When the Rain Falls

aetatis suae

10.

{for em for being the best person on this site and also reading this like what.}

Waking up at five in the morning is not a ritual Aiden is particularly fond of. But he's given no choice when he is finally getting an official biopsy done.

He dresses himself in sweatpants and a Chicago Cubs t-shirt and, being that it's five in the morning, he can't be bothered to fiddle with his contacts, instead opting for his glasses.

Slipping quietly out of his bedroom, he passes a softly snoring Delia and he can't help but note that she looks quite, well, innocent while sleeping. He figures that if she was as kind when she's awake as she appeared when asleep, then they'd get on quite well. Unfortunately, this is not the case. Heaving a sigh in perfect time with Delia's snore, he exits the room.

The doctor hadn't given him any specific pre-biopsy dietary instructions, so he pours himself a bowl of cereal in the kitchen, careful not to wake his aunt and uncle, and drinks a full glass of orange juice, as well. Feeling awake and refreshed, he snatches his keys off their hook by the front door, slips on his shoes, and begins the walk to the subway.

☔️☔️ ☔️

The city is peaceful at five in the morning, Aiden has come to realize. Well, relatively, at least.

The sky's a light color, the sun only just peaking out from behind the buildings and it's quiet. For Chicago, anyway. There are still people and cars and traffic, but the numbers are substantially less than usual. He takes it all in wonder. This, he decides, is his favorite part of the day.

He makes a note to wake up this early more often to appreciate the sunrise and serenity. As he approaches the stairs down to the subway, he stops.

This, he thinks, breathing in the early morning air - and, ok, maybe it's not totally clean, but it feels fresh, which is all that counts - is peace.

He's frozen in that moment, enveloped entirely by the tranquility, so much so that he may have missed his train were it not for the lady who nearly knocked him down the stairs in her haste to get to the station. And just like that, the moment is shattered. Aiden shakes his head.

It's finally time to get a diagnosis, he thinks.

The station is surprisingly full of people - a stark contrast to the desolate streets above - and the air is positively stifling. It sounds, in theory, miserable. Aiden loves it.

His favorite thing about the subway, though, is the people. Perhaps it's a bit cliché, but Aiden is endlessly fascinated by people. Or rather, their stories. The possibilities are infinite and Aiden's forever intrigued by the role he plays in their lives.

He'd love to sit and watch people for hours, but he's got an appointment to make. As the train pulls in, he squeezes between a slightly overweight businessman and a gangly teenage boy. For a moment, Aiden wonders what the boy's doing here so early, but then the train pulls in and he steps through the doors and he's on his way to, ultimately, meet his fate.

The blue line train takes him to the Illinois Medical District and from there it's an approximate five minute walk to the hospital.

He's lead to a small room where the neurosurgeon waits for him.

"Aiden," he begins, not unkindly. "I'm going to give you a quick rundown of the process before we go to the operating room, okay?"

He stares at Aiden, prompting him to nod.

"Alright, well, in a few moments we're going to walk down that hallway" - he points out the doorway, to the left - "and into a small room where the rest of the team are waiting. We'll place a head-ring around your head and take a CT scan. This will give us the coordinates for making the incision. You will then be lead to the operating room, lightly sedated, and then we'll begin. Do you understand everything to this point?" Aiden hums in affirmation and the surgeon, Dr. Shah according to his name tag, presses his lips together firmly, nods once, and continues. "Essentially, the biopsy is a small incision into your head - which will be numbed - and, while the process itself will be very quick, you'll be monitored here at the hospital for a minimum of six hours."