((A Chance to Live, A Chance to Die, and Clawson Labs blog posts are all related in characters and storyline.
My other fan fics so far, such as 'A Date with Felina' are not related to the Chance/Jake from the 'Clawson Labs universe,' so to speak.
You can probably figure out that italics are indicating thoughts.
((SWAT Kats belongs to Hannah-Barbera and I do not own any of the trademarked characters nor am I profiting from this in any way, other than it's fun. Sgt. Barry Bagheera is an OC I made for this storyline.))
"Really, Commander, you can see our hands are tied," the CEO says, with false sincerity. He smiles and gestures open handed and magnanimous from behind his enormous, mahogany executive desk. "Other arrangements will have to be made."
Across the desk, four Kats are seated, all wearing similar displeased expressions. Feral shoves the chair back and stands, glaring at the CEO. He towers over them all as he leans forward and pounds his fist on the desktop, causing the pens emblazoned with "MKMH - Your First Choice" to dance in the MKMH coffee cup holding them. "What other arrangements?"
"Whatever is necessary to get the SWAT Kats out of this hospital. By the end of the day, if you please," is the cool response, despite the Commanders hot temper.
The neurologist, Dr. Brownstring, stares at him. "How are we supposed to arrange that so swiftly?" he questions.
The CEO shrugs nonchalantly. "I'm certain another hospital will be happy to host-"
"And if no other hospital will accept them after what happened last week?" Feral barks.
Drs. Bengal and Fisch are there as well. Both look as irritated as Feral.
"Doctors, Commander," the CEO says with gentle, tried patience, as if he's entirely longsuffering "In light of the recent incidents and with no assurances on payment for the -significant- fees they're accruing, I have no choice but-"
"I won't write transfer offers," Bengal says sharply. Feral raises an eyebrow and glances at the soft spoken physician. That's the strongest worded he's heard the doc be. "Your position on this is frankly that of a despot," he says moreover and the CEO's jaw tightens.
This is too much for the CEO and now he's the one on his feet, hands on his desk and leaning in menacingly. "This discussion is over. You-will- see that they are transferred out of my hospital, and you will do so by the end of the day. I don't care where they go but it is not safe for our other patients should they remain. Consequently neither are welcome any longer. And doctors: don't cross me. I expect team players."
Wordlessly Feral turns on his heel and stalks out of the room. Behind him he can hear a particular accented voice speaking up. "Hyou cannot fire ME, Milton!" Fisch snaps.
Feral pulls the door shut behind him a little harder than is necessary and turns to see Felina leaning against the wall. The sole of one booted foot is pressed against it and her arms are wrapped across her chest. He eyes her a moment. "Eavesdropping is unbecoming an officer, Felina," he curtly growls. He turns and starts to walk off down the hall.
She pushes away from the wall and falls into step beside him. "I can't believe that jerk is pulling this. Uncle, what are you going to do?"
"I don't know," He says with a large sigh. "Those two hot shots are becoming an even bigger pain in my tail! And through no fault of theirs, for once," he muses.
Felina suddenly snaps her fingers. "I have a crazy idea," she announces.
"Felina, I'll hear it. Is it good enough to get us out of this problem?" Feral growls.
"Well… Uncle. You may want to sit down."
"It is a rrrrrridiculous plan," Dr. Fisch snaps. In her agitation, her accent was going full swing. "It is zimply inapprrrrrrrrropriate! Zey need full hospital support."
"I agree," Dr. Brownstring nods, glancing towards Feral. "They're both too fragile currently to be outside a med-surg environment. Perhaps there's a rehab facility we haven't yet contacted who'd take them…" Dr. Bengal is shaking his head, a stack of notes in his hands.
"I don't believe there are any more rehab or nursing facilities left to contact. Nobody's accepted them. They're either not equipped or not licensed to accept them, they don't want them because of security concerns, or they don't have available rooms," Bengal states.
Dr. Brownstring frowns, and continues. "T-Bone will need intensive neuro unit care and-"
"I assure you, none of you dislike the idea more than I do," Feral growls. "Tell me there's another choice."
All three fall silent, glancing around as if their salvation may drop from the ceiling.
"I spoke to Ms. Briggs and the lawyer she retained. It's not technically illegal for the CEO to do this, though I can't ever remember it happening before," the neurologist finally says softly. "We're not in the practice of denying care to patients who cannot pay."
Dr. Fisch snorts. "Hy vonder vhy ve are zis time," she says with extreme sarcasm.
Dr. Brownstring speaks up again. "If we had a little bit of knowledge that this was coming, the katizens of Megakat City would have stepped up and ..."
Fisch shakes her head. "Hy doubt that it vould make any difference if they vere paying," Dr. Fisch says with disgust.
"What if someone took them into their home, or, or a motel room?" Feral asks, looking hopeful.
"Yes, both would be possible once they're healthier. Right now I don't think either would be as suitable as the current plan," Bengal replies.
Feral sighs. "I thought that might be the case." He smacks the wall in anger. "I don't know even where to start preparing," he says, so angry he could spit.
"Commander I think I can help. I'll find some staff and I'll be there in a few hours, to see what else may need arranged," Bengal offers.
"Thank you, Doctor Bengal," Feral says rather formally.
"Oh no need to thank me, we all want what's best for them, don't we Commander?" Bengal says cheerfully as the Commander turns away.
Feral freezes and forces a smile before looking back. "Why, of course. Er. Excuse me," he grumbles and stalks off. "I can't very well let them be tossed onto the streets. The katizens of Megakat city would poll Mayor Manx to strip me of my stripes," he grumbles.
Three hours later, T-Bone was in hell, like he'd been for the past 90 minutes or so. Well, it wasn't as bad as SOME sections of hell he'd enjoyed over the past couple weeks. But it was still hell.
"Just another forty minutes, Mister T-Bone," came the voice through the speakers next to his left ear. He rolls his eyes down, towards the entrance to the cognitive generator but sees only black plastic and flashing colored lights.
"It's only a little while more."
That's easy for her to say.
It had all started with a byline in the mostly useless 'patient education packet' he thumbed through one day out of boredom. It mentioned the cognitive generator.
It was explained to him that this was new tech. It was only approved for and they'd only used it with elderly Kats who'd had strokes. For them it was working. But for a traumatic head injury?
T-Bone hadn't hesitated. He insisted on trying it, though he had a hard time convincing them he understood what he was agreeing to.
Dr. Brownstring was dubious and reluctant to allow T-Bone to be used as a guinea pig. The rep from the company that built it was nearly salivating at the prospect of getting a new indication for their equipment.
Finally Commander Feral had asked pointedly if the downed pilot had anything to lose?
They'd told him if he was lucky, the treatment felt odd. Like a crawly sensation. It seemed like the ones who were the most irritated got the best and fastest results.
T-Bone'd been 'lucky'. T-Bone is restrained flat on the table, his teeth are gritted onto the bite block and his claws cut into the grips in his hands placed for just that purpose. It felt like an army of tiny creeplings were tapping in his skull. Strapped down tightly with his head braced into a square foam immobilizer, he tries to choke down the rising nausea out of sheer self preservation. Rushing noise like a hundred seashells held to the ears are filling his head and he twitches against the restraints. They'd learned quick enough that he wasn't dealing well with treatments and that he needed "a little extra encouragement" as the tech put it, to stay still.
Waves of nausea flow in ripples from the pit of his stomach up his throat and he keeps swallowing convulsively. Between the sensation of ice-picks gouging his brain and the rushing in his ears and the nausea - he was doubting he'd last to the end of this session.
Then he hears a commotion, and his ears prick.
"But sir! He's not through with the cycle-"
"I said, shut it down, and pull him out," he hears, and the unmistakable sound of Feral growling.
There's a "shump" noise and the ice picks abruptly stop their tapping. The nausea is not so forgiving through as the bed T-Bone is laying on is jerked out of the machine. He gulps rather frantically, as hands start to detach the restraints on his wrists and shoulders, across his chest twice, over his knees and thighs and lower legs and his head.
He spots a Kat he'd seen before but didn't know, some big wig in the hospital hierarchy with a steely expression, and Feral-
Feral looked like he was ready to rip out someone's throat with his teeth. Hope that's got nothing to do with me.
"He's discharged. His things are being packed. A transport team will pick him up here. If you'll excuse me, Commander?" the well dressed Kat says. Feral snarls so overtly the CEO jumps back and heads out of the room a tad more speedily than you would think he was wont to do.
T-Bone looks up at the Commander and sits up awkwardly with his arm across his chest, trying to brace the ribs. Both he and the tech stare at Feral, who looks like he'd greatly love to chuck the nearest heavy object at the retreating CEO's head, but he restrains himself with the greatest difficulty.
"Evidently you and your friend have overstayed your welcomes," he growls. "So. Alternate arrangements have been made."
"...Uh?" T-Bone looks at him and Feral sighs like only a most long suffering Kat can.
"There had better be a law against this idiocy by the end of the legislative session," he grumbles.
T-Bone and the tech exchange a confused glance.
"Excuse me, Commander Feral, but-"
"It's simple, miss. Your boss is an ass," he growls, and stalks out.
"...Ooookay," the tech mutters.
Callie suddenly rushes in, cheeks pink and looking like she's about to blow a gasket. "Did they tell you yet?" she asks breathlessly, and T-Bone stares at her before shaking his head.
She sighs. "You're being kicked out of the hospital. I've combed every law book I can looking for a loophole, but in lieu of a lawsuit and court injunction… and that would require your filing under your real name… T-Bone, you trust me, don't you?" She asks sweetly. He raises an eyebrow and nods, maybe a tiny bit hesitantly.
"Alright. I'll take that as a yes. I'm going to…" she pauses as a couple irritated looking EMTs enter the room.
"EY!" T-Bone says suddenly, and Callie glances back distractedly. He grabs at a notebook that'd been laying by his side. He and the ST had spent a laborious hour filling in different communication words, and flips it to the R's. Of course Razor was the top entry.
"Razor is coming too. He's already ready to go. Just trust me, alright T-Bone?"
He throws his hands up in the air. What choice do I have, Callie?
In a surprisingly short amount of time T-Bone found himself on a gurney in an Enforcer chopper, lifting off the helipad at MKMH. There wasn't a lot to see other than the interior of the chopper as he was laying flat, one hand back behind his head. The flight took only a few minutes, and he knew several of those were circling the landing site.
Where are we going that's this close?
When the bird finally sets down and the door opens T-Bone thinks he must be hallucinating.
They'd landed on a flight line. The attached building had a huge semi-circle sign over the entrance with oversized letters proclaiming ENFORCER HEADQUARTERS.
This has got to be some sort of very, very bad joke.
The two EMTs, who're trying to get the gurney off the chopper that was never designed for EMS use, are starting to use some colorful words. He spots Felina walking across the flight line and waves at her hysterically. She pulls off her helmet and keeps walking. "I'll come find you in a little while!" she calls.
His ears fold back against his head. What's that supposed to mean. Come on Felina! Am I under arrest here?
He glances around, noting the jets and choppers nearby and the surprising lack of activity near the control tower. For a moment he ponders stealing a plane. The idea of fighting off the EMTs, then getting off the gurney and staggering to a plane all while hand to hand defending against a bunch of grumpy armed Enforcers (young fresh ones at that, who have NOT had a heart attack only days ago) makes him sweat. So he didn't know what else to do but enter the lion's den. Or the Feral's den, so to speak.
Besides, Razor was already inside. What was he supposed to do, leave him there? So unhappily he looks upwards as the letters pass overhead and he's pulled through the doors.