“For crying out loud sis; I’m fine!”
Samson was wincing as his younger sister Frances practically stormed into triage to see her brother being stitch up by an attending physician. She nearly grabbed him when she stopped herself and stared at her brother, his deputy uniform shirt removed and seeing his chiseled and toned chest and abdomen. His six pack abs and barreled chest making any woman swoon with desire.
“I was told you were shot,” Frances seeing her brother looking his usual happy go lucky self.
“I was,” Samson answering in a matter of fact manner; "and I’m getting patched up.”
“Where is the bullet,” Frances getting closer to her brother.
“It’s already dug out of me,” Samson smiling; “doc here is just finishing up with the stitches.”
“But you will need to be wearing a sling for a while and not be at work,” the physician answering.
“Yeah, Samson rolling his eyes; “but I’m a were-dog, I’ll heal quickly.”
“You’ll pop those stitches if you shift into your fursona,” Frances looking at her brother; “so guess what you won’t be doing.”
“Yeah,” Samson grumbling; “but it’s not as if I could anyway. What with the were-alert. So who told you I got shot?”
“An FBI agent,” France looking as her brother growled as another stitch was being put in his shoulder. “She said you were trying to apprehend a dangerous fugitive?”
Samson sighed, as Frances was clearly misinformed. Taking a moment to give Frances a more accurate accounting of the event, he tells his sister that he and Agent Reed were on their way to the Knight Estate when Agent Reed jumped out of the police cruiser to chase after a suspect that the skulk and the police were tailing.
“Agent Reed failed to tell me that the man was a wanted war criminal when she ran after him until just before he got the jump on us,” Samson glaring at the physician for another painful poke he just received; “the local you gave me is wearing off.”
“Tough it out you big baby,” Frances looking at her brother; “so what else happened next.”
“Well I was granted a new orifice thanks to hot lead,” Samson unable to resist making a joke; “and then Agent Reed exploded into her werewolf fursona and made short work of the perp.”
“Well it doesn’t seem so bad,” Frances asking; “but why was this man dangerous apart from being armed?”
“He was ex Spetsnaz,” Samson seeing the physician done and getting up; “and he was wanted for some war crimes in war torn Yugoslavia. He was hiding out working as a bodyguard for that mobster that came into town.”
“Oh lovely,” Frances seeing her brother in a sling for his arm.
Samantha was forced to wait in the waiting room area; not being an immediate family member or a medical professional like her life partner Frances. She was feeling impatient as Frances was in the triage area for what seemed like a long time; pacing about and not paying attention to her surroundings; Samantha nearly knocks over a person as he entered the hospital.
“Sorry,” Samantha helping the man with his bags; “I had a lot on my mind.”
“I should imagine. Being mayor can be a thankless task.”
Samantha looks up to see that the man she ran into was none other than Martin Stovall; stunned that he was here at the hospital, she was soon reminded that his wife had her twins yesterday morning. Joshua and Dawn.
“Fraternal twins,” Samantha looking surprised; “did you know that what you and Melissa were having?”
“We knew after the six month something was off,” Martin speaking; “with Melissa far more gravid in her pregnancy than normal we had an ultrasound that determined she was carry two fetuses. We elected not to know the gender at the time.”
“You thought you were going to have identical twins,” Samantha smiles; “and now you have a boy and a girl.”
“Yeah,” Martin grinning; “say did you get that text I sent earlier today?”
“I’m sorry,” Samantha looking glum; “I’ve been deluged with texts and calls from people regarding tomorrows town picnic that I sort of turned my phone off. Plus with Frances’s brother getting shot and other family drama; it’s been a hectic morning for me.”
“Well the text I sent you,” Martin walking to his wife’s hospital room with Samantha following; “involves doing a makeup picnic. Do to the fact that we are under a were-alert and everyone upset that they can’t be in their fursona tomorrow.”
“A second picnic,” Samantha looking at Martin; “the town council won't allot funds for a second one.”
“Which is why we use it as a means for you to hammer home you campaign platform,” Martin pointedly speaking; “Kenya Adeze-Crawford is hijacking tomorrows picnic for her campaign announcement. All though a birdy has told me that one of Lance’s reporters is going to drop a bombshell that could possibley tank her chances in getting elected.”
“Oh,” Samantha sounding intrigued; “do you know what this bomb is?”
“Not really,” Martin speaking; “Last I talked to Lance; he said his ace reporter was keeping it close to her chest. But you’d also be glad to hear,” Martin smiling wryly; “Lance talked to his brother Benton. Guess who is going to give your campaign a huge cash infusion.”
“Then perhaps we can convince Benton to help fund the makeup picnic,” Samantha clearly feeling upbeat for a change; “maybe have it at his estate?”
“I’ll call him and arrange a meeting regarding it,” Martin responding; “but right now I think you want to see a happy mom and her two babies.”
“Definitely,” Samantha answering; “think you can hunt down Frances and drag her over hear?”
*****
As Samantha was busy chatting with Martin and Melissa Stovall; Frances was trying to help her brother Samson.
“Stop mothering me sis,” Samson getting off the triage bed; “I was shot in the arm, not the legs. So it’s clear I can walk.”
“Don’t start with me Samson,” Frances feeling exasperated; “its hospital policy to be taken out in a wheel chair. Now get in.”
“Bite me,” Samson growling; “I dare you.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Frances answering her brother’s growl with a low yowl of her own; “I’m already dealing with Samantha and Ben’s pig headedness; I’m in no mood for yours.”
Both Frances and Samson continue to bicker over being in a wheel chair when Tora Tachibana sees the Therapist having a heated discussion with a patient.
“Is something wrong Doctor Twist,” Tora approaching the two.
“My brother acting more like a were-donkey, than the were-dog he is,” Frances speaking; “he refuses to get in the wheel chair despite hospital policy.”
“If he wants to walk out of the hospital,” Tora looking at the bare chested deputy; “then let him. But since you are here can I pick you brain on an ethical dilemma I’m facing?”
Frances arches an eyebrow as doctor Tachibana leads her to a private area so they can talk a little more freely.
“Without revealing any names due to doctor patient confidentiality; I currently have a patient suffering from a severe heat cycle,” doctor Tachibana speaking; “suffice to say, she has all the symptoms that one typically sees when a normal is suffering through an incomplete transformation. Yet, she is a naturally born were.”
“That is strange,” Frances looking stunned; “will your patient be all right?”
“I don’t know,” Tora sighing; “I have her sedated and secured in a hospital safe room for now. But like I said earlier she is showing the same signs a normal experiences when their transformation is incomplete.”
“She desires a particular person,” Frances asking.
“Yes,” Doctor Tachibana answering; “a patient in this hospital that has clearly made several advances towards her. Now here is the ethical dilemma I face. My patient is a doctor, and she decided to give into her hormonal needs and have sex with said patient. Now here is the problem; she has been seeing images of her fursona half telling her to go to this male and continue with the rutting.”
“Hospital policy forbids doctors from getting into a relationship with their patients,” Frances looking at Tora Tachibana; “that part is clear.”
“However,” Doctor Tachibana sighing; “I have my Hippocratic oath to uphold. To use whatever means are at my disposal to bring my patient back to health, without doing any harm. The male the doctor is clearly fixated on, he is recovering from a gunshot wound and is a naturally born were himself.”
“Well,” Frances thinking; “your doctor patient has already violated hospital policy. And if this heat cycle is as bad as you are claiming, than you know you must let the two continue until she is sated, so to speak.”
“Oh I forgot to tell you,” Tora looking at Frances; “the male is a were-lion and my doctor/patient is a were-rabbit.”
“Were-species makes no difference,” Frances answering flatly; “they are compatible because of their human halves. Just make sure she is on her were-birth control pills and they will be fine.”
“That is another issue,” Tora placing his thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose; “the were-birth control pills my patient was taking, it could be a bad batch.”
“Do your required tests,” Frances shrugging her shoulders; “but like I said earlier, if this cycle is like an incomplete transformation then you need to let them be together and do what comes naturally. If you want I can talk to your patients afterwards and see how they are mentally; but I leave the physical maladies in your hands.”
“Well I have to talk to the male patient first,” Tora sighing; “see if he is going to be a problem when he finds out his were-rabbit is locked in a safe room. I don’t relish a raging were-lion tearing up the hospital looking for his mate.”
“I’m sorry doctor,” Frances shaking her head; “but that is your issue. I have a few I need to take care of myself. One of them being my brother and…”
“Your mother’s pancreatic cancer,” Tora Tachibana sighing; “I only hope her were-rat oncologist will stick to procedure and not go off script.”
“What is that slimy prick planning,” Frances asking; “dad was saying this is some experimental procedure.”
“Not quiet experimental,” Tora responding; “target gene therapy. The same The Cancer Institute of America is using. It’s only experimental for use, because of our were-physiology.”
“Targeted gene therapy,” Frances looking confused; “sounds like science fiction to me.”
“In simple terms,” Doctor Tora speaking; “we sequence the cancer cells from a biopsy and grow them in cultures. We then use the cultures to find the best drug treatment to use. This way your mother doesn’t get deathly ill from the medicine. This time,” Doctor Tora smiling; “the cure will not be worse than the disease.”
That’s reassuring,” Frances answering; “but is there a medical journal you can lend me so I can read up on this?”
“I’ll dig one up,” Doctor Tora escorting Frances out of their; “but I first have to deal with what I just told you.”