Fic: Feeling Faint (Sleepy Hollow)
Jul. 20th, 2004 10:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ivyficLooking out there in the world of fic I see a serious dearth of Sleepy Hollow fic! I have decided to rectify the problem. My first installment of I don't know how many - we'll have to see how deep Ichabod's psyche is.
Title: Feeling Faint Part 1/?
Author: Ivy
Fandom: Sleepy Hollow
Pairing: none
Rating: PG
Summary: Ichabod in med school.
A/N: I'm assuming that Ichabod first enrolled in med school, and it was his fascination with and repulsion from death that led him to become a detective. Hence the autopsies. As far as his memories go, I'm going to assume (as is pretty clearly implied in the movie) that his memory of his mother's death is deeply repressed and he only fully recalls it during the movie. I also have no idea if I've put anything anachronistic in the hospital. Mea culpa, I haven't done the research, and I may have mooshed together all different eras of medicine.
Disclaimer: Ichabod Crane belongs to Washington Irving, though I doubt he'd recognize this particular version, which is one hundred percent Johnny Depp.
Ichabod crossed his legs on the hard bench, trying to find a comfortable position in which to write. Most of the students were staring down at the floor with curiosity, a few faces blanched at the sight. Ichabod felt that in order to gain from this experience, he should take the opportunity to make a detailed diagram of the interior of the patient on the table.
The smell of formaldehyde gave the room a soporific stupor, into which the surgeon's technical description droned. The operating theatre was often used for autopsies, but today the subject was alive. They'd given him ether before the first incision. From his reading, Ichabod knew that the clenching of the abdominal muscles in pain could forcibly eject the intestines during surgery. Anesthesia was essential for this type of operation.
Ichabod glanced up, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. Blood, deep red, pooled on the white sheets beneath the body. The pasty skin looked dead under the lights, but the exposed abdomen was a wash of unsettling colors.
Today was Crane's first chance to observe modern medicine. The case was a simple appendectomy, but it seemed to him that there was a bit too much blood. Blood... Ichabod shook his head and bent over his paper again, sketching in more detail of the small intestine. The voice of the surgeon stopped, and Ichabod hesitantly glanced up to see one of the nurses shaking her head. The surgeon stepped back from the table, scalpel held in the air, while the nurses pulled a sheet over the face of the patient. Blood began to seep through the virgin white. Class would be ending early today, then.
***
Ichabod waited for his classmates to leave the theatre first - he never felt like he truly belonged among them. He stepped out and took a breath of the cooler air in the hallway. He hadn't realized it before, but he felt slightly queasy. Must have been the sweet stench in that room.
He picked up his pace through the deserted corridor of the hospital, but his uneasiness grew. He truly felt ill. Perhaps he was sick. Nosocomial infections were a bit common in city hospitals. He wouldn't be surprised if he'd caught something from one of the patients.
His legs felt watery so he slowed his pace a bit. His thoughts kept returning to the scene on the theatre floor. The scalpel cutting into doughy flesh, dirty blond hairs in surrealistic vividness against skin over a dozen yards away. He could see the flesh part beneath the knife as if he was standing next to the surgeon.
Ichabod closed his eyes as a wave of nausea hit him. He could still see the blood flowing from the wound. He felt stifled by the still present sweetness of formaldehyde. Blood gathered on the table drop by drop. He could see it spreading to the floor... A wall of blood... Mother...
Ichabod choked. He felt an overwhelming fear that something was about to happen, that he had to let it happen. The hallway around him fell away and his ears were full of pounding wind. He felt light, as though he was rushing out of his body --
-- and then he was on the floor and his head hurt. Ichabod blinked and raised his head. A spray of cotton balls lay across his chest and his pad was a few inches away on the floor. He sat up and brushed the cotton balls away, now seeing an upturned tray of them beside him. He looked up and saw the shelf they must have fallen from. He had hit them on the way down.
He had fainted! How incredibly odd! He, Ichabod Crane, had swooned. Unbelievable that a man of his upbringing should do such a feminine thing. He glanced around the hall, glad at least that no one had seen him fall. But what an incredible sensation. Completely overwhelming. Fascinating.
Ichabod got unsteadily to his feet and pressed his handkerchief to his mouth. He gathered his effects, hastily replaced the cotton balls, and hurriedly returned to his dormitory.
End Part I
Title: Feeling Faint Part 1/?
Author: Ivy
Fandom: Sleepy Hollow
Pairing: none
Rating: PG
Summary: Ichabod in med school.
A/N: I'm assuming that Ichabod first enrolled in med school, and it was his fascination with and repulsion from death that led him to become a detective. Hence the autopsies. As far as his memories go, I'm going to assume (as is pretty clearly implied in the movie) that his memory of his mother's death is deeply repressed and he only fully recalls it during the movie. I also have no idea if I've put anything anachronistic in the hospital. Mea culpa, I haven't done the research, and I may have mooshed together all different eras of medicine.
Disclaimer: Ichabod Crane belongs to Washington Irving, though I doubt he'd recognize this particular version, which is one hundred percent Johnny Depp.
Ichabod crossed his legs on the hard bench, trying to find a comfortable position in which to write. Most of the students were staring down at the floor with curiosity, a few faces blanched at the sight. Ichabod felt that in order to gain from this experience, he should take the opportunity to make a detailed diagram of the interior of the patient on the table.
The smell of formaldehyde gave the room a soporific stupor, into which the surgeon's technical description droned. The operating theatre was often used for autopsies, but today the subject was alive. They'd given him ether before the first incision. From his reading, Ichabod knew that the clenching of the abdominal muscles in pain could forcibly eject the intestines during surgery. Anesthesia was essential for this type of operation.
Ichabod glanced up, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. Blood, deep red, pooled on the white sheets beneath the body. The pasty skin looked dead under the lights, but the exposed abdomen was a wash of unsettling colors.
Today was Crane's first chance to observe modern medicine. The case was a simple appendectomy, but it seemed to him that there was a bit too much blood. Blood... Ichabod shook his head and bent over his paper again, sketching in more detail of the small intestine. The voice of the surgeon stopped, and Ichabod hesitantly glanced up to see one of the nurses shaking her head. The surgeon stepped back from the table, scalpel held in the air, while the nurses pulled a sheet over the face of the patient. Blood began to seep through the virgin white. Class would be ending early today, then.
***
Ichabod waited for his classmates to leave the theatre first - he never felt like he truly belonged among them. He stepped out and took a breath of the cooler air in the hallway. He hadn't realized it before, but he felt slightly queasy. Must have been the sweet stench in that room.
He picked up his pace through the deserted corridor of the hospital, but his uneasiness grew. He truly felt ill. Perhaps he was sick. Nosocomial infections were a bit common in city hospitals. He wouldn't be surprised if he'd caught something from one of the patients.
His legs felt watery so he slowed his pace a bit. His thoughts kept returning to the scene on the theatre floor. The scalpel cutting into doughy flesh, dirty blond hairs in surrealistic vividness against skin over a dozen yards away. He could see the flesh part beneath the knife as if he was standing next to the surgeon.
Ichabod closed his eyes as a wave of nausea hit him. He could still see the blood flowing from the wound. He felt stifled by the still present sweetness of formaldehyde. Blood gathered on the table drop by drop. He could see it spreading to the floor... A wall of blood... Mother...
Ichabod choked. He felt an overwhelming fear that something was about to happen, that he had to let it happen. The hallway around him fell away and his ears were full of pounding wind. He felt light, as though he was rushing out of his body --
-- and then he was on the floor and his head hurt. Ichabod blinked and raised his head. A spray of cotton balls lay across his chest and his pad was a few inches away on the floor. He sat up and brushed the cotton balls away, now seeing an upturned tray of them beside him. He looked up and saw the shelf they must have fallen from. He had hit them on the way down.
He had fainted! How incredibly odd! He, Ichabod Crane, had swooned. Unbelievable that a man of his upbringing should do such a feminine thing. He glanced around the hall, glad at least that no one had seen him fall. But what an incredible sensation. Completely overwhelming. Fascinating.
Ichabod got unsteadily to his feet and pressed his handkerchief to his mouth. He gathered his effects, hastily replaced the cotton balls, and hurriedly returned to his dormitory.
End Part I