Disclaimer: Don't own them, NBC, Criction, whoever the hell else has paid
money for them does. If I owned them, I'd have no reason to write a whole
lot of snarkalicious goodness.
Authors Notes: Near the end, I understand it's confusing. Try to imagine your thoughts running in circles as you're doped up on a rather high dose in morphine. Now, add in the grogginess from anesthesia, and you get what our dear Rocket must be feeling like, and how jumbled his thoughts are. And yes, I know it's somewhat unlikely, but it's still somewhat plausible. I just like making our favorite Snarky god as tortured and troubled as possible ;) I know I'm evil.
*~*~*~*~*
He could feel the steady drip of the IV into his right arm. He could feel it, but it wasn't doing anything. He knew what was added to the normal saline, he knew what they were pumping into him. And he hadn't bothered to stop them, he hadn't had the strength to tell them not to, besides he could handle it, he knew he could. But the more he felt it dripping slowly into him, the more he had to resist the urge to turn the pump up as high as it would go.
It was his fault that this wasn't working, it was his fault that the medication, the painkillers were doing nothing for him. it was their fault that he even needed it in the first place, that hd driven him to it, but he had been the one that was weak enough to let it get to him. he was just week to do things on his own, too weak to cope with anything. He never had been strong enough, despite the tough exterior that he showed to most. Inside, he was still the weak little boy he had always been.
He finally gave in to his urges, his desires, and got up, slowly, painfully, still groggy and fiddled with the pump at his bedside. He had just finished putting it up to the dosage that he wanted, the dosage that he needed so desperately. It was then that the door opened, and in she walked. Elizabeth. His Lizzie, the one that he loved the most, the one that he had loved from the first time the he had met her, interviewing her for the sponsorship that she finally got.
She had always been his, from the moment that he met her, she had stolen his heart. With her beautiful furls of rust, and those beautiful eyes, she had pulled the ground out from underneath his feet. And she was his. No matter who she would date, who she would marry even, she was still his. And he loved that fact, that he had her, even if it was only in dreams and pictures, she was still his, even if it was only in his mind. At least he had her.
She looked at him, and he smiled at her, beginning to feel the drug taking its hold, and loving the feeling that it gave him. Now it was doing something for the pain, now it was starting to drown out the place where his left arm once was that was crying in agony previously. She took the seat next to him, and looked over everything, before her eyes fell on the pump. She gave him an odd glance, but she knew better than to change it back. He knew what he had been doing when he changed his dosage himself. But she was going to sit by him to make sure that he didn't accidentally make an error.
She looked at him for a long minute, in which he looked back at her, before she broke the gaze. "Well, are you going to say something, or are you just going to sit there?" he finally asked, breaking the tense silence that fell between them in the awkward moment. She glared at him, but kept her mouth shut. She just gave another glance at the IV that was dripping slowly into him, and the high amount that it was at. He could feel the fog starting to break into his mind, but he didn't mind.
"You look like hell." She said softly, not being able to come up with anything. He laughed, as he felt himself starting to doze off a bit from the medicine.
"You try having your arm amputated by the bozos we have here and get back to me." She smiled a bit at his sarcasm, knowing that it was a sign of his recovery that he had gained his harsh nature back. He let his head sink back into the pillow, sighing at the familiar feeling that he loved and hated at the same time.
How could he have been so weak to let himself fall into this? He had been too weak to cope, so he took the lazy way out. He couldn't cope with his job before this had happened, the staff had already driven him to what he did, and his injury only justified what he did. His injury gave his life a new perspective; it made him all the more cynical of his life, and made him not care about it as much. He just flat out didn't give a damn anymore.
His Lizzie looked at him, a soft gentle, look in her eyes, and grabbed his hand. He smiled up at her, glad for the touch, something she had never done before. She had flinched away from him before, he always thought that she didn't care much for him, like everyone else in the ER. She was one of his major causes. The only woman he ever really, truly, deeply loved, the only woman that he ever cared for, didn't want him, hated him.
He knew that he had told her that he loved her as he was emerging from surgery. He was still groggy from the anesthetic, but he had meant it. He had loved her for so long, he didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't see her every day, he didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't trade snarky comments with her, in their own twisted version of flirting. At least that's what he thought it was, he knew that it was his way of flirting at least.
She was so beautiful to him; she was the angel of the ER, the one that made putting up with the other bozos worth it. She was the main reason for his weakness, but at the same time, his reason for not being too weak, his reason for trying his hardest to fight. "They're not that bad. I made sure of it." she was all but whispering, confirming her presence there to watch over him. His smile broadened slightly as he faded even further back into the pillows, so close to sleep.
"Thank you." the drugs, his single weakness, his reason for his cynicism, were taking their hold. He loved this feeling so much, it drew away from the pain of every day life, it drew away from the pain of his arm. It was the only thing that kept him alive, kept him getting up every day. His escape, and his Lizzie. They were the only two things that gave him a reason to wake up in the morning, the only things that stopped him from just lying in his bed and letting him waste away.
His weakness made him want to stay there, but yet, his ride stopped him. He was too proud to let his fault, his escape get in his way. He hated it, but he loved it at the same time. He hated himself for allowing himself to be weak, he had always been the strongest, been the best, every since he had over come his weaknesses almost thirty years ago. Now he had new weaknesses, but they were worthwhile, they made his life seem worthwhile.
The more he thought about it, the more afraid he was, the more he hated the drugs, the more he wanted to rip out the IV, but at the same time, the more he loved it. he had been thinking too much recently, he found himself thinking in circles. It was the only thing he had left anymore, his thoughts. He couldn't work, he couldn't perform surgery, all he had when he was in County was his thoughts, his thoughts and his snark.
And his Lizzie. She was there, but she had her work, she could still work. He couldn't. she still had a job, she could still perform surgeries, while all he had was one arm and the position at head of the ER, a job that was far below him. But he still got to see her; he still got to see his angel. And here she was beside him, and now he had his two weaknesses. There was a time he'd be hating himself for being so weak, for being so miserable, but for now he was happy.
Authors Notes: Near the end, I understand it's confusing. Try to imagine your thoughts running in circles as you're doped up on a rather high dose in morphine. Now, add in the grogginess from anesthesia, and you get what our dear Rocket must be feeling like, and how jumbled his thoughts are. And yes, I know it's somewhat unlikely, but it's still somewhat plausible. I just like making our favorite Snarky god as tortured and troubled as possible ;) I know I'm evil.
*~*~*~*~*
He could feel the steady drip of the IV into his right arm. He could feel it, but it wasn't doing anything. He knew what was added to the normal saline, he knew what they were pumping into him. And he hadn't bothered to stop them, he hadn't had the strength to tell them not to, besides he could handle it, he knew he could. But the more he felt it dripping slowly into him, the more he had to resist the urge to turn the pump up as high as it would go.
It was his fault that this wasn't working, it was his fault that the medication, the painkillers were doing nothing for him. it was their fault that he even needed it in the first place, that hd driven him to it, but he had been the one that was weak enough to let it get to him. he was just week to do things on his own, too weak to cope with anything. He never had been strong enough, despite the tough exterior that he showed to most. Inside, he was still the weak little boy he had always been.
He finally gave in to his urges, his desires, and got up, slowly, painfully, still groggy and fiddled with the pump at his bedside. He had just finished putting it up to the dosage that he wanted, the dosage that he needed so desperately. It was then that the door opened, and in she walked. Elizabeth. His Lizzie, the one that he loved the most, the one that he had loved from the first time the he had met her, interviewing her for the sponsorship that she finally got.
She had always been his, from the moment that he met her, she had stolen his heart. With her beautiful furls of rust, and those beautiful eyes, she had pulled the ground out from underneath his feet. And she was his. No matter who she would date, who she would marry even, she was still his. And he loved that fact, that he had her, even if it was only in dreams and pictures, she was still his, even if it was only in his mind. At least he had her.
She looked at him, and he smiled at her, beginning to feel the drug taking its hold, and loving the feeling that it gave him. Now it was doing something for the pain, now it was starting to drown out the place where his left arm once was that was crying in agony previously. She took the seat next to him, and looked over everything, before her eyes fell on the pump. She gave him an odd glance, but she knew better than to change it back. He knew what he had been doing when he changed his dosage himself. But she was going to sit by him to make sure that he didn't accidentally make an error.
She looked at him for a long minute, in which he looked back at her, before she broke the gaze. "Well, are you going to say something, or are you just going to sit there?" he finally asked, breaking the tense silence that fell between them in the awkward moment. She glared at him, but kept her mouth shut. She just gave another glance at the IV that was dripping slowly into him, and the high amount that it was at. He could feel the fog starting to break into his mind, but he didn't mind.
"You look like hell." She said softly, not being able to come up with anything. He laughed, as he felt himself starting to doze off a bit from the medicine.
"You try having your arm amputated by the bozos we have here and get back to me." She smiled a bit at his sarcasm, knowing that it was a sign of his recovery that he had gained his harsh nature back. He let his head sink back into the pillow, sighing at the familiar feeling that he loved and hated at the same time.
How could he have been so weak to let himself fall into this? He had been too weak to cope, so he took the lazy way out. He couldn't cope with his job before this had happened, the staff had already driven him to what he did, and his injury only justified what he did. His injury gave his life a new perspective; it made him all the more cynical of his life, and made him not care about it as much. He just flat out didn't give a damn anymore.
His Lizzie looked at him, a soft gentle, look in her eyes, and grabbed his hand. He smiled up at her, glad for the touch, something she had never done before. She had flinched away from him before, he always thought that she didn't care much for him, like everyone else in the ER. She was one of his major causes. The only woman he ever really, truly, deeply loved, the only woman that he ever cared for, didn't want him, hated him.
He knew that he had told her that he loved her as he was emerging from surgery. He was still groggy from the anesthetic, but he had meant it. He had loved her for so long, he didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't see her every day, he didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't trade snarky comments with her, in their own twisted version of flirting. At least that's what he thought it was, he knew that it was his way of flirting at least.
She was so beautiful to him; she was the angel of the ER, the one that made putting up with the other bozos worth it. She was the main reason for his weakness, but at the same time, his reason for not being too weak, his reason for trying his hardest to fight. "They're not that bad. I made sure of it." she was all but whispering, confirming her presence there to watch over him. His smile broadened slightly as he faded even further back into the pillows, so close to sleep.
"Thank you." the drugs, his single weakness, his reason for his cynicism, were taking their hold. He loved this feeling so much, it drew away from the pain of every day life, it drew away from the pain of his arm. It was the only thing that kept him alive, kept him getting up every day. His escape, and his Lizzie. They were the only two things that gave him a reason to wake up in the morning, the only things that stopped him from just lying in his bed and letting him waste away.
His weakness made him want to stay there, but yet, his ride stopped him. He was too proud to let his fault, his escape get in his way. He hated it, but he loved it at the same time. He hated himself for allowing himself to be weak, he had always been the strongest, been the best, every since he had over come his weaknesses almost thirty years ago. Now he had new weaknesses, but they were worthwhile, they made his life seem worthwhile.
The more he thought about it, the more afraid he was, the more he hated the drugs, the more he wanted to rip out the IV, but at the same time, the more he loved it. he had been thinking too much recently, he found himself thinking in circles. It was the only thing he had left anymore, his thoughts. He couldn't work, he couldn't perform surgery, all he had when he was in County was his thoughts, his thoughts and his snark.
And his Lizzie. She was there, but she had her work, she could still work. He couldn't. she still had a job, she could still perform surgeries, while all he had was one arm and the position at head of the ER, a job that was far below him. But he still got to see her; he still got to see his angel. And here she was beside him, and now he had his two weaknesses. There was a time he'd be hating himself for being so weak, for being so miserable, but for now he was happy.