aachoo!

of-fireandstars  asked:

Prompt : Emma brings back a stray kitten home, and they discover that Regina is 'deadly' allergic to cats. Thank you!

Thanks for the prompt :) 

It started as a good idea. Emma saw the kitten and immediately felt that pang in her heart that she always does when faced with orphaned and abandoned animals. Normally, she takes them straight to the shelter but today she takes the cat home. 

It’s a really cute cat to be fair and she’s hoping that the cuteness combined with her own puppy pout will win over Regina and her “no pets ever” stance. 

Emma doesn’t even get to argue the point. Regina comes down the stairs to greet her with a kiss and then…

“Aachoo!” Regina sneezes and wrinkles her nose in that way that Emma always finds adorable. She sneezes again before frowning, “What have you done?” 

“Don’t get mad,” Emma replies, “But I found her shivering outside of the florists and I couldn’t abandon her.” 

“I said no dogs.”

“She’s not a dog…she’s a cat,” Emma argues holding up the kitten. Regina leans in to look at it before sneezing again. She backs away shaking her head, “You need to get it out of my house.” 

“Why?” 

“The sneezing Emma…” 

“Are you allergic to cats?” 

“Oh my god I’m going to die,” Regina mutters fearfully. 

Emma’s eyes widen as she wonders what the hell Regina is on about, “Huh?” 

“You said I’m allergic…that cat is going to kill me…”

“Okay…” Emma says slowly, “I’m guessing they don’t have antihistamines in the Enchanted Forest?” 

“Antihistawhat?” 

“I thought not,” Emma replies, “You’re not dying Regina.” 

“I sneeze every time that cat comes near me…I could have the plague for all you know…don’t laugh ARGH!” her rant is cut off by a scream as the kitten pads near her and Regina all but leaps onto her table as Emma continues to fall into a fit of near hysterical laughter. 

“I am dying and you’re laughing at me!” 

“You’ve sneezed three times!” 

“I could have cat flu!” 

“Cat flu?” 

“Well there’s bird flu and swine flu…”

“But no cat flu…I’m also fairly certain you don’t have the plague and you’re not dying. Hilariously adorable, yes. Dying, no. Can I keep the cat?” 

“Not if it keeps trying to kill me.” 

“Okay…what if I take you to the doctor for antihistamines so that you don’t “die of the cat plague”?” 

“Don’t mock me,” Regina huffs crossing her arms at her girlfriend. 

“Watch out Regina, she’s moved a step closer,” Emma jokes. 

Regina narrows her eyes at her, “That’s just mean…first you try to murder me with a cat and now you’re mocking me.” 

Emma wipes the tears from her eyes before moving to the table and pulling Regina onto her back in a makeshift piggyback before reassuring her, “Snow Cat isn’t going to kill you.” 

Regina groans, “Please tell me you’re not naming the lethal kitten Snow?” 

Stories from the War(ds) 2

Consider me your own personal Ernie Pyle—except instead of writing to you from the frontlines of WWII it’s from the battlefront of a different war. 

(Read the first installment of this warfront column here)

5th FLOOR HOSPITAL WORKROOM—May 10 2014

“Aachoo!” I can hear my resident coming down the hall before he makes it into the workroom. Only a couple years in medical school and you start to develop this keen sense for infection. You can feel it in the coat of germs when you reach up for the overhead bar on the subway, or hear it when the woman at the table next to you coughs. It prickles the back of your neck; it’s your new sixth sense—and mine is going off in my head like sirens.

My resident sinks down next to me at a computer and sniffles softly. “Ugh. I don’t need this today.” He presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

He looks pathetic.

I have an instinctual, “doctor” reaction. I want to tell him to go home! But I know just as well as he does that going home isn’t really an option. We’re post-call, with a service overloaded with complicated cases, an intern who capped his hour limit two hours ago (but still hasn’t signed out) and a new attending just coming on as the boss.

He can’t go home.  

Doctors make the worst patients. It’s well agreed in medicine that no one wants to be the doctor’s doctor. We’re either too stubborn to ever get treated or we think we know enough about medicine to micromanage and kick back against every suggestion our doctors make.

I’m amazed that the doctor’s doctors don’t just throw up their hands and tell us: “physician, heal thyself!”.

We certainly don’t seem very receptive to help when it’s offered.

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