November

November 23: Wednesday

"Well, it's not a sign of pregnancy, and that's damn lucky, if you ask me."
Anton Yavisk's personal physician straightened up from where he'd been bent over, examining Havar. He plucked the gloves off of his hands and dropped them into a plastic bag to be disinfected.
Yavisk exchanged glances with Miljan, who had brought Tiger along for a check-up as well.
"What is it, then?"
the Doctor was busy navigating a straw into a full glass of lukewarm water, which he then handed to Havar, his expression the same gentle one that he used with children and new carriers.
"Well, he's severely dehydrated, for one, Anton. You don't know to give him water?" the Doctor cast a dark look over his shoulder, then turned back to Havar, his face calm again. "Can you drink this for me, Havar?"
Havar nodded and took the glass gratefully with shaking hands.
"Slowly, now."
Havar nodded around the straw.
"Good."
The doctor spun around on his stool to reach into his medical bag. He retrieved two glass bottles of pills and several syringes. Havar's eyes flicked to the needles, then up to Anton, then back to the doctor. He pushed the now-empty glass of water away from him.
"I'm done. What are the needles for?"
the Doctor refilled the glass and handed it back.
"Slowly." he cautioned, then began to load up two of the syringes.
"These are just vaccines. Let me see your arm."
Havar hesitated, both hands clenching tightly on the glass.
"Havar." Anton's voice was calm, but warning. Havar flicked his eyes to him, then to the syringes. He held out one arm.
"It's ok. You'll only feel these for a second. Little pinch and then it's done. Keep drinking that water."
Havar nodded. Beside Miljan, Tiger was flinching already. The Doc was right, though - they were quick and before Havar could even complain, all three empties were put away.
"Well, Doctor? What's the diagnosis?"
the Doctor glanced almost resentfully at Anton for a second, then turned to the file, balanced on his knees, which he'd been taking notes in.
"I'm putting him on vitamins and iron pills, prescribing a diet of therapeutic foods, and asking you to monitor his blood sugar for two weeks. I'm also going to give him an inhaler and some nutrient packets to put in his water. He needs to see a psychologist, he needs regular medical attention, and most of all, he needs to be left alone, sexually, until he's at least partially recovered from...everything. He's fatigued, achy, and running a slight fever. He seems to be bruised in a colorful variety of places. He has numerous tears to his perineum, and although all the active ones seem sufficiently minor, I see what look like some oddly healed ones indicating repeated abuse. In heaping addition to that, he's severely dehydrated, potentially hypoglycemic, suffering from headaches, moderate-to-severe depression, spells of dizziness and memory blackouts; he seems to be mildly asthmatic, so stop smoking your cigars around him, and his blood pressure is surprisingly high. All in all, Anton, I'd say I'm pretty astounded that you thought you could - or should - get him pregnant at all."
Yavisk narrowed his eyes and muttered something in Serbian. Miljan and the Doctor both made identical expressions of surprise. Havar put down his glass again and edged it towards the Doc. Yavisk stepped forward to refill it, and Havar leaned away from his sudden approach. The reaction wasn't lost on the Doctor; he cocked his head, closed the folder, and got to his feet, brushing off his lab coat. Then he looked squarely at Anton.
"Could I see you in the other room for a minute, brother?"

~:~

Eric O'Connor rolled off of his mate, his chest heaving.
"Oh, Joey. Baby." he kissed Joseph's temple, where sweat had plastered strands of brown hair to his skin. "Joey, you are perfect."
Laid out on his stomach, eyes closed, Joey smiled. Eric propped up on one elbow to look at him.
"I think you may make an old man young again, sweetheart."
Joe laughed and turned his head towards at Eric.
"Not old." he mumbled into the covers.
Eric laughed and petted his hair with one hand.
"What did I do to deserve you? Perfect little thing."
Joe smiled wanly and shook his head.
"Not perfect." he mumbled, then shifted slightly, turned to face away from Eric. Eric paused in his petting, wondering which kind of melancholy this was - the long lived kind, which would come over Joseph and be with him for days, or the short-lived kind, which came only for a minute, sometimes an hour.
"What's wrong, Joe?"
Joseph curled up on one side.
"Nothing. I'm fine."
Eric nuzzled the back of his neck, inhaled his husband's scent.
"I'm not an idiot. What's on your mind?"
Joseph didn't respond.
"Is it about Michael?"
"Do you think he'll tell?"
Eric frowned and took Joseph's chin to turn his head.
"Joey. Michael loves you. Why would he do anything to endanger either of us? And besides, I told you - I've prepared for that eventuality."
Joseph nodded and pulled his head away.
"I know. I know. I just thought about it, that's all."
Eric sighed and rested his forehead on his mate's shoulder.
"Please, please, don't even think about it. Everything is going to be OK."
"He's mad."
Eric shook his head.
"He doesn't like feeling left out. He's been that way since he was a child. But he's in the mix now, I expect he'll be feeling self-validated enough to keep it to himself."
Joe shrugged and held up the end of his ponytail to his face for a slow inspection. The silence stretched out between them.
"I used to be a pilot."
Pain and regret and empathetic sorrow and an ugly emotion that felt distinctly like morbid glee struck Eric squarely in the center of his chest.
"I'm sorry, Joey."
Joe shook his head, but his voice was teary.
"It's OK. I'm not. I just - "
he flipped over onto his back to look at Eric. "It's OK. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just - fuck, it's just the goddamn hormones." he wiped his eyes.
"I'm OK."
Eric frowned and kissed his cheek.
"Your face begs to differ."
Joe looked around, his eyes lowered.
"I just - it feels weird, you know. Weird. Like I don't belong anywhere, Eric. It's been five years now."
Eric nodded.
"I know."
"I'm not him anymore - I'm not Joseph."
Eric didn't answer.
"I'm Joey. Whoever that is."
Joe stared up at the ceiling.
"I'm a - a goddamn stepmother. Kind of. I'm a - fuck, I don't even know what I am." he began to laugh, but it was a short, brittle laugh that made the tears come again. "I don't know what I am."
Eric didn't know what to say; Joey turned over again and Eric rubbed his back.
"I'm sorry, Joey."
"I'm not an anything. Not a real anything, anyway. Not even a real carrier."
Eric shook his head and gripped Joey's arm.
"Yes, you are a real carrier. You wear the same clothes. Live the same life. You're as much a carrier as the rest of them."
Joe shrugged, but his back was tense and Eric could tell he had something more he wanted to say.
"Can't have kids."
Eric exhaled silently. So that's what this was about. Joey's hormones played havoc with his security in their relationship - one week it was that he wasn't masculine enough, then he wasn't feminine enough, then Eric was cheating on him - every week, some monstrosity of his imagination that meant he would end up alone. Didn't he understand that Eric would never leave him, ever? Eric let his hand drift down to rub some of the tension out of Joseph's lower back. Joe relaxed a little, but with much effort.
"Joey, I don't need that from you. I've got four kids, and I love them all, but I'm almost 60 years old. I've been raising the little animals for 30 years now. Vicious beasts. Only good for Christmases and filling up the stage at a graduation. I'm done with that now. Just you and I is fine by me."
Eric shifted his weight so to be closer to Joseph, and felt his mate tense at his approach. He drew back.
"What else is on your mind, Joey?"
Joey glanced over his shoulder at him, then turned back away.
"I'm not 60."
Eric tilted his head. Joe glanced again, perhaps to gauge his reaction. "I'm 37. And I love the boys. But they're not mine. Before I even got here, they were all grown men."
Understanding began to dawn on Eric. Joseph was shivering his leg in the nervous way he did when he was thinking too hard about something.
"You have four kids. But I have none."
Eric frowned, then laid back down, flush to his husband's back, and exhaled.
"So what do you want to do?"

~:~

Jesse couldn't cross his legs tight enough not to feel exposed in a natori. He didn't know how his mother did it. Although, when he reflected on it, he really only remembered seeing her in jeans, and long skirts for when she went dancing. Maybe this was why. Michael had insisted upon a light blue natori for today, with deep fuchsia patterning in shapes that vaguely suggested plants. Everyone had insisted it was wonderful. Jesse wanted it to burn. He shifted again in his seat, crossed his arms over his chest, and wished he had another drink.

The professor, a carrier in his thirties with clean black hair that he kept pulled back and olive skin, situated himself squarely in front of Jesse's desk. He was wearing khakis and a wrinkle-less white T shirt. Jesse envied him. The professor kept speaking, making some sort of indicative gestures with his hands. He turned to Jesse. Aw, man. Jesse knew what was coming. Please don't please don't please don't please -
"And what did you think of the reading, Mr. Paik?"
Fuck. What reading?
"It was great."
the Professor raised an eyebrow.
"Great?"
Fuck.
"Uh, the composition of it - the use of words, of language. Very skilled writing."
The professor made a strange face at Jesse which eventually resolved itself into a look of interest.
"Alright. Very unexpected response, there, Mr. Paik. Most readers would have overlooked the technical dexterity of the writing in light of its somewhat controversial subject matter. An intriguing perspective, Mr. Paik. I expect Ms. Graglia would thank you."
the Professor moved on, thankfully, and Jesse breathed a sigh of relief.

He skipped lunch because he didn't want to be seen in the cafeteria dressed like some kind of fucking flower garden, but shortly after noon, Ortega showed up at his room with Torréon, Vichy, Sai, and Suleiman in tow.
"Damn. And I was just settling in for a nice afternoon of resenting authority."
Ortega rolled his eyes and ignored this as he pushed his way into the room. Torréon walked over to Jesse and promptly began chewing on his foot. Vichy and Sai set up lunch on the desk across from Vichy's bed while Suleiman lowered himself into Vichy's sumptuous reading chair - a gift from Aniston - and watched silently.

"So you and Michael had a fight."
Jesse rolled his eyes and didn't even bother to ask how Sai knew. Vichy. The fucking CEC Sentinel.
Jess looked with interest at the food that his roommate was unpacking.
"There was an unpleasantness. Words were exchanged."
"What did you do?" Vichy asked, beginning to pick at a pile of carrots.
Tega was busy studying himself from various angles in Jesse's mirror.
"I didn't do anything. Michael told me I'm a liability. He said I - what is he doing?"
Vichy glanced over to Ortega.
"He thinks he's beginning to show."
"Tega, you're what, a couple of weeks in? Nothing's going to show."
Tega let his shirt drop back down and just stared at his reflection for a minute.
"Seven weeks." he corrected quietly. "It's been seven weeks now."
Jesse listened curiously to the strange, flat tone in Ortega's voice. Then, suddenly, there was an energy in his voice, a wild excitement that thinly masked an abject desperation. "So only thirty-three more weeks to go! - isn't that great? It'll be here in the summertime! A summer baby! I love babies! And I always wished my birthday was in the summer and now - "
Ortega broke off as he realized the room were all staring at him.
"What? What?!"
Vichy got to his feet, approaching his friend slowly.
"Tega, maybe you better sit down."
Ortega shook his head furiously.
"I'm fine! Fine, guys. Just excited, that's all! I'm really excited! I'm really really excited that is all! Honest! I love kids!"
Vichy reached out and took hold of Ortega's arm, began pulling him towards the makeshift lunchtable.
"No no no, guys, I'm fine, I love kids, it's OK!"
Suleiman made a strange face, but didn't move. Jesse hesitated where he was, not wanting to upset Ortega further, just watching the scene play out. Vichy tried to soothe him into a chair.
"I know you love kids. You're going to do great. Now let's get you something to eat because I think that will probably help."
Tega's face darkened.
"I don't need any help! I don't need your help! I'm fine! Fine! Aren't you listening to me?! I'm OK!"
Vichy nodded, twisting the cap off a litre of water and pouring a glass for his friend. Tega's breathing was becoming panicky and erratic.
"I am listening. And I believe you. But aren't you hungry, Ortega? We had a long class today. We were all just about to eat."
Tega gripped the arms of the chair he was seated in and hesitated. Some of the dark cloud lifted from his face. Vichy turned deliberately away from him and went to sit on the bed. Then suddenly, like a wisp of smoke brushed away by the wind, the strangeness, the bizarre up-energy was all gone. Ortega shook his head, swallowed thickly, and nodded.
"Yes. I'm starving. Let's eat."
Jesse stared at Ortega, then glanced over to Vichy. Vichy just shook his head. Nothing more was said about it.

"So are you?"
"Am I what?"
"A liability."
Jesse sighed.
"I don't know. Maybe. Yes. They hate me."
Sai chewed on the end of a churro, laid out on his back on Vichy's bed, his shiny black hair fanning out around his head.
"So what are you going to do?"
"What do you mean 'what am I going to do'?"
"I mean you like the chico, right? Obvi' do. Can't leave him, anyway, or else you're dead." Sai talked around a larger-than-appropriate bite. "Gotta make him happy. If you set it up so he resents you, he lets you go and then he's your executioner. Make him feel guilty about that, but keep him miserable for the rest of his life and you become his. So what are you gonna do?"
Jesse bit uncomfortably into a piece of bread, a little dumbfounded. He hadn't really thought of that before.
"I see by your silence that you hadn't really thought of this before. Well, that's pretty much how it is for you and him. Poetic, man. You are each other's curse and salvation. Dig?" Sai took another bite of the churro, chewed and swallowed. "So don't be a dick."

~:~

"Ai!"
Tiger yelped as cold fingers touched him.
"Sorry. Tell me what hurts."
"It all hurts."
"Tell me what hurts the most."
Tiger nodded. The Doctor prodded him gently, testing for sore spots.
"There. There. There. There."
the Doctor made a sound of suspicion.
"I said 'hurts the most'."
"They all hurt the most!"
the Doc sighed and sat back, snapping the gloves off his hands as he turned to Miljan. Tiger dove back under the blankets of Havar's bed.
"I can get dressed now?"
the Doctor shook his head. In the background, Yavisk paced near the windows and Havar sat quietly in a chair.
"In a minute. Miljan, he's fine. The change will take a little more than another week, but he is healthy excepting that." the Doctor began writing in a chart, then glanced up at Tiger and turned to Miljan, switching to Serbian.
"How are his emotions?"
Miljan made a face at the imperfect translation.
"He seems to be in good spirits. Asks for his father a lot. Hasn't been hysterical or claustrophobic."
the Doctor nodded.
"Well, watch him. The young ones - you can never tell which way they are going to go. Sometimes, they are happy, then bam! they lose it. Pay attention."
Miljan inclined his head. The Doctor turned back to Tiger, who was listening intently to the conversation, attempting to pick out words. Still writing in the chart, the Doctor asked him in English:
"Tiger, are you a virgin?"
Miljan made an indignant sound.
"He's not even changed yet. You think I touched him? I'm not that kind of man. I haven't laid a finger on him."
Tiger looked between the two of them. The Doctor watched him for a moment, then raised an eyebrow.
"Very well. Tiger, are we in accordance?"
Tiger nodded. The Doctor shut his chart.
"Alright. Tiger, you seem to be in good health, well taken care of. You need to take these vitamins I've given you. Twice a day, and drink lots of fluids because even though it may not seem like it, your body is really exerting itself right now. If you notice more fatigue then usual, give me a call. You can get dressed now."
"Čekaj."
the Doctor looked up at Miljan.
"Da?"
"Kontracepcija."
the Doctor blinked at him for a minute.
"Zašto?"
Miljan rolled his eyes.
"Too young. He's only seventeen."
the Doctor looked surprised, then half-grinned and turned back to his patient, who was listening intently.
"Well, Tiger, it appears your husband has a heart." Tiger glanced up at Miljan quizzically. "I'm going to leave you with a syringe today. As soon as your change is completed, you're going to need to inject yourself with it."
Tiger shook his head.
"I can't do that. What is it for?"
"Miljan will do it, then. It's to balance your hormones. Can you remember to do that?"
Tiger nodded.
"How much longer will it take?"
the Doctor looked at his anxious face and patted his arm to soothe him.
"I'm not sure. Not much longer. Ten days, maybe, at the outside."
Tiger nodded and exhaled. The Doctor packed his bag and stood.
"I'll be back to see you and Havar in about a week or so. Be good till then." he shouldered his bag and ruffled Tiger's hair with his free hand. "Don't let the old grouch scare you."
the Doctor winked at Tiger and Miljan narrowed his eyes at him and ushered him to the door.