FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Hello, and welcome to the new chapter! It's been an interesting season so far, and things are only getting more and more hectic as time passes!

I'm doing something a bit different with this chapter. If this chapter gets a lot of comments, at my discretion, I may post the next chapter already on next Wednesday, so after you've read, think whether you have something in mind you'd like to share, and you will help me to decide whether to post an early follow-up.

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This is not to say that the story is getting less feedback than usual, in fact, this story gets more feedback than anything else I write, but it's fun to throw the ball to your court on occasion as well. : ) Let's see if some peer pressure works. *chuckle*

As always, please don't forget that all votes, faves and watches will help others to find these stories to enjoy as well.

Enjoy the read, y'all! ** **

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My painfully clenching belly became even more upset once the cab turned around a corner and the night-lit dull sandstone front of the Taylor University Hospital flashed in front of my eyes. My tail coiled nervously around my leg and my paws wrung together on my lap. My ears hadn't been still ever since that phone call, the reason why I was now stuffed on the backseat of the cab and feeling like I was going to barf at any moment.

Only seven months ago, I had taken this same trip, to the same hospital, and again, to see Peter, and I felt like this was becoming an all too frequent habit, even now that things were supposed to be fine. Wasn't it only a couple of weeks back when Peter had been telling that his kidney and serum and whatnot tests were fine and he was feeling healthier than in years, ever since his kidneys exploded? What could have caused such a rapid demise?

The nurse on the phone didn't really tell me anything except that Peter had been brought in on an ambulance and that I was being requested to show up in the hospital. I had barely put on my jacket and grabbed my keys before I was already sitting on a cab. Perhaps only fifteen minutes had passed since the phone call, but still...this was Peter...this was the hospital...any minute could be the difference between seeing him alive rather than coming to identify a body...

My stomach churned and I swallowed heavily, and told myself that the nurse had not said anything about life-threatening conditions, but then again, when did the nurses want to talk about that kind of a thing over the phone? They had asked me to come as soon as possible, and that's what I was doing, and mentally I had to prepare for anything. It wasn't something I liked to do, no, I had rushed to the hospital a few times over the past years, always expecting the worst, and this time really wasn't any more different than that. Even if it was only a hangnail or something else fucking stupid like that, I always had to go in headfirst...I could not risk not to.

The cab driver signaled and pulled us onto the hospital yard.

"Take me to the walk-in clinic entrance, please," I rumbled.

"Sure do," the raccoon mumbled and careered the cab past the bright-lit ambulance doors before coming to halt by a more modest pair of doors.

I dug out my wallet and stuffed the request amount of money into the raccoon's extended paw as soon as he announced the final sum, and then I was out, going up the wheelchair ramp and slamming myself through the door. The waiting room, with its rows of chairs populated by furs, the lingering stench of booze, vomit, blood and medical disinfectant, crying cubs, and the sight of the green-scrubbed nurses walking around with a purpose, they all barely registered to me, when I entered, and rushed through to the check-in counter. A moose was sitting behind it, eyes staring at a computer screen, and those big, blue, watery eyes lifted up to me upon my sudden arrival, meeting the sight of an agitated lion.

"Sir, you have to take a number and sit down to wait for the triage nurse to assess you," the nurse spoke, pointing me towards the chairs again.

I slammed my paws down on the top of the counter and took a deep breath to calm myself down before I spoke.

"I'm not a patient, I 'm here to see Peter Sinclair, I was called in to see him here, I was told that he was brought in on an ambulance," I explained, quickly.

The moose's eyes flicked as she studied me from her seated vantage point, and her big hands, resting by the keyboard, sprung into action while she kept looking at me over the top rim of her oversized glasses.

"Name?" she questioned.

"Rory Gliese, that's G-L-I-"

"Patient name."

My ears flicked and I chuffed, my tail making erratic loops behind me.

"Peter Sinclair, S-I-N-C-L-A-I-R."

The old keyboard clattered.

"Yes, we have a Peter Sinclair, brought in at 16:20," her eyes did not rise from the computer screen when she read it out.

My heart jolted.

"Can I go to see him? Where is he?"

"He was taken to radiology, but if he's back, he should be in Exam 4."

My head jumped from side to side as I tried to see anything that resembled a Peter or an Exam 4.

"Where is it?" I asked.

The moose finally looked at me again, and lifted her hand, to point towards an outlying corridor.

"Second door on the right, but please do not disturb the patients."

"Thanks," I rumbled and was already on the way, running the gauntlet of gurneys, wheelchairs and supply carts as I navigated my way through the crowded ER, to make my way towards my indicated destination.

I didn't know what to expect to see behind the door with the frosted-glass window and a sign that said "EXAM 4 - CARDIAC MONITORING", but I took a deep nerve-calming breath and entered the room beyond.

It was long and narrow, with curtains separating beds in such a manner that I could only see ends of beds and the occasional footpaw protruding out beyond the veils. Beeps coming from the monitoring equipment filled my ears, and I stood there for a moment, unable to move, but only stare, and try to see any signs of Peter...which weren't there.

Right...

I began to walk along the corridor, glimpsing into the partitions formed by the curtains...a bear hooked up to heart monitor...no...a wolf with an oxygen mask...no...no...Peter...a lion with lots of tubes..no...only two stalls left...

Peter was lying on the gurney, with his head propped up on pillows, wearing one of those white hospital gowns, and covered with a blue blanket. He had an oxygen mask covering his muzzle, but I didn't see any other tubes, wires or machines that go beep, as far as I knew, but still ,the sight of him, looking so vulnerable, was more than enough to stop me there, on my tracks, to stand there, and stare, maw agape.

Peter, on the other paw, immediately flicked his ears and gave me a look across the space between us, his eyes sharp and observant, and clearly quite conscious.

"Rowreeh!" he muttered loudly.

My tail jumped wildly from side to side at his muffled call, spoken through that plastic mask covering his face, and I took a careful step forward, to the foot of the bed. Peter watched me with a frown.

"Why do you look so scared? It's not like I'm vomiting blood!"

I made a face at his comment, and stepped closer again. I entered the stall properly, walking over to the head end of the bed, and then sat down on a small backless stool that was there, a steel one, and put my ass down on it so that I could be on eye level with the lying down cougar. I reached out with my paw and pressed it over the outline of his forearm, visible through the blue blanket covering him from chest down. I looked at him long and deeply, trying to see any signs of illness or injury on him.

Pete turned to look at me and snuffled, making the clear plastic covering his face fog up.

"No need to look that grave, Rory. I'm glad you're here."

"What's wrong with you?" I groaned, agitatedly, watching him with pleading eyes, my ears animated. "I was called here like you were just about to kick the bucket!"

Peter shrugged.

"In a way I did...," he snorted loudly as he pulled his left paw out from under the blanket and patted his right thigh. "Lift this up."

I gave him a questioning look.

"Get this blanket off me, you'll see."

With trepidation, I caught the edge of the blanket and lifted it up gingerly, to reveal Peter's bare legs, especially his right one, and the ankle, which was resting against a pillow and wrapped in what looked like some sort of a splint, and covered in ice packs. My eyes widened, and I quickly turned to look at the cougar, who was smiling, crookedly.

"I slipped on the treadmill while doing my afternoon jog, and I put my weight on it badly and here I am. It might be broken, they're gonna have a surgeon looking it over."

I snorted.

"And all this for...?" I waved my paw around wildly, meaning the hospital room, gown, mask, ambulance, hospital, phone call, me rushing in like Peter's life was depending on it, everything.

Peter nodded.

"Why do you need that mask?" I groaned.

Peter shrugged again.

"Everyone gets sick in a hospital," the cougar mused, matter-of-fact. "I'm not going to share the room air with everyone coughing, sneezing and bleeding into it. The same goes with this..."

Peter waved his own paw dismissively.

"I told them that I'm immunosuppressed, and they were more than kind to put me here and not leave me sitting out there in the waiting room."

I felt a rush of relief fill me, despite the minor annoyance at the nursing staff for giving me the worst scare in ages by making all this sound like much worse than it was revealed to be. Still, it was Peter here, bedridden, minor injury or not, he still looked so vulnerable...like he used to look all those years ago, when he really was sick, and whenever he took a turn for the worse, there was the nagging fear that this might be it....the final straw.

Now he mostly just seemed bored with it all.

"Okay," I muttered as I began to unbutton my jacket and get as comfortable as I could.

Peter re-arranged his blanket and then patted my nearest arm with his paw, once I had my jacket folded over my knees and I sat there, watching with worried eyes. My ears still hadn't stopped flicking.

"So what did they tell you?" Peter asked me.

I scratched the side of my muzzle.

"Some nurse called me that you had been brought in here and that I was your emergency contact and that's why they phoned me and asked me to come over to see you as soon as possible. She didn't tell me why you were rushed to the hospital."

Peter snorted.

"That's stupid," he shook his head briefly. "And I'm sorry."

I took his paw and squeezed it, without a pause, without hesitation, and gave him a firm look.

"It's okay," I tried to smile, but the nerves that were slowly uncoiling after a horrible forty-five minutes for me still wouldn't let me relax, despite the fact that I very well knew that Peter was not going to die from a simple fall.

Peter tensed a little from the sudden contact, a reflex he had acquired during his years of illness and germphobia, something I did not appreciate much, but I could live with it. I wouldn't let go of his paw.

"They scared you, didn't they?" Peter was watching me carefully now.

I gave him a small nod, not trusting my voice.

"Idiots," Peter hissed.

I squeezed his paw, gently.

"It's fine now," I tried smiling again, and managed a little one. "It's just...I've done this a few times before..."

Peter's ears flattened, and he looked decisively unhappy with himself.

"Shit, I'm sorry..."

My furs still bristled a little, but I knew that part of this business was being strong, for Peter, and I did as well, and smiled, forcing my lips to pull back.

Happyhappy Rory mode initiated.

"It's okay," I breathed out.

Peter shook his head.

"Guess they couldn't know, but still...that's fucking bad," Peter's fingers moved within my paw, shifting and manipulating, so that suddenly it was Peter holding my paw and not the other way around.

The cougar squeezed my fingers into his, and gave me a look, complimented with a frown.

"I'm fucking sorry."

"It doesn't much matter now does it?" I tried to shrug off the ill feeling, and be there for Peter, and not care about the fact that I had had the shit scared out of me with that badly composed phone call that had suggested something much worse.

"I mean, you're not flatlining here or something."

Peter chuckled roughly.

"No such luck I'm afraid," the cougar squeezed my paw tighter, and then rested our paws down over the bed, and let them be there, together. "Still kicking...well, one-legged now but..."

I snuffled at his terrible humor.

"Does it hurt?" I asked him with a chuff.

"It's pretty iced up, so it's more of a dull ache," the cougar rumbled. "They also gave me Vicodin, so I'm pretty well off. Waiting for the doctor."

"The nurse said something about radiology," I recalled.

"Yeah, they took me up for an X-ray and brought back here to wait," Peter snuffled. "Hasn't been too long yet so I guess it's going to be a long night."

I gave him a quick nod.

"Well, I'm here now," I spoke, resigned to riding this out with him, since that was the very least I could do for Peter.

"Thank you," Peter murmured through his strange mask, and I smiled a little, more genuinely now, and stroked over his wrist. My face remained brave.

"And it's not like you've been doing this much recently!" I continued, hoping to cheer him up a little and not let Peter fall into a brooding mood.

I knew he hated hospitals with a passion, anyone who had spent so much time in one was bound to end up hating them at one point or another. I was sure that even staying as calm as he was must have been a challenge for Peter, my broken friend, as he laid there, in pain, but at least he didn't have to be all alone anymore.

To my horror, Peter's face seemed to fall into a scowl upon my comment, and he avoided my eyes, for a moment, and stared at the drab wall instead, and not at me. My ears flattened.

"Not since the last time," he rumbled after that quiet, unnerving pause.

I squeezed Peter's arm more firmly now, hoping that I would manage to not to let him go down that path.

"Do you want me to get anything for you? Are you allowed to eat or drink?" I asked, forcing cheerfulness into my voice and my demeanor.

Peter didn't look at me.

"I'm not hungry, thank you," he spoke quietly. "And I shouldn't be eating anyway, in case they have to operate."

My face fell again.

"Surely it's not that bad!" I exclaimed, trying to stop him from dwelling into the worst case scenario that was surely in his mind.

Peter chuffed.

"You never know what will happen," Peter grunted.

"That's why we have to wait for the doctor," I spoke, determined, as I rubbed up and down his thickly furred arm. "And then we'll see what happens."

Peter shrugged.

"I hate waiting."

"I know," I smiled a little. "You always hated waiting for exam results to come and harrowed professors with emails."

The cougar snuffled.

"You'd think that three years on the UNOS list would teach you patience," he grunted.

I made a face, something that amused Peter, for some reason, because he chuckled.

"I know, I know," his tawny ears flicked at me. "Being sick is not an excuse for being a prick, that's what you kept telling me."

I did," I growled, just for emphasis.

Peter smiled.

"I know. Stopping being a prick now, ok?"´

I smiled back.

"Okay."

Peter flopped his head down back over his hospital pillow, and was quiet for a moment before he spoke again.

"How was your day before this, Rowreeh?" he mused.

It was an innocent question, but it stopped me. What a day indeed...Victor for breakfast, work, surprise present and mystery phone number and now this...it had been quite the day. How to put that into words, however, I wasn't sure. Talking about having a guy over would probably not be a cheerful subject, considering Peter's situation, so that ruled out Victor...but there were other small bits...I guess I could so something with it all...

"Well...work, work, work,"I chuckled jovially, all big cat and happy and all that,"books, books, books."

"You smell like it, too," Peter wrinkled his nosepad.

I chuckled.

"I didn't have the time to shower before I had to rush here," I told him.

Peter sniffled.

"Everything going smoothly there?"

"Pretty alright," I rubbed my chin. "It's a job. But how about yours?"

Peter scratched his neck.

"Still doing transcriptions for Professor Hartnell," the cougar replied. "Did some even this morning and afternoon, before that run."

I made a face.

"Damn bad luck," I rumbled. "How did you manage it, anyway?"

Peter grunted.

"My paw slipped on the controls and there was a sudden rush of speed and the rest of it was like out of a bad sitcom, but very much less funny without the canned laughter and sound effects."

I snuffled and smiled.

"I can imagine."

Peter rubbed his chin.

"I landed on my leg, and smacked down flat, and when I got up, I realized I can't walk, and so I barely managed to get down to the couch and to call an ambulance, because I couldn't just walk downstairs to get a cab."

I nodded, seriously.

"Tough shit," I shook my head, quickly.

"Yeah," Peter's sigh was more than enough to tell me how he was feeling about it as well.

We sat in silence for a few moments, and the lull was only broken by the appearance of a fox nurse, coming from behind the curtain and over to Peter's partition. She grabbed onto the chart that was held on the foot of Peter's bed, before she addressed either of us, with her eyes or her words. She looked tired.

"How are we doing, Mr. Sinclair?" she spoke, eyes flicking between the cryptic chart and Peter. "Everything alright?"

I watched Peter when he spoke.

"Yes, thank you, but I need my medication," he said.

"Do you need your pain relief adjusted?" the nurse asked, eyes browsing the chart again. "It says here that you received one dose of Vicodin one hour ago after initial assessment in triage."

Peter's ears flicked.

"My pain's okay but I need my regular medication," Peter continued. "I don't have them with me because I was rushed in and couldn't take them with me. I need four milligrams of Prograf and one gram of CellCept, and five milligrams of whatever oral prednisone you have in soluble capsules, and I need them by seven PM."

The nurse's whiskers shook as she gave Peter a concerned look.

"I'm afraid I cannot give you any prescription drugs without doctor's orders, Mr. Sinclair," the fox replied.

"I have prescriptions for them at home," Peter replied with a frown.

"I cannot give you any prescription medication without doctor's approval, Mr. Sinclair..."

Peter chuffed loudly.

"I am a post-transplant patient, I need to keep my schedule, and I need those pills," his voice darkened.

The nurse didn't seem happy.

"I will have to check this up with the on-call doctor."

Peter would not have it.

"I am a patient in this hospital," his voice sounded harsh, "my files should be at the Shepherd Center of Nephrology, and my personal physician is Doctor Margaret Howard who performed my kidney transplant here at the hospital. She is the one who has prescribed me Prograf, CellCept and prednisone for maintenance immunosuppression and if you go to the files and pull them out, you will find that there is a copy of a prescription there for Prograf, CellCept and prednisone signed by Doctor Margaret Howard and in the doses prescribed in that prescription!"

Peter fell silent, and the nurse's ears fell flat. Her brown paws clutched onto the edges of the chart. I gave her a mournful look.

"I will have to check with the doctor on call, Mr. Sinclair. Someone will come to see you soon."

She put the chart down without making any markings on it, and disappeared.

Peter chortled.

"Shit," he rumbled and rubbed his forehead.

I frowned.

"She's just doing her job," I noted, carefully.

"And those paramedics should have let me gather my drugs before we left," Peter snorted, "and she didn't even clean her paws after seeing me."

My eyes widened.

"She didn't even touch you!" I noted.

"She touched the chart," Peter pointed at the indicated paw, with the disinfectant pump bottle on a holder next to it.

"But you haven't touched the chart, "I noted, "I don't think so. They don't show them to the patients, now do they?"

"Nope," Peter seemed grim as he slumped back on the bed.

I rubbed the back of my neck and thought quietly to myself that it was going to be a very long night at the ER.

*

We talked about this and that for the next hour or so. I was determined to keep his mind off the gloominess that was more than likely to set in if I didn't keep him distracted, and I was doing everything I could, talking about Marge's potato salad and how Goggy had apparently wanted to paint me in the nude, and how we still got lots of Caledon Rocks fans coming in, and how I had ended up meeting the author of the books , and whatever silly I could think of. I really didn't remember that small talk was such hard work, but perhaps the environment in the hospital was doing that to me as well, dragging my own mood down. Arguably, I had watched Peter in hospital beds so many times and had seen him so much sicker, that this seemed to be almost like a petty complaint, compared to what had happened in the past.

I still felt uneasy here, in this all too familiar situation, holding Peter's paw while he languished in bed, and there was very little I could do to help him with it. I could give precious little besides my company, and Peter seemed to be happy enough with it, even if I wasn't particularly amusing. Perhaps I was being too harsh on myself, he seemed to be laughing and all that, but I also knew that he was in pain, and anxious about the hospital visit in general, and probably worrying about his medication as well.

Our uneasy slumber was broken after an unknown time, when a tiger wearing blue scrubs and a stethoscope around his neck finally appeared, pushing around a cart that had a laptop sitting on it.

"Mr. Sinclair?" the tiger said.

"That's me," Peter waved his paw idly.

"Good evening," he said without moving from behind his cart, and gave both Peter and me a quick nod, which I returned, equally fast.

"I'm Doctor Marcus Logan, I'm the on-call orthopedic surgeon, and I've been asked here for a consult. I have your x-rays here on the computer and I'm here to tell you about your diagnosis and your treatment plan."

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Here we go! What do you think? Don't forget to comment : )

Thank you for reading my story.

Cheerio!