Chapter 2: Oh, Doctor, Save Me!
Disclaimer in ch 1
Hey, if you guys get confused, I have some refs for you at the end of the chapter. I had lots of fun writing this, and I may even continue it for my own enjoyment. I had too much fun researching. But, don't expect anything soon. Tonsillectomy and Adenoidectomy is tomorrow, so I'll be drugged up off of Lortab and Motrin for a good two weeks.
...I AM SO EXCITED.
Anyway, go read.
Szayel was being dragged to the kitchen by a totally ballistic Tesla. Tesla was known for his severe OCD, but this was insane. It was as if he expected to have Szayel 'operate' in a kitchen. He was speaking quickly and frenetically, barely stopping to breathe and making all these dramatic gestures. Szayel wondered how he could talk so fast while running and forgetting to breathe.
"—everywhere! I'm surprised he's not dead, but he went like WHAM with that knife!" Tesla panted, eyes bulging. He stopped momentarily to gulp down some breaths. "He actually screamed! It was terrible!"
Tesla was running at Szayel's walking pace. Szayel didn't really seem to care about what was going on. He seemed very relaxed, actually. Szayel rounded a corner sharply, Tesla on his heels, and he could already hear voices from the kitchen nearby.
Confidently, Szayel walked straight into the kitchen, and surveyed the scene in front of him bemusedly.
Noitora was at the kitchen island. His thumb's knuckle was at his mouth and he was wincing slightly as he singlehandedly cut up a carrot. The knife was slipping and Noitora was muttering curse words past his thumb. Stark and Halibel were nearby, sniggering.
"Nice going," Stark said, taking a big sip of his soda.
"Fuuuuuuuuuck you." Noitora replied, hinting a smile. He glanced up as Szayel and Tesla cruised right into the kitchen.
"Noitora! I've brought you a surgeon!" Tesla announced.
Noitora frowned and gave Tesla a mildly annoyed, irritated look. He shifted his gaze to Szayel, and shrugged. Then he looked down and continued to cut.
"For what, you retard?" Noitora demanded.
"For your cut! It'll need stitches, no? Come look, Szayel."
Szayel was standing in the doorway, still. His arms were folded, and his eyes were cold as he gazed angrily at Tesla. His eyes were on the small cut on Noitora's thumb, which was about two centimeters long and very shallow.
"You expect me," Szayel said slowly, after an awkward silence, "to heal that?"
Tesla blinked, bemused.
"Well yes, yes, I do." He said with a nod.
Szayel gave a mirthless laugh, and turned on his heel to leave.
"Cuts like that are what band aids are for." Szayel said with a wave of his hand.
"Well…" Tesla was thinking of something to say, but as evidently struggling to find the right words. "It looked bad!"
"You're a total and complete retard." Noitora said with a chuckle. "I told you there was nothing wrong with me."
"Oh..." Tesla looked slightly embarrassed, but he looked even a little bit defiant and indignant about Noitora's condition.
"Although," Szayel said, wagging his finger, "before you do anything with meat, cover up that cut. Open wounds bring quite a torrent of risks, and I highly doubt you'd like to be infected."
Noitora shrugged and continued to cut the carrot like nothing had ever happened. As for Szayel, he stole a few pieces of the carrot and smuggled some beer out of the kitchen before returning to his laboratory, where he could finally screw around with some electrons.
()()()()()()()()()
Two weeks later, Szayel was coming back into his lab after a large, healthy breakfast. He took a few sips of his coffee, and walked right into his lab with a new spring in his step. His hair was swishing side to side, and a little smile graced his face. He looked like a relaxed, model scientist. Not that he wasn't, but he had a history of episodes of disorganization and spazz attacks. Especially if he didn't get to do the things he wanted to do.
Lumina and Verona flanked him as his proceeded down the hallway.
"Sir, we got a distress call from Miss Halibel." Lumina said, handing Szayel a death certificate from a recent autopsy.
"Mmm?" he hummed, fixing the cuff on his lab coat. There was a slight pain that was beginning in his stomach, but he had it last night, too."About what?"
"Something about severe pain."
"Where?"
"She didn't say, she just said 'code red'." Lumina replied.
Szayel clenched his jaw and was just about ready to kill himself. That woman. A hypochondriac that wouldn't even take her medicine.
"Well, call her back and tell her to take the Midol™. I just checked her for ovarian cysts last week, and I found nothing." Szayel said stonily.
"Yes, sir." Lumina answered. "By the way, you've got two dead Arrancar that need a necropsy."
"Wonderful." Szayel said stiffly, walking ahead of Lumina. He turned sharply into his 'pharmacy', and took off into the shelves of medicine.
"Ahh, Lumina, if you could, get me the antacid tablets…" Szayel asked, frowning. He laid a hand over his stomach, sighing. Quite frankly, he did not feel too well. There was a stirring pain near or in his stomach. Not enough to make him feel nauseous, but enough to cause him to lose interest in his work. All he wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep, but he had to work to do: autopsies, testing a new metallic compound, and of course, filling out scientific theories, and many other little tasks that ganged up on him daily.
Lumina placed the tablets in his hand, and he tossed them into his mouth without a second thought. Straight from there, he took off downstairs to the morgue, his least favorite place in his laboratory.
Upon pushing opening the pressurized metal doors, and sweet and sour scent of decay seeped into his clothing, lungs and hair. It was cold, as all morgues were. He flicked on the light switch. Halogen lights, set in a line, went straight down a hallway with small, metal doors like lockers stacked on top of each other.
Szayel went down another flight of stairs, passed another set of metal doors, and was hit by the scent of fresh blood and bleach. The tiled floor had just been cleaned, and the autopsy tables were weighed down with the bodies of the Arrancar.
Suiting up and jamming his right hand into a chain mail glove, he took the prosector's knife firmly in hand, and made the famous Y-incision.
By the time he finished with the first autopsy, there was a searing pain in Szayel's abdomen. It was threatening to shift to the lower right side of his body, but the pain was biding its time in doing so. Szayel, unable to continue, stripped himself of his apron and gloves, storming out of the pit and the morgue as he ran up to his pharmacy. There had to be something here to ease his pain. Rummaging through the tiny bottles, he gasped as the pain made itself comfortable in the lower right side of his abdomen.
Then it came to him: appendicitis.
He frowned at the thought and gritted his teeth. Who would do the surgery on him? He couldn't do it on himself. But there was no one capable of doing the surgery.
"I'm being stupid," Szayel said to himself, taking deep breaths and walking out of the pharmacy. "It's not an appendicitis…" his voice caught as he felt the throbbing explode. "Wait, the pressing test…"
Szayel pressed down on the location of the ache, and then let go. Leaning against the wall and doubling over, he knew it was true: appendicitis.
"Shit." He hissed, taking shaky steps to his brother. His brother, Ilforte, was just entering the lab, unconcerned, playing his gameboy.
"Hey, Ilforte…"
"The hell happened to you?" Ilforte questioned, passing by him with a flourish.
"Appendicitis." Szayel said stiffly, leaning against the wall. He gave him a small grin. "If you could, get me ready for surgery…"
Ilforte stared at him, bewildered. He looked at Szayel, and then at the door to the operating room, as if making a connection. The corner of his lips turned down and he scowled.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm damn sure!" Szayel said rather loudly. "I'm running a fever, damn it!"
"O-Okay!" Ilforte said, raising his hands defensively. "But who'll do your surgery? I'm not going to. All I can do is anesthesia."
"Who cares? I'm getting the Espada to do it!" Szayel said defensively, attempting to walk into the operating room.
"You're really…you really do have it, then. If you're willing to have the Espada do it, then fine. Lumina and Verona, please having the following people show up here, stat: Ulquiorra, Grimmjow, Stark, Halibel, and Noitora." Ilforte said firmly. He turned to his younger brother, a hint of a smile on his face. "Alright, you, when was the last time you ate, when did the symptoms, begin, and…"
()()()()()()()
Halibel and Stark were rushing down to Szayel's laboratory upon Szayel's distress call. The two were walking quickly, fists balled, tense strides, and of course a slight bit of wonder as to why they were being called. Noitora was lagging behind them, annoyed and condescending as usual.
"Twenty bucks the guy wants to use us as guinea pigs for some crackpot drug." He muttered angrily.
"I doubt that." Halibel said smoothly, flipping her long, blonde hair. "I think he's in serious distress."
"Oh, you think so?" Noitora sneered.
"Yes, I do." Halibel replied. "Szayel has never asked us to try a new drug or genetically modify us, has he?"
"There's a first for everything…" Stark said thoughtfully, wagging a finger at her. Halibel scoffed and walked dutifully ahead. Stark and Noitora, feeling slightly worried, picked up the pace and followed Halibel right into the laboratory, only to be greeted by a sour faced Ilforte. Ilforte shifted his weight and huffed rather loudly as he saw the trio walk in.
"Here's the deal: Szayel's got an appendicitis."
"What the fuck's that?" Noitora said loudly, folding his arms.
"Inflammation of the appendix." Ilforte replied. "And guess what? Since he's the only damn surgeon here, he needs someone to operate on him. I can't do it because I'm supposed to monitor his vitals and the anesthesia. He's asked that you guys do it. Ulquiorra and Grimmjow are already suited up and ready to go."
"Wait, but how are we supposed to do it?" Stark asked, scowling incredulously. "I mean, do you expect us to just come in, cut him open, and deal with his appendix? I don't even know what the appendix looks like or what it is!"
"Duh. That's exactly what I expect. The appendix, is like…" Ilforte frowned and pointed to some generalized area on the lower right side of his torso. "Somewhere there. Anyway," Ilforte said with a smirk, "I can give you instructions, but Szayel's in the OR writing them down on a piece of paper for you. That is, if he hasn't passed out yet or thrown up all over himself, ha."
Stark and Noitora looked absolutely mortified. They stood there, stiff, gaping like fish out of water. Halibel, however, looked very cool and collected.
"Well, take us to the OR…" Stark muttered, making a vague gesture down Szayel's famous hallway.
"Are you on crack? We have to suit you up, and then scrub." Ilforte said with irritation, leading them down the hallway at a fast, erratic pace. He shoved them all into a room with a row of deep, stainless steel sinks. On the opposite wall, aprons, scrubs, masks and caps hung, waiting to be used.
Noitora made a small noise in the back of his throat. But Ilforte was guarding the door.
"Alright, people." He kicked the door shut and handed aprons to all three of them. They were quite long and a greenish color that looked like Ulquiorra's eyes. Put these on. I'll them for you while you wash your hands. Get some soap, and scrub up to mid forearm. And when I say scrub, I mean scrub."
Ilforte's hawkish gaze was on all of them as they did as told. He had his eye on Noitora, watching him very keenly, as he looked very uncomfortable and kept looking over his shoulder, only to be met with Ilforte's evil little glare. This made Noitora even more nervous, and when Ilforte tied his apron, he whimpered as the strings punctured his ribcage. Geez, Ilforte tied it tight.
"'Kay." Ilforte muttered. "Noitora and Halibel, put your hair in a ponytail or something."
Halibel quickly did as told, handing a hair tie to Noitora, who held it rather disdainfully. Ilforte took it from him and put Noitora's hair in a ponytail for him, seeing that he wasn't being very productive. But now, Ilforte was putting his apron and tucking his hair up into a surgical cap.
"Well, now the masks and caps. Gloves come last." He tossed them all green surgical caps, and watched very carefully as Stark tucked every curl in and as Noitora slipped his thick hair so that none of it showed. Wordlessly, Ilforte tied a mask around each one's neck and head, tying off Noitora's very tightly.
"That's what you get, bitch." Ilforte murmured, patting him harshly on the back. He grinned cruelly. "Well!" he said, addressing the group." You all look so…surgeon-like. Too bad you aren't, haha. Now the last part, the gloves. They're very tight for a reason…don't get any ideas, sickos." Ilforte added a snide laugh and opened the door to the OR for them.
A wave of cold air hit them, and the stale scent of sterile air came over them. And in the middle of the room, Szayel laid on the operating table. A dazzlingly bright light was shining over him. His eyes were closed, but he speaking in a low voice to Lumina, gesturing vaguely to a rather large needle sitting on a wheeled table nearby him. His shirt was off, and his pants were pulled down quite low. A green sheet was over his hips. Nearby, Ulquiorra and Grimmjow stood, both confused, afraid, and perhaps even a bit nauseated judging by the furrow of Grimmjow's eyebrows. He stood there, flexing his gloved hands, while Ulquiorra was looking around the room, mildly curious. He looked anywhere but at the table that had the surgical instruments waiting to be used.
"Hi." Szayel said weakly, motioning them over. Stark, Halibel and Noitora, jabbed in the back with a scalpel by Ilforte, had no choice but to approach Szayel.
"Hey." Stark said rather awkwardly. He smiled a little.
"Oh, come closer. All of you listen up." Szayel said quietly. His eyelids were drooping, now that Ilforte was jamming the needle into his vein. He allowed the anesthesia to flow very slowly.
"I want you all to cut here." Szayel took a marker and made a line, about five inches long, at the bottom right part of his torso.
"Oh, God." Grimmjow said in a rather high pitched voice, looking up the ceiling. Noitora nodded in agreement.
"Quit being sissies!" Szayel said sharply. "I don't have much time before I fall asleep. So, anyway, cut there. You're going to have to cut through or move through muscle, get past the peritoneum, and then tie off and snip the appendix…" Szayel's eyelids fell, but he continued to talk. By now, Ilforte was jamming a rather large needle into his hand for the IV.
"…then sew me back up. Use the sutures, put tape over them. That, or use the surgical glue. Sutures, please. Before, sewing me up,…place the muscles and peritoneum where they were originally…" Szayel stopped moving and his head rolled to the side.
"He died? Thank God!" Noitora said. He made a move to leave, but Stark restrained him.
"Are you on crack?" Ilforte's brown eyes were fixed on them. He dropped his gaze and pulled out a tube. "Of course he's not dead. He's just knocked out with the anesthesia. Hey, Halibel, come here, please."
Halibel flanked him.
"Administer these three shots. Once he enters stage three of anesthesia, vitals will fly up…" he waved a hand impatiently. "But anyway, this will calm him down completely so that he doesn't react badly during the surgery."
"Yes." Halibel took one of the injections, and nimbly put it in his arm, pressing down on it. In rapid succession, she had them all done.
"Heyy, very good." Ilforte said with an approving smile. Surgical masks can't hide smiles, after all. He returned to sliding a tube down Szayel's throat.
"Damn it. Laryngoscope." Ilforte held out an open hand and moved it around impatiently.
"Uh…what's that?" Stark asked, looking at the the surgical instruments.
"The thing that looks like what the Grim Reaper kills people with. It's got a light at the end." Ilforte said shortly. He pointed to it vaguely.
Stark wordlessly handed it to him, looking at the laryngoscope warily, as if it jump up and kill him.
"Thank you."
Ulquiorra, Grimmjow, and Noitora were huddled at the foot of the table, each one terribly grossed out. Grimmjow was positively trembling, and Ulquiorra was leaning back. It was too bad he and Grimmjow had finished their antibiotics not even three days ago. Otherwise, they wouldn't have to be in this predicament. They all watched as Ilforte looked down Szayel's throat with the laryngoscope, and his finally slid the tube in and pressed on some tube thing. The pilot tube.
Grimmjow gasped as he realized that the tube was all the way down Szayel's neck.
"Does it really take five people—" Ulquiorra began, but he was cut off by Ilforte.
"Alright! He's got the endotracheal tube in. Let's start this surgery." Ilforte smiled at all of them, but his smile fell once he saw Grimmjow, Ulquiorra, and Noitora.
"Yeah, get your wee asses up here, by me. If the puke factor sets in, leave, quickly. Don't tell me, don't just stand there, run." Ilforte said. He whipped out a crossword puzzle and shoved a paper in Halibel's face.
"You. You're head surgeon, seeing you're the most capable here. The directions are there as to how to do this thing."
"Oh." Halibel blinked, and took the paper. "Scalpel, please." Halibel hesitantly her right hand, waiting for a scalpel to placed in it. Stark jumped into action, standing by the wheeled table, and put the scalpel in her hand lightly. She nodded at him in thanks.
"Palmar grip…" Ilforte muttered, looking up briefly from his crossword puzzle. "Dinner knife. Hold it like a dinner knife."
Halibel nodded, hesitating just a few inches over the mark. She touched his skin with the tip of the scalpel, applying just enough pressure to leave a smooth, straight line as the incision.
"Good. Ulquiorra, get those plastic things over there. I want you to hold the incision open enough so Halibel can get past the muscle and peritoneum." Ilforte commanded.
Ulquiorra, unsure, picked up the plastic things. They reminded him of what orthodontists used to hold the lips back when taking pictures of the mouth prior to treatment.
He slid one under each piece of skin, and pulled them back, exposing the pinkish muscle tissue. There was not a large amount of blood, which seemed to relieve the whole room.
"Cut." Ilforte said. "Wait, let me do this. Unskilled people will screw it up." Ilforte took the scalpel brusquely from her, and in a flash the muscles were pushed aside, revealing the yellowish peritoneum. Ilforte continued, making a smaller incision. He handed the scalpel back to Halibel.
"Grimmjow, come and pull the peritoneum apart…"
"Oh my God…why?" he moaned. Coming closer, he was afraid to look down at the incision. With extreme reluctance, he looked down, and gasped. The blood. The muscles, the skin pried apart, and of course, the appendix, visible as Halibel opened up the incision. And suddenly, a peculiar feeling started to settle in Grimmjow's stomach. His vision became fuzzy, the room started spinning around him, and there was a pounding feeling in his ears. He felt cold, hot, and then cold again, and within seconds he was on the floor, out cold.
"Oh, motherf—!" Ilforte cried, jumping back as Grimmjow fell with a loud thud. "Are you shitting me?!" he demanded, kicking Grimmjow lightly.
Ulquiorra peered over Szayel's body and glanced at Grimmjow, lying on the ground. They could all see his white face in contrast to the emerald green scrubs. That fall was definitely going to leave a mark.
"H-Hey, I can totally take him outside…" Noitora offered graciously. "I mean, totally, I will."
Ilforte gave hoot, scoffing as he hoisted Grimmjow up by the armpits. He proceeded to drag him out of the room. Ilforte gave Noitora his middle finger and left the room, returning later after dumping Grimmjow on a stretcher. He decided to let Szayel deal with him when he woke up in less than an hour.
Halibel and Stark were making progress. By now, Halibel had tied off the highly inflamed appendix, and Stark was about to cut it with the forceps.
"Ulquiorra, I want you to clamp down with that…that thing, the—"
"Hemostat," Ilforte provided in monotone. He pointed to a scissor-like instrument lying on the table. It was very long, and the end was slightly curved.
"Yes, that…clamp the cut once I cut the appendix, okay?" Stark said, handing him some forceps and some gauze. "In the meantime, Halibel and I will clean the cavity, and we'll let you suture him up.
Ulquiorra nodded, letting go of the plastic things, and came closer to the operating table.
"This isn't that bad, actually." Ulquiorra said quietly.
"I agree." Halibel said. She watched as Stark removed the appendix, holding it with the forceps and depositing it in a glass container. She could tell he was a it unnerved by holding a chunk of Szayel's gut.
"Clamp it," she said, getting the disinfectant ready. Stark was dipping some gauze into antibiotic liquid, and wringing it out with strong, fast motions.
Ulquiorra held down the cut with the forceps, dabbing away at some blood. Halibel's nimble hands reached over his, going deeper into the cavity as she cleaned quickly. Stark was handing her new gauzes occasionally.
"Dude, you can let go." Ilforte said, indicating Ulquiorra as he pointed at him with his pencil. "Don't like, kill his gut. He still needs it."
"Right…" Ulquiorra murmured, pulling back. Stark took his forceps, and put a threaded needle in his hand. He stared at, realizing that these must be the sutures, or 'stitches', as he better knew them. "What exactly do I do?"
"Like sewing. Knot it up and make it really tight." Ilforte said. "Well, the only person who's can do the actual suturing is Szayel…so…let's just glue it and we'll let him suture himself."
Ulquiorra, Halibel and Stark exchanged confused glances. Stark's said "What the hell?" just about as clearly as Ulquiorra's said "…?"
With ease, Ilforte ran glue along the clean incision, and pressed an adhesive gauze pad over it softly. He turned off the operating lamp, which was blinding Ulquiorra, and the three of them stood there, proud of their achievement. For the most part, anyway. Ulquiorra's eyes were wider than usual, and even under the surgical mask they could tell he was grimacing passionately.
"Well, well, not bad for a bunch of noobs." Ilforte said, smiling broadly. "We're done here." He glanced down at Szayel, who had regained color to his face and looked slightly healthier.
"Anyway, let me get this bitch out of his trachea, and then…oh, wait. Noitora, how about you remove the endotracheal tube?"
But Noitora was nowhere to be seen. He had fled like a bat out of hell.
"What a faggot." Ilforte said rather loudly, pulling the tube out of Szayel's mouth and tossing it down on the table. Stark and Ulquiorra gave the tube a wide berth, as it shone with saliva and dripping with spit from Szayel's mouth.
"Anyway," Ilforte said, removing the anesthesia tube from Szayel's arm. "I'll tell my little bro here that Noitora flaked out on him. He'll be the perfect test for the bio weapons Szayel's got going."
"I see." Stark murmured.
"So, yeah, basically, Noitora's screwed." Ilforte said, watching Lumina and Verona push Szayel's gurney out of the operating room.
"So, how much older are you than Szayel?" Halibel asked. It was quite a change to her quiet self. She seemed quite conversational today.
"Four years. He's twenty three and I'm twenty seven, at least that's our human age." Ilforte replied, beckoning back to a different room. "Oh, take of the aprons and leave them here. Throw out the masks, gloves, and caps. Do the scrubs, and hang around the lab for a bit…I'll get you guys some food."
()()()()()()()
"That was, by far, the strangest thing I have ever done." Stark said, looking down at his hands. He thought he was having an allergic reaction to the scrub soap…his hands were itchy and felt dry.
"Indeed." Ulquiorra agreed. He shifted on his chair, and it squeaked. Szayel, on the bed now, stirred a little.
The three, after being fed a rather large helping of pizza and soda as a celebratory food, were full and a bit sleepy. They were sitting in the recovery room, where Szayel was nearing a state of consciousness. Ilforte was playing video games, and leaning on the foot of his brother's bed. He hummed a song rather loudly.
"Excuse me…" Halibel began, "isn't that going to wake up Szayel?"
"Like it matters?"
"…like what…matters?" a sleepy voice said. Everyone looked around the room, looking for the source of the voice. Everyone assumed it was Stark, since he was so prone to napping, but Stark was wide awake.
"What the hell?" Ilforte said loudly. "Am I on hallucinogens, or did I just hear some ghost start talking shit?"
It took them all a while to realize it was Szayel, drugged up from anesthesia and antibiotics, had said that. His eyes were still closed, but he was able to talk. However, he looked like he could just continue sleeping and take a short nap. His glasses were off, and it was weird to see him glasses-less.
"OHHH. Okay, gotcha, you woke up." Ilforte said. "So, bro, how're you feeling?"
"Like crap. Courtesy of the anesthesia, of course." Szayel answered, padding the bedside table for his glasses blindly.
"Ten bucks you can't guess who did the surgery on you."
"Ten bucks I can. Halibel, Stark and Ulquiorra."
"Damn."
"Pay up."
"Later."
Szayel sighed and shifted a little bit, cracking a bright yellow eye open to look at Stark, Halibel, and Ulquiorra, who sat there dumbly, blinking and breathing. They certainly did not look like surgeons.
"Frankly," Ulquiorra began, "I was positive you died halfway into the surgery."
Szayel made a face and addressed Halibel, who looked somewhat composed.
"How'd it go?" Szayel asked. "I'll brief Ilforte later."
"It went well." She replied stiffly. "Grimmjow passed out halfway through the surgery. Nobody knew he was so incredibly squeamish."
"He's lying out in the hallway right now, actually." Ilforte snickered.
"Interesting." He ignored Ilforte's comment. "Seems like I'll have to be doing brain surgery when the anesthesia wears off." Szayel said with a sadistic grin. Little by little he was waking up. "Oh, one more thing. I can't feel stitches." He frowned and eyed them all with reproach. "Who on this earth was stupid enough to glue such an incision as oppose to suturing it?" Szayel asked angrily.
"Uhh, well, about that." Ilforte said. "I decided to let you deal with that. I don't stitch, and no one that was with me knew the definition of sutures, so we were all like 'screw it' and glued you up instead."
"You're all idiots." Szayel said stonily, glaring at them all.
"Hey, kiddies, relax. It's anesthesia induced anger." Ilforte said. "You, Szayel, just need to rest. Stay here for a few more hours, and then you can go…do your crap."
Szayel nodded and shooed everyone out of the room.
()()()()()()()
Grimmjow was teetering back to his room with an icepack on the back of his head. It was not pleasant to wake up to some fat little women poking and prodding his head. But oh, he was dizzy. Very dizzy. And of course, his head hurt like hell and there was quite a bruise forming as well. He couldn't walk straight, but apparently he was just under some painkillers. Lumbering back into his room, Grimmjow decided to never walk into Szayel's laboratory again.
By the time dinner came around, Ulquiorra could not eat. Now, the fact he had just been inside Szayel's body was just grossing him out. He looked at food and saw an infected appendix with blood. His water looked like the spit dripping off the endotracheal tube…and that was not at all appetizing. He was getting weird looks from Aizen not eating. But he really couldn't bring himself to do it…he couldn't.
Stark was just eating like a normal person. He was not sick to his stomach, but he was a little amused by the thought of performing surgery on Szayel. It was quite an interesting thought. He smirked as he looked at Ulquiorra, sulking in his chair as he lowered at his food.
Noitora was shitting himself. Szayel would be up and about tomorrow, meaning his death was imminent. Another thing that made Ulquiorra and Stark smile.
The only 'surgeon' that was extremely proud was Halibel. Secretly, she was excited that she got so much praise from Ilforte. But of course, no one knew that she had been a surgeon in her past life. Even so, it was nice to see the bewildered looks on the others' faces when she made that flawless incision.
()()()()()()()
As for Szayel…he was indeed up and about. Once Ilforte left, he did his own sutures, and within a few hours, he was prowling around the Chemistry Suite, and he knew exactly what he would do to Noitora. He mixed a flask of an opaque liquid with something else—a thick compound, creating a fizzing, endothermic effect that caused Szayel to recoil with the cold.
"Hmm, like a brain freeze but for the whole body…then the sensation of having a limb fall asleep…of course! Oh, but I can do a surgery without anesthesia either…hmm…" Szayel grinned, tipping some of the flask's contents into a test tube. "No matter how many times I have to doctor these idiots up, I will always enjoy my position as the only scientist and surgeon in Hueco Mundo."
Szayel took the test tube with him to the operating room, ready for use the next day. Closing the door, he muttered to himself, "Be prepared to suffer, Noitora. Yes, yes, Dr. Grantz is in. And Dr. Grantz will always be in."
YES, I'm well aware of the fact Ilforte is dead. I'm also aware of the fact that no one knows how his name is spelled, so I went my with favorite version. I like him though, so screw it.
Ah, yes, tomorrow is the day. My tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy. I've been waiting for this moment for three months! Well, I wanted to get a chapter in, especially for this fic. I had severe writer's block until, like, yesterday, when I finished the chapter.
Wish me luck on the surgery!
Need some refs? Here.
Endotracheal Intubation: /watch?v5J3J38se3TQ (laryngoscope, tubing, cuff, guy with cool accent. They're doing that to me tomorrow!)
Appendectomy: (sqeamish people, beware: pic shows surgeons pointing to appendix) en./wiki/Appendectomy
Hemostat: en./wiki/Image:Hemostats.jpg
Sorry, this chapter was a bit rushed...I might edit it sometime after my tonsillectomy, but anyway, I hope you enjoyed and please review.
