Static

by Witt, L. A.

  Then everything solidified again, and looking back at us across the broad desk was a woman. Her clothing was the same, just clinging to her figure a little differently than before, and her long brown hair spilled over her shoulders. I’d never witnessed a shift before, not in person, and it was startling to say the least.

  “As you can imagine,” she said, her voice bearing no resemblance at all to her male form’s, “it’s in my best interest to make sure shifters are given correct information and proper care. Especially in situations like this.”

  “Much appreciated,” Alex said.

  “Now, I’ve had a chance to look over your X-rays, and we’ve identified the specific brand and model of your implants.”

  “And the verdict?”

  “They are definitely a black market variety, but the good news, and I use that expression loosely, is that this particular type is not dangerous if left in place. If you forgo the surgery, it doesn’t pose any significant risk to your life or quality of life.”

  “Aside from being static for the rest of my life.”

  The doctor nodded slowly. “Yes.”

  “What about taking them out?”

  “That’s where we run into some not-so-good news, I’m afraid.”

  Alex tensed. “Meaning?”

  “The surgery is risky to begin with. I make no bones about telling patients this is major surgery, not a minor procedure. But with yours . . .” She looked at her notes again. “The angle, the location, where the implants have lodged themselves, they’re even more dangerous to remove. That, and the particular make and model of the implant is a black market variety that frequently fuses to nerves, which can be seriously damaged during removal.” She paused. “Further, this kind of device has extremely shoddy construction, and they’re very, very delicate. Normal activity, even strenuous physical activity won’t damage it, but surgical instruments can. There have been a few cases where, during an attempt to remove it, an implant like yours has shattered.”

  Alex cleared his throat. “I’m assuming this is a bad thing.”

  “Very. If one shatters, it’s nearly impossible to find and remove all the fragments without causing serious damage to the spinal cord. If fragments are left behind, they begin interfering with other neurological impulses. This can result in paralysis within as little as a few months, and can cause organ failure depending on which nerves are affected.”

  What little color there was drained from Alex’s face. I took his hand, gripping it tightly, and wasn’t surprised his palm was damp. So was mine.

  Dr. Rowland continued. “The best case scenario for one of these implants is for it to settle itself near the initial injection site. It’s not as difficult to get in and remove it.” She looked him in the eye. “Two of yours have settled fairly close to each other, and won’t be difficult to reach. The third, however, is considerably higher. It appears to have attached itself to either the bone or soft tissue, though we won’t know that for certain until the surgery.”

  Alex exhaled. “Great.”

  “The fact that you haven’t experienced any problems to indicate neurological interference tells me none of the implants have embedded in any way that poses a threat to your health. My concern with removing the third one is, judging by its location on the X-rays, the potential for damaging nerves during the procedure.”

  “So, leaving them in means no risk at all,” Alex said. “Taking them out stands a good chance of causing problems.”

  She nodded slowly. “I wish I had better news for you.”

  He was quiet for a long moment. “And if I get it removed, assuming the surgery is successful, how likely is it I’ll be able to shift?”

  “It’s difficult to say. Most patients with medically approved implants are able to shift again without issue after its removal. With black market devices, there aren’t many studies.”

  “What about in your experience?”

  “In my experience,” she said, two sympathetic creases forming on her forehead, “slightly better than half regain the ability to shift.”

  “Those aren’t very promising odds,” he said, probably more to himself than to either of us.

  “No, they’re not. Especially with the amount of risk involved. It’s your decision, though. As a surgeon, weighing the risks versus benefits, I’m inclined to urge you to leave the implants in place.” She paused. “As a shifter myself . . .”

  Alex raised his eyebrows. “As a shifter . . .?”

  She thought for a moment. “I would be willing to perform the procedure if you wish to have it done.”

  “So as both a shifter and a surgeon, would you recommend the surgery or not?”

  “As difficult as it is to suggest this to another shifter,” the doctor said quietly, “I would recommend against the operation.”

  Alex’s shoulders sank. I squeezed his hand, but he didn’t look at me.

  “As I said,” Dr. Rowland said softly. “The decision is yours.”

  “How soon would I know if I can shift again?”

  “After the surgery, you’d need to wait about ninety days before you attempt to shift. To make sure everything has fully healed and there are no complications. It’s longer than is usually necessary, but that way we’re absolutely sure you’re in the clear. A shift when there are underlying complications could result in enough trauma to cause serious damage.”

  Alex shuddered. I wondered if it was the prospect of the dangerous surgery and long recovery, or the idea of being stuck as a male for at least another three months.

  “Don’t make a decision now, Alex,” Dr. Rowland said. “Whether it’s a yes or a no, take some time and think it over.”

  He nodded. “I will.”

  “Do you have any more questions?” Her eyes flicked toward me. “Either of you?”

  I shook my head. Alex said nothing.

  On our way out, Alex handed me his car keys but didn’t say anything. I didn’t press the issue; I was just glad we’d taken one car instead of two.

  Sitting on my sofa, I pressed my fingertips into my temples and sighed. “You know, I thought it would be a relief if I found out these implants weren’t dangerous. Now it just feels like any chance of getting them out is slipping through my fingers.”

  “Talk about a double-edged sword.” Damon put a gentle hand between my shoulders. “You still going to get it done?”

  “I . . . have no idea. With the risk, and the possibility of not being able to shift, I . . .”

  “The surgeon said she’ll still perform the procedure. That says something, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, she will, but I can’t decide if I should ask her to.” I glanced at him. “It’s a hell of a lot of risk, and I might not gain anything.”

  “You don’t think it’s worth the gamble to get your identity back?”

  “On the surface, yes, I think it is.” I let my head fall forward, closing my eyes as Damon rubbed the back of my neck. “But when I start looking at the pros and cons, I just . . . I just don’t know.”

  “Well, whatever you decide, I’ll back you,” he said softly. “One hundred percent.”

  I managed the closest thing I could to a smile. “Thank you.”

  He smiled back. The hand on my neck went to my shoulder. “Come here.”

  I leaned into him, and his arm had never been more comforting than it was right then, when he wrapped it around me. I put my head against his shoulder, and he laid his hand over mine on his chest.

  “I just wonder how much risk is too much,” I said. “I want my life back, but how much more of it am I willing to lose to maybe get that part back? It was easy when there was a chance these implants could do as much damage as the surgery. But now . . .” I shook my head. “Transgender statics risk their lives and well-being all the time to get gender reassignment surgery. Tabby would probably belt me for even questioning whether or not to get this done.”

  Damon shrugged. “I think she’d understand. She obviously hasn’t taken the
idea of surgery lightly, any more than she’s taken the hormone treatments or anything else lightly. She might wish she could become a shifter, but that doesn’t mean she’d expect it to be easy for you to make this decision.”

  “No, I suppose she wouldn’t.” After a long, long pause, I said, “What would you do?”

  “What?”

  “In my shoes. Would you get the surgery?”

  Damon gave a quiet chuckle. “Quite honestly, I think I’d have been on the floor in a fetal position a long time ago. Forget trying to make a life-altering medical decision.”

  I smiled and put a hand over his on my arm. “Oh, you never know.”

  “No, trust me, I don’t think I’d have handled it as well as you have.” He kissed the top of my head. “And in all honesty, it’s easy for me to say off the cuff that I’d get it done. If I actually had to make the decision, I’d probably have as much trouble with it as you are.”

  “Do you think it’s . . .” I struggled to find the right word. “Do you think it’s, I don’t know, reckless? To go through that much when it’s not actually posing a threat to my life?”

  “Would leaving things as is pose a threat to your quality of life?”

  I nodded.

  “Then I think you have your answer.” He paused. “If you’d asked me the same question a few months ago, my answer might have been different, but knowing what I do now . . .”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve known plenty of shifters in my life, but I never realized how much it affects you. I guess, being static, I just didn’t think about it. Until recently, I didn’t get it. And, I don’t know how I would have reacted had you told me before. I just don’t know. But . . . with the way things have worked out . . .” His thumb drew slow arcs across the side of my hand, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and just a little uneven. “All I know is, whatever happens, surgery or not, my biggest fear is losing you.” He held me tighter.

  “What if . . .” I paused.

  Damon squeezed my hand. “What?”

  I lifted my head so I could look him in the eye. “What if the surgery goes all right, but I can’t . . .”

  “But you can’t shift?”

  The words gave me chills. “Yeah.”

  “Then we’ll learn to live with it. I’m more worried about you dealing with it than me.” He drew me back to him and kissed my forehead. “One way or another, we’ll figure it out. I’m not going anywhere either way.” He paused, releasing a breath that cooled my skin. “I wish I could offer you more than that, but it’s all I’ve got.”

  “That’s more than enough,” I said, whispering in case my voice cracked. “You have no idea.” I met his eyes. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He kissed me gently and ran his fingers through my hair. “And I’ll be here whether you get this done or not.”

  That shouldn’t have been the most important deciding factor, and I supposed it wasn’t. Still, hearing him say it lightened some of the weight on my shoulders.

  “I want the surgery. I know it’s risky, and it might not even work, but . . . I need it. I need to at least try.”

  He squeezed my hand. “Whatever you want to do. I’ll be here for you.”

  “You know I could end up a paraplegic man living on borrowed time, right?” I said, my voice wavering.

  Damon nodded. “I know.” He stroked my hair again and touched his forehead to mine. “And you know, when I kept bringing up marriage before, I meant it. Sickness and health, better or worse.” He swallowed hard. “’Til death.”

  Emotion constricted my throat, but I managed to whisper, “I don’t deserve you, Damon.”

  “Too bad. You’re stuck with me.”

  I laughed in spite of the sting in my eyes.

  He kissed me gently. More serious now, he said, “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yeah. I am.” I paused, moistening my lips. “I’ll wait until tomorrow to call and schedule it. Sleep on it, I guess. But yeah, I think I’m going to go through with it.”

  My mind reeled at all the implications of agreeing to this operation. Time off work. A long hospital stay. Longer recovery time. I’d never had major surgery, at least nothing like this with its long list of potential complications that could make the most stoic patient blanch. This wasn’t a wisdom tooth extraction or an outpatient procedure on my ankle. This was the real fucking deal. I’d have to draw up a living will. And a power of attorney. Someone had to have the ability to give or withhold consent if I was unconscious, sedated, or otherwise unable to decide for myself.

  If Damon said no, there was always Tabby. Or Ken. But Damon was the first to come to mind. It was weird, the thought of signing over to someone else the right to say yes or no to medical procedures, especially when it included the right to cut off or continue life support.

  I was in this situation because someone had taken it upon themselves to make a medical decision for me, and letting that control out of my hands was unsettling. There was no one I trusted more than Damon to take that control, but it was a strange thought.

  And putting this much thought into death is so macabre and morbid.

  Maybe it was, but it was a necessary evil. The risk of death wasn’t extraordinarily high, but the potential complications were nothing to sneeze at. For that matter, paralysis scared me more than death. At least death would mean not having to struggle with this anymore.

  No, Alex, don’t think like that again. I shuddered. That line of thinking was one I’d fought to abandon over the years.

  “You okay?” Damon asked.

  “Yeah. Just thinking, I guess.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Listen, if I’m going to get this done, I need to have someone to . . .” I hesitated. “Someone with power of attorney. In case something . . . goes wrong.”

  Damon swallowed. “Right . . .”

  “If you’re not willing to, I’ll understand, but honestly, I don’t think there’s anyone I could trust more with that than you.”

  He touched my arm. “Of course I will. If you want me to do it, I wouldn’t even think twice.”

  “You probably should think twice. I’m asking you to shoulder the possibility of having to tell them to cut off life support. I know I can trust you to make the decision, I just want to make sure you trust yourself with it.”

  He said nothing for a moment. I let him run the situation through his head, and he probably wandered through some of the same catastrophic, unrealistic, snowball’s-chance-in-hell scenarios that I did. If he didn’t want that responsibility, I fully understood.

  But he nodded anyway. “Yes, if you want me to, I will.”

  “Thank you.”

  We both fell silent for a moment. My mind tried to wander back into that gauntlet of morbid scenarios, so I quickly changed the subject. “On the plus side, at least I don’t have to go anywhere near the office for a while.”

  “Still pretty bad there?”

  “I don’t see it changing anytime soon. I’m just learning to ignore the gossip, and sooner or later, something else will come along that grabs their attention.”

  “True. What about those two asses that were messing with you before?”

  I shrugged. “They’re around. They’re still being asses. I just try to steer clear of them whenever I can.”

  “You shouldn’t have to do that at work, though.” He ran the backs of his fingers down the side of my face. “If they’re creating a hostile work environment, then . . .”

  “I know. Not much I can do about it, though.”

  He pursed his lips. “Why not quit?”

  “If it was that simple, I’d have ditched that place a long time ago. I still have to eat, you know. And if my petition for custody of Sam is approved, then . . .” I sighed. “Losing a chunk of my income when he’s living with me? There’s just no way.”

  Damon was quiet for a moment. “Would it help if you were only paying half a mortgage?”

  I blinked. “What?”


  “When this is all over, do you . . .” He paused. “Would you be willing to consider . . . moving in together?”

  “Are you—” I blinked. “Damon, are you serious?”

  “Completely serious. That job is sucking the life out of you. You make decent money at the Mat, so why kill yourself with two jobs?” He put a hand over mine. “That, and I want us to. I have for a long time, and that hasn’t changed.”

  I swallowed hard. “What about Sam?”

  “He’s part of the package deal now, isn’t he?”

  “Most likely, yeah.”

  “Well, whichever house we move into, there’s room for all three of us. Might be a little tight, and we might have to stretch money a bit, but I don’t see why we couldn’t do it.” He squeezed my hand and looked me in the eye. “It would be a hell of a lot better than watching you continue working at the place when it’s making you so miserable. And with as much time as we spend together, why not?”

  “Good point,” I said. “Just keep in mind, I could still be like this, even—”

  “I know. We’ve been through this, and I know what the risks are.” He stroked my face. “And I’m still asking, because none of this changes what I feel about you.” His hand stopped, his palm warm as he cupped my cheek. “And especially after everything that’s happened, I don’t want to lose you.”

  I swallowed hard. “Speaking of which, you know all those times I didn’t want to talk about getting married? Assuming things go well with the surgery and . . .” My heart thundered in my chest. “Anyway, is it too late to, um, be open to that subject?”

  Damon smiled. “No. No, it’s not too late at all.”

  I rested my head against his shoulder again. “I’m serious, I really don’t deserve you.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “And I’m serious when I say you’re stuck with me.”

  “I could think of worse things. This whole getting married thing could get a little complicated if I’m still static, though. Being a male and all.”