Catch the latest, cherish the timeless
I've been mean to y'all. Too much angst. Take some fluff for the winter (me having a test this week)
Warnings!: Wisdom tooth removal. Bloody spit, at one point reader is in enough pain to verbally request an opioid pill. Pain and pain medication. Fluffy <3 prob leads up to poly, they're fruitcakes about it.
The SAS teams have had to pause ops for a wide, wide range of reasons. The odd health complication is very much among them.
That being said, Price never thought he would have to pause a mission because one of his star players got a wisdom tooth infected.
You had been off on Tuesday, chewing on only one side of your mouth and not drinking anything that was even a little hotter than room temp.
Kyle gave you funny looks for it, but that was all.
Wednesday, you didn't leave your room for much at all, but that was fine. Resting up before an op wasn't uncommon. Simon did it all the time.
However, at some point between you disappearing and Johnny saying he heard crying from your room all bets were off.
The door was kicked in, to reveal a grown sergeant, teary-eyed and crying a little as they clutched their cheek with a hand.
Kyle was already at your side, trying to coax you to open your mouth for some painkillers. It wasn't working well.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You cried a little before the surgery. Maybe out of nervousness, maybe out of pain, but the nice nurse was kind enough to ignore it as she explained that you would be waking up in a few hours down four whole teeth.
She explained it to you as you sat in the stupid fucking chair, she repeated it as she gently tucked a I.V. with a small blister containing medicine into the veins of your arm.
"Alright, first the anti-anxiety drug will be administered, okay?"
She doesn't wait for your confirmation, but gently pats your shoulder and continues.
"You should start to feel a bit fuzzy, then, you'll sleep."
It takes a few sickening seconds for you to actually feel the drugs kicking in. You want to get out of this chair, to scream at something.
You never liked the dentist.
But then... the world starts to fade out. It's like you're being locked out of your body as your mind turns itself off.
You hear her counting with the surgeon–a much more awkward woman, though no less polite.
Three.
Two.
On-
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The waking up is slow, and messy.
Cotton pads lie in either of your cheeks, and you can't do much but oblige as the nurse gently coaxes you into a wheelchair, giving instructions to the bearded man who's standing in the corner.
"Make sure they don't sleep for at least a couple hours, okay? I know it'll be hard, but try to have them keep pressure on the site."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Remember the usual course, and we're also giving you five opioid pills. Only in case it gets really bad."
"Affirmative."
You know this voice, but when you see the boonie hat and the slightly furrowed brows, a spark of muffled recognition fires off beneath the haze of anesthetic and misery.
"...Old man."
Your voice is slurred, foreign to even you at this point, but he seems to know it, because he sighs frustratedly before taking the chair by the handles and steering your down the hallway out.
"I swear to- mgh, olright. Better than Soap at least."
You're loaded into the back seat of the car with the most basic consideration.
Dumped in like a sack of flour, actually. Your butt hurts now, but there's Kyle.
He snorts when he sees you, reaches forward to wipe whatever is dripping from the corner of your mouth.
It's bloody spit, but he doesn't seem surprised.
The car ride back to base is quiet, but Kyle keeps you awake.
Beyond that, there's nothing you can remember. Not till the next morning.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Johnny is perched at your bedside, scrolling through his phone until he sees your eyes blearily opening, hears your groaning as you recognize a new pain in your cheeks, and he gently coaxes your mouth open to take out the bloody gauze.
"Och, there ye are, bonnie wee thing. You look like an eejit, just thought ye needed to know."
Your tired glare is met with a laugh, but followed shortly by a pat to the shoulder.
"A'hm kiddin', leannan. Just jokin' with ye. Brought ye breakfast."
He holds up a small container of yogurt, shakes it like one would cat treats to entice a stray. You grimace as much as your painfully swollen cheeks allow, but when you open your mouth to tell him off, there's a sharp twinge that makes you close it.
This seems to earn Johnny's sympathies, because he gently guides you so you're sitting up on the bed, holding one of your shaky hands as he peels back the foil on the cup.
"Easy. Still fresh, aye?"
Your wet-eyed nod is met with a sympathetic huff.
"Aye. Dinnae fash. I'll help ye."
You should smack him for implying that you need help eating yogurt, of all things, but... you kind of do need the help.
Your body is still lethargic, sluggishly stumbling through its tasks with hazy edges and poor motor control.
He raises a glass of water to your lips, and has you take a few sips.
Breakfast takes a long time, but before you fall asleep again, he gently sets a painkiller in your mouth, and tells you to swallow.
When you do, he smiles, and bends down to kiss your forehead while you drift back off.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So, here's something you didn't know before getting your wisdom teeth out.
You can't swallow for a couple days.
It's gross, yeah, but you're supposed to drool out the bloody spit in your mouth, so you don't get dry socket.
Thankfully, Kyle is there for this.
He sweeps your hair back as much as possible (to the point of getting bobby pins from the corner store for the baby hairs), and rubs your back as you drool out your toothpaste.
"I feel disgusting."
"I know, luv. You're not gonna feel good for a while."
Still, his mother's cure is the only thing he trusts himself enough to use on you. Warm, salty water. A childhood staple.
He's sympathetic to your plights, rubbing your back again as you clumsily swish it by turning your head to the sides, cheeks too swollen to move properly.
"Good job. One more."
A firm, warm hand pats your back again as you "spit" (if you can even call it that) for the final time, offering a sweet smile just for you.
"Perfect. Now you can lay back again, yeah? Nice n' easy."
You're not suffering like you were yesterday. It's new.
Your motor function is back, just sluggish.
No, no, your biggest issue right now is the swelling. Your cheeks were so puffy it hurt, and you had them on ice as often as you could.
This is where you have to thank the lord for John Price. Your captain, distant as he can be, must have at least three sets of cheek-size ice pads, because every time you come into your room, there's a new, fresh set waiting for you.
Kyle gently guides you to sit in your bed, offering a sympathetic smile as he eases you backward until you hit the pillow-ramp Johnny had built so your head would be upright.
"You wanna sleep, luv?"
"No."
Your voice is still quiet, limited by your stupid cheeks, but he smiles anyway, and sits next to you.
"You wanna hang out, then?"
"Yes."
The afternoon is good, for you.
Kyle is there. The whole time.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Of course, every surgery comes with the odd fuck-up.
No one should be up, but you're going insane with pain.
It's a sharp, stabbing thing, focused in the gum of your lower right jaw. Almost as sharp as the tooth's initial infection, but more than enough to bring significant distress.
Simon is an odd man, and you two have never been the closest, but when he opens your door in a t-shirt and boxers, you don't even care a little bit.
"Wha's happenin'?"
The Mancunian gruffs concernedly at you, watching as you hold your cheek and shakily take in vain breath in the hopes of calming yourself.
"Get an opioid, Lt. Please."
"Fawk."
Right after that, he's off like a horse to the races, and you're in the silence again, holding your cheek as you try to ignore the way your eyes swim with tears that you refuse to shed.
It's a mercifully short two minutes, even if it feels like half an hour.
Simon's hands are gentle, opening your jaw and setting the horse-pill on your tongue, looking into your wet eyes as he raises the glass to your lips.
"I know, I know. Jus' swallow."
He stays with you as you pant for the breath you've lost, wide, scarred hands on your shoulders.
He exaggerates his own breathing so you see the clear rise and fall of his chest. His lips lose their frown as you slowly start to mimic it.
The dispersal of the pain med is fast, thank goodness, but then Simon has a tired you to deal with, still trembling in the fingers from the sudden spike of debilitating pain, though you can't feel it.
"Are those skeleton boxers?"
He's starting to think your favorite pastime is asking stupid fucking questions, but still, some part of him feels relief.
You could have asked about the lack of mask, but you didn't. You just wanted to know about the halloween boxers.
"Sergeant."
His voice isn't as firm as it should be, but when he sees your exhausted look, he still sits down on the mattress with you.
"Stay. Jus' till I fall asleep."
You don't have the balls to ask for it. Not when you're this vulnerable. So you treat it like an order.
Simon won't be chewing you out for it.
Not now.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kyle and Johnny stand in the doorway to your room, snickering to themselves.
Never thought they would see big boy Lt with the firecracker that drove him up the wall, surely.
Still, after taking a couple pictures (blackmail for Johnny, photo album for Kyle), they just... stand and stare a little.
"Ye ken... we could jus'... join in?"
Johnny poses the question. Kyle nods.
"Yeah. To make sure they're sleeping well."
They both know damn well that's not why. But fuck it, a cuddle pile never hurt anyone.
Especially not you, considering how gentle the pair are when maneuvering your sleeping form.
If Simon opened his eyes and just so happened to see this buffoonery in action, he closed them right back up after.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Price sighs in exasperation when he sees it, but smiles as he tips down his cap just a little.
"Fuckin' rookie. Gonna be the death of me."
But he knows you won't. Because he sees the way Simon's lips curve up in sleep, or the way Johnny and Kyle cling to you.
He should call Laswell, finalize your placement.
The boys wouldn't complain.
Word count= roughly 1,750
Warnings: No! Just fluff with the lads :) Enjoy (but inly if you wanna)!!!
Kyle, who really never thought that knitting would be this hard, considering how much you raved about it keeping you both calm and properly stimulated. Now, he sits by your side on the living room floor, shakily holding two bamboo needles in his hands and trying to hold the "working yarn" (the yarn attached to the ball, apparently) the right way as you tenderly lecture him for being a dunce. "No, baby, you need to get through the stitch first before you yarn over-" Your voice is so pretty like that, trying to steer him from making another weird-looking hole for no real reason, but Kyle just whines again as you take the swatch into your own hands, finish off the whole row like some magic creature of the yarn and thread.
"You said that this was supposed to be easy, luvie." He whines into the crook of your neck, having loosely wound himself around your side as you showed him exactly what to do for the fourth time this hour. Some part of him loves the unfailing tenderness, the softness of your voice and the way you poorly hide the fact that you're laughing at him under your breath. "Sorry, i just thought-" There's a snort from your lips as giggles envelop you, your smile turns wide. Kyle's heart melts a little in his chest "I just thought you'd be better at this-"
Kyle gasps in mock offense, before pushing the needles to the floor, already planning his revenge for that little slight. "Say that one more time, and I'll give yer little magic sticks to my nieces and tell 'em they're swords." He revels in the shocked gasp you give, and grins as you bat him upside the head. "Hah, funny man. Try." Your voice is quieter, a little bit more dangerous, just daring him to do that very thing. Kyle saves his own ass by pecking your cheek, gently taking your hands into his own. "I wouldn't, babes, you know I wouldn't." There's not a modicum of lie in that statement. Kyle knows that the sweetest ones are the most terrifying, and his mum would never let him hear the end of it if he lost you. "Yeah, I do know you wouldn't, jus' wanted to mess with you." It's Kyle's turn to gasp now, but he smiles when you kiss his cheek in return, leans into you like a lapdog despite himself. Tonight's going to be good, and he knows it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Johnny, who remarkably managed very, very well with embroidery. You had been so happy to see him, posted on the couch next to you, working away at the hoop, having only very few questions on how he should hold the thing, if the tension you kept talking about was a little bit off. For an hour, maybe two, it was lovely. Simple silence as you leaned up on his shoulder, working a larger project as the Scot figured out exactly what he was doing on his own. Deft hands, you watched him pick apart the small knots in the thread without issue. It flooded your heart with pride. "Are you finally going to let me see the thing, Johnny?" You questioned playfully, trying to straighten your spine to get a peek before there's a big hand shoved over your eyes, and a thick accent chiding you for your gall. "No!" He squawks, you just know that he relishes in not letting you see, riling you up through your own curiosity, because Johnny is, at his core, a cheeky little shit. "Ye gotta wait, mo leannan, ye cannae jus' peek like that!" It draws a grumble from your lips, but you close your eyes, gently take hold of his wrist in your hand and nod, giving a softer affirmation before he coos at you. "Don' worry, it's almost done anyway." He soothes you with a soft peck to your temple, and just like that, you're calm again, all heart-eyed and dumb with love, relaxed. It's another thirty minutes before the finished product is tenderly set into your lap, and you gasp in surprise before seeing it. It's... stupid. An old sketch of his that really had amused him all too much, one of you from a picture at a night out (you had tripped on a root and he managed to get a picture of your face mid-fall) that he had always seemed too damn enamored with. "Oh my god." You press your hand to your face in shame, already feeling ridiculous before Johnny laughs brightly, pressed a firm, wet kiss to your cheek. "You look lovely! Don't ye? I think you look lovely." It's a sweet sentiment, enough to endear you to the terrible, terrible thing that your fiancé has chosen to immortalize and drive a too-fond sigh from your lips. "You're lucky that I love you." You grumble, giving Johnny a half-hearted glare before he swoops in to sweetly kiss your lips, because he really does know you too well. "Aye, I really am" He doesn't miss a beat, still grinning like an idiot. It makes your chest soften, your guts go mushy and fluttery. "Don't be coy, MacTavish." You reprimand. He grins, and kisses you again for good measure.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Simon, who really didn't think this would be necessary, but here he is, sitting next to you cross-legged on the floor with the hook in hand. "Like this, right?" He speaks gruffly, and loosens his posture for you to peek over his shoulder. He feels the ghost (pun intended) of a smile pulling up at his lips when he hears your affirmative hum. "Yeah. You're doing real good, honey," Your voice wafts into his ear so nicely, floods his mind so deliciously, the only person that Simon knew he would always listen to, his angel right here on Earth. "Out of curiosity, have you ever done this before?" When you finish your question, Simon does let that smile grow on his face, lets the warmth flood into the cavity of his chest, seep into the crevices of his soul, heal the damage bit by bit. Simon leans his head on yours, and takes in a breath. The truth was, he had. One night, after a particular date when you had entirely infodumped a current project to him, he had done a little research. Then, promptly after, learned to crochet, even if it was only the basics. It paid off now, with you on his arm and impressed with his skill. "Nah. Maybe I'm just good at this, hm?" He denies that, shuffles his cheek closer into yours, soaking up the warmth that you radiate, relishes in the soft chuckle that you give. "Mmh, maybe you're gonna be even better than me, is that your plan?" Your teasing is soft, given out of affection. It makes Simon smile, makes him relieved that he's once again managed to make sure that a date went well. "No. Just pick things up fast." The mood really is dead in the water, but Simon really loves that you seem to thrive in that, that you still peck his cheek anyway despite him practically having negative game. "Smartass." You chirp at him, setting down your own piece on the floor before wholesale resting your head on Simon's shoulder. He fights a chuckle. "Better than being a dumbass, isn't it?" The joke wasn't his (he stole it from Johnny), but when you laughed, Simon knew it was well worth it anyway.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
John, who was more than content to help you work on another big project of yours. He was endlessly proud of you, how wonderfully you worked on those commissions and how perfect they always looked when you finally shipped them off. But disaster always strikes at one time or another, and the cat is often the cause of that. After maybe an hour of soothing his panicking partner, John had you wrapped up in a blanket in the corner of your own office, gently taking the needle into his own hands to sew the small tear in the fabric back together as you sniffled a little bit. Were you more than skilled enough to fix this issue yourself? Yes. But John felt particularly loving lately, wanted to make sure that his lovely, hyper-competent partner knew that they could rely on him. Because they always could. When he speaks, its gently, glancing up from the fabric in his hands to look into your eyes, still a little bit bloodshot from the tears. "Don't worry yourself, sweetheart. My mother didn't raise a man who doesn't know how to do repairs." The comfort was genuine, both an assurance of his skill and a statement that you could just lay back, let him take the reins for once and allow you to calm down a little bit. "But-" you sniffle, wipe at your nose with a tissue, and John doesn't allow you to question this. "Nope. None of that self-doubt, yer therapist already said that's bad, didn't she?" You nod, John watches your cheeks flush a bit simply because he remembered, that he cared enough to stow that away in the back corners of his brain. Oh, if only you knew how much he adores you, your little heart would blow up. "I can't just let you do my work for me, John, that's not right." The small rebuttal makes him pause in the middle of a stitch, gently set the needle down. His darling had the morals of a saint, why was he surprised by that? "Who said that I was doing your work? Maybe I'm just your guest of honor, sweetness." John speaks softly, shoots you a cocky grin that finally brings a smile back onto your face. "Yeah, yeah, alright," He smiles as you stand, wraps a strong arm around your midsection as you tuck yourself into his side, calming all of the way back down, turning back into the wonderful, sweet, bordering perfect partner returning to form once more. "That means that you have to sign it, too, you know." You tease in return as John nervously swallows, knowing damn well he is hopeless to ever replicate the pure beauty that is your signature on professional pieces. "Well, I'm not so sure about that-" He uselessly stutters to the joke, feeling his own cheeks heat up more than a little bit at the invitation. "Oh, don't be like that, I could teach you." Now that makes Price melt.