ER FIC: Decimate (1/1)
28 Sep 2006 11:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kangeikoAnd another one... I have a thing for horrible middle-aged men who are geniuses with no social skills. Yup. And this is probably quite self-indulgent - I dunno. I'm not that fussed with it, to be honest, I've wanted to tear down Romano and make him bleed quite profusely for a little while now. This is as good a way as any. (All done with love, of course.)
Title: Decimate
Fandom: ER
Character: Robert Romano (set in his last season on the show)
Summary: The first time was an accident.
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100fandoms #56: alive.
*
The first time was an accident. This late on, he was not used to the prosthetic, and his hand slipped while cutting vegetables for dinner. It was not much of a problem, really: barely three stitches at Mercy. David kindly fixed up his thigh for him and did not inquire why he had not asked the cab the driver to take him to County, or why he had not stitched up his thigh himself. It was, after all, an awkward cut, high up and on the outside of his left thigh, almost approaching his hip. He had no leverage to reach it. David did not ask.
"Do you want anything for the pain?"
He glared some more, made a few choice remarks, filled in his payment details and left.
*
The second time was not so much planned, as not entirely accidental. He undid the stitches David had laboured over – as if one extra scar really mattered now! – while watching some brainless soap on the TV.
When he eventually gave in and got his ass to Mercy, the cut had almost completely reopened. He pressed the sleeve of his jacket against it and gave the cab driver a large tip to compensate for the blood on the notes.
"Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing to yourself, Robert?"
So he glared some more, and David stopped asking questions and fixed him up again, slapping a bandage over the stitches to prevent him worrying them. "And don't come back with this again."
He nodded acquiescence and was surprised when David grabbed his existing arm tightly. No one had really made contact with him for a while, now. "Hey. I mean it. Don't come back with this, or I'm going to have to call psych, okay?"
So that was the second time, and he swore not to end up in Mercy again, even if he was bleeding his life out on a sidewalk somewhere.
*
The third time, he sterilised the knife and told himself that it was acceptable to dull the pain this way. Certainly more so than using Valium or Prozac, and plenty enough doctors used them and remained functional.
He sliced into the skin across his right thigh; a perfect spot for self-suturing if the knife should slip.
It didn't.
*
The fourth time, the fifth time and the sixth time he did in rapid succession in the bathroom, with towels on the floor and an iodine bottle perched on the top of the cistern and brand new razorblades.
Afterwards, he cleaned the cuts and wrapped clean bandages around them and then threw up.
His pager went off almost immediately after and he slumped over the porcelain, trying to wipe at his face with an arm that wasn't there.
Yup. This was the life.
*
The seventh time he went back to the knife and to the whiskey bottle - just looking at it, mind you; he wasn't that far gone yet - and considered all the ways in which he had some serious karmic dues coming to him in his next life. Not just two whole arms and possibly surpassing surgical skill; no, this particular life merited several naked Swedish blondes in his bed come Valhalla.
He watched The Late Show.
*
The eighth time, he was a little drunk and the knife went in a deeper than he had intended. He mopped up the blood with bandages from the first-aid kit and sutured himself up. It took about ten minutes; then he sat on his couch in his underwear and read The American Journal of Emergency Medicine.
When the phone rang, he was surprised to find Elizabeth on the other end. "Robert, I want to talk to you about. . . well, I was down in the E.R. earlier, and . . . I mean, hiding your arm wasn't . . ."
He wondered aloud if she was planning on finishing a sentence anytime soon.
"Don't be difficult, Robert." She always used his name when trying to extract something from him. He knew it, and had always been on his guard whenever she was nice to him. Of course, lately Elizabeth was perpetually nice to him.
He'd tasted pity in his mouth before. It was like an odour that way, drifting from person to person. He'd always hated the taste, even when directed at others, all vinegar and ash.
"There's problems with the staff, I can see it, and . . ."
And he told her politely that it was none of her business.
*
The ninth time was after he hung up. He chose a good spot on the inside of his left thigh and took his time.
The stump of his left arm was braced against the armrest of the sofa, the TV still blaring on in the background.
Damn Elizabeth anyway.
*
The tenth time never came. He'd made plans, got cover for his shift, had good reason – that idiotic boy, Morris – everything set. And looked up at the sky.
*
end
Title: Decimate
Fandom: ER
Character: Robert Romano (set in his last season on the show)
Summary: The first time was an accident.
100fandoms #56: alive.*
The first time was an accident. This late on, he was not used to the prosthetic, and his hand slipped while cutting vegetables for dinner. It was not much of a problem, really: barely three stitches at Mercy. David kindly fixed up his thigh for him and did not inquire why he had not asked the cab the driver to take him to County, or why he had not stitched up his thigh himself. It was, after all, an awkward cut, high up and on the outside of his left thigh, almost approaching his hip. He had no leverage to reach it. David did not ask.
"Do you want anything for the pain?"
He glared some more, made a few choice remarks, filled in his payment details and left.
*
The second time was not so much planned, as not entirely accidental. He undid the stitches David had laboured over – as if one extra scar really mattered now! – while watching some brainless soap on the TV.
When he eventually gave in and got his ass to Mercy, the cut had almost completely reopened. He pressed the sleeve of his jacket against it and gave the cab driver a large tip to compensate for the blood on the notes.
"Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing to yourself, Robert?"
So he glared some more, and David stopped asking questions and fixed him up again, slapping a bandage over the stitches to prevent him worrying them. "And don't come back with this again."
He nodded acquiescence and was surprised when David grabbed his existing arm tightly. No one had really made contact with him for a while, now. "Hey. I mean it. Don't come back with this, or I'm going to have to call psych, okay?"
So that was the second time, and he swore not to end up in Mercy again, even if he was bleeding his life out on a sidewalk somewhere.
*
The third time, he sterilised the knife and told himself that it was acceptable to dull the pain this way. Certainly more so than using Valium or Prozac, and plenty enough doctors used them and remained functional.
He sliced into the skin across his right thigh; a perfect spot for self-suturing if the knife should slip.
It didn't.
*
The fourth time, the fifth time and the sixth time he did in rapid succession in the bathroom, with towels on the floor and an iodine bottle perched on the top of the cistern and brand new razorblades.
Afterwards, he cleaned the cuts and wrapped clean bandages around them and then threw up.
His pager went off almost immediately after and he slumped over the porcelain, trying to wipe at his face with an arm that wasn't there.
Yup. This was the life.
*
The seventh time he went back to the knife and to the whiskey bottle - just looking at it, mind you; he wasn't that far gone yet - and considered all the ways in which he had some serious karmic dues coming to him in his next life. Not just two whole arms and possibly surpassing surgical skill; no, this particular life merited several naked Swedish blondes in his bed come Valhalla.
He watched The Late Show.
*
The eighth time, he was a little drunk and the knife went in a deeper than he had intended. He mopped up the blood with bandages from the first-aid kit and sutured himself up. It took about ten minutes; then he sat on his couch in his underwear and read The American Journal of Emergency Medicine.
When the phone rang, he was surprised to find Elizabeth on the other end. "Robert, I want to talk to you about. . . well, I was down in the E.R. earlier, and . . . I mean, hiding your arm wasn't . . ."
He wondered aloud if she was planning on finishing a sentence anytime soon.
"Don't be difficult, Robert." She always used his name when trying to extract something from him. He knew it, and had always been on his guard whenever she was nice to him. Of course, lately Elizabeth was perpetually nice to him.
He'd tasted pity in his mouth before. It was like an odour that way, drifting from person to person. He'd always hated the taste, even when directed at others, all vinegar and ash.
"There's problems with the staff, I can see it, and . . ."
And he told her politely that it was none of her business.
*
The ninth time was after he hung up. He chose a good spot on the inside of his left thigh and took his time.
The stump of his left arm was braced against the armrest of the sofa, the TV still blaring on in the background.
Damn Elizabeth anyway.
*
The tenth time never came. He'd made plans, got cover for his shift, had good reason – that idiotic boy, Morris – everything set. And looked up at the sky.
*
end
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no subject
Date: 2006-09-28 11:01 pm (UTC)COME AND WATCH SGA, THEN, GIRL!
You'll love Rodney.
'sides, you promised. 0 :-)
no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 02:14 pm (UTC)Btw, have you see the season opener of veronica mars, or do you want me to pop than in to the package?
no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 04:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 06:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 08:50 pm (UTC)(BTW, am drinking BEER, cause I showed my (10 pages?!) of diagnoses to my parents, and my father remarked re: Latest Problems that drinking beer might help in a natural way. God. Do people really LIKE this stuff?)
no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 09:01 pm (UTC)weirdos.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 09:04 pm (UTC)::nods sagely::