Men who propose to women without knowing if they’re ready, are toxic.
Men who propose to women without knowing if they’re ready, are toxic.
Seriously, no deathbed marriage, y'all....
Michael's like: "I have spoken."
Without a medical power of attorney in place, if your child suffers a severe accident or illness that requires hospitalization and you need access to their medical records to make decisions about their treatment, you’d have to petition the court to become their legal guardian. While a parent is typically the court’s first choice for a guardian, the guardianship process can be slow and expensive.
And due to HIPAA laws, once your child becomes 18, no one—not even parents—is legally authorized to access his or her medical records without prior written permission. But an adequately drafted medical power of attorney will include a signed HIPAA authorization, so you can immediately access their medical records to make informed decisions about their treatment.
Schedule a Family Wealth Planning Session to ensure your entire family has the right documents in place: https://bit.ly/3uvOUWN
Unisex Gray Canvas Apron with Crossback Straps & Convenient Pockets.
Suitable for :
Catering Uniform of Barista, Baker, Bartender, Mixologist, Chef, Waiter, Waitress, Waitstaff, Kitchen Staff.
Hospitality Uniform at Cafe, Hotel, Resort, Restaurant, Bistro, Bakery, Pastry shop, Coffee shop, Bar, Pub, Coffee Roaster, Coffee Maker.
Work Wear of Barber, Hairdresser, Beautician, Stylist, Colorist, Florist, Floral Designer, Painter, Artist, Gardener, Woodworker, Carpenter.
Work Wear at Barber shop, Salon, Manicure, Flower shop, Tattoo shop, Book shop, Retail shop, Craft workshop.
We share almost everything with our female friends and people close to us, but we hesitate to share intimate female issues. Some of us are too shy to discuss about such problems even though we have similar issues.
This article will help you to understand the need to consult the issues with your gynaecologist and most common things that are must to understand about your own body. You must make a checklist of all the queries you have before visiting the doctor, so that you must not skip any of your query. If you are visiting new gynaecologist then you must take all your previous records and discuss thoroughly to avoid any later mishaps.
We are enlisting few things here that you must consider to consult with you gynaecologist, (in case you have any of such issues):
I.Personal health/ hygiene History:
It is must to discuss thoroughly about your health issues and information. Especially if any medical conditions you have or had (including physical/ mental), or medications you are taking currently. Also:
Date of last menstruation
If any abnormal discharge/ abnormal period
Any pills (birth control/ vitamin supplements)
Any drug allergy, etc.
II. Why you have heavy bleeding during your periods?
It is the worst nightmare in every women’s life. Every time we are concerned about unwanted blood stains, embarrassments, leak-check, etc. This makes it unbearable in this time, if u are working out of home. These can be associated with some underlying health issues, (like PCOS, fibroids), or may be normal sometimes. You must discuss this with your gynaecologist to understand the underlying cause, also it is important for early diagnosis of any fertility issues.
III. If you are pregnant or trying to conceive
If you are trying to conceive, you must visit your gynaecologist and discuss about the factors and chances of getting pregnant at that time. You must be thorough about your physical conditions and menstrual cycle. Your gynaecologist is the best person to give you advice about conception and planning of pregnancy.
If you are pregnant you should inform your gynaecologist about the term and get the important diagnosis done. Schedule for medications and supplements properly.
IV. Why do I experience unusual vaginal discharge accompanied by itching?
The itching and very high volume of bad smelling vaginal discharge are the alarming signs of vaginal infection. If this issue persists even after maintaining proper hygiene then you must consult with your doctor ASAP.
It is serious to take your intimate health in top priority, you must visit us or consult about any query you have. We are always ready to help you with the concerns you face about yourself.
Chaitanya IVF is the best IVF center in Chandigarh as they have the best infertility specialists and embryologist to give you the best chance of realizing your dreams of parenthood. With the best equipment for testing and diagnosis, Chaitanya IVF is also the most visited best IVF hospital in Chandigarh. If are you looking the Best infertility specialist in Chandigarh with IVF cost, come to the Chaitanya IVF. Book an appointment today call now us at 7355621680 for more information.
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More Post:- Facts you should know for Fertility/ IVF Treatment During COVID-19
We hope that you are able to get great use out of your scooter whether it’s to shop for groceries, attend a family event or explore a nearby nature trail. With all of this use comes the inevitable wear and tear. You can prolong the life of your scooter with some simple maintenance steps. Keep this list handy as you enjoy your scooter so you can take care of it while it takes care of you.
Any item that gets used daily should be cleaned weekly. No matter if you have an indoor or outdoor scooter, it can become dirty fast. Aside from looks, it can have a significant impact on the functionality of the device.
Light Dusting: Dust and debris can cause issues with the scooter’s ability to run smoothly. With a rag or duster, be sure to wipe down the entire scooter, especially in the crevices where debris like leaves and crumbs hide. You should not use any wet cleaning products or dusting solution on the scooter.
Light Washing: Keep the device shiny and gunk free! It’s easy for the scooter to need more than a light dusting. Simply spot clean by getting a cloth dampened with water and rub the area. If you must use a cleaning solution, be sure it is mild and never bleach.
Read the Manual
If you’ve used the scooter for a while, you may feel that you already know the ins and outs of the machine. We suggest that you still keep this tip on your list. It’s important to have a thorough understanding of your machine and what it takes to keep it in tip-top shape.
Pay Attention to the Battery
The battery is the heartbeat of the machine. You must do your best to make sure you are taking the proper steps to increase the longevity of your battery. You can do this by charging the scooter appropriately. The battery should be charged for 8-10 hours at a time. So, if you thought giving your 70 percent charged battery a boost was a good idea, it can actually harm the life of the battery. Try to minimize battery usage when you can, such as limiting headlight usage and rough terrain. Additionally, you should always keep an eye out for battery corrosion.
This means more than a little kick to see if the tires are full. Just as you would a car, keep an eye on the tread of the tires in addition to how well they are holding air. The tread will be different on each type of scooter, so refer to your manual for tread height recommendations.
Mind the Weather
Sometimes it’s unavoidable, but you should do your best to avoid exposing your scooter to the elements of the weather. Moisture can be particularly damaging as it can cause erosion and rust. Keep it covered whenever possible.
The Yearly Inspection
When it comes down to it, it’s best to have the professionals take a look to see if they notice any issues or potential problems with your scooter. They are able to inspect all aspects of the device to let you know if there are any major concerns. You don’t want to find yourself dealing with a stalled machine while you are out and about. Taking it in yearly to have the brakes and other functionalities tested is a safe choice for you and the scooter.
Keep these tips close by as you enjoy your mobility scooter. As we age, we find ourselves getting less and less mobile, and finding it more difficult to get around. If you are looking for a mobility device, take a look at our gallery and give us a call!
“They have to know”
Chase from General Hospital, June 2021
( MATTHEW DADDARIO, TWENTY-EIGHT, HE/HIM ) SPOTTED ! MICHELANGELO ‘ANGEL’ MORENO, ON THE STEPS OF THE MET. WHO’D HAVE SEEN THAT COMING? WHAT WITH BEING AN EMT AND ALL, I’M SURPRISED THEY’VE FOUND THE TIME. THEY’VE ALWAYS BEEN QUITE NEEDY AND QUIET, SO I’M SURE TROUBLE WILL FOLLOW IN THEIR WAKE. THEN AGAIN, I’VE BEEN TOLD THEY CAN BE LOYAL AND GENEROUS. EITHER WAY, I’LL BE WATCHING. - XOXO, GOSSIP GIRL.
Michelangelo Elizabeth Moreno is the twenty-eight year old son of billionaire Michael Moreno. His mother passed away when he was young, so Angel’s father decided that in order to give Angel his motherly role, he would marry a string of women, most of them around the age of 25 and older, who didn’t want to be married to a man with a kid and would be why the marriages ended so quickly. If they disrespected Angel, hurt him or made him feel any type of way, they would be asked to leave and Angel didn’t mind that, he just wanted his dad to be happy.
Angel and his father are close, despite how much he had to work. He is a very well known DA in New York and his father has so many clients and he does a lot of celebrity work. Even though his dad wanted him to follow in his foot steps, Angel wanted to help people and became an EMT, working on becoming a full fledged doctor, he just wasn’t sure what he wanted to do.
Angel came out to his father when he was thirteen years old, and luckily for Angel, his dad was accepting. To come from such a religious background, he was shocked but thankful that his father accepted him with open arms and the two still are close.
Angel’s ex was a bit older than him, probably about ten years older, and he was a partner at his father’s firm. They kept their relationship quiet for about four months and it was nice, but as soon as everyone found out, it seemed that his ex changed. He started going out late, coming home in the morning, yelling at Angel, cursing him. About six months into the relationship, he hit Angel and he tried to leave, but he swore that he would change and he did for a while. They went about another four months and then Dallas asked Angel to marry him and against his better judgment, Angel said yes. There were small warning signs leading up to their wedding, small bursts of anger, squeezing Angel’s arms tightly in disagreements and talking down to him and cursing him out. A week before the wedding, Dallas came home drunk and the two of them ended up fighting. The fight escalated and resulted in Dallas grabbing a knife from the kitchen and that was the last thing Angel could remember before waking up in the hospital.
To present day times, this happened a month ago and even though he has healed a lot from that night, he was nowhere near back to where he was. He still has severe nightmares and scars.
Angel is sweet and caring, he’s more quiet and reserved now, but if you get him to let his guard down around you, he can be the sweetest person in the world.
He is originally from Italy, his father going back and forth from Italy to New York, since his firm is there. Angel doesn’t know much about his family back in Italy, he just knows that something happened with his father when he was younger, because he was known as the black sheep of the family and preferred to stay in New York.
man i wish i could feel the gentle warmth of the sun on my skin w out experiencing syndromes
That gorgeous bouquet of flowers
That I gave to you before
(Confession is Not Flashy, Kyuhyun)
it’s so nice outside rn omg
Notes: Imagine a world where Hotch didn't join the BAU after SWAT, instead he went into the CIA. There isn't much plot here, I had a whole lot of ideas planned out and this kind of just went the way it went. However, I think this is more fun as maybe an intro to a continuing fun-fest Mortch CIA AU. HUGE thanks to @kirstenseas for the brilliant idea and inspiration! (~5000 words)
Warnings: Eh, it's pretty tame, honestly. Hotch is a CIA sponsored hit man, so there is that. A brief mention of spouse & child loss, vomit, everything I could think of is tagged below.
“You're sure this is the guy?” Hotch asked, skimming the file in his hands. The face in the photo was familiar, he'd worked with the mole before. Suspected mole. That was a distinction his mind had never made before - he held the file and he knew they were guilty, or if they weren't, they'd done something to get themselves on the list and the paycheck would take care of any lingering feelings of guilt on Hotch's end. But this time he couldn't shake the suspected part, he knew the guy, hadn't seen him in years now but he'd know that face anywhere. They'd worked together in S.W.A.T a lifetime ago. “He doesn't read like a mole.”
“Oh, so you know more than I do now smart guy?” Samson asked, cocking an eyebrow. Hotch's lip twitched. He didn't like Samson and he especially didn't like being called names. He also didn't like coffee shops, especially this one. There were people everywhere on computers, phones, electronic extensions of their hands and eyes. There was a young man near the door that was taking photos of them, probably mocking the only two old men in the place. "Watch yourself."
“Not what I meant.”
“Right. Well, hot shot, that's him. That's the guy. He's about to get a big payout, you need to take care of things before he does or he's gone. He'll be in the wind so fast and we'll never see him again. It's a matter of national security.” Another name. Hotch narrowed his eyes, pictured a little red dot between Samson's eyebrows and nodded in understanding. If he didn't live by some vague semblance of a moral code he would make good on his fantasy, but not this time. It wasn't killing Samson that gave him pause, it was all of the witnesses. It was the punk with the phone uploading his face to whatever his social media drug of choice was. “You take care of him or it'll be your head on the chopping block.”
Threats. He really hated Samson. “Your bedside manner needs some work,” Hotch muttered and Samson laughed, spraying specks of his scone all over the table. Shame, Hotch thought, he had been planning to eat his muffin but that was lost now. He pushed his plate to the side without blinking.
“I'll keep that in mind,” he replied with a wink. Hotch didn't flinch, didn't smile, didn't even blink. He was sitting there in a hipster coffee shop full of people half his age who thought they were so clever, unsuspecting keyboard warriors lost in their internet arguments over a world they barely understood. There was a time in his life he would have enjoyed a place like this, a different lifetime when he could still see the world in pure color and the thought of other humans didn't fill him with contempt.
He didn't like this. Something felt wrong, the way Samson was sure this FBI Agent was a “traitorous scumbag”, such a master of words. Hotch had nearly sidestepped the CIA and entered the BAU, had learned how to profile a person based on behavior, found it intriguing if not a little dull in the end. It lacked a certain quality that the CIA offered in spades, and he'd thought it was many different things over the years but he was entirely disillusioned now and understood it was simply the sanctioned killing that put a smile on his face anymore. Not even a real smile, even that was gone.
This Derek Morgan profiled like a stand up guy, though, and nothing about his history made him look like a person who would betray their country or even their friend in a game of cards. He'd been offered promotions and turned them down, so he wasn't motivated by power. Hotch settled into the seat, picking at his muffin, staring into Agent Morgan's face. As Samson scribbled his signature and paid their check, Hotch considered whether his gut was worth following, worth dying over if he was wrong. He would certainly end up in a very strategic accident if anyone even knew he was considering not fulfilling his assignment. Questioning Samson, a man who held more power in his spidery hands than anyone had a right to.
Hotch was already dead. He'd watched his pregnant wife die beside him, felt the light inside of him snuff itself out when her eyes closed for the last time. He was a broken shell of a man, physical wounds that would never heal served as a constant reminder of his loss. Every day he waited for a reason, some excuse for Samson or another big wig to order him a bullet between the eyes, cut his brake lines, poison his coffee. He supposed he didn't actually want to die, he didn't drive anymore – if he couldn't get there walking, he wasn't going to get there at all most days. Public transport, packed airline flights, he covered his bases. No one wanted him dead enough to hurt innocent civilians yet, but he knew he was a monster to use them as a shield. If they chose the coffee, may as well kill him anyway because he wouldn't go without it. His life was void of pleasure, except coffee.
He let Samson leave first, sat and finished his muffin in silence before heading for the door. On his way out, he snatched a phone from a young man's hand and snapped it in two, the glass from the screen splintering beneath his fingertips. The memory card snapped with the phone and it brought a smile to his lips – he'd gotten lucky, wouldn't have to spend extra time digging. It was rare that his theatrics came through for him – maybe it was a sign. He saw blood when he handed it back to the young man.
“Stop taking pictures of strangers. A lot of people wouldn't be as understanding as I am.” He smiled a wolfish grin at the young man and left with the understanding of two things: first, whatever photos had been taken of him were already on social media so breaking the phone was just some pointless fun and two, the young man's account was being scrubbed clean if facial recognition was doing its job. You can't put photos of a ghost on social media. All he'd really done was break an expensive phone and he didn't feel bad for that, a new one would be out in a matter of months that would have rendered the broken one obsolete anyway.
The house he found himself holed up in was big and empty, with ripped wallpaper and a crumbling foundation. He wondered as he peeked in closets and flicked light switches on and off how long the CIA had owned this particular property, how they'd curated it to look just unassuming enough to be inconspicuous. The house was clearly not lived in, but always teetering right there on the edge – the family must have just moved out, it's in limbo. The lawn is just this side of unkempt, the exterior paint isn't chipping but it needs refreshing. there is a rough patch in the yard where a For Sale sign occasionally hung. Agent Morgan had been under surveillance for months, maybe longer, that much was obvious. He ran his hands along the dusty blinds, peeked through the window at the house across the street. Agent Morgan's house, or one of them anyway. Upstairs the house smelled like urine, probably cats but maybe rats too. Carpet held onto memories better than anything.
“I need you to check on something for me,” he said, staring down at his feet as he spoke, shielding his face from watchful eyes. Cars peeled around corners in the garage, spewing their exhaust as they sped by. Agent Gideon nodded, looked the other direction. This meeting wasn't happening. “At the coffee shop downstairs, ask Amber for the receipt for table 12 – cinnamon scone, blueberry muffin and an americano.”
“What do you need from me?”
“There's a name on that receipt. Do some digging.”
“I can drag it out three days, maybe four. Text the number at the bottom of the receipt when you're certain. I don't need to tell you what'll happen if you breathe a word of this to anyone...”
“Not a peep,” Gideon replied quietly, always glad to inject a little levity into their conversations. It wasn't going to come from Hotch so he may as well.
Careful to avoid detection, Hotch kicked off his shoes and set up his chair before getting to work on his weapon. He loved this bit. The delicate dance of parts clicking together, satisfying, locking in place of something that looked so much like something he'd played with as a child in the backwoods of rural Virginia only this wasn't make believe. It sang its siren song as he worked, his fingers itched to get locked in place.
He hoped Agent Gideon took his time. Not too much, but enough that he could breathe. It had been so long since he'd had occasion to just sit. He'd been all over Mexico for months, holed up in Beirut before that. He never really knew what he was doing but he supposed he did it well, they kept handing him more. This one felt like a suicide mission, killing a decorated FBI Agent, but even that couldn't sour his mood. Suicide mission and vacation looked dangerously similar in his line of work.
Agent Morgan walked in and out of his house too casually for someone being watched by the CIA. Hotch's suspicions increased tenfold when Morgan didn't so much as look over his shoulder as he hefted his grocery bags through the front door. He opened his door for neighbors, left it hanging wide open while he watered his grass, walked his dog without a care in the world. Alarms were going off in Hotch's head. He took a deep breath, looked around the room, listened to the pigeon warbling on the power pole outside. The urine smell was stronger where he stood, where the sunlight heated up the carpet. The alarms quieted and he sat himself down, peered through the blinds again, watched Morgan haul in the last bags of groceries and visit with his neighbors. He closed his eyes, saw Morgan's face clear as day in the darkness and took a deep breath.
The smell of urine faded and was replaced with the smell of a car's exhaust and hay. He looked to his right and there was Morgan, bundled up in a puffy jacket, head covered in a knit cap that fell over his ears. Hotch looked at his hands, covered in thick wool gloves and he spoke. His voice sounded softer in his fantasy, almost gentle and very human. That was always how he knew it wasn't real.
“It's freezing,” he muttered, and Morgan laughed. His laughter was warm and light.
“Yeah. It's been freezing the whole time, you new here?” he asked, fiddling with the seam on the finger of his own glove. “This is taking for fucking ever. You hear anything out there?”
“Just two idiots talking shop, nothing interesting,” Hotch replied, his earpiece buzzing with the voices of two men he didn't know arguing over pizza restaurants. They'd been holed up in the garage for hours now with nothing to keep them warm but a small space heater that rattled too much to use while their targets were parked outside the door. Hotch was freezing, his teeth chattered as he listened and he moaned about it every so often to Morgan who seemed just fine.
“How'd you get stuck on this god forsaken stakeout?” Morgan asked, rubbing his hands together. “They don't usually send guys like you out.”
“Guys like me?” Hotch asked, folding his arms over his chest, pulling his coat tight indignantly. He knew very well what Morgan meant but he wanted to hear it. “What does that mean?”
Hotch shivered in his chair, squinted through his scope and watched. The muffin and coffee were not sitting well in his stomach, he felt sick. The thick feeling of saliva coated his mouth and he swallowed it down, blinking hard, squinting to see faint shadows moving behind Morgan's curtains. His fantasy shifted as his stomach churned, softened just enough to offer him peace from his angry stomach.
“You okay?” Morgan asked, sliding closer to Hotch in the garage. The car had gone, they'd turned the heater back on and huddled in close. Hotch nodded and shivered, wondering if he was okay or not. They'd been on this stakeout for almost a full day with no sleep, no food and only small intervals with heat. His fingertips were painful and he knew that as bad as that felt, the numbness that would follow would be infinitely worse.
“What'd you mean earlier? Guys like me?” Hotch asked, nearly touching the space heater now with his bare hands. Morgan laughed his golden laugh.
“Suit and tie,” Morgan muttered. “You know what I mean. You're the guy that hands out the orders, not the one that takes them.” Hotch rolled his eyes, wouldn't dignify that with a response. He was just as capable of field work as Morgan was. They sat in silence, huddled close together for warmth and the time passed slowly. As day gave way to night and the temperature dropped painfully low, they heard another car pull up and turned off the heater reluctantly, listened intently to the people inside. Teenagers, it sounded like, there to make out in the abandoned field beside the garage. It happened often in spots like this, secluded and broken down. People having sex, drug deals, murders. That's all places like this were good for. That no one ever seemed to wonder about the garage at the edge of the property spoke to just how self-absorbed most people were.
Days seemed to pass slower out there, and Hotch could feel fingers of cold twisting up his spine, into his head. He was losing feeling in his toes. Morgan kept looking at him funny and he couldn't figure out why.
“You don't look good,” Morgan pointed out as sunlight broke through a dusty window at the top of the garage. “You okay?” Hotch gulped down some bile and nodded. Sure, he was fine, he thought. Maybe he was dying of hypothermia, maybe not.
His stomach lurched, shattering his fantasy and he cupped his hands to his face, losing the contents of his stomach unceremoniously all over himself. Maybe he wasn't so far off with the poison idea, he should have known better than to eat with Samson. He'd never been able to turn down a blueberry muffin. Abandoning his post momentarily, he cleaned himself and the carpet up. When he finished scrubbing it was the cleanest patch of carpet in the place and he got back to it. It was unpleasant, but he did feel better.
Morgan stretched his arms out, pulled Hotch to his chest, wrapped him tight and Hotch wondered how he was so warm. “Better?”
“Yeah,” Hotch mumbled, burying his freezing nose in Morgan's chest. He didn't feel sick anymore, he felt peaceful and warm. With Morgan's arms around him, he felt a strange light in his chest, something hopeful for the first time in years. Like he had something to live for.
Hotch blinked, felt himself losing his focus. The lines between fantasy and reality felt hazy where they were usually solid. He arched his back, looked around the room, named the objects he saw, the things he heard, sucked the smell of urine in deep and let it out. At his feet sat a phone, not a new message in sight. He normally had no trouble with his fantasy integration, he could sit for days without moving. Something about this target, this assignment made him uneasy. So far it had been barely 24 hours and he was losing it. He saw movement behind Morgan's curtains and put his eye back to his scope, finger resting gently against the cold trigger. There was a clear shot, plain as day, he could take it now and be done with it, let his soul be sorted later. He could.
Morgan's arms were around him and he breathed his scent in deep. They didn't make a sound as they wrapped up in eachother's embrace, knew they were just as much being recorded as any of the suspects outside but what happened in the silence was enough to warm him through. A moment more of peace, and then there was the sound of tires on the dirt outside and voices. Hotch sat up, pressing his gloved hand to his ear to listen with renewed vigor.
“That's them,” he muttered, squinting. Morgan pulled out his binoculars and approached the door, pressing his face to the small opening between two boards. The men outside sounded gruff, Hotch thought, not the type he wanted anything to do with. Morgan confirmed that notion quickly, backing away from the door.
“They're getting out of the car,” he whispered, dropping the binoculars and pressing his hand against his gun. Hotch stood and mimicked the movement, wondering if his freezing fingers could pull a trigger if necessary. They stood listening to the men talk in their ear pieces, listened to the crunch of dirt and rocks beneath their feet as they examined the perimeter of the garage, tugged on the door that was chained and locked from the outside. Hotch glanced at the rope ladder hanging from the roof, the hatch closed but unlocked. It was their only way out and it suddenly seemed foolish. He wasn't exactly afraid, just unsettled. He and Morgan pressed together and backed toward the ladder, knowing that they may have to use their exit sooner rather than later if things went awry. They weren't there for action, just to listen, but the things the men were saying made it sound like they'd bitten off more than they could chew. Back up was miles away, they were on their own.
“You go up first,” Morgan hissed. “I'll be right behind you.” Hotch shook his head no, that wasn't how it worked. He was the senior agent, he had to be the last one out. The door rattled on its rotting hinges and daylight broke through the cracks.
“Little piggies!” called a voice from just beyond the door. “Let me in or I'll blow this house down!”
Morgan began climbing first and Hotch watched, waited for him to touch the roof before he grabbed hold and hefted himself up, rung by rung. The door splintered off of its hinges and Hotch climbed faster, reaching for Morgan's outstretched hand, feeling the pull in his shoulder as the man hoisted him out into the morning sunlight. They heard shots from below and scrambled across the pitched icy roof, wondering at their predicament. Their vehicle was in the mix of junked cars behind the garage, Hotch could see it but the men were blocking their way down. Morgan grabbed Hotch's hand, gripped it tight and pulled him close.
“We gotta jump,” Morgan whispered, his lips tickling against Hotch's ear. They both looked at the ground, it wouldn't kill them but it was going to hurt. “You wanna go first or should I do the honors?”
Hotch volunteered. He'd sent Morgan up the rope first to save him, he may as well jump first. If the men were waiting they would see him hit the ground, be on top of him quickly and Morgan could wait it out, maybe get away. Hotch inched toward the edge, Morgan's hand still gripping his until the last moment and he let go, pushed off and soared out away from the garage. He felt his body hit the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He gasped for breath, squinted into the sunlight to see Morgan on the ledge waiting for his chance, waiting to see if the men were watching. Hotch couldn't breathe, couldn't move.
The phone buzzed at his feet and he blinked stupidly, breaking out of his trance. He glanced down, saw it buzz again and reached for it. Abort, it said. He peeked through the blinds, no movement across the street. The house was dark. His phone rang and he answered it, held it to his ear without speaking, without breathing. “It's a set-up,” the voice said. “Get out of there.”
Hotch shut off the phone and pulled it apart, snapping the SIM card between his fingers and slipped away from the window. He thought about the assignment again, the smell of the house flooded his senses and he recognized something just under the astringent urine, something foul and he felt sick again. His fingertips tingled, his toes hurt. So this was the way it went, not a bullet or poisoned coffee, something slow acting, dousing the carpet or maybe the blinds. It didn't matter. He carefully pulled his weapon apart, he'd be damned if Laverne wouldn't be shown respect even if these were their last moments together. He wiped her down with shaking hands, last respects from a dying man, spending his last seconds of life on his precious girl and squeezed his eyes tight against the harsh sunlight. Fantasy barged in on reality, a coping mechanism when the pain set his nerves on fire.
Morgan was standing over him smiling. “You're not very graceful,” he said, extending his hand to Hotch who still lie on the ground, struggling to breathe like a fish out of water. “Get up. You gotta get up.” Hotch didn't take his hand, he thought maybe he was dying. Morgan crouched, cupped his face in his hands and shook his head. "Hotch, get up now. You hear me? Now."
With Laverne in his hand, he stumbled out of the room and toward the stairs, gripping the railing as tight as he could. He didn't rush, wasn't sure he wanted to live through this because what happened then? Someone had set him up, his life was as good as over whether he lived or not. He should have killed Morgan, he knew that now. Whoever it was that wanted him dead was going to take them both out, they wouldn't stop. He stumbled on the stairs, feet went out from under him and he crumpled, knocked into the wall and stopped at the base winded and hurt. It wasn't so bad, going this way. If he hadn't fallen down the stairs, it would have been painless anyway. Probably more than he deserved.
He woke in a hospital, that much he was sure of. A bag suspended above his head pumped something cold and thick into his veins, he felt it course through him. He hated it. Why couldn't hospitals be as efficient as whomever it was that decided to poison him? They'd had the decency to leave needles and machines out of it. They knew he'd kick his shoes off, he always did, and it was easy after that. They barely had to try, he did most of the work himself. There was someone beside him and he inclined his head to see, just barely able to make out a face that felt so familiar now he would know it anywhere. The smell of a crisp mountain morning, of cedarwood and sandalwood and crisp cotton drying in the sun.
“Agent Morgan?” he rasped, confused. Was he still in the house? Had it all been a dream? Part of his fantasy? He was losing it. Paranoia, he'd been warned, was a dangerous symptom of the job.
“Hey,” Morgan said softly, as if they were friends, as if they knew each other intimately. Hotch was confused and Morgan could see it on his features. “Don't worry. When you're up to it, I'll fill you in. Just rest now.”
He didn't do resting, it didn't agree with his system. The longer he was forced to lay there the more restless and agitated he became. He was snapping at Morgan, at the nurses, pulling out his IV every chance he got regardless of consequences. Morgan thought it was funny and finally decided that Hotch was lucid enough to share what little he knew with him. Hotch wasn't sure he cared to hear it from the smug man sitting beside him and yet he had no choice, no one else came. It was just he and Morgan and two police officers posted up right outside of his door, either keeping them inside or keeping others out, he wasn't entirely sure and neither would have been terribly surprising to him.
“I was just playin',” Morgan began with a smirk. “I don't know much, it's way above my pay grade...” Morgan said, leaning over Hotch's bed. Hotch's lip twitched. “I do know that you were supposed to kill me and you didn't, now we're both here on protective detail while Agent Gideon handles the pile of shit we stepped in.”
“Just my luck,” Hotch muttered, closing his eyes. He imagined taking that first shot, Morgan with his key in the lock, a paper grocery bag in his arms. Saw the blood, the groceries flying all over the front porch – a few cans of beans rolling down the stairs, cilantro hitting the ground, a jug of juice exploding. He smiled. “I should have taken the shot.”
Morgan laughed. “Yeah, probably. Have I thanked you yet for waiting?” His features went solemn just briefly, long enough that Hotch could see that he was scared. Maybe he had no idea what he'd done to get on a list, maybe he knew, but he was afraid. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Hotch felt remorse.
“No,” Hotch groaned, trying to sit up. His back ached. He felt like he'd aged twenty years, his joints screamed at him. Remember falling down the stairs? His muscles asked him and he had to admit, he'd forgotten that detail again. It came and went in blurry flashes. Had he fallen down stairs or jumped from a roof? Was he in a house or a freezing garage? Fantasy had blurred with reality in a way he hadn't experienced before. It wasn't terrible, it kept him busy, but the way Morgan's arms had felt around him couldn't be real, it was too good to be real.
“Well, when we get out of here maybe you let me take you out to dinner?”
“Is that supposed to be the thank you? If it is, I think I'll pass...on account of just having been poisoned and all.”
“You're not getting anything better than all of this...” Morgan said, smirking. Hotch had to turn away lest he smile in return, let his guard down. He was already vulnerable, wearing nothing more than a thin hospital gown, exposed from the waist down beneath the papery sheets. “I guarantee it.”
Hotch laughed, it hurt his head. “Really wish I had taken the shot.”
“Nah. You don't. Know why? You were enjoying the fantasy too much. Can't blame you, look at me.”
Hotch rolled his eyes. He hated this guy already. Memories flashed before him, memories of their time in S.W.A.T, why he hadn't tried to keep in touch when they went separate ways. He was insufferable. Kind, generous, gorgeous and completely insufferable. “I can see why they wanted you dead.”
Morgan laughed. “Ditto.”
Agent Gideon came by later to let them know it was taken care of, they were both safe. He and his team had sorted things out. Hotch had a new Director to get to know after Samson, the real traitor, was arrested. Hotch was wholly unsurprised by the revelation that his boss was a traitor, he had all the markings. It was almost too easy, and he supposed that was just the way of it - there would be another Samson, and another, because that amount of power bred stupidity.
He would have a new Director and he just hoped they wouldn't try to kill him right away while Morgan had to return to work. Hotch was holed up in the hospital for days as the poison was worked out of his system and no one came to visit him after Morgan left. Prior to this assignment he would have liked it that way – he hadn't let anyone in since his wife died, preferred having no connections, no complications, but there was Agent Morgan's smile and he found himself lying in that cold hospital bed wondering if his arms were really as warm as they'd felt in his dream. He was making himself sick, soft and sentimental, it was definitely time to get out of the hospital and on with his life.
Morgan made good on his promise and took Hotch out to dinner. He showed up at the hospital when Hotch was discharged, gave him a ride away from that place. Hotch hadn't been inside of a car in years, hadn't trusted it, still wasn't sure he did but there was Morgan sitting beside him and for some inexplicable reason he trusted him.
“I've got a new assignment,” Hotch said, picking at his salad mirthlessly. “You won't see me again after tonight.”
“Well, then...let's use this,” Morgan replied, sipping his wine and holding up a hotel room key. It dangled from his fingertips and Hotch stared at him for a moment, caught somewhere between laughing and hailing the waitress for their check. “Let me thank you properly before you become a ghost.”
He did laugh. Long and hard, and Morgan followed suit. Then they hailed the waitress for their check.
By Oluwafunke Ishola A 200-bed building will be inaugurated in September at Lagos State University Teaching Hospital (LASUTH) to improve accommodation issues. LASUTH Chief Medical Director Professor Adetokunbo Fabamwo made the revelation in an interview with the Nigerian News Agency (NAN) on Monday in Lagos. He said complaints about insufficient bed space by patients would end soon. Fabamwo…
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doll restoration part of the doll community, hello.
i got this JLY 32, she was part of a bundle with a design a friend (?) doll and some clothes, for only £15! i was floored when i saw the price, i thought the lister must of mistyped but no. anyway i’ll explain her condition and ask for tips on what to do with her.
so for her face, she has some stains. the one near her eye i’m gonna assume is pen, so i think use benzoyl peroxide for it. the staining around her mouth i might have to do as well. does anyone have tips on removing glitter from dolls? i’ve never seen any guides on how to remove it lol.
so... her arm... either the previous owner had a cat or the child was just... the scratches are quite deep so i doubt that i’ll be able to make them look like new. i was thinking of trying micromesh sheets but if anyone has another idea i’ll gladly hear it.
other than a few stains on her legs, she’s actually in very good condition! her wig isn’t cut at all, nor are her neck strings, her eyes are working, and her limbs are tight. and considering her price i couldn’t even be mad if her legs were falling off.