~ROSEMARIE~
"See, I could be on the Rio beachfront right now."
The words leave my mouth in a dreamy, drawn-out cadence that doesn't quite sound like my normal voice. Everything is soft and floaty and vaguely sparkly around the edges, like someone has wrapped the entire world in cotton candy and fairy lights and that particular brand of unreality that comes from really excellent painkillers.
The hospital room--because I'm apparently in a hospital room, though I'm not entirely sure when that happened or how long I've been here--swims pleasantly in my vision. The walls are painted that institutional beige that's supposed to be soothing but mostly just looks tired. There's a window somewhere to my right, letting in afternoon light that filters through half-closed blinds like lazy gold ribbons. The steady beep of monitors creates a rhythmic backdrop to whatever nonsense is currently coming out of my mouth.
I can smell antiseptic and clean linens and, underneath all of that, the comforting scents of my Alphas. Cedar and pine fromTank. Campfire smoke from Elias. That expensive bergamot and sandalwood combination that follows Julian everywhere. They're all here, surrounding me, filling the sterile hospital air with the smell of home and safety and love.
My pack is here. That's nice. That's really nice. Why are they looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?
"Shaking my ass," I continue, undeterred by the bemused looks I can vaguely make out from the blurry figures gathered around my bed. The medication is doing something wonderful to my filter--specifically, removing it entirely. "On a yacht. A really big yacht. In all white, because that's the aesthetic. Looking like a goddess. A Brazilian goddess. Watching the fireworks over Copacabana Beach while some hot cabana boy brings me drinks with little umbrellas in them. Many umbrellas. A whole umbrella collection."
This is an excellent point I'm making. An absolutely stellar observation about where I should be versus where I currently am. I should be writing this down. Someone should be taking notes.
"But NO!" I throw my arms up for dramatic effect, which turns out to be a mistake because there's an IV attached to one of them and the sudden movement makes the whole apparatus rattle ominously. Someone--I think it might be Tank--reaches over to steady it with practiced calm. "I'm here! In a hospital bed! When I could be enjoying the fuckery of freedom! The absolute audacity of this situation!"
Ruby lets out a long, low whistle from somewhere to my left. "Jesus Christ. If y'all nurses don't figure out a medical concoction to make my best friend sane again instead of this intense state of delulu, I'm going to lose my mind." She turns to address someone else in the room--the doctor, maybe? "Is this normal? Is she going to be like this forever? Please tell me this isn't permanent."
There's a low chuckle, warm and familiar, and then someone is caressing my cheek with gentle fingers. The touch is grounding in a way nothing else has been since I woke up in this strange floaty state, and I force my droopy eyes open to see who's responsible.
Tank's face swims into focus--or rather, three slightly overlapping versions of Tank's face, which is honestly just excessive. One Tank is already overwhelming enough. Three is just showing off. He's wearing that dreamy smirk of his, the one that makes his whole face soften, and his thumb is tracing slow circles on my cheekbone.
"You really want to go to Rio, huh, Sweetness?" he asks, his voice low and amused.
"Yes," I say emphatically, nodding so hard that the room spins pleasantly. "Yes, I do. Listen. Listen to me." I reach up and pat his face with approximately zero coordination, my hand mostly landing somewhere around his ear. "Rio is objectively the best vacation destination. It has beaches. It has music. It has those little fried cheese ball things that I can't remember the name of right now but they're delicious."
"Pao de queijo," Julian supplies from somewhere in the room, his voice carrying that particular tone of aristocratic amusement that means he's trying very hard not to laugh.
"Yes! Those! Julian knows!" I point in what I hope is his direction but might actually be the ceiling. "Julian gets it. Julian understands the importance of cheese balls in vacation planning."
"I really don't," Julian mutters, but there's a smile in his voice.
"And!" I continue, because I'm on a roll now and nobody can stop me, "and, most importantly, who wouldn't want their back blown out in Rio? The romance! The passion! The views! You could be having the time of your life and also see Christthe Redeemer in the distance. That's called multitasking. That's called efficiency."
The room goes very quiet for a moment.
Then everyone bursts out laughing.
I move my droopy eyes around the room, trying to take in everyone's reactions through the pleasant haze of whatever medication is currently turning my brain into soup. Julian is pinching the bridge of his nose like he's developed a sudden headache, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Elias has given up entirely on dignity and is doubled over, wheezing, one hand braced against the wall for support. Tank is still stroking my cheek, but his lips are twitching violently like he's fighting a losing battle against a grin.
Ruby, standing at the foot of my bed with her arms crossed, looks thoroughly disgusted. "I cannot believe these words are coming out of your mouth right now," she says flatly. "My sweet, innocent best friend, talking about getting her back blown out with Jesus watching. This is not the Rosemarie I know."
"Jesus isn't watching," I clarify, because this seems important. "He's made of stone. He can't actually see anything. It's just a really good backdrop."
"Oh my God," Ruby whispers, looking skyward like she's praying for patience. "Someone please make this stop."
A woman in a white lab coat steps forward, and even in my current state, I can tell she's fighting to maintain her professional composure. Her lips are pressed together in that way people do when they're trying very hard not to smile, and there's a suspicious sparkle in her eyes.
"This is one of the side effects of the medication we gave her to prevent her heat from progressing," she explains, addressing the room at large. "We just... didn't tell you about it beforehand because it was an emergency situation and we needed to act fast.The drugs affect the cognitive centers in a way that can cause temporary disinhibition and, um, creative thinking."
"Creative thinking," Ruby repeats dryly. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Among other things." The doctor's professional mask slips slightly, revealing a grin. "It also tends to enhance certain... desires. The medication suppresses the heat hormones but redirects some of that energy into other areas."
Ruby groans, running her hands over her face. "So loopy horny Omega is the after-effect of these drugs. Good to know. Fantastic. This is exactly the information I needed today." She pulls out her phone and starts typing rapidly. "Making a note right now. Make sure I don't get kidnapped near my heat this knotty summer. Noted. Underlined. Highlighted in bold."
Julian side-eyes her from across the room, one elegant eyebrow raised. "You're making it sound like you're manifesting a pack this summer. That's awfully specific timing for someone who claims to be single by choice."
