The Salvatore Saga, Part Four: My new Life

I was exhausted, my eyelids heavy from the long day. The aftermath of the massive accident had taken a toll on me as well. The air was filled with the scent of burnt rubber and gasoline, a lingering reminder of the chaos that had unfolded. Despite the fatigue, I pressed on, knowing there was still so much to be done.

As we drove back to the hospital, the sound of sirens blared in the distance, mingling with the low rumble of car engines. It was a symphony of emergency, a constant reminder of the urgency of the situation. I could feel the weight of my responsibility as Damon's alpha female, connected to him in ways I couldn't fully comprehend. His frustration, disappointment, and loss resonated within me, amplifying the heaviness in my heart.

He kept his bond open, flooding his emotions to me, and I was too weary to pull it close, so I let it be. I knew they were probably in the house, resting, eating, and maybe soon unloading with fucking like madmen. Their way of unloading. 

The image of Mariella haunted my thoughts, her weary face as she spoke to countless grieving relatives, identifying remains and delivering heartbreaking news. The forest was a somber place, where Demon, Lepard, Charles, and Adam had discovered lifeless bodies, victims who had sought refuge but succumbed to their injuries. Their guilt was palpable, and no words of comfort could silence the relentless "what if" scenarios that plagued their minds.

Even the Salvatore doctors, who had lost patients, needed time to decompress. The wolves, new to this kind of tragedy, were also grappling with the weight of it all. My own needs were pushed aside as I mentally prepared myself to step into the operating room. Surgery awaited me, demanding my full attention in the coming days.

We were fortunate to have three trauma surgeons available, each with their expertise, but the influx of patients with various injuries required the collective effort of our entire team. Some patients we could give to orthopedics if there are broken bones, but a lot of traumas belonged to us. The hospital was in chaos, with a constant stream of people seeking care, both from the accident and other medical emergencies. The ER was bustling with activity, a cacophony of voices and urgent footsteps echoing through the halls.

Time seemed to stretch as we would work tirelessly, tending to the wounded and providing solace to those in pain. The accident had left its mark, not just physically, but emotionally as well. And as the day stretched on, the realization that more help was needed became apparent. Colin, burdened with the responsibilities of being the elf king, had to leave, but perhaps Samuel, if available, could lend a hand in the ER. The need was great, and we were all doing our best to navigate through the chaos and heal those who sought our care.

We arrived at the hospital; the doors swinging open as we entered. I walked briskly, my four companions lagging me, their exhaustion clear in their slow steps. Despite their weariness, they stayed by my side, knowing the importance of the task at hand. I needed to find a place for them to rest while I prepared for surgery.

Ascending the stairs, the sight before me was overwhelming. The hallways were filled with patients, the sounds of their moans and cries echoing off the walls. The few operating theaters buzzed with activity, but we were the only surgeons available. Time was against us, and we needed more hands on deck. Fortunately, there were nurses ready to assist if we could find additional surgeons.

However, the shortage of surgeons was our biggest challenge. Determined to make progress, I turned to my four companions and gestured toward the break room. It was a small space, but the beds were prepared, offering a chance for much-needed rest.

"Now, you four, find a bed and get some sleep. My surgeries will take hours, so you'll have time to rest before continuing," I instructed firmly.

Even Wulfe, exhausted from using his magical abilities to neutralize chemicals and rescue people, nodded in agreement.

As I watched them shuffle towards the beds, I turned away and made my way to the changing room. The scent of antiseptic filled the air as I exchanged my regular attire for surgical scrubs. The outfit served as a reminder of the task ahead. I needed to save a life. Or several of them. No rest for me.

Grateful for the energy provided by the scales I possessed, I couldn't imagine performing these surgeries without them. They gave me the strength and endurance required for such demanding procedures. Before entering the operating room, I meticulously scrubbed my hands, feeling the cool water cleanse away any impurities. I administered a strong sugar implant into my liver, a personal method to maintain my stamina throughout the operation.

My body was peculiar enough, and my sugars were prone to act up, and now it was no time to feel faint. It was time to top surgeon, time to save lives and many of them.

Entering the operating room, the bright lights illuminated the sterile environment. The hum of machines and the steady beeping of monitors filled the room. I prepared myself mentally, knowing that I could never predict the outcome of a surgery. Past experiences have taught me the importance of humility in the face of uncertainty. Taking my place at the operating table, I focused my attention on the task at hand and delved into the intricate procedure. 

I was not nice in OR if someone would not do by my standards, my nickname, The Queen Dragon, was more than suitable nowadays. I had real dragon scales in me. I was one of the best and I demanded the very best for everyone. My team was carefully selected, I did not work with whoever. 

Damon sighed, his arms enveloping Mariella as she trembled and softly wept against him. The air was filled with the sound of her sobs, echoing in his ears. The weight of delivering the news of a loved one's death to so many people had taken its toll on her. Damon felt a sense of helplessness wash over him, a familiar feeling whenever they lost a patient. But Mariella, in her grief-stricken state, had shown strength. He eased her burden with telepathy, dispelling the trauma, sucking up those emotions, making himself stronger, and helping Mariella. 

Damon had witnessed the raw emotions that even Mimi, with her seemingly controlled facade, could not hide. A slight frown, a twitch in her jaw - these subtle signs revealed Mimi's frustrations. And her soft sighs spoke volumes to Damon, more than his telepathy ever could. During the chaos, Damon had silently observed Mimi tirelessly striving to save those deemed lost causes, offering them hope. She was an eternal masochist, willingly subjecting herself to heartbreak and loss, yet saving countless lives in the process.

Damon couldn't help but admire her and wonder what it would be like to work alongside her in the operating room, witnessing her brilliance firsthand. He longed to embrace her, to reassure her that everything would be alright, but time had not allowed for it.

Now, as he comforted Mariella, they stood as a united front. Minutes later, Mariella wiped her tear-stained eyes and met Damon's gaze. He offered her a warm smile as she disengaged from his embrace.

"I don't know how Mimi does it," she said, her voice laden with exhaustion. "This was just awful, and that woman with her baby..."

Damon nodded, remembering the story he had heard from a firefighter about how Mimi had ensured that a mother could hold her baby as she passed away. Something about it bothered him, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Perhaps Mimi had personal experience in such matters. After all, she had been a trauma surgeon and shifter doctor for years.

Damon realized that there was a side of Mimi's life that neither he nor the pack were a part of. But maybe, just maybe, they could be someday. He yearned to talk to her, to make amends for their behavior in Alaska, to apologize, and to convince her to come back to the pack. He wanted to tell her they had been foolish, jealous brats and that their actions had been so wrong. And now, after half a year of separation, he searched for the right words to bridge the gap between them.

As he looked around, Damon noticed the blinding brightness of the new day outside. The scene before him was cleared, bathed in the morning light. Countless ambulances had already departed, leaving behind fire trucks and other emergency vehicles to handle the aftermath of the chemical spill. The air carried a faint scent of smoke, mingled with the lingering tension of the situation. Body bags were being loaded onto large trucks, a somber reminder of the lives lost.

As Damon scanned Mimi's mind, he discovered Mimi had already rushed back to the hospital, ready to do some surgery.

Damon couldn't help but mutter to himself, "She's crazy."

Mariella overheard and frowned, curious about his words. She asked, "Who is crazy, my love? What are you talking about?"

Damon explained, "Mimi. She's in the hospital, ready to operate. There aren't many surgeons available, but those scales of hers give her the strength to endure." 

Mariella shook her head in disbelief. The past 25 hours had been incredibly rough, but Mimi continued to push herself. She must be exhausted, yet she persisted in her duties. They were energy creatures. They could get themselves loaded up with energy, but Mimi was not. She had not eaten almost anything the whole time, and because of her metabolism, she needed help. She needed her pack to help her.

Determined, Mariella suggested, "How about we go in there too and see where we can help? We can support Mimi and finally witness her skills in action. She ate almost nothing the whole time and now surgeries. How in the world she does it? She burns herself out at this rate."

Damon looked at her, nodding in agreement. They could make a difference and perhaps even have the opportunity to work alongside Mimi, saving lives together. Maybe things would improve, or at the very least, they would experience a different side of Mimi in this real-life situation.

The pack walked towards an empty ambulance, their mode of transportation to the hospital where Mimi was. Damon couldn't help but overhear the paramedics expressing their admiration for her, despite her gruff demeanor and stoic expressions. They, too, recognized her dedication and saw the depth of her emotions.

Damon understood that every life Mimi had saved was a veritable miracle, and yet she continued to perform more miracles within the hospital walls. When would she find the time to care for herself? Nevertheless, the pack was determined to support her.

During the drive to the hospital, paramedics informed them that there were only three trauma surgeons available, including Mimi, in the largest hospital in the area. The ER was described as chaotic, making it challenging for the paramedics to deliver patients efficiently. Damon began planning a plan, assigning roles to each member of the pack once they arrived at the hospital. It was clear that they needed to recruit more doctors, more surgeons, to ease the strain. 

 They sat on the cold, metal benches inside the bustling ambulance, the sirens blaring as it sped toward the hospital. The faint smell of disinfectant lingered in the air. Several members of the pack occupied stretchers, their eyes filled with determination as they awaited their arrival. Though not patients themselves, they had been given a ride by the doctors and ambulance. Damon, as pack leader, spoke with authority, his voice cutting through the noise. The sound of his words blended with the rhythmic hum of the ambulance's engine.

"Now boys, Adam and Charles, Mariella and wolves," Damon began, his voice steady. He pointed out the four men. "You are going to put that ER in shape. You are doctors, and it's your responsibility to ensure the patients are seen and taken care of."

He shifted his gaze to the three girls, Mariella, Mimosa, and Shadow. "Mariella, you will oversee the lab and ensure the samples are taken and processed swiftly. You two," he gestured to Mimosa and Shadow, "get the nurses in order and find more staff if necessary. Check if there are patients who don't belong here and move them to nearby clinics. Here is a list of charitable clinics that can handle minor injuries and illnesses. Money is not an issue."

Damon emailed the wolves, while Mimosa scrolled through her phone, confirming their plan. Their expertise lies in persuasion, convincing humans to seek treatment elsewhere. Mariella, on the other hand, was eager to set up the lab and conduct blood tests efficiently.

Damon continued, his voice calm but filled with purpose. "We will head upstairs to the vacant operating rooms. There is available staff, and we will fill the role of surgeons until more arrive. Numbers two and four, start making calls. We need more surgeons before we can begin operations. Our goal is to not only save lives but also ensure that our young lady doesn't exhaust herself completely."

The atmosphere inside the ambulance was charged with determination and resolve. Each member of the pack now understood their role, ready to fulfill their duties. Damon himself planned to perform surgeries alongside Mimi, although he was unaware of her specific expertise. As they neared the hospital's loading docks, the speed of the ambulance gradually decreased. They were prepared to work, knowing that their efforts would not only enhance the pack's reputation but also benefit the hospital. Perhaps they could even bring Mimi back into the pack and care for her, as she appeared thin and in need of tender loving care.

As the ambulance came to a halt, the heavy doors swung open with a creak, and the team members eagerly stepped out, the cool rush of air hitting their faces. They were prepared for the task at hand. As they approached the emergency room, Damon furrowed his brow, taking in the chaotic scene before him.

The air was filled with the clamor of hurried footsteps, urgent voices, and the beeping of medical equipment. The scent of antiseptic and adrenaline lingered in the air. Adam, Charles, and the boys, along with Mariella and the wolves, swiftly got to work, bringing a semblance of order to the pandemonium.

Men, clad in scrubs, briskly made their way toward the elevators, their determined strides echoing through the hallway. Their destination was the surgery floor, where Mimi and the rest of the surgeons awaited their help. They had the permits to practice medicine in this hospital. Meanwhile, numbers two and four were already engrossed in their phones, making calls to recruit additional surgeons to prevent such chaos from happening again.

Their goal was to get Mimi safely out of there and back home, ensuring her well-being. Perhaps they could have a discussion, mend their differences, and even plan for another breeding season in the future, this time involving the entire pack. The thought of visiting the Alaskan fortress together brought a sense of excitement. They yearned to create cherished memories there, leaving behind any pettiness and jealousy.

Damon refocused his thoughts as the elevator emitted a soft ping, signaling their arrival. The voice in the elevator announced the surgery floor, and they stepped into the sterile environment, ready to fulfill their duties. 

Fresh from my surgery, I stood in the bustling lobby next to operating rooms looking at my list of patients, eager for more. A nurse approached me, informing me that a group of surgeons had arrived. Confusion crossed my face as I wondered who these surgeons were, but I decided to meet them, nonetheless. I was selective about who I allowed to operate in my ward. I had a designated role here, not just as a substitute, and each time I worked, I expected to be compensated. I had been on their list for decades and even had my room. It was up to me how much money I would make from each surgery.

Donning my scrubs and still wearing my hat, I walked into the lobby. To my surprise, there they were, the ten Salvatores, dressed in scrubs, ready to lend a hand. I had assumed they would relax and decompress, but this was a whole new development.

Damon, the first among them, greeted me. "Hello, baby. We're here to help. It seems like you have quite a long list, but not anymore. Each of us will lead our own teams and take on some patients. You'll soon notice your list shrinking. We've also brought in extra staff, so you can go home and take some time off. But are you going to operate soon? I want to join you in the next surgery."

Wearily, I nodded. The next case involved multiple traumas, including liver and abdominal injuries, potentially leading to complications. It would be a lengthy procedure.

I addressed all ten of my husbands, who were looking at me. "Fine. It's good that you're pitching in. We have nurses and anesthesia staff ready. Go find your teams. As for me, I have an operation coming up. If you insist, you can come with me. But remember, I'm the boss in there. If you have a problem with that, then don't come."

Number one simply smirked at me, and everyone began conversing with the nurses, seeking their teams. I knew it would take some time for them to prepare the operating rooms and assemble their teams, but I needed to return and continue operating. 

I turned around and walked back, Number One now walking beside me, his footsteps echoing softly in the corridor.

And he said to me, his voice carrying a hint of admiration, "I have no problem for you take the lead, baby. Come on, show me your brilliance."

The fluorescent lights above us flickered, casting a sterile glow on our path. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of coffee from the break room nearby.

"You were magnificent in the field," he continued, his words punctuated by the distant hum of medical equipment. "I guess I am about to see the true you. Your expressions, they tell me so much."

I felt a slight tension in my jaw, a subconscious attempt to mask my emotions.

But he saw through it. "You are not controlling yourself as well as you thought. I have learned to read your face, baby."

In my mind, I sighed. I knew it was useless to ask him not to refer to me as "baby" in the operating room. The thought of snickering among the staff crossed my mind, but I was too tired to uphold my reputation. As for him claiming to read me, well, I would wear a mask in there to make it harder for him. But then again, he was a telepath, and our bond was closed off. He could sense me if he wanted. Not sure how good he was reading my pheromones though. 

We arrived in the washroom, the sound of running water filling the small space. I started to scrub in, feeling the rough texture of the soap against my skin. However, my husband, with his meticulous nature, taught me a more efficient way to scrub myself. His hands guided mine, showing me the proper technique. It was clear that he expected me to do as he said, and I was ready to learn new ways, knowing his penchant for cleanliness. Maybe this was a good thing. I was ready to learn new things. 

As we donned our protective gear, the rustling of gowns and the snapping of gloves filled the room. We entered the operating theater, the sterile smell intensifying as we stepped inside. My husband asked for a certain type of gloves, and it took a little time for the staff to locate them. I had my preference, and I was ready sooner than he was.

I took my place in the operating room, the bright lights above me illuminating the stainless steel instruments. The patient lay still, breathing rhythmically under the effects of anesthesia. The coolness of the room enveloped me, as I prepared myself mentally and physically for the delicate procedure ahead. 

As I made my first incision, Damon came to the other side of the table, his presence reassuring. I could hear the soft hum of the surgical equipment and the distant chatter of the operating room. The sterile scent of disinfectant filled the air, mingling with the faint metallic aroma of blood.

It was good to have Damon, a telepath, by my side. With his ability, he could effortlessly pick my ideas from my mind and work seamlessly with me. If he only could perform by my standards and let's just say that he and his performance were not up to my par just yet.

But this was no time for fun and games. Damon soon realized that I was no pushover in the operating room. Occasionally, he would grip the tissues too firmly, causing me to remind him to be more gentle. Sometimes he didn't follow my instructions precisely, so I patiently taught him. Letting him witness my reputation. He was an idiot, imbecile, clumsy, slow, or something else that came out of my mouth, as he did not do as said. He was not a pack leader, husband, or lover, but another idiot who thought to be better than they were. 

The furrow on his brow showed that this wasn't what he had expected, but operating on humans required delicate hands and gentleness. Damon had operated on immortal beings like me and Mariella for so long that his technique needed refinement. However, he was a fast learner. My guess was my vocabulary and tone of voice. I could make med students cry, so breaking one Salvatore was not a hard task for me.

As I tried to pinpoint the source of the remaining bleeding, I knew I had to check behind the liver. It had just been stitched closed, so moving it would be challenging.

Damon suggested, "Come on, baby, you lift, and I'll check from my side. It's probably bleeding on this side."

I replied, "It might be, but controlling it won't be easy. I might need to use my loop-a-loop technique if there's a lack of clotting."

Damon frowned and asked, "What's a loop-a-loop?"

I explained, "It's a special way to stitch, my own invention. It works brilliantly in situations like this."

Damon nodded, understanding, and I carefully lifted the liver.

He murmured, "A little more, baby. Ah, here it is! There's a hole in this smaller vein. It's not big, but it's preventing proper clotting because it's right at the junction. Every time the bowel moves, it dislodges the clot."

Sighing, I realized I needed to go in from that side to stitch it.

Damon said, "Teach me the loop-a-loop from your mind, and I'll get it done."

I nodded, allowing him to enter my mind as I showed him the technique.

Soon, he grunted and asked the nurse, "2-0 Vicryl, with a straight needle."

The nurse handed him the correct tools, and as I lifted the liver a little more, his hands moved with confidence. He placed the stitch in the right spot and added another one for extra security. He was keeping his touch light enough. Not bruise too much.

After a moment, he grunted again and said, "It's holding. You can lower the liver now."

I carefully returned the liver to its original position and instructed him, "Focus on his pancreas, see if you can save it. I'll start repairing his bowels."

He nodded, and we continued our work.

The patient had suffered a powerful impact on his stomach, resulting in severe organ damage. At the accident scene, I swiftly stabilized him with my foam and a few stitches. Now it was time to begin the daunting task of putting this broken puzzle back together.

I hoped he would survive, but potential long-term consequences were awaiting him: the possibility of diabetes or bowel problems. His journey to recovery would be arduous, and despite my skill in the operating room, he would never be the same.

I carefully held his gut in my fingers, meticulously searching for any leaks or wounds. I flushed his abdomen repeatedly, desperately hoping to find no trace of fecal matter, as that would indicate intestinal leakage. Two holes were discovered, which I promptly patched up. Although the risk of peritonitis loomed over him, he would be placed on antibiotics and closely monitored in the intensive care unit following this surgery.

Damon muttered softly in frustration as he removed nearly the entire pancreas, leaving the patient with diabetes. It was an unfortunate consequence, but it was what it was. It always humbled me to realize that my part, the operation itself, while life-saving, would only play a minor role in his overall recovery. His life would be forever changed. This was just another stark reminder of the fragility of human beings.

After the grueling eight-hour surgery, as I closed him up, Damon let out a tired sigh. He excused himself to scrub up and grab some lunch, needing a brief respite from the grueling ordeal. It had been a rough time for him. Working with me is not an easy task. Like I said, I can and I make students cry and I hold no regrets. I am, in my own way, as a harsh teacher as Damon is. It was time for me to prepare for the next surgery soon enough. At least I had, or we had saved this guy and I hoped the streak would continue. Colin won't operate with me because of my utter lack of respect for him in the OR. He has his pride.