Found by Noisia (featured on the DMC soundtrack) is the song for the chapter. I edited it to the best of my ability, today :DD!!!

My pupils widened at the close contact. His face was close to mine.

His hands grasped my arms, and his nose breathed on me, to my ticklish downfall. I jerked away from his breath, it feeling weird on my neck. Somehow this felt really close to rape, but it wasn't - it was the seizure of my organs, maybe, or the exploration of my insides. Maybe it was worse than anything I could imagine.

It took much for me to not do anything...but I really trusted him is why I tried not to do anything. He began to take my shirt up and asked about things that would give him consent to begin the operation. What medicine do I want, do I want to wear an enchanted jewelry piece or take some oral medication to prevent weakness and lots of bloodloss, did I want to use a poison that made my limbs numb until the operation was over, and then receive a cure-all-diseases potion to cure the poisonous effects when the operation was complete...I answered yes to everything he said, and maybe he took that as a way to give me whatever he saw fit, or either he did exactly everything I said, but I couldn't bother him about the implications because I was so scared. If he didn't remove my dead intestines, I knew, nothing would work. He'd have to sew the rest of the good ones back together, afterwards, and my digestion would be very different from then on, especially due to the healing process, but it was better than infecting all my intestinal tract and possibly making it all die as well. I knew this because I am an alchemist, and I particularly specialize in health potions, I read books about health, and surgery in such an area of Whiterun where cold doesn't necessarily knock a disease out wouldn't be the place to do this surgery, I know, but I have nowhere else. I have to do with him, and right here. And I'm so happy he's here, so happy his twisted brain wanted to operate on me, because who knows who else would let Farengar cut on them?

And I was happy to give my body over to experimentation...so in turn I didn't worry.

Some day in the future, a painless incision will be invented. Until then, there will always be a slight uncomfortable feeling while you're awake and looking at the cuts going on in your midsection or other work sites the doctor's administering aid to, and yet I could see the dig and the pull of flesh he was emitting on my muscles and connective tissue. As weird as it looked, it was comforting to feel someone else inside you - to say that in the least weirdest manner.

You, under a Skooma epidemic in your cells, can feel someone's warm hand pushing meat together, and also sticking harsher subjects into your body, like wires and metal clasps that look like they'd belong on wooden projects in a basement - not saying that's where he got them from, but who knows in Skyrim. I thought of the bloody bandits I'd have to kill to get the randomness of some of that stuff, and laughed about it. Farengar's eyes closed midway while his hand was stuck in my gut for a moment, us both feeling the weird sensation of my laugh but not saying anything, and then he grunted, annoyed...but it finally came a bit delayed since he was busy and enjoying my gut so much, the phrase, "Stop laughing."

I laughed more, because it was funny. But it made him puncture something with the knife he was holding. I winced. "Uh, sorry. I won't do that again."

"...it's your intestines," he mumbled into my comment, nonchalantly from severe concentration or maybe sincerity, but it made no difference to me.

I closed my eyes, feeling the weirdest stuff ever, and then the yank came - the pull of my intestines off each other: ergo, the bad ones from the good ones. In this finale, not only did the monotonous cutting started to emit dangerous levels of pain signals into my brain from my nerve synapses, however the blood was immense, and the whole experience was unsettling, all my black intestines that have rotted away coming out of me, and him being my savior, because how would I have seen this from the outer confines of my mind, not introduced to it from this sort of intrusion? I feared, sitting up, grabbing myself, getting gore on my hands; only then I had tried to settle myself back down, finally. Farengar saw, and gasped, and came over to help me and mumbled about disinfectant. Sorry I was dirty, I thought. He wiped my hands, and took the towel and placed it on the side of the bed, and his hands, I couldn't see the disinfected properties on them but I trusted his hands and abilities and his kink for cleanliness, even though I haven't seen a proper gauge of it until today where he washed his hands and kept towels under me, since workplaces aren't good judges of someone's inert cleanliness due to the inevitable clutter, in my opinion, and the fact that a workplace was the only place where I've been able see his character.

The intestines were literally thrown into a bucket: it reminded me of the time I came across a Stormcloak camp and spotted bloody rags and moaning heartaches in tents. Well more like body- aches. I didn't think how much my stomach would hurt after this, but the Stormcloak warriors feeling bad over anything less than a surgery that their battles had dealt them now made me feel bad, really bad.

But I wasn't going to ask him about it; he was working on me, and I needed to be quiet. My blood decorated his hands, his fingers began the stitching. And I was certain that no commentary ensued in the proccess.

The stitches, I could feel each one go in, and the Skooma was wearing off, I knew. My vision started swirling, as it was already blurred, and I felt a sharp pang in my abdomen. I jerked, and he pressed down on me while he worked, each puncture making me fidget more.

He growled. Why did he act like I didn't feel anything?

"Shoot, Farengar..." I almost sat up in pain, even though the extra moving didn't help me at all. Now I felt a sore wave wash over my stomach. I felt every single cut like my skin was one big open cell, opened to the pain. And I couldn't now...really...breath. Mine came in small breaths, my oxygen supply, and I knew that that wasn't good - especially since I had a chronic asthma condition that was barely noticeable, but surely it was to get worse the duration of the surgery. He noticed me fighting it, finally, and then grabbed a bottle, and shoved it down my throat. "Drink," he said before I could even get a chance to, myself. So spittle came up, but I continued to drink the bottle once I got the hang of it, the whole thing, because it was making me feel better.

A healing potion. I wasn't supposed to take more of it because it "made my wounds close up fast," he told me, but I guess he couldn't help it because we ran out of one of my painkillers, of which were Skooma and mead, and one of those is all I could take. But still, the unopened mead sat interestingly on the table near me...

I don't think my alcohol levels should've been high while I was getting an operation, but that's how it usually worked in Skyrim, right? Drunk Nords healing? I slapped the bottle to the ground while fidgeting, because. every. thing. he. did. making. me. jump. like. I. was. getting. pinched. And then I felt sweat drip down my cheek, which made me also realize the sweat all over me. "Far-" I could barely say his name. "S-s-s-stop."

Farengar placed a wet rag on my face, and sighed, sympathetically and annoyed. He opened the other bottle of alcohol, thankfully, and shoved it to my mouth. "I can't give you anymore healing potions, though. You drank a whole bottle, which is unacceptable for me to allow you in the midst of an open surgery like this while I'm trying to cut and not have it heal mid-way, and plus your body needs cells that the alcohol is affecting negatively right now," blah in other words, "if it even wants to heal, including your liver which is gonna be a mess...oh, but anyway, it's a whole bunch of factors working together against each other, and I need to work faster," he warbled some more and was now clamping at a faster rate.

I plucked my finger in there thing he was closing up (an intestine of mine; connecting it to another), sad to see my insides closed to my view again, but he snatched my hand out, with me being probably so drunk at that point that I didn't care.

And so now is the place I tell you how I even act when I'm drunk, I believe. It's pretty simple.

I said many weird things, like "Farengar, it hurts, stop," and "I wanna take my intestines home with me please?" and "Please, Farengar, change your name from Farengar so I won't have to say your name all long and I could be saving my breath, instead," and "Please give me some cheese? Eidar? It's the best stuff in Tamriel!" and frankly, I spoke, just seemingly more drunkenly.

Besides emitting a grunt of annoyance over that which he couldn't control, here and there, Farengar actually really tried to ignore me. He did well, knowing I was intoxicated and saying some stupid things therefore. Hope he was as understanding when I wasn't in this condition, sometime; I'd be happy for the continuation of this considerable action.

When the macho mage finally completely sewed up my intestines, it was time to get to the real skin. "Nah, oh hecky no, You are not doing -" he covered my mouth with his sticky hand. I nearly screamed, and closed my eyes from the sudden disgustingness. And post script: If this chapter seems long, Skyrim, it's simply how I felt when he was finally just done with the inside. Not even nearly halfway through the surgery I had used up all my resources and I was sure he didn't want to drown me with more. Which meant also I had more pain to endure.

* * *

"Ah, ah, be careful," I said, his hands working carefully to weave some hefty mammoth hair into my delicate, sore, red, chafing, burning, drunken skin, unlike they had done to my intestines which were rather clamped with harsher materials such as wire and or metal clamps. I could still see and smell some of my intestines in the disposal, and wondered if I'c'd ever feel or eat the same way again.

"Faren..cough cough." Coughing hurt me like heck, even with the large traces of the now-diluted alcohol inside me. Farengar took his mask off and was scowling his thin, often, and notably pink scowl.

"Desraim!" He then noticed my drunk face with a smirk and let it go. "God's sakes," he said, continuing sewing the skin lesion he'd created before having pursued the operation inside me.

"God, the God of the whole world?"

"Yeah," he answered me, giving me a misunderstanding stare.

"You believe in him?" I have no idea how I said it emphatically or all with this surgical pain ensuing.

"Yeah, why," he said, sliding the needle into my skin, and I jerked forward, and started laughing from its harshness.

"Heha, I believe in Akatosh, too," I said in return, leaning back again against the literal stone, save-for- the-covers bed. "Not many do...they - uh - like 'im. Talos."

"Yeah," my hero said, done, and I took his hand and smeared the blood on my face in some kind of disillusioned vehemency, and tasted it. "God's sakes, Desraim, ew, that's unsanitary," he got the towel and dabbed my face, my arms, and my hands and wrists clean. "There, there. You're finished. Now we need to make sure you're actually okay, haven't lost too much blood..." he grabbed my wrist and I didn't want him to have it, so pulled away. He strained my wrist toward him, but I was too strong, so it only moved halfway. "Desraim, no more mead for you if you keep wanting to pull away -"

"Okay," I said, letting him have my arm though not knowing what he wanted it for. He pressed his fingers up against my wrist, then in the crook of my elbow...what was this? A massage session? I like those too, but it is just creepy, bloody-handed people doing that to me.

"Your blood pressure hasn't changed - much. You're fine. Um, pain levels Desraim on a 10-point scale?" he intercepted my thoughts and neither was feeling for the muscles I'd acquired, I guess, or massaging my arm, whatever he had done to me.

"If that dragon's scale's got 10 points it's probably not a real dragon; it's a slaughterfish. They've got the most sides ever to their scales, and they're so deadly because of that. 'Cause the sharpness just cuts you up, deals damage along with the fish's electricity. It's the most worst thing to stuff yourself in, a lake full of those monsters, hehe," I laughed, but it hurt so bad I stated to cry. "Mr. Doctor, why? Why is this hurting so bad?" with every jerk from my laugh, I cried, and the more I did the louder I was; crying just really hurt.

"Shh, shh," Farengar said, holding my stomach, pushing his hands up along it, especially around where the incision was, admiring his work. It felt better that way, his soothing hands on me, warding away pain with this comfortable feeling. I held onto his wrist however from the inevitable uncomfortableness of a recent surgery as he did. And he smiled, his baldness mimicking the shininess of his teeth. The Jarl could take some tips from him, but the hood had to be put back on because his head was rather not as appealing, as, say, his much more than the Jarl's shiny teeth.

I coughed because I couldn't breathe, sometimes, and couldn't breathe because I coughed, after the surgery, so his hands had stopped soothing me to instead be surrogated by a warm blanket lying on a chair by the fireplace, the blanket which he started to put on a pallet near the fireplace so it could even get toastier for me to use, and relieve the pangs of my abdomen.

Due to this nonstop pain, however, I was doing nothing. I couldn't move out my bed, and I could only manage a sitting-up, the least Farengar wanted me to do, these few days I was with him. I was surprised I could even manage to do even that after being cut on, though. But my expectations exceeding like that, I knew I was faring much fine.

I talked to Farengar about how I felt about Uthgerd and her leaving, and my anger. I tried not to talk about my surgery to keep my mind on the goal which was getting out of here instead of focusing on the wounds that would hold me back. But I still let him know he was exceptional on my surgery as well as relayed him a thank you throughout my attempt at recuperation. "You're welcome. And try to eat more vegetables in your diet." I nodded to his rather odd choice of statement to reply with.

"So what's to eat?"

"Nothing."

"What's to drink?"

"Water, or nothing. You're gonna have to pee in a few minutes."

"Oh, dang, well what am I gonna do? I can't sit over a bucket or anything in this state!"

His eyes grew wide and mouth drooped in disgust at me. "Pray to Akatosh."

I laughed at him. "Okay, Akatosh, please give me a bucket to pee in." I held up my mead bottle as I said it, and he didn't even collect the bottle from me, which got me thinking, 'Was I okay like that? Or drinking, way too much?'

His eyebrows interrogated me for that statement I made and led me to defend myself: "What, I was doing that for the whole healing process, stop being weird!" He then smirked while replying to this statement I made.

"I'm not bad for being weird."

"Yes, everyone is, so stop..." I drifted my eyelids shut, not thinking of his comeback, and my mind drifted away from here for a while, too....

Zzzz finally.