Above Knee by Casspeach
Apr. 5th, 2005 11:23 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
casspeach.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
sga_flashficTitle: Above Knee
Authors: Casspeach
Challenge: 38 Minutes (37 mins to write, one to read through, hence weirdness of title)
Category: kind of gen with mention of established slash relationship, so slash, I guess but not
Pairing: Beckett/Zelenka (very much integral to story but offscreen established relationship)
Rating: PG-12 for theme, maybe
Summary: He missed surgery when he went into genetics.
Note from the author: Just thinking about Carson's job and how hard it would be sometimes.
Above Knee
He looks at his hands as he goes through the old and comforting routine of scrubbing for surgery and wonders if it isn't a kind of betrayal that they aren't shaking. This is the only few seconds of peace that he's had over the past he forgets how many hours, this hurried smearing of familiar smelling antiseptic over his hands. The pattern so routine, so methodical as to be a calming ritual to him. Palms, one palm to the back of the other, reverse, between his fingers, ends of his fingers, thumb, arm to elbow. Rinsing with hands always above his elbows, water dripping onto his shoes and the floor and his scrubs as he turns, lifts the sterile towel, dries in the same careful fingers to elbow and never return way. He drops it into the waste bin, knowing full well that this is the only time that, should he miss, he would leave it for a nurse to tidy up after him. The gown goes on easily, quickly, routinely, but there's a difference this time compared to the myriad others he's done this, both here in Pegasus and at home. The nurse tying him in doesn't speak. There are no jokes at the expense of the patient, or the anaesthetist, no enquiries about Carson's plans for the weekends or tales of the latest escapades of the nursing staff. He realises then that they know. They probably all know, and presumably they don't care because he can't for the life of him pinpoint when they must have found out.
He snaps on his gloves and walks carefully, hands held high in front of him like the precious objects they are, into the operating room proper.
The scrub nurse has already prepped the patient, and Carson knows that his gratitude is more than just tiredness or professional acceptance that they must get on with this if it is to be any help at all. He knows in his heart that it's another betrayal, but he nods at his colleague, and she nods back. He thinks she's probably giving him a tentative smile, but it's hard to tell with the masks.
She hands him a sterile marker pen and he remembers his first session in theatre, with the same vascular surgeon who taught him to tie knots, and do this operation that he's still only thinking about in the back of his mind because if he lets it into the front he's not sure he'll be able to go through with it. The smell is familiar again, the mingling of marker pen and iodine, and he knows he will do this. This is where he is fearless, here in the infirmary with a scalpel in one hand and a needle and syringe in the other.
He draws the planned outline of his myocutaneous flap on the bright orange iodine-stained leg that's been so kindly isolated from the rest of his lover by the green drapes.
Then he cuts.
He's quick, assured, professional. He missed surgery when he went into genetics. Surgery is definite and sure and clean in a way that labs and research are not. He's not thinking, as he asks for the bone saw, about the way this leg felt when they finally cut Radek out of what remained of the jumper he was trapped under. He's not thinking, as he feels the last shard of bone snap under the weight of the saw, about how sharp the man's shinbone was under his hands when he used to sit at Zelenka's feet watching him work through some engineering puzzle in his head. Or how there didn't seem to be any bone in this leg at all after the accident.
He's definitely not thinking as he lifts the leg, which used to be so ticklish behind the knee, and places it in the bucket beside the operating table, about taking those now cold and dead, lifeless toes into his mouth, or about the noises Radek would make when he did, but he can't stop himself from remembering that it was the only thing that could draw the man away from his work. He'd always be cross at first, but now Carson wishes he'd done it more often.
He isn't sure he can ever do that again, even with the orphaned toes on the other foot, because won't that just be a reminder of what's missing? Carson isn't sure whether that thought is for him or for Radek. He suspects Radek will cope with the amputation better than he will and he knows that's another betrayal. He's a doctor. He should be able to see past this, but he doesn't know yet how he's going to feel, if Radek survives because even that's not a given, to be trying to a love a man he has mutilated. If he was anyone else, Carson would refer himself to see Kate Heightmeyer, but he knows he wouldn't go. She's a doctor too, and she'd expect him to sail through this, just like he would have expected if he'd never actually had to face it. She wouldn't say as much, because she was a good doctor, a good psychiatrist, but he'd know she thought it, all the same.
He finishes the neat final layer of stitches on what is a beautiful stump, and helps the nurses dress it, trying to make his mind concentrate on professional things, when Radek will wake, pain relief regimes, what's next on the to do list, and not on the memory of blue eyes calmly holding his gaze and saying they trusted him, while Radek told him to do what he felt was necessary.
It occurs to him as the nurses strip the green sterile towels from the bed, revealing his altered but very much living lover, that Zelenka, as the best engineer they have, will probably end up making his own prosthesis, and for the first time since the accident he smiles. It will probably be the best wooden leg the world has ever seen.
Authors: Casspeach
Challenge: 38 Minutes (37 mins to write, one to read through, hence weirdness of title)
Category: kind of gen with mention of established slash relationship, so slash, I guess but not
Pairing: Beckett/Zelenka (very much integral to story but offscreen established relationship)
Rating: PG-12 for theme, maybe
Summary: He missed surgery when he went into genetics.
Note from the author: Just thinking about Carson's job and how hard it would be sometimes.
Above Knee
He looks at his hands as he goes through the old and comforting routine of scrubbing for surgery and wonders if it isn't a kind of betrayal that they aren't shaking. This is the only few seconds of peace that he's had over the past he forgets how many hours, this hurried smearing of familiar smelling antiseptic over his hands. The pattern so routine, so methodical as to be a calming ritual to him. Palms, one palm to the back of the other, reverse, between his fingers, ends of his fingers, thumb, arm to elbow. Rinsing with hands always above his elbows, water dripping onto his shoes and the floor and his scrubs as he turns, lifts the sterile towel, dries in the same careful fingers to elbow and never return way. He drops it into the waste bin, knowing full well that this is the only time that, should he miss, he would leave it for a nurse to tidy up after him. The gown goes on easily, quickly, routinely, but there's a difference this time compared to the myriad others he's done this, both here in Pegasus and at home. The nurse tying him in doesn't speak. There are no jokes at the expense of the patient, or the anaesthetist, no enquiries about Carson's plans for the weekends or tales of the latest escapades of the nursing staff. He realises then that they know. They probably all know, and presumably they don't care because he can't for the life of him pinpoint when they must have found out.
He snaps on his gloves and walks carefully, hands held high in front of him like the precious objects they are, into the operating room proper.
The scrub nurse has already prepped the patient, and Carson knows that his gratitude is more than just tiredness or professional acceptance that they must get on with this if it is to be any help at all. He knows in his heart that it's another betrayal, but he nods at his colleague, and she nods back. He thinks she's probably giving him a tentative smile, but it's hard to tell with the masks.
She hands him a sterile marker pen and he remembers his first session in theatre, with the same vascular surgeon who taught him to tie knots, and do this operation that he's still only thinking about in the back of his mind because if he lets it into the front he's not sure he'll be able to go through with it. The smell is familiar again, the mingling of marker pen and iodine, and he knows he will do this. This is where he is fearless, here in the infirmary with a scalpel in one hand and a needle and syringe in the other.
He draws the planned outline of his myocutaneous flap on the bright orange iodine-stained leg that's been so kindly isolated from the rest of his lover by the green drapes.
Then he cuts.
He's quick, assured, professional. He missed surgery when he went into genetics. Surgery is definite and sure and clean in a way that labs and research are not. He's not thinking, as he asks for the bone saw, about the way this leg felt when they finally cut Radek out of what remained of the jumper he was trapped under. He's not thinking, as he feels the last shard of bone snap under the weight of the saw, about how sharp the man's shinbone was under his hands when he used to sit at Zelenka's feet watching him work through some engineering puzzle in his head. Or how there didn't seem to be any bone in this leg at all after the accident.
He's definitely not thinking as he lifts the leg, which used to be so ticklish behind the knee, and places it in the bucket beside the operating table, about taking those now cold and dead, lifeless toes into his mouth, or about the noises Radek would make when he did, but he can't stop himself from remembering that it was the only thing that could draw the man away from his work. He'd always be cross at first, but now Carson wishes he'd done it more often.
He isn't sure he can ever do that again, even with the orphaned toes on the other foot, because won't that just be a reminder of what's missing? Carson isn't sure whether that thought is for him or for Radek. He suspects Radek will cope with the amputation better than he will and he knows that's another betrayal. He's a doctor. He should be able to see past this, but he doesn't know yet how he's going to feel, if Radek survives because even that's not a given, to be trying to a love a man he has mutilated. If he was anyone else, Carson would refer himself to see Kate Heightmeyer, but he knows he wouldn't go. She's a doctor too, and she'd expect him to sail through this, just like he would have expected if he'd never actually had to face it. She wouldn't say as much, because she was a good doctor, a good psychiatrist, but he'd know she thought it, all the same.
He finishes the neat final layer of stitches on what is a beautiful stump, and helps the nurses dress it, trying to make his mind concentrate on professional things, when Radek will wake, pain relief regimes, what's next on the to do list, and not on the memory of blue eyes calmly holding his gaze and saying they trusted him, while Radek told him to do what he felt was necessary.
It occurs to him as the nurses strip the green sterile towels from the bed, revealing his altered but very much living lover, that Zelenka, as the best engineer they have, will probably end up making his own prosthesis, and for the first time since the accident he smiles. It will probably be the best wooden leg the world has ever seen.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-06 06:43 am (UTC)Jo
**mumbles** now let's see if there is something new on her lj ... A Taste of Honey part 3 maybe ? Or **gasp** even a new chapter of Craving the Rose ? ***Check***mumble*** uhuhuh why does she have to have a real life ? Should spend all her time writing ***sigh*** Sorry, no pressure :-) ***goes back lurking***
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-06 11:21 am (UTC)Heh, sorry, real life has been a bit of a bitch this week. It's all sitting in my head waiting, but given that I only found the 38 minutes for this challenge by getting up early before work today, everything else is on hold!
Soon.
You know you're my only fan, I must look after you!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-06 07:12 am (UTC)I feel so bad for them both. I think Carson is right, though, that Radek will handle it better than Carson does. Between his brain and Ancient technology, he will end up with the most spectacular wooden leg in two galaxies.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-06 11:31 am (UTC)Thank you for that compliment, it's made me smile stupidly ever since I read it.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-06 11:40 am (UTC)On an outside note, the language and the flow is very good here, and I'm jealous. :) I'm impressed because of the element of time.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-06 09:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-06 01:25 pm (UTC)This is painful but that last bit made me smile. Very nice job. :-)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-06 09:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-06 01:35 pm (UTC)I'm crying. Actual tears! And even the fact he's moved forward and is thinking about the prosthetic Radek will build.. waaaaaaaaah!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-06 09:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-06 09:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-06 03:54 pm (UTC)Great look at Carson. So horrifically, nicely done ow. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-06 09:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-07 03:19 am (UTC)This is one of the most powerful images I've read in a fanfic in awhile. It evokes great visual imagery--fearless doctor, where's king in the infirmary, but there's smell, too! Marker pen and iodine. This stopped me dead in my tracks when I first read this story. I just sat there, dumbfounded almost. These are such perfect lines.
Then he cuts..
I'm reading this and my expression goes deadpan. The next few paragraphs are just.. so painful to read, and yet so poignant. Snapping bone, saw, in a bucket, cold and lifeless-- this is what writing is all about. Every word that you have here is so vital to the story and it conveys exactly what you want the readers to feel: pain. angst. remorse. sympathy.
It's so hard to read, but I'm eager to read more-- and then... you end it on what seems to be a lighter note. That Radek'll make his own prothestic, and that it'll be a great one at that. Man oh man. I have no idea how to better articulate my thoughts for this fic.
At first I thought this was an oddball pairing, but I am definately taking that thought back. My hat off to you for this fic.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-10 12:20 pm (UTC)What I like about the pairing is that it's so ordinary. Just two people who have found each other and are making the best of things. Hmm, that's in my head, of course, lol, I do appreciate that there is little canon basis for the pairing.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-27 06:35 am (UTC)Damn, that's good.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-27 04:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-29 08:52 pm (UTC)Great stuff.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-30 09:53 pm (UTC)Glad you enjoyed
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-19 02:20 pm (UTC)And 38 minutes? Wow!!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 05:25 pm (UTC)<3
Date: 2006-11-10 12:50 am (UTC)Radek, being tickling behind the knee? Wonderful.
I can just see Dr. Zelenka manuvering his way around the labs with his own home-made prosthetic leg.
It makes me smile.