Detective Euan Fitzpatrick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lovesguinness) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2013-11-15 10:03 pm
lovesguinness) wrote in muserevival2013-11-15 10:03 pm
Entry tags:
042.1. Muse prompt
"The most important thing in illness is never to lose heart." ~Nikolai Lenin
Euan had that coiled tension in his gut now that he had just sat for a good twenty minutes while his was throwing up over and over. He sat on the side of the hospital bed with him, holding one of those plastic bags to his mouth and rubbing his back. He fucking hated this part. Especially when the boy was begging him in the middle of it to help make it stop. Thankfully, Ciaran was now in a clean pair of Ninja Turtle pyjamas in some clean sheets and tucked back comfortably into the bed sipping a cup of water mixed with apple juice from a straw. He had a tiny bit more colour in his cheeks than he had when Euan first arrived, where he had promptly whimpered to his dad that he wanted to throw up. Luckily, Euan knew not to take the personally.
A nurse had come to give Ciaran a shot to stop him being sick and then helped Euan clean him up. That was the one thing Euan liked about this place. The staff never minded if you wanted to help out and still remain hands-on with your kid. Ciaran trusted the nurses, but he was a lot more content if Euan was there with him when he was being disrupted with something like getting a wash, changing the bed or giving him shots, which he didn’t like at all. The nurse dimmed the lights a little when she left, with a friendly reminder to just press the buzzer if Ciaran needed anything.
Ciaran’s damp blonde hair was sticking up randomly over his head and Euan was once again getting nailed with those huge blue eyes. She still ruffled the boy’s hair a little more and gave him a smile. “Ya’ doin’ okay there now, buddy?” he asked. There was still a little while before they would come in and give him some medication to help him sleep through the night. On Euan’s request, they usually waited until Ciaran was already asleep anyway.
The boy nodded, but Euan knew Ciaran just wasn’t the sort of kid to complain. Even if he wasn’t feeling entirely good, he would still say he was okay. “Here, Da’. I drew it for ya’,” he told him, taking a sheet of paper out of one of his Harry Potter books that he had read the arse out of since Euan bought them all for him when he told the kid he could pick anything he wanted as a present. Books. The kid picked books. Euan would have picked something to arm himself for pranks against his siblings at Ciaran’s age. Or a crapload of anything sugary.
Euan took the latest piece of art Ciaran had come up with. Even in hospital, this art stuff was something he couldn’t go without. Of all things, it was Stonehenge and Euan just gave the tiniest shake of his head, feeling distinctly like he was about to tear up when he saw it. Ciaran pointed at the drawing, the IVs in his hand bandaged over on the right side. The kid was left-handed like Euan was, and he had made sure his son still had his left hand at his disposal when they first brought him in. “D’ya’ remember, Da’? Ya’ took me there when I first got t’London. We drove there and then the beach. We got peanut butter ice cream and fed chips the seagulls. That was my favourite day ever. I drew that for ya’ desk at work. Julie said ya’ desk ain’t really that nice. And that ya’ gotta wash ya’ mug more.”
Euan laughed quietly, looking at his kid in awe for probably about the millionth time since he first opened the door to him. “Aye, I remember, buddy. I remember real well. Ain’t ever gonna forget that day,” he promised. It was the very early days and Euan had been desperate to try to get the boy to open up to him, but it was a hard feat back then. Ciaran had broken down crying in the middle of eating his Cocoa Pops and when Euan asked him where he wanted to go, the kid said, of all things, Stonehenge. So, put him in the car and they went. “This is gonna go right on my wall next to my desk so I can see it the whole time I’m at work. I’ll even take a picture to show ya’ where I put it. Julie’s a girl. Girl’s like bossin’ us boys ‘round,” he joked, and his thumb was brushing over the edge of the painting. It never failed to floor him how talented the boy was with this stuff. Euan didn’t have an artistic bone in his body.
“I like her but.” Ciaran gave his dad a small tired smile. It was the best thing when his dad kept his drawings. “Will ya’ lie down with me, Da’?” he asked quietly with a look at the spot beside him on the bed.
There had been a few times Euan had no choice but to lie with his son on a hospital bed and just hold him when Ciaran had been at his worst. The only thing that had remotely calmed him down was Euan’s embrace, which had been yet another thing that blew Euan away in this adjusting to fatherhood thing. A lot of nights if the kid had bad dreams or nightmares, he would come crawl into bed with Euan and either curl up right in against his side, or starfish across the bed and shove random limbs into awkward parts of Euan’s anatomy. All part and parcel of being a dad. Also why long gone were the days of a stress-relieving wank after a long shift at work. “Aye, okay, kiddo. There’s somethin’ I wanna show ya’,” he told him, pushing up out of the chair.
It took a bit of careful shuffling to help Ciaran move over in the bed. The boy was watching him curiously the whole time, no doubt his mind trying to guess what it was his dad had to show him. Thank fuck the kid was small for his age or Euan wouldn’t have a hope in motherfucking hell of getting his arse remotely safe up on that bed. The only way he could manage it anyway was getting one of his arms around the kid and making sure he was securely cuddled up against his side. “Da’, show me. Show me now please, Da’,” Ciaran urged.
He was a kid. Waiting sucked when you were a kid, Euan knew that much. It always felt like five years until Christmas, not the 54 sleeps or whatever number his mum had given him to shut him up. “Aye, aye, okay. No peein’ ya’ pants now,” he teased him with a smirk and earned a bit of a huffy indignant look. He reached over Ciaran’s front and pulled the sleeve of his t-shirt up of the arm he was nursing around the boy. He revealed a medical dressing neatly cover his bicep and was peeling the edge of it away.
Ciaran gasped as he watched. “Da’, ya’ got hurt! Does it hurt? No, don’t! It’s gonna bleed and ya’ll die!” he squeaked, eyes wide and locked on Euan’s arm.
“Shhh, I didn’t get hurt, kiddo. Just chill out, aye? This is just so it doesn’t get all infected and gross with crap like pus oozin’ all over the place,” Euan told him with a scrunch of his nose at his son, earning an almost identical one in return, the boy emulating him to a tee.
“Ew, that’s gross, Da’,” Ciaran declared, but he went back to watching Euan with the dressing, seeing what was under there. “Did a bullet get ya’? Bullets get cops all the time on TV. Did it hurt?”
Euan made a mental note not to let his kid watch anymore cop shows. “Those cops ain’t as good as I am, buddy. No bullets are gonna get me. I promise. Here, have a look.” He pulled the dressing off and revealed a fresh tattoo on his upper arm of Ciaran’s name and beneath that, a recreation of a Shamrock Ciaran had drawn for him one day and Ciaran’s date of birth. He ended getting the tattoo right after he paid for the drugs the night before last. He had been more than running on empty without sleep, and instead of using the stuff, he went to a tattoo shop with Ciaran on his mind and got the tattoo. The Shamrock was a drawing he carried around in his wallet next to Ciaran’s photo. He needed to just feel pain. He needed to dull the burn inside that was such a stark contrast to the numbness he was feeling within the rest of him having his kid sick. He had sat there in the tattooist’s chair and focused on feel of the tiny needle piercing his skin, inking his son’s name into him for life. It helped avert the craving burn for a little. After that, Julie told him to go home to sleep while she sat with Ciaran.
Ciaran turned his head, looking more closely. The big wide blue eyes were back when he looked at his dad and then the tattoo and then his dad again. “That’s me!” he told him. “That’s my name. That’s my picture. Does that stay there like ya’ other skin pictures?” he asked, little fingers resting on Euan’s bicep near the design, and his lips had formed a small ‘o’ shape as he gazed at it.
‘Skin pictures’. The innocence smacked Euan in the face again and was dizzying for him. “Aye, it’s there for good, buddy. Then I got ya’ with me wherever I go, even when I gotta work late at night, ya’ right there with me.” Joanne had done the inking for him, and he fucking loved it. The other customer in the parlour had told him he got his kid’s dates and times of birth on his hand, but Euan and Jo had just shared a look and not said much. No cop within their right mind would get anything distinguishing inked on visible places, let alone kids’ names. It was fucking mind-blowing what a crim could use against you if they decided they wanted revenge.
After a few moments more of looking at the tattoo and then at his dad’s face, Ciaran put his head down on Euan’s shoulder and an arm was looped around Euan’s stomach. “I love ya’, Da’. I love ya’ more than everythin’ ever. Ya’ the best da’. Better than all the others,” he murmured quietly and the arm tightened just a little around Euan’s middle. As if that wasn’t enough, there was another beat or two and then Ciaran raised his head to kiss Euan on the cheek before his head was nestling back onto his shoulder.
Thank god the kid couldn’t see his face like that, because Euan did something he hardly ever did. He teared up, trying to blink the away before the fell. The sensation of his son’s arm around his waist brought him back down to reality hard. How the fuck had he nearly used? Julie had been so fucking right. Ciaran was all that mattered. No matter how bad the cravings were, he had to do whatever the fuck it took to keep cockblocking them. “I love ya’ too, buddy. No dad could get a better kid than you,” he promised him and then pressed a lingering kiss to the top of his son’s blonde head. He had to get his shit together. He had to stay better and clean for his kid, no questions asked.
Euan Fitzpatrick (Original Character)
Euan had that coiled tension in his gut now that he had just sat for a good twenty minutes while his was throwing up over and over. He sat on the side of the hospital bed with him, holding one of those plastic bags to his mouth and rubbing his back. He fucking hated this part. Especially when the boy was begging him in the middle of it to help make it stop. Thankfully, Ciaran was now in a clean pair of Ninja Turtle pyjamas in some clean sheets and tucked back comfortably into the bed sipping a cup of water mixed with apple juice from a straw. He had a tiny bit more colour in his cheeks than he had when Euan first arrived, where he had promptly whimpered to his dad that he wanted to throw up. Luckily, Euan knew not to take the personally.
A nurse had come to give Ciaran a shot to stop him being sick and then helped Euan clean him up. That was the one thing Euan liked about this place. The staff never minded if you wanted to help out and still remain hands-on with your kid. Ciaran trusted the nurses, but he was a lot more content if Euan was there with him when he was being disrupted with something like getting a wash, changing the bed or giving him shots, which he didn’t like at all. The nurse dimmed the lights a little when she left, with a friendly reminder to just press the buzzer if Ciaran needed anything.
Ciaran’s damp blonde hair was sticking up randomly over his head and Euan was once again getting nailed with those huge blue eyes. She still ruffled the boy’s hair a little more and gave him a smile. “Ya’ doin’ okay there now, buddy?” he asked. There was still a little while before they would come in and give him some medication to help him sleep through the night. On Euan’s request, they usually waited until Ciaran was already asleep anyway.
The boy nodded, but Euan knew Ciaran just wasn’t the sort of kid to complain. Even if he wasn’t feeling entirely good, he would still say he was okay. “Here, Da’. I drew it for ya’,” he told him, taking a sheet of paper out of one of his Harry Potter books that he had read the arse out of since Euan bought them all for him when he told the kid he could pick anything he wanted as a present. Books. The kid picked books. Euan would have picked something to arm himself for pranks against his siblings at Ciaran’s age. Or a crapload of anything sugary.
Euan took the latest piece of art Ciaran had come up with. Even in hospital, this art stuff was something he couldn’t go without. Of all things, it was Stonehenge and Euan just gave the tiniest shake of his head, feeling distinctly like he was about to tear up when he saw it. Ciaran pointed at the drawing, the IVs in his hand bandaged over on the right side. The kid was left-handed like Euan was, and he had made sure his son still had his left hand at his disposal when they first brought him in. “D’ya’ remember, Da’? Ya’ took me there when I first got t’London. We drove there and then the beach. We got peanut butter ice cream and fed chips the seagulls. That was my favourite day ever. I drew that for ya’ desk at work. Julie said ya’ desk ain’t really that nice. And that ya’ gotta wash ya’ mug more.”
Euan laughed quietly, looking at his kid in awe for probably about the millionth time since he first opened the door to him. “Aye, I remember, buddy. I remember real well. Ain’t ever gonna forget that day,” he promised. It was the very early days and Euan had been desperate to try to get the boy to open up to him, but it was a hard feat back then. Ciaran had broken down crying in the middle of eating his Cocoa Pops and when Euan asked him where he wanted to go, the kid said, of all things, Stonehenge. So, put him in the car and they went. “This is gonna go right on my wall next to my desk so I can see it the whole time I’m at work. I’ll even take a picture to show ya’ where I put it. Julie’s a girl. Girl’s like bossin’ us boys ‘round,” he joked, and his thumb was brushing over the edge of the painting. It never failed to floor him how talented the boy was with this stuff. Euan didn’t have an artistic bone in his body.
“I like her but.” Ciaran gave his dad a small tired smile. It was the best thing when his dad kept his drawings. “Will ya’ lie down with me, Da’?” he asked quietly with a look at the spot beside him on the bed.
There had been a few times Euan had no choice but to lie with his son on a hospital bed and just hold him when Ciaran had been at his worst. The only thing that had remotely calmed him down was Euan’s embrace, which had been yet another thing that blew Euan away in this adjusting to fatherhood thing. A lot of nights if the kid had bad dreams or nightmares, he would come crawl into bed with Euan and either curl up right in against his side, or starfish across the bed and shove random limbs into awkward parts of Euan’s anatomy. All part and parcel of being a dad. Also why long gone were the days of a stress-relieving wank after a long shift at work. “Aye, okay, kiddo. There’s somethin’ I wanna show ya’,” he told him, pushing up out of the chair.
It took a bit of careful shuffling to help Ciaran move over in the bed. The boy was watching him curiously the whole time, no doubt his mind trying to guess what it was his dad had to show him. Thank fuck the kid was small for his age or Euan wouldn’t have a hope in motherfucking hell of getting his arse remotely safe up on that bed. The only way he could manage it anyway was getting one of his arms around the kid and making sure he was securely cuddled up against his side. “Da’, show me. Show me now please, Da’,” Ciaran urged.
He was a kid. Waiting sucked when you were a kid, Euan knew that much. It always felt like five years until Christmas, not the 54 sleeps or whatever number his mum had given him to shut him up. “Aye, aye, okay. No peein’ ya’ pants now,” he teased him with a smirk and earned a bit of a huffy indignant look. He reached over Ciaran’s front and pulled the sleeve of his t-shirt up of the arm he was nursing around the boy. He revealed a medical dressing neatly cover his bicep and was peeling the edge of it away.
Ciaran gasped as he watched. “Da’, ya’ got hurt! Does it hurt? No, don’t! It’s gonna bleed and ya’ll die!” he squeaked, eyes wide and locked on Euan’s arm.
“Shhh, I didn’t get hurt, kiddo. Just chill out, aye? This is just so it doesn’t get all infected and gross with crap like pus oozin’ all over the place,” Euan told him with a scrunch of his nose at his son, earning an almost identical one in return, the boy emulating him to a tee.
“Ew, that’s gross, Da’,” Ciaran declared, but he went back to watching Euan with the dressing, seeing what was under there. “Did a bullet get ya’? Bullets get cops all the time on TV. Did it hurt?”
Euan made a mental note not to let his kid watch anymore cop shows. “Those cops ain’t as good as I am, buddy. No bullets are gonna get me. I promise. Here, have a look.” He pulled the dressing off and revealed a fresh tattoo on his upper arm of Ciaran’s name and beneath that, a recreation of a Shamrock Ciaran had drawn for him one day and Ciaran’s date of birth. He ended getting the tattoo right after he paid for the drugs the night before last. He had been more than running on empty without sleep, and instead of using the stuff, he went to a tattoo shop with Ciaran on his mind and got the tattoo. The Shamrock was a drawing he carried around in his wallet next to Ciaran’s photo. He needed to just feel pain. He needed to dull the burn inside that was such a stark contrast to the numbness he was feeling within the rest of him having his kid sick. He had sat there in the tattooist’s chair and focused on feel of the tiny needle piercing his skin, inking his son’s name into him for life. It helped avert the craving burn for a little. After that, Julie told him to go home to sleep while she sat with Ciaran.
Ciaran turned his head, looking more closely. The big wide blue eyes were back when he looked at his dad and then the tattoo and then his dad again. “That’s me!” he told him. “That’s my name. That’s my picture. Does that stay there like ya’ other skin pictures?” he asked, little fingers resting on Euan’s bicep near the design, and his lips had formed a small ‘o’ shape as he gazed at it.
‘Skin pictures’. The innocence smacked Euan in the face again and was dizzying for him. “Aye, it’s there for good, buddy. Then I got ya’ with me wherever I go, even when I gotta work late at night, ya’ right there with me.” Joanne had done the inking for him, and he fucking loved it. The other customer in the parlour had told him he got his kid’s dates and times of birth on his hand, but Euan and Jo had just shared a look and not said much. No cop within their right mind would get anything distinguishing inked on visible places, let alone kids’ names. It was fucking mind-blowing what a crim could use against you if they decided they wanted revenge.
After a few moments more of looking at the tattoo and then at his dad’s face, Ciaran put his head down on Euan’s shoulder and an arm was looped around Euan’s stomach. “I love ya’, Da’. I love ya’ more than everythin’ ever. Ya’ the best da’. Better than all the others,” he murmured quietly and the arm tightened just a little around Euan’s middle. As if that wasn’t enough, there was another beat or two and then Ciaran raised his head to kiss Euan on the cheek before his head was nestling back onto his shoulder.
Thank god the kid couldn’t see his face like that, because Euan did something he hardly ever did. He teared up, trying to blink the away before the fell. The sensation of his son’s arm around his waist brought him back down to reality hard. How the fuck had he nearly used? Julie had been so fucking right. Ciaran was all that mattered. No matter how bad the cravings were, he had to do whatever the fuck it took to keep cockblocking them. “I love ya’ too, buddy. No dad could get a better kid than you,” he promised him and then pressed a lingering kiss to the top of his son’s blonde head. He had to get his shit together. He had to stay better and clean for his kid, no questions asked.
Euan Fitzpatrick (Original Character)