Request~Doctor!NetherlandsxNurse!Reader

Request~Doctor!NetherlandsxNurse!Reader~

What was worse? The drugs? Or the emptiness that he felt deep inside his aching heart?

It was all too ironic. Here he was, a doctor that had graduated at the top of his medical school in every field possible, but he couldn't even cure his deteriorating soul. He hissed in satisfaction as the drugs began to take their effect on his nervous system. Slowly, but surely, the emptiness he felt was being filled with mindless waves of euphoria.

He would be able to go to work today.

-----

"Doctor, we have a patient in the ER who needs a plate insertion."

"Doctor, you have a patient who is waiting for your diagnosis on his test results."

"Standby, Doctor."

"Docter, there's…laceration…anesthetics…"

"Doctor."

"Doctor."

-----

"Doctor?"

You jumped a little when he cocked his head around to see you. His once-vibrant green eyes were faded and clouded with thoughts that were not of this world. He was beginning to shake uncontrollably. During surgery, he had to let the assistant take over because he was afraid he would cost another patient his life.

Your lips creased into a thin frown. You had noticed these changes ever since that tragic night when he had failed to save a young boy whose body was mangled from a car accident. No one knew what had happened that day. The usually confident Dutch doctor that everyone once knew suddenly went blank: he couldn't remember what to do in the most crucial of moments. He had gone on babbling incoherent fragments of words and speeches trying to pull himself together—when the black and green screen had displayed a flat-line, he was still talking. He had refused to believe it.

He needed an escape. That escape was easy to find when he was a doctor. Self-prescriptions. A doctor's note to himself. Easy-peasy.

When you first noticed the signs, you wanted to ignore it. Perhaps you were hoping to find an escape, too. You wanted to keep your perfect image of him forever. Even when you walked into the medical equipment storage and found him shaking with empty syringes scattered over the cold, white tiles, you continued to build up your wall. He had threated to fire you, to black mail you into keeping it a secret, but you told him it wasn't necessary. You would keep it a secret regardless.

But he was at it again. His body was building tolerance. It wouldn't be long before he needed a dose so strong that it would kill him just for that temporary high that he was giving himself up for.

"Doc—Tim. Tim, you need to stop this," you said reaching out to touch the unstable doctor's shoulder. He flinched; his body trembled all over. You weren't exactly sure which drug he was using; it wasn't cocaine or heroine, but it wasn't methamphetamines, either, thank goodness. Whatever the stuff was, it was killing him just like any other street drug did.

"Tim…Please…Look at me—No! Look at me!" You cupped Tim's face in your hands so he wouldn't turn away in fright. You knew his drugs had hallucination effects; perhaps his mind wasn't even here. But you would have to try and reach him anyway.

"Tim, I know you told me that you'd fire me if I told anyone, and I promise that I won't, but you can't keep going on like this. Pretty soon, if it's not the life of another patient, it will be your own. And I can't let that happen. I won't let that happen. Why don't you call it a day? You can try again tomorrow."

You saw Tim's glossed-over green eyes roll over to look into your bright (e/c) orbs. His lips quivered, and you saw his throat move as it attempted to utter a sound.

"__-__-___________?"

You raised your eyebrows. He was still here.

"Yes, Tim," you said softly. "It's me, ______________."

"I-I-I c-c-can w-work," Tim stuttered. "I-I…I c-c-can s-s-s-ssstill s-s-ssave h-him."

"Tim…" You bit your lower lip. "He's already dead. You did all that you could do."

Upon saying that, it was as if all those months of realization hit him like an oncoming train. You jumped when Tim's head flew back from your hands and smashed against the glass cabinet behind him. He did it again. The glass began to crack. His head began to bleed.

"Shit! Goddammit!" you cursed trying to hold down the doctor. "Tim! Get it together! If you lose it now, your license will be taken away for sure!"

"Lies, lies, lies!~" Tim sang out. "They are but little cacophonies to my eardrums…And…awaaay we got to the orange windmills of Planet Tulip. Kisses everywhere, my sweet Lovi….FOOL!! The latter of them! It's…a…pleasant…dream…!"

SLAP!!!

Tim was trying to remember if that was what pain felt like—physical pain, not mental. He could feel his skin begin to burn with a tingling, fiery sensation. The pain arched up and down with every grove of your fingers when they clasped themselves together to form a closed palm, a perfect palm worthy of making a salute.

Yep. It was pain. And it felt good.

"Again, please," he said.

You slapped him again but not because he asked you to, but because you truly worried about him. Goddammit, you loved him.

"Fuck it. I'm taking you home," you said.

-----

"This is your house, right?" you asked giving Tim a nudge. He rolled his bandaged head to the passenger seat's window and looked outside. He was beginning to regain his senses, but the crash after the high was going to hit him hard.

"That's the one," he said recognizing the blur of light yellow paint and neat, brick-wall base.

You pulled up to the driveway and turned off your engine. After that, you got out of your car and went to the passenger's seat to help Tim up.

"I'm fine. I think I can do it," Tim said getting to his feet without your help. Just in case, you held onto his hand as he fumbled for his house key in his trench coat pocket. When you saw him successfully open the door, you let go of his hand and started back to your car.

"Don't do anymore of that stuff," you told the weary Dutch. "I'll see you tomorrow, Tim. I need to go back to work."

"Wait."

You felt Tim's hand grab onto your arm as you were about to make your way to the sidewalk. You turned around and set your focus on Tim's eyes that were starting to clear up.

"Yes?" you said.

"I…" Tim hesitated. "Would you like to come inside?"

There had been times that he wished he could have had the courage to ask you at work, but he always messed things up. You were right here. You were right here. You couldn't have been closer. It was now or never. If you turned him down, God knew what would—

"I'd love to," you smiled.

-----

"For someone who can't keep his mind together, you sure know how to keep your house and garden clean," you commented. You kneeled down to get a look at Tim's tulip and sunflower garden. Each plant was perfectly placed and properly planted. Nothing was out of order.

"That's probably the only thing I have control over now," Tim said kneeling beside you. He reached out to examine a blooming red tulip, its petals forming a cup that curved upward as if beckoning for a kiss.

To your surprise, Tim responded by leaning forward and placing a delicate kiss on the tulip's soft petals. You had never seen this side of him. Even before the tragedy, he never showed this much compassion towards anything.

So this was his old escape, you thought. At least he kept it even when he took up his newer one.

Curious, you took a bright yellow tulip in your hands and bent towards its bold, elegant shape. Tim watched, entranced as you, too, placed a kiss on your tulip. It was cold, refined, caressing. Its shape was perfect as the way nature so chose it to be. The light reflected off the petals' surface and onto your skin, illuminating it with a golden glow that made your features stand out.

You pulled back and gazed upon the tulip that bobbed back and forth ever so lazily until it reached its initial upright position. Tim was watching you the entire time.

"Why did you do it, too?" he asked keeping his eyes on the yellow tulip.

"I wanted to know what it felt like," you answered simply.

"How did it feel to you?" Tim asked, his green eyes still on the tulips. You could see the multi-colored reflection of red, pink, and yellow tulips in his eyes.

"Soft," you answered with a gentle smile. You brought your hand to your mouth and ran your fingers on your lips trying to imitate the flawless curves of the iconic Dutch flower. You giggled, and your lips tightened into a smile.

Tim took his eyes off the flowers and looked at you, bemused.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"I can't do it," you giggled.

"Do what?" Tim asked.

"My lips...they aren't like the tulip's," you answered.

"In what way?"

"They're not perfect."

"You're human," Tim pointed out.

"So are you," you reminded him. "You're not perfect, either. No one is."

"Mind proving that to me?"

You smiled.

"Of course," you said.

It wasn't a tulip kiss. His lips were imperfect. Imperfect as any human being's. Imperfect, but real. You were real.

"That was far from perfect," you chuckled running your fingers through Tim's upright blonde hair.

"It felt perfect to me," Tim said with a soft smile.

-----

You don't know how it happened or when it happened. All you knew was that you were lying on his bed, your legs straddled underneath his. You closed your eyes and listened to the sounds of his heavy breathing followed by the rustling of his clothes.

More imperfect kisses. However, they tasted like love. He was warm. Tulips were cold. His lips were chapped. How long had it been since he last ate or drank? He was frail, but strong. You were frightened, but that was part of the thrill that you took on ever since falling in love with him.

His chest was cold from sweat and the coming of withdrawal. Even so, he told himself to hang on for just a little bit longer. This was reality. And for the first time in a long time, he wanted to remain in it.

-----

"Tim?" you panted as you pressed yourself close to the Dutch's bare chest.

"Yes, ______________?" Tim whispered. His breathing had slowed down, but you could hear his heart still beating at a fairly rapid pace.

"I love you."

Tim cracked a smile. "Why didn't you tell me that before we got started?"

"Would it have mattered?" you chuckled.

"I suppose not," Tim said. He paused. "How long?"

"Almost right after I met you," you answered. You closed your eyes lazily as he stroked your hair and brushed some of it away.

"Same with me," he said. Another pause. "Thank you for keeping me in reality."

"You're welcome," you smiled.

-----

It had happened so fast. One moment, you were watching the bright light turn green, the next, you felt an unspeakable force hit you like a ton of bricks sending you and your car hurling across the intersection. It was a mess; you were a mess. Why did you even bother to open your eyes? It felt so much better to keep them closed. It felt better if you just died. The pain hurt so much. Your adrenaline was starting to kick in. You couldn't feel your legs. You weren't sure if it was because they were stuck, or you dislocated them. Shit, what did it matter? You still couldn't move them.

-----

Tim didn't want to believe what he heard when he was sent on call to the ER. It was like that time many months ago. He couldn't think straight, he couldn't remember anything, and he couldn't stop the constant shaking that was due mainly to his withdrawal symptoms. They were getting worse. He had begun to wean himself off the stuff since he chose to live closer to reality, closer to her.

Now it was personal. If he operated on _____________ now, he could kill her. His hands were still shaking. There were three options he could consider: he could operate on her without the drugs; he could ask an assistant or replacement surgeon to do the operation; or he could take the drugs that would calm his nerves, but make him lose sense of what was going on around him. ______________ was in the real world, though, and he wanted to spend every minute of it knowing that she might be alive.

He wouldn't take the drug.

-----

"Shit. Are all of my limbs in tact?" you asked your doctor as you strained to look at your casts and bandages.

"They are," Tim answered. He set down his clipboard and gave you a kiss.

"Mmm, it's still imperfect," you said, trying to meld your lips into the familiar shape of a tulip.

"Good," Tim laughed. "Then I'll have forever to improve."

You chuckled. Your sternum hurt, but you would be alright.

"So you really did it," you said.

"Could you clarify that?" Tim asked looking into your (e/c) orbs. His eyes were the same shade of green as the tall, sharp leaves of his garden tulips.

"You stayed," you said. "The assistants said you did a good job. I can only hope so."

"Give me some credit, _____________," Tim chuckled. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

"Yeah," you smiled. You saw a faint row of needle holes where he used to insert syringes into his arms.

"Are you going to promise me that those will be scars, and only scars?" you asked.

Tim clutched his forearm as if reliving those horrid memories of artificial fulfillment and a blur of pictures and jumbled sentences.

"I promise, _____________," he said looking up. He rolled his sleeve down and gave you another imperfect kiss.

-----

What was worse? The drugs? Or the emptiness that he felt deep inside his aching heart?

Tim knew that the answer was neither because he no longer had them.