.” The woman moved without hesitation, and Callie continued as Meph was wheeled into the trauma bay, and next to the bed. “Very gently, eveybody, on my count. One, two , three.” It was a great effort to move the giant man, and it took almost everyone in the room to do it, but they got it done. Callie went straight into work, first getting the EMTs to remove the board, and clear the room, then cutting off his shirt, which gave them all a moment of pause as scars upon scars were revealed, but realizing they had no time to question, she called out the orders to start getting x-rays, ultrasounds and IVs started in a very short amount of time, revealing the horrific damage to his back, which was shattered and legs. To her surprise, his upper body was mostly undamaged by the fall, which left her job on his back.

“OR 3 is ready for you, Doctor Coleman.” A Scottish accent joined the array of voices from the door, the voice of their charge nurse, Charolette.

“Thanks, Char. Okay, let’s move, people.” Like any patient in this situation, he was taken immediately into surgery, which meant he was given drugs to knock him out for it. As he was being given them, Callie scrubbed in quickly, and when all was ready to go, started the long procedure of vertebroplasty surgery, which was the act of injecting liquid cement into his spine. The procedure normally took one hour per broken vertebrae, and was a normally invasive procedure, but considering the damage, Callie made the decision to actually open him to put him back together, and in case there was hidden damage, as was common in falls. One by one, she set him back together, adrenaline running through her like lightening for every minute that passed. Hours later, he was put back together, but Callie already knew the result of what she would be telling not only him, but his captain, who she knew from the social parties the three departments sometimes held. With this type of damage, these types of breaks, even with the surgery,...Meph would never walk again.

As she scrubbed out, she watched him be wheeled into intensive care for the night, where she would need to reassess in the morning. It was already half way there, she realized as she got out of the surgery wing, and wondering why the hospital had suddenly become so quiet. Exhaustion hit her hard as she was finally able to go home, thankful she might be able to sleep a little bit before having to deal with the people side of surgery. There was nothing more she could do tonight, so now, it was a waiting game to see how well her patient pulled through.

Meph might have been still and looked relaxed but beneath the surface was a roiling sea of torment and pain. The paramedic making the Thor joke to a nurse was not lost on him, and feared this would continue to be an ongoing joke throughout his stay in the hospital. But he didn’t let it bother him. Especially once he looked up into bright blue eyes. The doctor was talking to him, asking him the most basic of questions, but Meph had no answer. Not a complete one, that is. He remembered entering the fifth floor with Tim. He remembered finding the melted space heater and then Tim stepping on the weak part of the floor. After that, it was hazy. He remembered impacts and pain, but not much else. He knew he had damaged his legs, but he didn’t understand to what extent. He knew he couldn’t move them. He knew he couldn’t walk. But what had actually happened to him, he wasn’t sure. As a medical professional, the last thing doctor’s needed was some loud, know-it-all guessing what was wrong with them. It would be more advantageous for him just to keep quiet and let them do all the tests they needed to discover what was wrong with him. When she asked him, me responded by squeezing his eyes shut to indicate he was in pain, but no word or noise left his mouth.

When Meph was moved from the gurney to the bed by at least ten people. He felt hands all over the parts of his body that he could feel, and it made him tremble. He understood what was happening and why they were touching him, but it wasn’t any more comforting. These were strangers and they were handling him in a way he wasn’t used to. He was rolled carefully onto his side as the board was removed from under him. Then, he felt the cool touch of metal on his stomach and then the cooler air of the room as his sweaty t-shirt was cut away from his torso. There was a collective intake of breath as they all beheld the jagged, circular scar that was a little bigger than his fist, that obscured the perfectly chiseled abdominal muscles. He had no little body fat on him that you could count his ribs, but there was nothing about his body that read unhealthy or malnourished; he was just that in shape. His pectoral muscles were the size of a normal man’s hand, firm and tight beneath the bronzed skin, with about a dozen diamond shaped scars peppering the flesh at random. If the shirt was removed from his arms, the massive knotting of scars that took over his entire right shoulder would become visible. It was gnarly to look at. Keloid scars that bubbled up showed where something had ripped through his flesh and, probably the muscle and tendons of the shoulder. The scar that was always visible but rarely noticed, until he was laying down, was the diamond shaped scar that was just under his Adam’s apple. With the entire room standing in silence as they took him in, Meph counted six of his heartbeats until people were moving again. The main doctor, this Dr. Coleman, seemed to be the one in charge. She barked the orders that got everyone moving again. Sadly enough, the next thing they did was roll him to the side the pull the shirt from beneath him and, if they thought his front was bad, they hadn’t seen anything yet. As his body was shifted his back became available. Every inch of skin from the back of his neck all the way down until his pants obscured the view of a tapestry of torture. Scars stood out against the bronze of his skin and there was no telling how many there were. It might be easier to count the stars in the sky. The scars cris crossed yet each other in bizarre patterns. Like they had been delivered on different occasions, using different instruments of torture. Lashes, whips, belts, pokers, there was no telling how many lashings it would take to make this many scars, some seemed to have been down to the bone before they healed. Graciously, Dr. Coleman didn’t seem to focus on the scars on his back as everyone had his torso.

OR 3 was ready. Great. Surgery. He wished he could tell them no surgery without seeming like a complete nut. Surgery would harm him. Change his body in ways that might hinder his natural healing ability. Listening silently as the x-rays and ultrasounds were taken and the results read to Dr. Coleman, he understood his injury to its fullest, and knew he would heal from this. A severed spine to someone like him wasn’t as tragic as it would be to a normal person. But he was no normal person. And hiding that fact under so many watchful and curious eyes would be the hardest task of his stay here. But they were moving again, taking him to surgery, and he had no idea how to prevent it. If only he had his phone and he could call Gand. Gand would fix it all in a snap. But Gand was in New Orleans and Meph was in Boston. Meph was moved from the bed to a surgical table and was positioned for the surgery. He felt three needs go into his forearm. One for saline. One to take a few vials of his blood. And one to administer medications to keep him asleep during surgery. As Meph laid there the anesthesiologist make the joking remark, “Did anyone bring the knock out meds for an elephant?” he chuckled playfully before one of the nurses said, “He’s awake and can hear you.” The anesthesiologist looked at her and then at Meph who’s eyes were open but looking at nothing in particular. The nurse acted as though she was scolding the anesthesiologist when, in reality, she was motioning him over to look at Meph’s back. Meph was a freak on display here. They made him feel like a spectacle. He had been the animal in a cage before and it seemed he was back there all over again. The difference this time was that his body was the cage. “That’s disgusting!” the anesthesiologist said as he looked at Meph. The nurse giggled at his reaction and added, “You’re not going to be the one who has the clean all that.” She then made a sound that sounded like she was shuddering and repulsed at the thought.

Meph endured the comments, the stares, the jokes. He had no choice. He was their victim. He guessed there was a viewing room above as he heard muffled voices coming from somewhere over them. He had been granted permission to watch a few surgeries when he was in school, and he knew that those rooms had intercom systems so the people viewing the surgery could hear what was going on. He could only assume that all those people he heard murmuring had heard the remarks between the nurse and the anesthesiologist. As Dr. Coleman entered the room, the people dispersed from where they had gathered to gawk at him. Promptly, he was asked to count down from one hundred as a clear mask was placed over his nose and mouth. A funny tasting gas was introduced to his system as the anesthesiologist pushed three times the amount of normal knock out drugs. If Meph had been counting, he wouldn’t have made it past ninety-eight.

Meph was kept in the recovery wing until he woke up. The anesthesiologist had used so much medication on him that it took several hours longer for him to be lucid enough for them to move him to a room in the ICU. He was placed on his back on the bed. He didn’t have a hospital gown on as there were so many heart monitors stuck to him and wires coming off him that the gown wouldn’t lay right. The recovery nurse made a comment to the nurse in the ICU she was handing Meph over to. “I swear that anesthesiologist was trying to kill this guy. I have never had anyone under for that long and their heart rate go so low. It is a wonder he woke up at all.” The ICU nurse put a note regarding that in Meph’s chart before she came over to his bed. “You have survived Hell today. Now you rest and let me watch over you.” Meph’s eyes, barely open to begin with, closed the rest of the way until he had drifted back into unconsciousness. It was about 7am, the shift change was in thirty minutes, and this nurse wanted the hand off to be smooth. She checked Meph’s chart and gave him a dose of the sedative that was listed as allowed medication on his chart. No need for him to be waking up any time soon.

7am In the lobby…

The crew from Ladder 66 had been busy getting the fire under control and, finally, putting the damn thing out. The captain gave them two options – go back to the station to shower up and rest or go to the hospital to check on Meph. Every single one of the guys came to the hospital. They were all sweaty, soot stained, exhausted, but desperate to know about their fallen brother. The captain stood in the waiting room, his dark eyes watching the doors and focusing on anyone that looked to be a doctor that might be coming to speak to them. The guys lounged in the chairs, most fell asleep, others watched tv, the captain stood. Finally, after two hours of waiting, the hour rounding on 9am, it appeared someone was approaching them. “Ladder 66! On your feet!” The guys that were sleeping came out of sleep fast and looked around. They got to their feet and watched the doctor as she seemed to be heading for their captain. The guys that were watching tv switched it off and got to their feet. The captain, knowing that if no one was there to fill them in as they walked in, then it was usually bad news, prepared himself to hear the worst. “How is my man, Dr.?” He steeled himself to receive the news that Meph was dead.

If Callie had been in the room to hear the comments, she would’ve spent quite some time at the end of her shift lecturing about the value of keeping your fucking mouth shut. Not just when patients may or may not have been listening, but there was no excuse for that conversation to have been had. Since those on her staff knew she didn’t tolerate bullshit, the noise level and comments when she walked into the OR was dropped. Only then was it the team speaking to each other, Callie taking the lead point on everything once he was asleep.

Hours later, when she finally got to go home, she let herself settle under the strong sprays of a hot shower, and wrapped in nothing but an oversized shirt, with her hair wrapped up in a towel, she found something microwavable that was fast. She ate it as she stood over the counter, at least satisfying the hunger pains that had started. She drank a glass of wine with it, to relax the nerves and curled up on her bed, where she stayed until her phone started going off a few hours later.

Exhausted, Callie pulled herself out of bed, and back into the shower to wake herself up. She got dressed, and looked absolutely professional by the time she was finished. She brushed her teeth as a final task before she grabbed her keys, bag and empty coffee cup. The cup would be filled at Callie’s first stop, the only coffee shop open this early in this morning. She ordered her usual, and the workers here were used to seeing the doctor at ridiculous hours of the night and morning.

She arrived at the hospital at just before 6 A.M, and spent a quiet moment in her office, sucking down as much of the caffeine as she read over the file from yesterday. Meph’s file. She let herself wonder the questions she had been too tired to think of last night. Who was he, really? The information that people had on him that was findable was absolutely laughable, and she had to imagine that there was more. Much more, she thought. Because scars like the ones she had seen, both on his chest, and his back, did not “just happen.” Something had happened to this man. Callie couldn’t even imagine the torment he was forced to suffer to endure those marks, and it made her realize that she was need silk gloves for this patient. Slow, gentle, calm.

With that thought in mind and a bit more coffee chugged, she went to track down the night nurses for a handover report. She heard a lot of positive things in terms of recovery, and a few bad things that had happened overnight. She heard of the small waking from Meph earlier that morning, but was told he was still sound asleep, last they checked. Once the meeting was done, she left them to ready for the end of their shifts, and started the rotation of checking on her patients, noting that her sleeping giant was indeed still sleeping, and dealing with all new coming, as was expected of the ER. It was an exhausting two hours, and Callie had just stepped out of a surgery, intent on working her way back towards Meph to check on him again when she noticed the entirety of the Ladder 66 crew, waiting and dirtying up her waiting room.

Internally, she twitched at the amount of bacteria, but recognizing the pleading in their eyes, she stepped forward, looking at all the men, standing through fatigue and worry with dedication. It was something that moved her heart. Stepping to the captain, she said the first thing she knew they were all thinking. “He is alive, and resting. Surgery was successful, but the damage…is very extensive. He will be here for a while.” She watched the relief pour over these men, followed by the devastation, and it made her curious if maybe they knew more. “Captain, if I may?” She indicated she wanted to talk to him privately, and led him slightly away from his group, and not having much time, kept straight to the point. “I wondered if you, or perhaps any of your men, knew anything about him. Friends, family, even allergies. Anything at all about him could go a long way to helping to heal him.”

The guys of Ladder 66 were nothing less than relieved to discover their comrade was alive, but it was followed by the crashing realization that the news wasn’t the best. The fire chief, a man in his late forties, getting closer to fifty every day, was a well-known and decorated firefighter. He had been on Ladder 66 since the beginning of his career and was known for his expectation of excellence from his crew. When the doctor approached him, he was ready. “Do you want to talk here or in private?” was all he asked, hoping she would say private.

If she led, he followed. When they were in a better place to discuss his crew member, he started with handing over a thin manilla folder that had Meph’s physicals in it from the last two years. “This is all our station has on his medical record. He is in perfect health. He has no known allergies. He has no one listed on his emergency contact list.” The chief then handed over a second manilla folder, this one three times as thick. “This is a copy of his personnel file. Degrees, accolades, letters of recommendation, certificates, awards. When he came to work with us two years ago, I was worried because him being so young and being all about the dangerous jobs, I thought he would be a dare devil or adrenaline junkie. But the amount of times he has saved members of our team, sometimes to his own detriment, outweighs the number of times he put himself in danger situations for the thrill of it.”

Family. “I don’t know of any. He never talks about…anything really. But never anything personal. He has never mentioned parents, siblings, cousins, or that he hangs out with anyone outside of working hours. The guys have asked to happy hour sometimes and, if he goes, he sits back and watches them enjoy themselves. I’ve been told he only drinks water when they go out.” The chief looked a little guilty as he said, “Honestly, I don’t think that boy has a friend in the world. Something must have happened to him to make him isolate himself so completely. I have always just been too scared to ask him.” The chief laughed to himself, “Hell, even if I was brave enough to ask I doubt I would get an answer. He’s not a chatterer. He will only speak when asked a direct question, and then at minimum.” The chief, having given her the folders and shared what little he knew, sent Tim in. Tim had been wanting to talk to people at the scene about his partner and the chief thought Tim might have more to share.

Tim…

The chief exited the conference room and pointed to Tim and motioned for him to go in. Tim was moving, ready to tell the doctor about the guy he worked side by side with every shift. Tim didn’t need much prompting, the doctor need only to listen. “He fell, Doc. He went through three floors. I stepped wrong,” the guilt on his face was evident. “It should have been me that fell. But Meph, with one hand, grabbed me and pulled me back as the floor went out from under his feet. He’s…a hero.” Tim needed a second before he continued. “When we found him, it looked like he had taken off his oxygen mask and his tank. From where all that stuff was left, it looked like he dragged himself about two hundred yards, trying to get to the door. He’s like a superhero at times. He picked me up with one hand. Off the ground, picked me up. Then he fell.”

If Dr. Coleman asked Tim about who Meph was a person, Tim had theories on that too. Chuckling, “Meph’s terrified of women. There was this one time, in a bar, the guys all went out for drinks after an intense rescue. There was this lady who would not leave Meph alone, she wanted him bad. But every time she came to talk to him, he hid. Like, got out of his chair and hid. It was fucking hilarious.” Tim then shared, “He’s got a cell phone. But he never texts anyone or gets calls. I’ve only seen him use it for work stuff. He doesn’t take pictures. I’ve never seen him on social media. Honestly, I really think Meph is a superhero hiding in plain sight. The mild-mannered guy that nobody notices until he’s saving the day. And then he disappears into the crowd because getting recognized makes him uneasy.” Tim could go on and on about Meph – he was intimidatingly strong. He rarely spoke. He swallowed weird sometimes, Tim thought because of the scar on his throat.

Callie took the Chief into a nearby conference room, where she took the first file. A quick scan through it told her that Meph had tested perfectly in all physical categories. She had suspected as such, and she looked at the chief as he spoke. No allergies, good. Perfect health, also good. He still wouldn’t walk again, but that would help him in the long run, as his body would be fit to heal as much as it could. But not a daredevil, or adrenaline junkie. Callie considered the information on her patient, as even if they didn’t know it, it gave her quite a lot. The downfall was no emergency contact or family. She wanted to study the second file she had taken much more closely but she wasn’t sure there was anyone to call to tell about Meph, and she felt her heart squeeze a little at that. Especially as he informed her that he didn’t think Meph had a friend in the world. How lonely he must be, she thought. “Thank you, Chief. And. I’m sorry.” She said this with sincerity, her blue eyes looking deeply into his.

Tim was next on the list, and he gave her even more. Callie barely got more than ‘what happened?’ out before Tim launched into an explanation. She recognized the guilt in him, but focused on the details of the story. He fell through three floors. She knew that. He had taken his mask and tank off. Surprising, considering how heavy those were, but somehow not, considering the size of her patient. And obviously strong, considering how many times Tim insisted he picked him up with only one hand.

“What about personally?” Again, this wasn’t a question that needed much prompting, as Tim then proceeded to tell her several very important things about Meph. She let him talk for a few minutes until she thought he had run out of relevant information, and sent him back to his team. Then Callie was left to process everything. She took the files and her thoughts back to her office, where she studied the ins and outs of his files. After reading it, she might have had to agree with Tim. The guy certainly seemed to be a hero in disguise, and it twisted her heart to know that after today, he wouldn’t have the ability to walk, or save anyone like that again. She worried for his mental state when he was informed of this. She had seen many a strong man lose himself over an injury like this.

Realizing she might need some help, she then requested a meeting with the psychiatrist. Not the main one, as she literally hated that guy, but the understudy. He hadn’t proven himself so bad when she had to interact with him, he was good at his job, and she knew that this was not part of her job. She was the physical side, the surgery side, the healing side. But the mind? She had never studied that beyond knowing how to keep them calm. She could learn that in the fly, but getting deep in it? That, she wasn’t equipped for.

After getting the meeting she wanted, she checked out a few more things, including Meph. Still sleeping, good. She eyed the monitors as she stood in the room, but left after assessing that he was fine for now. She couldn’t do much until he did wake, which she hoped he honestly got as much sleep as possible before starting the long journey of recovery. She then made her way through the hospital, up a few floors to the Mental Health wing. She walked in, and greeted those who knew her by name. “Hey, Hilary. Is he in? ” Callie asked the receptionist, cocking her head towards the door.

Hilary, a pretty, older woman looked up into the young doctors face. She was a no-nonsense kind of woman, and Callie honestly appreciated her so much. A corner of her lip smirked as she looked towards it as well. “He is. You may enter.”

With a nod to her, Callie pushed away from the desk, and stepped to the door, where she knocked before stepping in. “Thank you for seeing me on short notice.”

Meph was completely unaware of anything. He was in such a deeply medicated sleep that time, pain, nor dreams could touch him. People came in, attended to him, left, and he was none the wiser. He was a body with extremely low vital signs due to the over medicating. The problem was, no one knew where his vitals should be at so, to anyone who had never studied him before, it appeared to be like any normal person’s. But Meph wasn’t normal. His body temperature was several degrees warmed than your average human’s. His vitals were more robust. And his body would behave subtlety differently then normal. But the hospital staff was so ignorant of how his body should be behaving and responding, that they were nearly killing him to keep him at normal human levels.

8th Floor. Psychotherapy and Behavioral Health Department – Dr. George Fitzpatrick, Chief of Medicine

Just beneath Dr. Fitzpatrick was the young, up and coming, Dr. David Stockle, who had specifically come to Boston to be groomed by Dr. Fitzpatrick. Dr. Stockle had aspirations of one day taking over the behavioral health department and making it his own. Dr. Stockle wasn’t quite as uppity as the chief of the department but, when you work with someone who is day in and day out, especially when that person is your mentor, it rubs off on a person. He was at his deck reviewing a report he had received from the emergency room attendants regarding a patient who had come in the previous night – a fire fighter. Apparently, the staff had some concerns about safety as the man looks like he is tortured on a daily basis.

Dr. Stockle looked up from the report as his door was opened. He smiled, and a twitch of his head showed his surprise at seeing her. Her stood from his desk, “You should add psychic abilities to your impressive talents, Dr. Coleman. I was just about to page you for a visit.” He motioned to the two plushy chairs that sat before his desk. He waited for her to take one of the seats before he sat down and picked up the report he had been reading.

He lifted up the file that had her patient’s name on it. Mephistopheles Norwish. “It seems some of your staff have concerns regarding this patient. The gossip around the water cooler is that he is abused?” He didn’t let her see the report. The names of the employees that had reported their concerns were completely confidential. The folder stayed closed and far enough from her that she couldn’t grab it easily. He leaned back in his chair, his brown eyes fixed on her, as he touched his fingertips together in anticipation of her retort.

Was she physic, or was she simply trying to get help for her patient. She asked herself this as she stepped into Dr. Stockle’s office. She hated psychiatrists on a general basis, mostly since they tried to psycho-analyze her every time they had a conversation. And already, she thought, he was jumping right into it. She wanted to make a comment that he wished he could experience the things her hands and talents could do, but that would be giving away far too much venom, and it was these guys and her own boss that could affect the way she did her job. She was also incredibly careful when it came to the doctors here, and so she kept her emotions on a tight choke chain.

Callie merely smirked a little at his surprise. “I’ll make sure to add it under ‘Talents’ on my updated resume.” She kept the negative emotions out of her words, and let it be pure humour instead. She sat down then, her legs crossing, as her fingers wrapped around her knee. It was a defensive pose, but it wasn’t unusual when it came to Callie. She was fairly guarded on regular days, let alone days she was exhausted too.

As she sat, he held up the file. She wasn’t surprised he had it already, nor was she surprised that there was a rumour about her patient. “Well, as he hasn’t actually been awake long enough to tell us, we can only deduce that he may have been. He is heavily scarred, both front and back, but according to everything I have been able to pull up, I can’t find a single incident that would indicate where they may have came from.” She shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was that she still had gossips spreading potential misinformation. That angered her, but she didn’t let it show. “That also isn’t what I came to see you for.” She informed him, as the two looked at each other, with Callie’s eyes hard and locked from being read.

Dr. Stockle was not oblivious to Dr. Coleman's colorful opinions of their behavioral health department. She wasn't a fan of therapeutic studies or treatments. Most surgeons weren't. They believed all the world's problems could be solved by cutting them out.

So, it was to Dr. Stockle's delight that she had sought him out not to talk about a patient. His eyebrows lifted as the look of intrigue brightened his face. "If you didn't come here to discuss the patient..." He leaned forward to show that he was open and interested. "Were you needing therapeutic tools for stress? Perhaps some coaching on interpersonal skills? Or has your obsession with your professional perfectionist tendencies finally caused you to seek professional help so your colleagues will stop referring to you as frigid?" He watched her for pure reaction. She was a bug in a terrarium. Squirm buggy, squirm.

Callie’s eyes watched Dr. Stockle, internally already regretting the decision to ask for his help, and not one of the younger colleagues. She barely sighed, knowing that he was using his therapist eye on her. She knew he would try to read her, try to get under her skin. This was one of the precise reasons she hated those in his profession, at least those this high in the profession. They were such arrogant assholes, who thought they could throw fancy words around to try and intimidate. She knew he wanted her to squirm. Her eyes momentarily flashed with icy hatred, but her mouth merely smirked. “Oh, how I love to tell you you’re wrong. I’m not here about me at all.” But it stuck her somehow to know that her colleagues referred to her as ‘frigid’.

She gave no reflection to that as she continued to stare straight daggers across the desk at him. “I never said I wasn’t here to discuss the patient. I just didn’t come to discuss rumors made up by those who clearly don’t have enough to do, except gossip about the patients.” And how that would change, she thought, trying to keep the anger from her tone. “As he hasn’t been awake, those are not answers I have. What I am here to discuss, however, is the patients mental state, upon learning his prognosis, as that will effect him immediately.”

Disappointment washed over Dr. Stockle as Dr. Coleman had no intention of opening up to him about herself. He leaned back in his chair and eyed Dr. Coleman as he considered her request.

"To be able to give my professional opinion I need to understand what exactly his prognosis is, Dr. Coleman."

Callie barely, barely held back the smirk as she saw the disappointment wash over his face. He had tried for years, but had yet to get under her skin. At least in a way he knew it worked. Carrying on as if she wasn't riding on the high of the personal win, she tilted her head, and spoke very clearly. "As it stands, he has a complete broken back, from rib down. I performed a vertebroplasty surgery, which should help to stabilise, although that is not my current concern. My concern is that from what I can tell, he's a young, healthy, peak of physical fitness firefighter...that will never walk again. I, and you, have seen too many men lose themselves, entirely lose themselves over something like this. I'd like the best chance of preventing that."

Dr. Stockle listened to Dr. Coleman's explanation. The more she shared, the more he understood her concern for this patient. The wheels in his head started to turn as he thought about the opportunities this patient could offer. Young, peek of his career firefighter who was abused and now crippled. This might give him the opportunity to publish information on a whole new study. Abused children who are able to adapt to fit into today's society only to have their lives shattered again. The possibilities were mouthwatering.

Keeping his excitement concealed, he responded calmly, "I think he should be moved into our wing of the hospital. Though he will have healing from the surgery, the majority of his healing will on the mental and emotional side." He was fully expecting Dr. Coleman to object and he was anticipating it. "It's the laying in a hospital bed that depresses them. Bring him to us where we can implement the emotional care he needs from the moment he wakes up."

As if on cue, Dr. Coleman and Dr. Stockle's pagers both started going off with 911 - ICU

Back in the ICU

The medication that had been keeping Meph sedated had started to wear off much quicker then any of the nurses could have anticipated. The wearing off of the medication allowed Meph to move from an extremely deep sleep to a lighter sleep where dreams could now flow into his mind.

Dreams were not kind to Meph. It's where his horrors laid in wait for him. The nightmare began as it always did. The hollow sounds of war horns that had once been the bones of our enemies. The clashing of swords. The scent of dirty bodies, wet with sweat and blood. Pain. Blackness.

As the picture behind his eyes fades back in more swords. Men yelling. Rough hands. Tight ropes. Singing as - Arrow. Arrow. Arrow. Arrow. Arrow. Arrow. Then the final arrow that silenced his song and took his life. Blackness.

The picture returns again. Meph's body, frozen in his bed from the drugs that allow his brain to process dreams, while holding him under, preventing him from fully waking. The muscles of his upper body tense as the worst of the dreams begin.

A nurse, Katie, just happened to be in his room taking down his vitals signs when she saw his body react and his muscles flex, stretching his skin, and causing his veins to protrude. She watched, curious. She saw his massive hands grip the blankets on the bed as a light sweat broke out over his body. She saw his eyes shifting wildly under his closed lids. A nightmare. She reached out and encircled his wrist with her hand and squeezed gently in an attempt to let him know she was there.

Night. He was scared. There were voices coming, growing louder. They were excited voices. His body froze as he was approached with chains. Heavy silver. Stroking hands. Unwelcomed lust. Building pressure. Seed expelled. Thrown back into a darkened cage.

The touch of Katie's hand caused him to yank away from her violently. His upper body trying to roll to escape her touch.

Katie, terrified he was going to damage his back worse. Grabbed a hold of Meph's broad shoulders and tried to keep him on his back.

Katie's touch, a stranger's touch, caused the dream to continue. Heavier silver. Grinding. Hands gripped his shoulders. Moans of pleasure. Desire fulfilled. Lash to his back. Unhappy shouts that he took so long. Back into his darkened cage.

Katie yelled for help with holding Meph, he was still trying to roll in the bed.
The arena. Bright lights. Scent of blood. Two axes in his hands. The horns of war. The battle begins.

A team of nurses poured into his room and all grabbed a part of the large man.

His competitors tried to hold him down as one made to kill him with a sword to his head.

Dream merged with reality as Meph, being manhandled by unfamiliar hands, came as close to consciousness as the medication would allow. Meph released the blanket he had been gripping and grabbed the closest nurse to him, while Katie frantically paged both Callie and Psych. Still thinking he was in the arena in a death match, Meph threw the nurse half way across the room as he grabbed hold of another. A punch was delivered that splattered blood all over the white sheets and blankets and himself.

As the last nurse was backhanded hard away from the dreaming man, Katie called security. An instant later, three brawny security guards were trying to hold Meph down. Their hands and wait were firmer, heavier. Meph headbutted the one that was holding down his shoulders, causing more blood to rain down on his face and chest. Once that guard let go to grab his nose, Meph yanked one of his thick arms away from one of the guards as he grabbed the other with both his hands and shoved him hard into the window, causing it to shatter and spiderweb in the spot the guard hit. Blood colored the glass from where the splintered glass gashed the guard's scalp.

Katie, not knowing where Callie was, administered another dose of the sedative they had been using on Meph. Adrenaline overruled the sedative for thirty seconds longer than it should have. It was just long enough for Meph to punch the remaining security guard, knocking him out cold.

Meph, the sedative taking hold of him again, went slack in the bed. Blood mixed with the sweat that had broken out on his body and dribbled down his face and chest until it dropped onto the white linen.

Callie was absolutely getting ready to argue as to why there was no way that she would release Meph to him, but she never got the chance to do more than open her mouth when, in unison, both pagers in the room went off. Confused, Callie looked down at hers. “ICU.” She muttered to herself, before looking up and seeing equal confusion on Dr. Stockle’s face. Neither doctor stayed looking at the other for very long, both getting up from the chairs, and winding their way back to the ICU as quickly as possible. As Callie literally ran all over this hospital day in and day out, she practically flew down the halls, paths and stairs to get back to her unit.

All she could say when she arrived was it looked like carnage. By the time she got there, six of her people were hurt, and Katie was standing near the door, nearly sobbing in panic, still frantically paging Callie, because she had no idea what else to do. Callie approached her, and gently took the pager out of her hand, bringing her closer so katie could feel grounded for a moment. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, sweet girl. Breathe. That’s good, in and out. What happened?”

Katie was incredibly resilient, especially when it came to the ER, which made Callie always forget how young she truly was. Katie’s eyes streamed with tears as she looked at the black-haired doctor. After following Callie’s quick breathing instructions, she did her best to relay the situation. “I sw-swear I don’t know. I c-came in for a vitals check, and to see if he needed another round of medicine. He.....He started just kind of twitching at first, but then I realized, nightmare. So I tried to touch him, just to help, and he...He just...” Her eyes welled up again, and Callie nodded.

“I can see that. Go get cleaned up, because we’re gonna need you, okay? They need you. Go on, and track down Char while you’re at it. I need an OR.” Callie sighed deeply as she turned to where movement was already happening to attend to the wounded. Another ER Doctor, a male by the name of Ian Gregory, slid smoothly into action as Callie was getting the story the best she could. The two doctors acknowledged each other, as Callie followed suit. The general consensus was that he had flipped out, but nobody knew why. Callie gloved up, and knowing her staff was in good hands with Dr. G, who the female nurses often referred to as “Doctor Hot”. She moved over to her own patient, who she was incredibly worried had just further damaged his back. She could hear the buzzing behind her, and the irritant that was Dr. Stockle, giddy to get his greedy hands on Meph, but Callie still ruled here.

Callie studied Meph for a moment, trying to read his body language, and curious what it was that had set him off. More worried, currently, for his physical health, she did a visual examination. Touching him was obviously a bad idea, but she only had so much time before Psych got in here, though luckily, he was distracted for barely a minute, and before she would be called into surgery. She could already hear the other team of nurses prepping the security guard. She could hear it all happening being her, but she could not get over how disturbed he looked, locked in his nightmare. She would never know what possessed her to do this, but in that chaotic moment, she pulled off her glove, and with the softest touch she could manage, like a mother comforting a child, she very gently moved her hand over Meph's forehead and over his hair, hoping her presence would reassure him. Shockingly, within minutes, she thought she saw him begin to settle, the muscles sinking deeper into the bed. She wanted to stay there to get more, but in the hallway, her guard with the head wound had begun vomiting. Her name was called, and Callie had to step away. “Don’t give up. I’ll be back.” She whispered to him, before she had to turn and run along to scrub in.

Meph was calm, locked back into a sleep deep enough to pull him away from the claws of his nightmares. Though his brain was now safe, his body was still full of anxiety that needed to burn off before he could truly relax. As he laid in his bed, unconscious to everything, he felt a hand and his body shuttered. But it didn’t grab him. The smooth palm and long nails brushed over his forehead and into his hair. It was the kind of touch he knew, but he had never received such a touch from a woman before. The only person who had ever touched him like that was his father figure and brother – Gandrell. Even in his deep sleep, his body recalled how Gand used to run his fingers through Meph’s hair when he was having a bad dream; it always seemed to calm him. And it again. Dr. Coleman’s touch soothed him and made his tense body fully relax and go limp. Dr. Coleman left to attend to all the people Meph had unknowingly and unwillingly injured. He was truly helpless now and Dr. Stockle was going to take advantage of that.

While Callie had her moment with the patient, Dr. Stockle was paging his team, who was already on their way down as Dr. Coleman and her team left to head to the OR. As he waited Katie returned to see if Callie was still in the room. When she saw the team had left, she turned to go, but Dr. Stockle stopped her. “Whatever you gave him to knock him out, give him another dose of that, will you?”

Katie looked at Meph who was relaxed and breathing shallowly already due to the large dose she had just given to him. “I don’t think that is a good idea. Another dose like I just gave him might kill…” But she didn’t get to finish her sentence as Dr. Stockle interrupted her rudely. “Are you a doctor, my dear? I think not. So do as I say and give him another dose.” Katie, bullied by Dr. Stockle, did as she was told and gave Meph another dose of medication that was already double what would be administered in a normal situation. Katie really hoped Meph wouldn’t die from what she had just done.

As the syringe was pulled out of the IV, the Psych team arrived and immediately went to work applying restraints to Meph to ensure he would not be able to move a muscle when, at this point if, he woke up. Both his feet had restraints strapped around them and tightened so tight to the bed that, even if he had feeling in them, he wouldn’t have been able to even squirm. Next was a belt that went across his shins. Followed by a belt that went across his thighs. Another across his belly. The thickest belt they had was placed over his biceps and chest and pulled so tight it was visibly cutting into the skin. The final strap went over Meph’s forehead and was pulled so tight his chin lifted, which was a good thing as it opened his airway more. Before the Psych team was done, they put restraints around both his wrists and buckled them so tight it was cutting off the circulation in Meph’s hands. The team stepped away and looked to Dr. Stockle. Katie, horrified at the scene, looked on so she could inform Callie of what happened after she left the room.

Dr. Stockle had been messing on his tablet while the team took all power away from the brutish man on the bed. When his team was finished, he nodded, “Room 890. They are preparing it now.” Katie, making one last attempt, tried to stop Dr. Stockle, “He’s still a surgical patient. Dr. Coleman hasn’t released him to you.” Dr. Stockle glared at the nurse and said venomously, “You would think you would be thanking me. Am I not protecting you from getting thrown through a window, too?” He smirked and ordered, “Move him.” Katie, not knowing what else to do, ran to find Callie.

Hours Later in the Psych Ward – Room 890

The bed with Meph in it had been discarded in room 890 and the entire team left. No one had cleaned the blood off his face or chest. No one had changed the linen. No one had checked to see if he had torn any of his stitches or if he was bleeding from his surgical site. They just parked the bed and walked out of the room. The lights were on, bright lights. Nothing like the lights that had been in the recovery room he had been in. Those lights had been a soft bulb. These were the ones that gave the illusion that it was high noon. The light bothered Meph, even in as deep of a sleep as he was in. It made the activity of his brain start to swirl. In his sleep, Meph tried to turn his head, but was unable to. He was stuck staring into the glaring lights as his body was frozen by sedatives and restraints.

“Check the dosage,” Dr. Stockle told one of his nurses as they readied a syringe with medication that would wake the sleeping monster up. Meph had been asleep for nearly four hours and Dr. Stockle was getting impatient. He wanted to start getting some answers regarding this big buffoon. Dr. Cruz was Dr. Stockle’s young up and coming star. She was just out of school, smokin’ hot, and sweet as candy. Dr. Stockle thought sending her in with Meph would make him talk. She could make any man talk. The nurse entered the room and injected the medication to wake Meph up into the IV and then backed up. Within five minutes Meph’s eyes were painfully trying to open, the lights blinding him, but he couldn’t turn his head to escape the lights or bring his hands up to rub them. The torture had begun.

Eventually, Meph was able to get his eyes adjusted and open. When he did, he saw some female sitting on the side of his bed with platinum blonde hair and bubble gum pink lipstick on. Meph wasn’t listening to her. He had no intensions of saying a single word as long as he was tied down like this. She started touching him then. He felt her hand on one of his hands. Then it moved to his chest. Then his abdomen. A cold sweat broke out all over Meph’s body. Was it going to happen here, too? Was he going to have to endure more of it in this bright room with who knew how many people were watching. Was this to reason he was being kept sedated and why they kept his legs so numb? Sweat soaked the bloody bedsheets and blanket that he was still strapped to. The blood that had been dried before was rehydrated with the sweat from his body. He began to tremble. Tears welled in his stormy gray eyes as he waited for the moment it would happen all over again.

Callie was completely unaware of what was happening to her patient as she rushed into surgery to save her security guard. It wasn’t a crazy serious wound by itself, but the head-trauma was what concerned the doctor. He had been thrown extremely hard, hard enough to spiderweb the glass. Her hands were quick and skilled as she sewed him back together, but it wasn’t until she was stepping out of surgery that she was able to let her mind circle back to what happened in the first place. Nightmare, Katie had said. What kind of nightmare had been that violent?

As if the girl knew that she was being thought about, Katie, in quite a panic, rushed into the surgery wing, and right into Callie. “Doctor, Cal, there’s…, it’s…,” Her breath was rushed, her heart was racing, she looked about three seconds from breaking down, and her hands couldn’t stop twisting over one another.

Recognizing the signs of an impending panic attack, Callie firmly took her arms. “Hey. Stay with me, Katherine. Breathe. With me.” She used her full name to snap her out of it, and did several breathing exercises with her until she thought she was calm enough to speak. As she listened to her heart, making sure the beat was levelling out, she said; “Tell me what happened.”

Katie launched into an explanation about Dr Stockle immediately. “I-I tried to stop it, Callie. I-I swear, I tried, but Dr Stockle made me push the sleeping medicine on him, a much much larger dose than was necessary. And then, he—he..” Almost fearfully, Katie looked into Callie’s blue eyes.

“What, Katie? What happened? You’re not in trouble, but I need to know.” Callie was extremely concerned, and thought she might know where this conversation was headed.

“He took him. I’m so sorry, I tried to stop him. I told him the patient hadn’t been released, but he just…bullied me into it, and that was..that was too many meds. I could have stopped his heart. It still could.” Katie’s licence could be withheld for something like this, and the fear of it showed in her eyes.

Callie’s eyes widened for a moment, but she needed to remain calm for Katie. She let Katie explain as much as she could while her brain formulated a plan. “Okay, hey, we’re gonna fix it, alright? I’ve got you.”

Getting Katie calm took a little time, but eventually, Callie managed it enough to leave her, and make it back to her office. There, she spent hours on the phone, on the phone to anyone and everyone she could think of to get her patient back. Hours had slipped by when she finally hung up the phone again, and she struggled not to flip out over the news she got. Without proof of negligence, she had to wait.

Furious, she logged into her computer, and opened Meph’s file. Opening it revealed a multitude of tests, almost every psychological test. She blinked several times as she searched through the tests scheduled. “Jesus fuck.” She whispered to herself as she looked at who ordered them, and immediately felt her fucking blood boil. Dr. Stockle. “Arrogant bastard!”

Callie fully intended to storm all the way up to the eighth floor, and likely start a rather unprofessional fight with him, but upon walking out of her office, she realized quickly, he would no longer be in his office. That kind of blew the wind of her sails for the moment, and stuttered her step for a moment as she had to delay her plans to yell at him. Stopping by the desk, she did a routine check of patients, while asking if Katie was around. Callie learned she was, and moved from room to room until she found her. “Listen, I’m gonna go….and take a stroll, and I think you should come with me.”

Callie moved somewhat slowly to the elevator, where she waited for Katie, who caught on quickly, and already knew where Meph had been taken. The ride to the eighth floor was silent, the two women knowing what was happening. When they arrived, Callie saw, like downstairs, there was a minimum crew. She slipped down the corridor, where she ran almost immediately into a security guard. “That is my—“ But she didn’t get much of a chance to give the explanation before the big man rose his hand to stop her.

“I ain’t here to fight you, Doc. I’m gone for 20 minutes to get coffee. Whatev’ happens in that time, I ain’t see nuthin.” He had a slow, low drawl, a comforting sort of tone, and his words surprised the doctor, who he left blinking after him. After informing her that the patient currently had a visitor. A visitor, Callie wondered as she stepped to the room.

On Meph’s bed, she saw the young, beautiful, up coming psychiatrist….doing everything wrong with this patient. Stepping in, Callie’s tone was sharp. “Step away from my patient. It’s time enough now, I need to check the wounds.” Seeing him in this condition, she stared daggers through the blonde woman.

Dr Cruz was startled by the fierceness in the sudden intrusion. “Doctor Coleman. This is a private matter, and you will need to remove yourself.” The young doctor looked at Callie, her eyebrows raised.

Callie could only smirk and look over at Meph. He was strapped down, literally head to toe, which the doctor thought hilarious since he had a fucking broken back, but Callie looked back at Dr. Cruz. “I appreciate that you’ve been sent, but this is a surgical patient that was never released by me to this department. He has been in here for hours, obviously without anyone to clean or check him. As he has an incision, is covered in blood, hence not being properly cared for, plus it’s obvious to me you don’t know anything about your audience, AND he is still my patient, it is you who will remove herself, and now, if you could.”

Dr. Cruz actually faltered a little under the very icy gaze she was receiving. She was used to doctors, of course, but Callie was exceeding pure rage, something she had never done before in the hospital. “I’ll be reporting to Dr. Stockle about this.”

In the most sarcastic tone Callie could muster, and with the body language to match, Callie simply stepped aside and waved a hand to the door. “Report your ass off, honey. He’s still under my care.”

Insulted to the core, Dr Cruz stormed out of the room, and Callie and Katie smirked at each other before they both looked at the patient in the bed. “Slowly, Katie. Like this.” Keeping a very soft, gentle tone, Callie stepped towards Meph, noting he was awake, and spoke to him softly. “Hey. It’s alright, I’m here.” Like before, showing Katie, Callie’s hand was extremely soft and gentle as she reached out and moved her fingers over his forehead and hair as she stayed near his shoulders, and made no attempt to get touch him anywhere else. Noting the state of him, she turned to her nurse. ”Katie, go find something to clean him, please. The risk of infection is running too great.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Nodding slightly, Katie left the room, leaving Callie alone with Meph.

When the two were alone, Callie looked down at him, and before she made an attempt to remove the restraints, she asked very softly: “If I remove these. Are you going to hurt me?”

Meph knew he could break through these restrains. It would take some effort, but he could do it. The more this you doctor touched him, the more panicked he got. Her hand was moving to touch him in more and more intimate places. If she tried to slide her hand up the blanket towards his groin, he wouldn’t hesitate to break free. Just when her fingers were trailing over the belt holding his abdomen down, he heard a voice. A stern voice with a heavy dose of anger and sarcasm. He couldn’t move his head to look. He thought he recognized her voice, but he couldn’t be sure. Was he safe now? Was this angry woman going to make this intruder go away? And that is exactly what she did. The blonde doctor bustled out of the room with outrage coming off her as she got off his bed and left the room.

His eyes moved from side to side, blinking frantically as he waited for these two new women to approach him, unsure of their true intentions. Now that he was awake his reaction was a little different to her touch. When he saw her hand moving for his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut and he held his breath. Like he was waiting for something bad to happen. It was her question of whether he would hurt her or not that made him open his eyes again. Under the strap his eyebrows knitted together, his stormy grey eyes showing confusion. He tried to shake his head ‘no’, but the straps held him too tight. He would have a answer her verbally. He swallowed hard, obvious pain registering on his face, as he said in an almost child-like way, “No.” It was barely a sound on a light breeze. “I wouldn’t hurt anyone.” His eyes clear and pure showed no sign of deception as he laid there helpless. He swallowed again, his mouth cottony and his throat rough as sandpaper.

Most sedatives dried the mouth out, slowing the salvatory glands so patients were less likely to choke on their spit when they were intubated for surgeries. Meph’s body might have been hydrated from the IV, but his mouth and throat were as dry as a sandbox during rainless summer in the southern July heat. His mouth opened and shut, his tongue lolling around as he tried to muster up some saliva. Failing miserably, he looked up into the doctor’s blue eyes. “If it wouldn’t be too much to ask,” he got shy then, like if he asked, he would be greatly offending her. He paused, his eyes shifting from hers as he asked almost like he was expecting to be reprimanded for it, “May I have some water?”

Callie, of course, understood why Meph had been reacted to the way he had. The fact was, he had hurt several of her nurses, orderlies and sent her security guard to surgery. But Callie couldn’t help but feel there was more to it than that. She couldn’t help but think that there was something that had happened to trigger this. From all accounts, he was a sweet, peaceful, shy man. So what could he be dreaming about to cause him to be this violent?

At his answer that he would not hurt her, her hands made quick work of the straps holding down his head. She went one by one down his chest straps until he asked his question, which made her blue eyes look at him. “Yeah. Of course you can.” Pausing momentarily, she pulled out her phone to relay the request to Katie before she made her way back. She dropped her phone back in her pocket, and showed him her hands again before she lowered them to his body.

She paused for just a second to deal with the influx of anger when she saw his hands purpling against the restraints, and undid them quickly. “Can you move them still?” She asked gently, eyes tracking up his wrists and arms to see if the blood flow had been completely stopped. If he couldn’t, that would be a deeper problem. She would wait to see if he could before proceeding.

The next thing she would do was step up to his side, about waist level. Tim’s words of him being terrified of women rang through her mind just then, as she looked down at the remaining straps, and very carefully asked; “May I touch you? Just to get these off, and to check you?” If she did have his permission, her hands would again be visible to him as she slowly lowered them to the straps closest to the most intimate areas of him. She would make no attempt to touch him, feel him, anything other than professionalism as she took off the remaining straps.

If he did not give his permission, then she would wait until he was comfortable, and instead start doing the check of his upper body. His neck, shoulders, arms, fingers, vitals all while they waited for Katie, who would slip back into the room a few minutes later, with her arms full of things they would need to clean, and bandage him. In her one hand was a small cup of ice water. “Hey, how we doing?” She asked gently as she put the stuff down to ready it for Callie. She picked up the water again to turn and hand it to Callie, but as she turned, she didn’t realize she was a little too close to the bed, since the room was still fairly dark, and misjudged her step. When she did, ice cold water flew out of the cup, and splashed all over both the other people in the room. Ice cold rivers ran over Meph’s chest, which made Katie gasp, and cover her face as she went bright red. “Oh my god, I am so so sorry!”

Callie, who now had ice cold water down her arm, since she had been reaching towards one of the IVs attached to him to check that he hadn’t bled back into the line, could only sigh. “Katie, Katie. Honey. Relax. Just give me a towel, and go get another one. Okay?” Once the teenager had left the room again, still babbling apologies, Callie couldn’t help but smirk as she laid the towel over his chest to soak it up. “Well, that was refreshing, I’m sure.” She was flabbergasted that that just happened, and the look on her face reflected that. “I’m so sorry. Let me get you cleaned up.”

Meph had a huge problem trusting women. Especially women that put themselves in a position of authority over him. He had been the victim of women for too long and he knew just how much more destructive they could be then men. A man would beat you to death. A woman would destroy your psyche, your worth, and then your life before she even went to work on you physically. Dr. Coleman hadn’t done anything to warrant a negative reaction from him, but he was extremely cautious of her. He had known women that had tried to use sweetness and care to get close to him as a means to an end. He couldn’t deny her touch was gentle and her efforts appreciated.

When his head was freed, he lifted it from the pillow and started to stretch it from side to side. He looked down his body and flinched. “Why…” He swallowed hard, obvious distress on his face. “Why am I covered in blood?” His eyes were beseeching as he gazed up from the hospital bed at his doctor. She had just freed his hands, and he lifted his arms, his hands going into fists as he rested them on his chest. The influx of blood into his hands caused him to groan a little as he started to feel the thousands of needles poking his hands as they started to wake up. His hands hurt to move for a few minutes. She asked him if she could still move them, he showed her how he was able, despite the pain, to wiggle his fingers and caress his palms with them. The purple stayed for a little over a minute before the natural color of his hands started to show.

While he worked on waking his hands up, Dr. Coleman was unstrapping the straps below his waist. He had given her permission but watched her closely. He would have preferred to do this himself, but his hands weren’t working yet, and he wanted the straps off him. Once the straps were off him, he felt her hands touching his upper body. He recognized the touch. It was the same way his father figure had touched him to check him for injuries. Meph felt no wickedness in her touches and, therefore, allowed her to carry out her examination. His eyes were ever moving though, taking in her facial features. He was always hyper aware of where her hands were, what they touched, and how they touched him. He was ready to act if he felt like he was going to be taken advantage of.

As he lay there being examined, he heard the nurse return to the room. He spotted the cup in her hand and his mouth grew even more cottony as he awaited the water. The water however was not destined for his mouth. Goosebumps erupted all over his chest and arms as the vast majority of the icy water hit his bare chest. His nipples hardened and the muscles of his chest tensed in reaction to the unexpected cold and wet. Dr. Coleman took control and sent the nurse out of the room for more water. She then placed a towel on his chest, and he could feel her hands moving the towel over the contours of his chest. He wasn’t mad. Surprised for sure, but not mad. Normally he would have laughed it off with a shrug. But here, in these surroundings, when he had no idea what was happening to him, he was in no mood to laugh.