yuri is clear and concise and sharp with his scolding. the tired green haired man - dr. von hevring - waves him off, coming over with the anesthetic and giving a few orders. ]
Yes, Dr. Leclerc. [ say all the nurses.
sheila gasps as she's pushed down, and the anesthesia mask is pulled over her face. she says his name, over and over. Yuri! Yuri no! -
but then, the machines turn on.
the tension in the room feels like it's in slow motion, and yuri feels... calm, as sheila falls back asleep.
good. crisis averted. the audience in the operating theatre, utterly compelled by the drama, relaxes all at once in relief. it's just yuri and his surgical knife once more. ]
[ good that the peanut gallery is enjoy the show. yuri doesn't feel like he's having a good time. there's a consent form, signed and written and that should be all that's needed.
but it feels off. and wrong. hallucinations? so heavy and real they bypass anaesthesia?
he's never seen it before. there's a patient on the end of this -- a patient who doesn't want this surgery, knows his name and calls him in such a familiar way, but there's a chart, and health issue and a duty as a surgeon to help. to protect and heal. ]
Make sure she's fully under. I will not put her through the distress of waking up to a knife to the skin again, thank you very much.
[ sheila stares at yuri, and her expression is - terrified. terrified, and betrayed, her hands desperately clasping at the air. but, the anesthesia takes - she takes one last breath, sharp, high pitched, and then, her eyes roll back in her head, and she's unconscious.
the nurses all breathe a sigh of relief. they're impressed, by yuri's command of the room, by his presence.
yuri picks up the knife once he's sure he's out, and continues his work. as he presses the knife into the incision he originally started, and thinks eight inches, a clear line, his hand wavers.
what is he doing? does he know how to do this? has he ever done surgery?
what about the station?
what about eight weeks of memories, of eating cake and judging people who ate a different one entirely - about having a friend in your life with no expectations, no rules, someone who never judged you for who you were or the lies you told?
the knife sinks in. yuri's cut is unsteady. five, six inches. a little further - just straight down this line, right? to the left?
his hand sways, to the left - and the knife cuts in a little too deep. blood spurts out in an arterial burst, splatters across yuri's face and the heart monitor that was screaming fast, then calm, goes from easy, steady beeping to a high pitched shriek, and then -
weren't we just in the hotel?
- and then it flatlines.
sheila hammond is dead.
right on the operating table, by a fake surgeon. a liar. yuri's knees start to buckle - he'll feel dizzy, dizzy, and sick, and wrong, and he gets enough time to react as the nurses stare on (unhelping, just watching) - and perhaps that's all he gets. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
guestservices) wrote2022-07-03 06:13 pm
no subject
anyway.
yuri is clear and concise and sharp with his scolding. the tired green haired man - dr. von hevring - waves him off, coming over with the anesthetic and giving a few orders. ]
Yes, Dr. Leclerc. [ say all the nurses.
sheila gasps as she's pushed down, and the anesthesia mask is pulled over her face. she says his name, over and over. Yuri! Yuri no! -
but then, the machines turn on.
the tension in the room feels like it's in slow motion, and yuri feels... calm, as sheila falls back asleep.
good. crisis averted. the audience in the operating theatre, utterly compelled by the drama, relaxes all at once in relief. it's just yuri and his surgical knife once more. ]
no subject
but it feels off. and wrong. hallucinations? so heavy and real they bypass anaesthesia?
he's never seen it before. there's a patient on the end of this -- a patient who doesn't want this surgery, knows his name and calls him in such a familiar way, but there's a chart, and health issue and a duty as a surgeon to help. to protect and heal. ]
Make sure she's fully under. I will not put her through the distress of waking up to a knife to the skin again, thank you very much.
no subject
the nurses all breathe a sigh of relief. they're impressed, by yuri's command of the room, by his presence.
yuri picks up the knife once he's sure he's out, and continues his work. as he presses the knife into the incision he originally started, and thinks eight inches, a clear line, his hand wavers.
what is he doing? does he know how to do this? has he ever done surgery?
what about the station?
what about eight weeks of memories, of eating cake and judging people who ate a different one entirely - about having a friend in your life with no expectations, no rules, someone who never judged you for who you were or the lies you told?
the knife sinks in. yuri's cut is unsteady. five, six inches. a little further - just straight down this line, right? to the left?
his hand sways, to the left - and the knife cuts in a little too deep. blood spurts out in an arterial burst, splatters across yuri's face and the heart monitor that was screaming fast, then calm, goes from easy, steady beeping to a high pitched shriek, and then -
weren't we just in the hotel?
- and then it flatlines.
sheila hammond is dead.
right on the operating table, by a fake surgeon. a liar. yuri's knees start to buckle - he'll feel dizzy, dizzy, and sick, and wrong, and he gets enough time to react as the nurses stare on (unhelping, just watching) - and perhaps that's all he gets. ]