As the car finally arrived back at their home, Damon groaned inwardly. Being married to the universe's most resilient being, someone with a huge heart, immense compassion, and absolutely no self-preservation, felt like a full-time job, one he often felt inadequate to handle.
Now, he needed to be clinical and ensure her recovery. He had to keep things simple but also make sure she didn't downplay her symptoms, stressing the severity of the situation. He could still feel the pain that had struck his heart when the police had called, informing him that Mimi had wrapped his car around a light pole and was on her way to the hospital with a dislocated hip, a splenic bleed, and a nasty gash on her head.
He knew Mimi's anatomy intimately and understood what she could withstand, but seeing the five little heartbeats on the monitor had made it so much worse. As the doctor had bluntly reminded him, even supernaturals, even immortals, can and do experience miscarriages and complications.
This realization had ignited a fierce protectiveness within him; he wasn't sure he would allow her to work at all. He knew she didn't want to be coddled, but for now, she would have to accept whatever care he and others provided, as they needed to care for her.
Damon ushered me inside, his expression tight. I obeyed; I wasn't in the mood for one of his lectures about what was wrong with me. I felt fine, really. A nice nap would fix everything. But since he wanted to "operate" on me – which felt like a massive overreaction – I didn't have much choice.
I knew he'd probably alerted all the Salvatores, who were probably in a frenzy. I mean, the blood clot would dissolve and absorb soon enough. I wasn't bleeding anymore; I was bruised, but my babies were fine. No need to fuss over me. I was going back to work on Monday.
This was just a minor mishap in my eyes; no need to panic. Of course, the doctor had warned us that supernatural beings could lose their babies, too, but it was a small chance. I wasn't worried anymore, more irritated and almost restless. I didn't want to be a patient right now.
After all, Damon and I had a long history together. He'd been my doctor for ages, several lifetimes, and sometimes he took things a little too carefully – or at least, that was my view. I saw myself as pretty invincible and immortal, which I was, but it didn't mean I didn't suffer or feel pain. When I'd been sick, Damon had been there through thick and thin. He knew just how difficult a patient I could be, and how serious my state could get.
It took a lot out of him to do this patiently, explaining things to me instead of just knocking me out and being done with it. After all, he was trying to teach me that I truly needed to start taking it easy and being more careful. It wasn't the universe's plan to have me literally run into a brick wall and get banged up. With a little self-awareness and self-preservation, I would do so much better.
But goddamn it, I was so slow to learn this, and I was stubborn. I wanted to keep my own idea of what I was, what I could do, and maybe chase my limits, so to say, what my body could take. Not wise, but I've never claimed to be a particularly wise creature. I am intelligent, but wise? Nope. Wisdom eludes me; it truly does.
My history, like Damon's, is littered with poor decisions and their consequences. He helped me inside, removing my coat and shoes, and preventing me from moving much.
After taking off my shoes, he said, "You probably think I'm overreacting, baby, but I'm not. I won't tell you everything I saw in your CT scan, as we'll scan again before surgery for an updated record. However, I can tell you this: you have at least 800 ml of blood clots in your abdominal cavity, and you surely understand that doesn't belong there. It's not food, so your body isn't actively breaking it down. And these aren't fetuses or cubs in there who would feast on that clot like magic cubs. The most likely scenario is that your body will overreact, as you know, and you also have a few extra spleens. They would likely grow rapidly in the next few days as the clot puts your system in a hyperalerted state. Since you already need a truckload of calories, let's try to curb that. Now, I'm going to pick you up; I don't want that clot to move. We'll go nicely to the medbay, where the boys have everything ready."
I nodded, as I had little choice. When he swept me into his arms, one part of my mind analyzed and dismissed the danger of the blood clot. Yet, another part, surprisingly, trusted Damon's medical knowledge enough to find wisdom in his words. He was rarely eager to operate, and when he saw the need, there was always a need.
I was lazily considering my multiplication enzyme, wondering when I had last gotten my potion. Should I get one? Would it be safe with the babies, as in theory, they were growing all the time, so would the potion hinder their development? I had no idea.
Damon carried me swiftly to the medbay. Numbers Nine and Ten were ready, wearing scrubs. Number One deposited me into a bed, and Nine came to me and turned my head aside so he could insert a cannula. Meanwhile, Wulfe, standing in the doorway, kept me still with a gentle but efficient spell.
Number One had already fetched a prefilled syringe and said, "Sleepy time. We scan you, fix you, and then you recover. And yes, we will take care of the multiplication enzymes as well, nothing to worry about."
I didn't have time to answer, as he connected the syringe to my cannula and shut off my mind. Darkness took me before I could even think a single thought.
As Mimi was anesthetized, numbers two and nine undressed her, carefully cutting away her clothes to avoid jostling her. Meanwhile, the scanner was warming up, and Damon went to change scrubs and prepare for the operation.
As was his routine, he first inspected the operating room to ensure everything was in order. He wanted fresh scans because the blood clot was in a precarious location, and he didn't want to operate blindly.
While he had explained to Mimi why surgery was necessary, he only provided essential information, omitting the myriad details and doubts he harbored. He didn't mention the potential for a looming infection if the clot remained, or the possibility of it breaking and sending fragments near her uterus, which could jeopardize future pregnancies.
So many thoughts raced through Damon's mind as he prepared. Mimi was brought into the OR, naked, asleep, and incredibly vulnerable.
Number ten examined the unsightly bruises on her torso and remarked, "Damn, those look nasty. I'm not sure if we can give her a healing booster; the babies might absorb or block it. She's going to be sore, for sure."
Damon nodded. As others took their positions, the holographic display flickered to life, revealing the scan results. The clot was substantial, and the adjacent spleens were small but problematic. If left untouched, they would likely develop a network of fatty tributaries throughout her major veins. Her body needed to prioritize growing babies, not extra organs.
With a clear plan in mind, communicated telepathically to his team, Damon picked up the scalpel and made the incision. Blood welled, and the operation began. The procedure was complex, requiring patience and meticulous execution. They aimed for an atraumatic approach, avoiding unnecessary delays or further bruising.
It took four hours to remove the clot and another three to excise the spleens and ensure her multiplication enzyme remained stable. Damon then addressed the micro-fractures he observed in her brittle bones. He had checked her hip, which had been dislocated, and it had still been loose, so he used his blood to strengthen it.
He also used his own blood to reinforce the area, meaning ligaments and surrounding muscles, ensuring it was stable before closing. Her natural healing, augmented by a gentle healing booster, proved sufficient, eliminating the need for stitches.
Now, recovery would take time, as bruising remained. The priority was to prevent nightmares, since even if Mimi insisted she was fine, she might not sleep, and her worries could resurface, despite the mental blocks already in place. Mimi was adept at finding new things to worry about.
Damon left to shower while others moved Mimi back to a medical bed. They kept watch over her until she could be moved to her own bed. The cocktail had been potent, and she was still deeply asleep, unable to regulate her temperature. She was covered warmly and hooked up to telemetry.
Her usually rapid pulse was now only 90, far below its normal rate. Her temperature was three degrees too low, and her breathing was halved, so she had an oxygen mask. Numbers nine and ten were nearby, monitoring her. After blood tests were taken, Damon returned to the medical side.
He sat at the desk and began to review her results. Most were suboptimal, and since she was unconscious, he ordered a few IVs, taking advantage of the time they had. Mimi had issues with medical procedures, and he wouldn't stress her unnecessarily. Since they had time, a small boost of lipids, sugars, and amino acids would benefit her, especially considering she needed to continue using her special batteries.
They also administered a multiplication enzyme blocking potion, which could cause symptoms, but since she was asleep, they wouldn't be too severe. Even a fever would be beneficial, considering she was still hypothermic.
Damon knew he, too, was fickle, and Mariella's emotional state had affected him more than he'd anticipated. He wasn't sure if it was the scan itself, or Mariella and her hormones and pheromones, but she had been overly emotional. It had taken a lot out of him to calm her down, especially when it became clear she was less pregnant than Mimi. Mimi would likely have her babies first, and her doctor was just an old man, kind of dry and not too warm for her, but he was a doctor.
Damon sighed inwardly, considering the benefits and whether he would utilize any of them from Italy. He hadn't yet delved into how being officially Mimi's primary husband would affect her benefits, a financial situation that was new to him.
Yet, he felt his pretender side be curious and wanting to know everything, wanting to be part of everything, which was exhausting. One part of him was lazy and not so overly worried about every penny. Financial matters would surely come later, but now it was time to focus on the present.
He needed to ensure Mimi would wake up, recover, and take it easy. She would be sore, and he was keeping an eye on what stopped her from hiding her pain or symptoms, as it was an important lesson for her: to take it easy. This wasn't the time for heroics. The future was uncertain for him and others.
In the meantime, number nine looked from his perch, monitoring his wife's vitals. Yes, she was his wife, which was funny, as he'd thought of her so little in that capacity. But now, it made sense, bringing him peace and helping him shake off Mariella's influence.
He realized he needed to start seeing and thinking of Mimi more as his wife, his baby, rather than merely Mimi, which was one thing Mariella used to her advantage, how she flaunted being his wife while never referring to Mimi as Damon's or any Salvatore's wife.
Number nine smiled thinly, realizing that his work as a security officer had led to this, as he had to learn to address people and staff in a certain way, which had made him think differently and then had gotten him here.
Despite being a version of Damon Salvatore, one of ten, he was his own person, with his own thoughts and actions. He chose Mimi over Mariella once again. He took his phone and began researching Finnish social benefits Mimi might be eligible for. He discovered how she could transfer some of her paid maternity leave days to her partner. He considered taking that offer. He wasn't sure what he'd get from Italy, but he was now on Team Mimi, not Team Mariella.
After five hours, Mimi was finally moved to her own bed. Her pulse was 120, and her breathing was faster, but it was normal for her. She wasn't yet maintaining her temperature. Number One was slightly irritated, as Charles hadn't yet taken any action regarding the order of succession, meaning Mimi would be pack leader in his absence unless Damon could convince him otherwise next week.
Adam would be home this weekend, followed by two weeks of work. Charles would be home next week before he had to leave. That meant Mimi would be the leader for those two weeks. Damon's alpha side roared with frustration. He also had work to consider. The weekend might be a good time to convince Charles that Mimi needed no additional stress in her life, specifically regarding the order of succession.
Despite Damon seeing the benefits of Charles being the pack leader, a part of him yearned for his status back. Even though he knew he might abuse his power or not be as good at it as Charles, he couldn't help himself. He had been a leader for so long, and then this all happened. Now, it was time for him to show who he could be and how he could be better.
Charles was in his study, which he'd designated as such to focus on the pack's financial stability. He was currently crafting an algorithm on his laptop to determine the monthly income needed to cover bills, food, and savings for the pack. This meant that he, along with the other male members, would bear the brunt of the financial responsibility.
He was especially keen on preventing Mimi from having to work excessively, while Mariella's job was less of a concern. As for the eight younger women, their internships were temporary, necessitating future employment or reliance on unemployment benefits. Charles was diligently working on the algorithm.
He planned to input yearly bills, expenses, and individual pack member earnings from the past few weeks to receive potential solutions. These solutions would indicate how many members needed to work, who could stay home, and the impact of any additional earnings.
Charles was prepared to work harder, possibly taking on a schedule of two weeks on the road followed by one week at home, to increase his income, even considering the impact of taxes. With Damon's potential limitations on work, securing a stable income was critical. While being the pack leader was challenging, it allowed Charles to engage in the kind of analytical work he enjoyed, finding solutions to complex problems, which made life more interesting.