Summary: Lung cancer? "But I don't smoke," I told him like it would change the diagnosis. Jake angst/cancer fic.
A/N: Takes place after AC/DC - Jake gets hurt on the job and neglects his health until he ends up in the hospital. In the following episode, Amy tells Jake she doesn't want to date cops, but I switched this to take place before AC/DC.
It was lonely now that everyone had gone back to work. They were all thinking about other things, being kept occupied with investigations or being distracted by personal conversation. I hated sitting alone in this hospital room. It was boring and white and way too clean for someone like me.
I spent the mindless hours watching Netflix. I even finished one of the miniseries I was watching. It was about superheroes. As much as I loved thinking about cop stuff outside of work, I wasn't actually a big fan of true-crime. Those shows always moved way too slow for me and I'd rather be working the case myself than being spoof-fed the solve.
When my phone warned me I was on 5% battery, I decided to assess the possibility of just checking out against medical advice. After the talk Terry and I had about how I didn't take care of myself and how I was going down a path of self-destruction, he would be pissed if he came back to visit and found out. There's always lying, but after how I tricked Charles and forced Terry to come take care of me, I felt way too guilty for that. Besides, I knew that I should probably be taking Sarge's lesson to heart. I had yesterday, but considering I have the memory of a goldfish, I was already starting to forget the importance of his lesson. The morphine had helped this at first, but even now that my body was starting to hurt again, I still found myself pretending it was a nonissue. Bones healed after all. A perp murdering someone was permanent. I could deal with the pain if it meant that I had stopped something terrible from happening.
Of course now, sitting in the hospital bed, temporarily crippled, I was not catching anyone.
As hour five of sitting alone (only briefly relieved by the company of nurses who popped in to check in on me) approached, I finally gave in and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, preparing my escape.
My entire body ached with the movement. A sharp pain jabbed my left side. I curled into myself and groaned, grabbing my stomach. I was bruised all over, I had broken ribs, broken toes, fractured fingers, and my head was pounding like I had been struck with a hammer. Even with the pain medication they fed me, everything still hurt. I wondered how terrible it was going to be without the pills, but I really had to get out of here, meds or not.
Unfortunately, it was that moment that the doctor walked in. He regarded me with the edges of his mouth turned down. He was an older man by the name of Dr. Riley with perfectly cropped white hair and a meticulously trimmed beard. He looked down at me over silver rimmed glasses.
"Heeey," I smiled nervously, "Just going to take a whizz."
He looked unimpressed. "Mr. Peralta, how are you feeling?"
His eyes bore into me. I shifted under his serious gaze. "I'm doing better," I tried hard not to wince at the sharp pain that stabbed into my side.
"Good," he nodded and lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. It made me nervous how he was looking at me. "We are going to need to take some blood for testing."
"Testing? What testing?" Crap. It looked like my escape plan had been entirely foiled.
He ran a hand through his beard and consulted the clipboard. "Nothing to worry about yet, just customary testing."
I opened my mouth to speak, but he had already turned to leave.
So much for bedside manner. His weird demeanor had creeped me out. I frowned as I looked out the window. It was dark out. The squad would be getting off soon and going home to their respective families while I sat here in pain, wallowing in the consequences of my actions.
A few minutes later, a heavy nurse bustled in. "Hi, baby," she said sweetly, "How are we feeling?"
It was irritating how people kept asking me how I was doing and expecting a positive reply. "Terrible."
She began her work of preparing a needle and disinfecting my arm with a tiny sanitary cloth. "I'll see about getting you something for the pain," she told me, but otherwise looked entirely unaffected by the whiny answer, "You're a cop?" she asked conversationally.
"Yeah. I was injured in a foot-chase," I told her proudly, always eager to discuss my job with civilians.
"Oh, wow," she said. She didn't really sound interested, but to be fair, she was focusing on the task at hand.
She angled the needle towards my arm and I turned away and grimaced. I didn't like to admit it, but I hated needles. Just one more reason to never go to the doctor. There was a pinch as the needle broke the skin. I knew it was dumb to be cringing at the small pain after I had been injured so fantastically, but I couldn't help it.
I sat quietly while she worked, trying to think of other things. "Almost done," she broke the silence.
"Great," I wished I didn't sound so strained.
After what felt like ten minutes (how much blood could they need?), she withdrew the needle and applied a band-aid to my arm. "Do you have any Ninja Turtles ones?" I grinned at her.
"Only for the kids," she reproached, looking unamused.
"Awww."
As she began to meander away, she paused at the door. "Excuse me," she sounded insulted.
"Oh, sorry," said a familiar voice.
"Hm," she sniffed and walked past Terry.
"Dang, what did I do?" Terry asked as he walked into the room, looking over his shoulder at where the nurse had just left.
"Hi!" I sounded a little too excited.
"Hey, Jake. Sorry the others couldn't make it."
I hadn't realized when Terry walked in by himself that the others weren't right behind. I knew they were busy and it was no one's job to keep me company, but it still stung a bit. I was glad to see Terry nonetheless. It was childish to expect a band of my coworkers to show up just to cheer me up after I had gotten myself into this whole situation.
"No big deal. It's good to see you," I tried to sound cool.
Terry positioned himself beside my bed. "What was the nurse doing in here?"
"Taking blood for tests I guess."
"What kind of tests?" he asked.
I shrugged then immediately regretted the action as an electric pain shot up my back to my shoulders. "Dunno," the doctor really hadn't answered that question.
I didn't notice that Terry was holding anything until he tossed it on me. "Here, I got you something. Thought it might be better than hospital food."
I breathed in the fumes of the fast food bag. It smelled like french fries and grease. "Oh man, thanks, Sarge. I'm starving," I was, but I hadn't realized it until that second. My mouth watered as I began to dig into the bag.
"Jake, I'm sorry, but I can't stay. I've gotta get home to put the girls to bed."
Of course Terry had to leave. He had two children, and a pregnant wife. Of all of my friends, he was the busiest, which was a testament to what a good friend he was for being here at all. The excitement that bubbled up from his appearance fizzled out. "Right, yeah, I was just about to fall asleep anyways. Tell the girls Jake says hi."
Terry gave me an affectionate smile. "You gonna be okay?"
"Pfft. Me? I'm fine. I'm really loving this morphine. I think it's my new thing."
The morphine had long since started to wear off and saying that out loud made the pain somehow worse. I was careful not to grimace or flinch when Terry regarded me.
"Alright, I'll see you later. Night, Jake," he gave a sympathetic smile before turning to leave.
"Night," I smiled sadly as he walked out.
It took me hours of laying in the dark before I fell into a light sleep. I normally slept like a log, but I was on edge in this strange environment. It was almost three when I finally managed to drift off.