Thanks for joining me!
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton
Hi hi when you gonna update?
This is one of those questions that endlessly difficult to answer, because it requires a sort of karmic threeway equilibrium between the three people running this show, and speaking for myself, I am currently visiting my family through til the end of the month, and my writing time has been inconsistent. I’m next up in the order and I do intend to continue, but as ever, I’ve got about a billion irons in the fire, and it’s hard to say when the mood will strike for RDB.
Still want to keep it going though, so no fear!
Me (preludeinz/Heavenward), akireyta and drdone also all have our own massive bodies of work if you’re getting impatient for this one:
http://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
http://archiveofourown.org/users/breeisonfire#_=_
http://archiveofourown.org/users/PreludeInZ/pseuds/Heavenward/
Recently discovered your RDB fic and I gotta say, I am truly loving it!!! If you are still asking for promots, could I suggest a short where Scott gets hurt in the line of duty and little brother Gordo comes to help him? Thanks!
It’s been an absolutely shitty double shift, and Gordon is ready to go the fuck home. It’s been busy, one thing after another, two cardiac arrest cases, a car crash, one diabetic seizure, one overheated baseball player, and for all Gordon knows, a goddamn partridge in a pear tree. He is done with today.
Unfortunately, he still has two hours until he’s free to go home, shower, crawl under his blanket, and not move for two days. It’s that thought that’s keeping him going. He’s almost done. He’s almost there.
Jesus Christ, is he tired.
He’s sat at a table inside the station, his partner Conrad next to him on one side and Virgil on the other. Virgil, the absolute bastard, just got here, and so looks as fresh as a daisy. The lucky fucker only has a single shift. Gordon wants to punch him.
They’ve just started eating when an alarm goes off. Gordon tries his best not to groan, he really does, but he’s being gestured to his wagon. He’s taken two bites, can the day just end already.
Conrad gives him a sympathetic look, but pulls his jacket on and hops up. Gordon gives his sandwich a longing look, but follows. Virgil’s up and towards his truck, as well, and the other ambulance in the station is also loading up.
“One of those calls, huh?” he says, climbing up. It’s Conrad’s turn to drive, and thank God. Gordon’s out of patience for driving today.
“Looks like,” Conrad says, flicking on the radio, and dispatch comes through. It’s not John, though Gordon knows he’s on shift, but he thinks he knows the voice anyway. Tedford, maybe?
“Shots fired, officer down, ambulance required.”
Gordon’s blood runs cold.
Logically, he knows there are plenty of cops in the general area. The odds of it being Scott are low and besides, Gordon’s not even totally sure Scott’s on duty. It’s fine. He’s fine.
Dispatch – it’s definitely Tedford – gives them a sitrep, but doesn’t mention the name of the officer, which isn’t unusual. Conrad sends him worried glances, but Gordon’s getting it under control. He’s a professional, he’s good at his job, he’s needed and he can keep it together.
They’re directed to where they’re needed immediately; they’ve beaten the other ambulance, if only by a few minutes, but first come, first served, and those minutes count. Gordon takes a deep breath and steadies himself.
It’s easy enough to find the injured officer – there’s a crowd. They split to let Gordon and Conrad through without prompting, and honestly, Gordon’s not even a bit surprised when he see Scott, on the ground, bleeding.
Kayo’s kneeling next to him, putting pressure on Scott’s side, the cloth that she’s pushing against it soaking through with blood. She looks up at them as they get there, and while she looks mostly calm, there’s terror in her eyes. Gordon can’t exactly blame her.
“He got shot,” she says, rather unnecessarily. “I think it went through, but I didn’t – we didn’t want to move him too much.”
“Good call,” Gordon says, leaning forward. Scott’s eyes track him, so he’s clearly conscious, and he grimaces.
“Hi, Gordon,” he says, sounding like he’s talking through clenched teeth.
“Heya, Scooter,” Gordon says, reaching down to take his pulse. Conrad’s taking over from Kayo. “Don’t you think we’ve had enough shit to deal with lately?”
He’s not serious, and Scott seems to get that. “Sorry. S’not so much fun on this side, either.”
“Probably not,” Gordon agrees.
Scott gets less and less coherent as they work, but he’s still responsive as Gordon and Conrad get him on the ambulance. Kayo’s been pulled aside to give a statement. Conrad, probably against his better judgement, climbs up to drive, so Gordon’s in the back with Scott, who clearly does not want to be awake anymore and is making his irritation known.
“‘M fine,” Scott complains.
“You literally have a bullet hole in you,” Gordon says flatly. “Shut the hell up, or I will sedate you, don’t fucking think I won’t.”
“S’not professional,” Scott says, his eyes slipping closed.
“Come on, Scotty, stay awake,” Gordon says, glancing up at Conrad. He’s clearly focused on the road, so he looks back down at Scott. “Hey, no, Scott, stay awake.”
Scott mumbles something unintelligible, and it takes all of Gordon’s will to not start losing it there. He’s done this before, this isn’t the first time one of his brothers has been here, and he can and will keep it together. Scott’s life literally depends on it.
He continues trying to keep Scott awake, even as Scott stops responding, and continues working, mentally distancing himself as he does. This is just another patient, another routine job in a city as dangerous as theirs. It’s not even the first bullet wound this week.
Gordon doesn’t know how long it takes them to get to the hospital, but suddenly they’re there, and he’s catching up the ER nurses on Scott’s condition, and then Scott’s being wheeled away, through the doors. Somehow Gordon ends up back in the ambulance, in the seat next to Conrad, and he doesn’t remember getting there.
“Fuck,” he says, staring at the back of the car in front of them.
“That’s one word for it,” Conrad agrees.
John’s of the opinion that the last call of the night is always the worst one, and goddamn if today didn’t prove that.
Officer down. John hates those words. It’s not the first time it’s happened, and technically it wasn’t his call, but those words tend to stop the entire room. It’s hard, knowing one of their own is injured. They all know most of the officers, even if they haven’t met them in person, and the worst part is no one actually knows which officer got hit.
John’s off-shift before Ned’s confirmed the officer’s en route to the hospital, and of course it’s Gordon’s ambulance that got the call. As soon as he hears the officer is at the hospital, he pulls his phone out and calls Gordon.
And immediately curses, because Gordon doesn’t have his phone on him. He’s still working. He’s not supposed to.
He doesn’t bother trying Virgil, because he’s still on shift, too. Alan and Grandma won’t know anything; same with Penny. He sighs and dials the other number he has in his phone, specifically for this reason.
Kayo does have her phone on her, and she answers after the first ring. “Hello?”
“Kayo,” he says.
“John,” Kayo says, and lets out a breath. “How do you know already?”
John’s stomach sinks. “It was Scott?”
“It was Scott,” Kayo confirms. She sounds shaky, not that John blames her. “It was an armed robbery that got out of hand, and he got shot. He was conscious when they took him, that’s all I know.”
“It was Gordon and Conrad?” John asks. He can tell he’s slipped back into his dispatch voice, his words clear and steady. If Kayo notices, she doesn’t say it.
“Yes,” she says. “I have to go give statements, I’ll head over to the hospital when I’m able. Keep me updated?”
“You got it,” John says, and hangs up. He forgoes the elevator and practically flies down the stairs, nearly tripping as he makes it outside and sprints for the bus. He just barely makes it and sits down immediately behind the bus driver, working to catch his breath.
He sends a quick text to both Alan and Penny, updating them. He promises to call as soon as he has more, and then sends the same to Virgil. He doesn’t know if Gordon went back to the station or not, and it doesn’t matter either way; he won’t have his phone.
The hospital is three stops from where he works, a good four stops before he usually gets off. He unfortunately knows its location on his bus route very well, and hates it. He hates hospitals. He really, really does.
John’s well-versed in the ways of talking to the receptionist, and isn’t surprised by the fact that she has no information. He thanks her anyway and sits down, preparing for the long wait.
Gordon finishes his shift in a sort of haze. He doesn’t end up seeing Virgil again, and he’s not even sure Virgil knows what happened. He and Conrad get dismissed just as another call comes in, and two other medics sprint for their ambulance. Gordon’s absolutely fine with that. He makes his way to his locker and changes, still feeling sort of hazy.
“Gordon?” Conrad says, obviously concerned. “Do you need a ride to the hospital?”
“Oh, God, yes, please,” Gordon says, ridiculously grateful. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle the bus ride now, and besides, this will be much quicker. He climbs into Conrad’s small car and stares out the window.
“You did everything you could,” Conrad says quietly as they pull up outside the hospital.
“Don’t,” Gordon says sharply. “Don’t.”
“Okay,” Conrad says. “Do you want me to come in, too?”
Gordon shakes his head. “Someone’s probably already here. Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem,” Conrad says. “Let me know what’s going on, okay?”
“Okay,” Gordon says, and closes the door. He waves at him as he walks into the hospital, feeling incredibly heavy.
He spots John immediately and heads over, dropping down next to John. “Double shifts fuckin’ suck.”
John snorts. “Nice to see you, too.”
“Sorry,” Gordon says. “Heard anything?”
“At this point, you know more than I do,” John says, tilting his head to look at Gordon. He frowns. “Have you eaten? Or slept?”
“Double shift,” Gordon repeats. “I tried to eat, right before that last call. Didn’t work out so well.”
“Come on,” John says, standing up. “We probably won’t hear anything for a while. Let’s get dinner in the cafeteria and you tell me what you know.”
“Okay,” Gordon says, letting John pull him to his feet. His brain has recognized the fact that he’s off-shift, and it’s making things difficult. He’s very tired and doesn’t want to keep moving. The sandwich that John buys him does not help matters.
John manages to get most of the story out of him, though Gordon’s not sure how much sense he’s making by the end of it. John seems to get it anyway. Once they’re back up in the waiting room, John tells him to get some sleep.
“‘Mkay,” Gordon says, and drops right off.
It’s hard to wake up. Scott’s immediately irritated by this, because logically, waking up should be easy. You just stop sleeping, open your eyes, and boom, you’re awake. Except his body seems to be missing the memo, because parts of him feel like they’re still asleep, but his brain wants to be awake. But his eyes are still closed. Or, he’s pretty sure they are. His brain feels like it’s full of cotton. What the hell.
There’s a bright orange blob in his vision and hey, look at that. His eyes are open. Cool. Progress.
It takes a moment, but his eyes realize he’s awake and start to focus and wow, the orange blob is his brother. Incredible.
What the fuck is going on?
Green eyes blink down at him, and Scott blinks back, and then brown eyes join the green eyes. Two brothers. Nice.
Something is definitely wrong with him. It’s an abstract thought, not really a cause for concern, but it’s definitely a thought.
Scott wants to close his eyes again. He feels floaty.
“Scott?”
“Hm?”
It’s the best he can do, honestly.
“Open your eyes again, Scott.”
“Mmmmmnope.”
He hears someone laugh, and that’s good. Laughing is good. Unless it’s not good. Is it good?
“Jesus Christ.”
“He’s high off his ass, John, I told you. It’s still better than you on any sort of painkiller.”
“You’re not much better than me, Gordon.”
“Yeah, well, Scott’s better than both of us, apparently.”
Goddamn right.
“See, he agrees with me.”
“I don’t think he meant to say that out loud.”
“Still counts.”
Scott forces his eyes open again. He still feels really weird and floaty, and he’s just decided he really does not want to be laying down on whatever it is he’s lying down on. He’s going to get up.
“No, you’re not.”
It comes from his left, and brown eyes, blond hair. Gordon.
“Yup, good job,” Gordon says, and pushes him back down. “You’re not moving. Don’t argue. Lay down.
“Don’ wanna lay down,” Scott complains. It’s not fair. Gordon’s being mean.
“Yeah, Gordon,” comes from his right, and Scott turns his head slowly to see John, who looks amused. Scott doesn’t know why he’s amused, but he grins, too, because John has a weird sense of humor, but Scott likes it anyway.
“Thanks, Scott,” John says. Scott blinks.
“Can you read my mind?” he asks, or he thinks he does. Words are hard right now.
“No,” John says, as Gordon snorts. “You’re saying most of what you’re thinking out loud.”
“Oh,” Scott says. “Okay.”
He puts his head back down on the pillow. He turns his head to see an IV stand, and blinks.
“‘M I in a hospital?” he asks.
“Yeah, Scott, you’re in a hospital,” Gordon says. “You got shot. You owe Kayo a cake or something, by the way, you scared the shit out of her.”
It takes Scott a bit to process that, but he turns his head back to look at Gordon and says, “Is she okay?”
“She’s not hurt,” Gordon says. “She’s ready to kick your ass, but she’s not hurt.”
“Tha’s good,” Scott says. “Why ‘m I floaty?”
“You got shot,” John says. “You’re on painkillers.”
Scott thinks about that, then nods. “Okay. ‘M I gonna be okay?”
“You’re gonna be fine,” Gordon says. “Maybe not after Grandma gets her hands on you, but you know.”
“She’s going to have to get in line,” John mumbles.
“Hey, I get first crack,” Gordon says. “I’m the one who had to deal with him on site.”
“I’m sorry,” Scott says, and Gordon shakes his head.
“Just don’t get shot again,” he says. “You fucking scared me, asshole.”
Scott feels bad. He wants to hug Gordon, but he’s not sure his limbs will cooperate to do that, and it’s already been made clear that he’s not allowed to move, so he lifts his arm and pats Gordon. He tries for his shoulder, but his aim’s a little off and he ends up patting Gordon’s head.
“Thank you,” he says, as seriously as he can manage. John snickers.
Gordon seems a little confused, but he pats Scott’s head too. “No problem, bro. Don’t make a habit of it.”
“Mmm,” Scott says. He yawns, and in turn sets off Gordon and John. He wants to laugh, but his brain has realized that he’s very tired. Sleeping sounds like a good idea. A very good idea.
He tries to say, “Good night,” but it comes out as a mumbled mess, and he’s too tired to try again. John and Gordon seem to get the idea, though, and they quiet down. Scott’s last thought before he falls asleep is that he’s glad the two of them are there, watching over him.
So I just remembered I don’t actually need to properly finish things to post them here, so here’s my £0.02. A comfy one and a @rent-day-blues one.
AAAAAAAH OH GOSH RDB!PENNY IS SUDDENLY MY FAVOURITE PENNY AND I LOVE THIS FOREVER
WOW HEY sorry about the radio silence. drdone here taking it from @akireyta and passing it onto @preludeinz
here’s what you missed on glee
Virgil slept like the dead.
It’s a well known fact that sleep is important in their family, given how busy they all are. Gordon knows Virgil hadn’t slept the night before, even after working a full shift and the dealing with all the shit that’s happened since. So Gordon’s glad he’s sleeping.
But by God is he bored.
He’s flipping through the channels on the TV for the sixth time, like somehow that’ll magically reveal something he’ll want to watch. His phone’s low on minutes and the internet sucks on it anyway. He doesn’t really want to leave Alan’s side, so he can’t really go talk to any of the staff, unless they come into the room.
And a lot of them do. Nurses come in and out of Alan’s room, checking his vitals and medicine. They’re busy, though, and barely acknowledge him. He doesn’t really blame them. A doctor comes in at one point and gives him the rundown.
Alan hasn’t woken up fully yet. He’s woken up a few times, but not enough to be coherent. The doctor says that’s normal, that he’s got a head injury and had to get surgery. He’s likely not going to be fully lucid until much later. Gordon knows all of this, but he doesn’t say anything. He just nods and thanks the doctor.
John’s texted him to let him know they’re alright and not to worry, which is a bold statement coming from John. Honestly, none of Gordon’s older brothers get to say that. He gets it, he does, but they’re all worrywarts and he won’t take that from any of them. He says as much to John, who ignores him. And so now Gordon’s lost his last bit of entertainment, because Penny’s not responding either.
So, as bored as he is, he notices when the routine is suddenly interrupted.
A male nurse comes into Alan’s hospital room, which isn’t that unusual. Gordon probably wouldn’t have questioned it at all if he wasn’t ten minutes early and holding a syringe. That’s bound to make anyone nervous.
“What’s that?” he asks.
The nurse freezes, like he hadn’t seen Gordon. Gordon’s definitely suspicious now, even as the man recovers and says, “Just a painkiller.”
Gordon frowns, but the man turns away anyway. As he moves closer to Alan, Gordon glances down at his shoes and feels his heart skip a beat. He’s seen a lot of weird things, but he’s never seen a nurse wear steel-toed boots before.
Oh, fuck.
He jumps to his feet and launches himself forward, yelling, “Virgil!” at the same time.
He hits the man solidly and knocks him off balance. The man thrusts his elbow back, but not before Gordon hits the syringe out of his hand. He feels a spike of triumph, even as his face explodes in pain and he falls backwards. He hits the chair he’d been sitting on with the back of his head, hard enough to be stunned.
He hears Virgil yell, and through watering eyes, sees him go for the man, too, hitting him and knocking him to the ground, just to the right of Gordon. There’s yelling outside the room now as the two roll.
Gordon scrambles upwards and tries to pull the man off of Virgil, but the man pushes him back, hard enough that he falls again and hits the ground. His head is aching now, but he’s pushing to get himself back up. The man pulls back his fist –
And it’s grabbed by someone else. He’s yanked bodily off of Virgil, to the ground, and a boot planted on his chest.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Gordon’s now lying on his side and squints up at the familiar voice. He knows that voice; it’s Dad’s old partner, Sergeant Lee Taylor, glaring around the room. Gordon’s never seen such a beautiful sight before and drops his head back on the ground, letting out a long, pained sigh of relief. “Thank fucking God.”
“Don’t think he’s got much to do with it,” Lee says. “And watch your language.”
Virgil lets out a slightly hysterical laugh. Gordon just mumbles, “Yes, sir.”
“Is anyone going to answer my question?” Lee says.
Gordon gestures towards the man. “He had a syringe. No nurse wears steel-toed boots. You do the math.”
His words come out a little garbled, likely due to the blood that’s literally gushing from his nose, but Lee’s face goes stony, so he got his point across. Gordon’s job is done. He pulls his shirt up over his nose and goes to pinch it, which is a mistake. A very painful mistake.
“Ow, motherfucking hell.”
“What did I just say about language?” Lee says, but the concern in his tone undermines the stern words.
“I think my nose is broken,” Gordon complains.
“Good thing we’re in a hospital, then,” Virgil says, kneeling down next to Gordon. He gently pokes at Gordon’s nose, which hurts like a bitch.
“You’re hilarious.”
“I do my best.”
I’d like to see pregnant Penny.
(here is prelude again, and I’m gonna go ahead and slap a big ol trigger warning on this one: tw: miscarriage. sorry folks, this is the soap opera AU.)
It’s generally considered that the nightmare scenario for a dispatcher is to take a call in which a friend or family member is involved, but John’s got three brothers in three separate lines of emergency service, and it’s not that big a city. He’s pretty sure if he worked it out, he’d find he routes a call to one or the other of them at least once a week, and this is compounded by the fact that he hears about it, any time one of his colleagues dispatches one of the Tracy brood for whatever reason. John and his brothers are halfway to being city mascots, by this point.
It’s probably because he and his brothers are almost city mascots, and that John’s already a senior dispatcher despite being in the younger half of the crew, and because John hasn’t frozen on a call in years that his supervisor stands him down immediately.
It’s probably mostly the latter.
It’s a minor miracle that John’s here. She so easily could’ve been alone.
Gordon’s feeling good as he saunters the half-block down to Penny’s cafe.
In the end, he’d had to admit that they’re not really family.
yJohn watches the scene unfold like it’s happening to someone else.
He’s aware he’s slipping into the slightly disassociated, divorced mindset of an operator, not a brother, but he suspects if he’s the brother right now, he’d break right beside Gordon.
As it is, Gordon is shattering right before his eyes, crumpling down into his right there on the uncomfortable plastic chair, trying to grapple with the enormity of the future that is now no longer theirs.
A part of John, a cruel horrible part he tries to keep as far away from his family as possible, wonders how Gordon and Penny could be so stupid, but John ruthlessly suppresses that thought too. Accidents happen, no birth control was perfect. Moot point now.
John shifts to cover his own discomfort. “Gordon? Speak to me, you okay?”
Gordon’s eyes flash daggers. “Do I look okay,” he snarls, and there’s anger. Gordon not only wears his emotions on his sleeve, he also moves through them sometimes too fast for John to keep up. “Sorry, not mad at you,” Gordon adds before John can reply, and there’s another shift.
Gordon’s shoulders are already pulling back, his head up to look around, spot a likely candidate. It’s the shift John has been looking for, and that it’s come so quickly is an oddly positive sign. “She’s down there, second last bed on the ward.” Gordon’s a heat-seeking missile as he pushes through the end-of-visiting-hours crowd.
John’s kind of forgotten about Penny’s colleague until she drops down in the seat so recently vacated. “You’re Penny’s friend, right? Uh, James?”
“John.” He looks at her badge again. “Moffie, I assume?” He manages a smile at her sharp little nod. “Sorry we’re not meeting under better circumstances.” He settles back, preparing to wait. “Um, I can tell Penny you stopped by,” he adds as Moffie tucks her own bags under her seat and tries to get comfortable.
“No offense, John,” she replies, sharp as a rabbit. “But I think right now you, all of you, could use a friend.” Her smile is oddly sweet for this place. “Besides, I’ve got nowhere to be.”
John nods slowly, managing an elegant enough gesture for her to take the seat she’s already claimed. Moffie response with a regal tilt of her head as she pulled a paper takeout bag onto her lap. “Here, Miss E gave us some muffins, and you look like a man a long time between meals.”
John’s stomach growls, making a liar out of him before he can even speak. Moffie pushes it and a paper napkin onto his lap, where he has to take it or let it drop. But she doesn’t comment at the way he picks at it, crumbling it down between his fingers as the minutes tick by and the crowds thin and still Gordon doesn’t reappear with news.
John’s back is aching, and its a relief to get up, stretch his legs on the short walk to dump the disassembled muffin in the trash. The movement brings his closer to the nurses’ station for the floor, and its only because he’s there does he hear the polished, almost exaggerated English accent ask for Penny by her full name.
He has no right to, but he strides over anyway as the nurse asks for his relationship. “As good as family, ma’am.”
Somehow, John doubts that.
I’d like to see pregnant Penny.
(here is prelude again, and I’m gonna go ahead and slap a big ol trigger warning on this one: tw: miscarriage. sorry folks, this is the soap opera AU.)
It’s generally considered that the nightmare scenario for a dispatcher is to take a call in which a friend or family member is involved, but John’s got three brothers in three separate lines of emergency service, and it’s not that big a city. He’s pretty sure if he worked it out, he’d find he routes a call to one or the other of them at least once a week, and this is compounded by the fact that he hears about it, any time one of his colleagues dispatches one of the Tracy brood for whatever reason. John and his brothers are halfway to being city mascots, by this point.
It’s probably because he and his brothers are almost city mascots, and that John’s already a senior dispatcher despite being in the younger half of the crew, and because John hasn’t frozen on a call in years that his supervisor stands him down immediately.
It’s probably mostly the latter.
It’s a minor miracle that John’s here. She so easily could’ve been alone.
Gordon’s feeling good as he saunters the half-block down to Penny’s cafe.
In the end, he’d had to admit that they’re not really family.
Not in the on-paper way, which is all that matters. Technically all John is to Penelope is a friend and a neighbour, and neither of those things had qualified him to stay in her hospital room. He’s been unceremoniously removed to the waiting room, and has been informed that Penelope’s next of kin have been contacted. John doesn’t know much about Penelope’s family, but it’s possible that that’s a very, very bad thing.
He hasn’t called Gordon, because he hadn’t been able to determine whether Penelope wants him to know. He hadn’t been able to ask her whether she’d known herself, though she’d been so pale and frightened and shocked by the entire situation that he has to imagine she didn’t. It’s always been in her nature to keep secrets—it’s why John doesn’t know much about her family, or what’s brought her six thousand miles across the pond away from them—but she wouldn’t have kept this from Gordon. He knows her better than that, knows that she loves him too much.
So John hasn’t called Gordon. He hasn’t called anybody, though he’d texted Alan to tell him that he’d have to come straight home from school to cover a couple shifts with Grandma so Virgil could get to work. He hasn’t called Gordon, but Gordon shows up anyway, stumbling out of the elevator, pulling a petite woman with dark hair and glasses along behind him.
He looks terrified, in a way that someone wearing a paramedic’s blues just never should. When he’d first taken the job, John had had his doubts about how well his second youngest brother was going to be able to adapt. Gordon’s always had the tendency towards letting his thoughts and feelings play immediately across his features in the exact same moment as he thinks and feels them. But somehow he’d learned. John’s not sure how long it had taken him, but there’d been no doubt of it by the time Gordon was through his training, he’d managed to build a persona to hide himself behind.
There’s no trace of it now. Gordon’s scared, and it’s plainly apparent in every aspect.
In the little waiting area across from the elevator, John pushes himself to his feet just as Gordon does a double take at the sight of him.
“She’ll be okay,” is the first thing he says, before his little brother can get a word out, before he can do anything more than get himself across the waiting room, his hands catching urgently at John’s forearms, where John’s reached out, instinctively, to steady him. “She—I mean, the last I saw her, they said she was going to be all right. It’s—” he stops abruptly, unaware of just how much his brother knows. The girl he’d brought trailing behind him wears a uniform to match Penny’s and a nametag that identifies her as “Moffy”, but John doesn’t know her. He knows Penelope’s harridan of a boss, a lady with hair red enough to make his own look brassy and ginger, and who’d once told her off for spotting him a coffee after he’d dropped her off at work. The fact that she’s here with Gordon means that Gordon must have gone by the cafe, hoping to meet Penny at the end of their respective shifts. What he’d found instead— “—did…did anyone tell you what happened?”
Gordon’s trembling and wild-eyed, and when John moves to sit him down, he resists, shaking his head. John stays standing, moves a hand up to Gordon’s shoulder, steadying. “I—I mean, no. No? I don’t…I don’t remember. We just came here. I didn’t…there was a hell of a lot of blood, John. They just said it was Penny. They called an ambulance. She can’t lose that much blood. Where’s her room? Jesus, I need—please, please, I need to find her. Where is she? John, help me. What—god—what happened?”
This isn’t Gordon Tracy, experienced paramedic, this is Gordon Tracy, terrified boyfriend, and he’s edging up towards real, actual panic. John’s grip on his shoulder tightens, and he hates that he has to be the person to tell his brother what’s happened. But he’ll do it, if it means that Gordon doesn’t have to hear the truth from a stranger. A little more insistently, John manages to coax his brother into sitting down. He practically collapses into the hard plastic chair, and John doesn’t let go of him, as he steels himself and finds the words.
“Listen, Gordon—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. She probably wasn’t more than eight or nine weeks along, but—”
“…nine weeks…pregnant? She’s pregnant?”
And John’s heart breaks for his little brother, as he’s forced to make the correction, “…she was.”
I’d like to see pregnant Penny.
(here is prelude again, and I’m gonna go ahead and slap a big ol trigger warning on this one: tw: miscarriage. sorry folks, this is the soap opera AU.)
It’s generally considered that the nightmare scenario for a dispatcher is to take a call in which a friend or family member is involved, but John’s got three brothers in three separate lines of emergency service, and it’s not that big a city. He’s pretty sure if he worked it out, he’d find he routes a call to one or the other of them at least once a week, and this is compounded by the fact that he hears about it, any time one of his colleagues dispatches one of the Tracy brood for whatever reason. John and his brothers are halfway to being city mascots, by this point.
It’s probably because he and his brothers are almost city mascots, and that John’s already a senior dispatcher despite being in the younger half of the crew, and because John hasn’t frozen on a call in years that his supervisor stands him down immediately.
It’s probably mostly the latter.
It’s a minor miracle that John’s here. She so easily could’ve been alone.
Gordon’s feeling good as he saunters the half-block down to Penny’s cafe.
His shift had ended on time, and for once Gordon finished it in the same uniform he started with. The worst thing on the call sheet today had been a badly broken arm, another eight year old learning the hard way that he couldn’t fly. But he’d been so hopped up on excitement and the attention that he’d laughed at Gordon’s weak jokes as he gently probed the break and set the temporary inflatable cast onto his arm to prepare him for transport.
No gruesome car wrecks, no suicides, nothing that made Gordon grieve for humanity. He’d even gotten to pat a puppy waiting at the bus stop.
He couldn’t wait to tell Penny about the puppy. It had been so tiny.
He’s grinning as the bell above the door chimed, the place mostly empty in the lull between the lunchtime rush and post-school surge. Gordon waves at Moffie where she’s clearing a table. He frowns and rushes forward as she fumbles the greasy plates and almost drops them. “Gordon,” she breathes, eyes wide, cheeks pale. “What are you doing here?”
Gordon placed the mug he’d caught back on the table. “Meeting Penny,” he said. True, it had been a while, but that’s why he was looking forward to this afternoon’s date before he had to head back and take a spell sitting with Grandma. He glances back at the kitchen door. “Where’s Penny?”
Gordon knew he shouldn’t, he might get Penny in trouble, but some instinct had him striding for the swinging doors that separated cafe from kitchen. The transition from warm and homey cafe to industrial kitchen was immediate, the lights in here a blue-white, flickering fluorescence that flattened shadows and turned the giant bloodstain Miss Edmunds was scrubbing off the tiles an earthy, dirty brown.
Gordon was too familiar with blood in all its stages, wet or dry or curdled, to allow himself the illusion that this was just a dropped pot of gravy. “Miss E?” he asks, his hand gripping the cool metal edge of the prep bench hard enough to dig in against his knuckles.
He hadn’t heard the door swing again, but Moffie’s there, smelling of stale coffee and the faintest edge of blood as she hugs him. “Gordon,” Miss Edmunds says, taking his hand. She’s stripped her rubber gloves, but her fingers are still blood-warm from the bucket of hot, soapy water by her feet. “I’m sorry, we didn’t have your number. It’s Penny.”
He doesn’t remember sitting down, but between one blink and the next he’s been slotted in the back booth, a large mug of sweet tea in front of him. Behind the counter, Moffie is finalizing her register, already in her coat, as next to her Miss E. is packing up some leftovers into a takeaway box.
Gordon still feels a bit woozy as he levers himself off the worn upholstery. “I really need….which hospital did they say?”
Moffie takes the bag from Miss Edmunds and starts shooing Gordon towards the door. Gordon only starts moving when she says the magic word. “I have a car.” Her tone indicates she already has a plan. “You can navigate.”
His fingers twitch to flick a non-existent switch for lights and sirens he’d left behind with his other ride. Moffie drove like a paramedic anyway, fast and smooth, weaving in and out of traffic like it was her birthright. She didn’t try to talk, and for that Gordon was grateful.
The lot by the hospital was packed, visiting hours in full swing, but Moffie snaked a spot from a waiting driver without a backwards glance. Ignoring the glares, they strode together through the entrance and into reception. Gordon’s still in his uniform, his ID clipped onto his pocket. “I need to find a recent admission, Creighton-Ward?” he asks the charge nurse. He knows all the staff by the emergency entrance, but he manages to smile like they know each other too anyway. “Brought in this afternoon by some of my colleagues?”
The combination of uniform and smile get a room number out of her regardless of family visitation protocols.
Moffie shifts her bags to her other hand to twine her fingers with Gordon’s as they are crushed together in the packed elevator.
Gordon takes a deep breath as the bell dings and the doors slide open.
I’d like to see pregnant Penny.
(here is prelude again, and I’m gonna go ahead and slap a big ol trigger warning on this one: tw: miscarriage. sorry folks, this is the soap opera AU.)
It’s generally considered that the nightmare scenario for a dispatcher is to take a call in which a friend or family member is involved, but John’s got three brothers in three separate lines of emergency service, and it’s not that big a city. He’s pretty sure if he worked it out, he’d find he routes a call to one or the other of them at least once a week, and this is compounded by the fact that he hears about it, any time one of his colleagues dispatches one of the Tracy brood for whatever reason. John and his brothers are halfway to being city mascots, by this point.
It’s probably because he and his brothers are almost city mascots, and that John’s already a senior dispatcher despite being in the younger half of the crew, and because John hasn’t frozen on a call in years that his supervisor stands him down immediately.
It’s probably mostly the latter.
It’s a minor miracle that John’s here. She so easily could’ve been alone.
There’s no emergency contact listed in her phone, and she’d realized this only as they were loading her into the ambulance. It still doesn’t feel entirely real that they’d called an ambulance, but nothing that’s happened in the past hour really does. The last thing Penelope remembers clearly is feeling utterly foolish, sitting in the bathroom in the middle of the lunchtime rush, her abdomen wracked with cramps and her head just absolutely spinning. She’d retreated to the bathroom for fear of throwing up in the middle of taking Mr. Ambreaux’s order, and just hoped that the spell would pass. She doesn’t remember if it had been the sight of the blood that had caused the fainting spell, or if she’d stood up too quickly, or if it’s really just that serious.
From that last clear point in her memory, everything dissolves into a haze of sensations; shivering against the cold clamminess of the floor and the coppery smell of blood, like a handful of pennies. Her head in Moffie’s lap, the coffee stain that marred her white apron, the first thing Penelope had seen when she’d managed to open her eyes and to try to sit up. Miss Edmunds had pushed her firmly back down, her voice the sugarcoated steel of a career waitress, and she’d snapped into the phone that they needed an ambulance now.
Penelope remembers the wetness of tears on her cheeks and the pain that had caused them, the awful, seizing cramps that seemed to come on in waves, made her want to throw up. She remembers the flood of relief that she’d felt at the sight of a dark blue uniform, immediately familiar—but it had belonged to a dark skinned man and his partner had been a blonde lady, and the names they’d exchanged as they’d worked on her had been Clark and Sontag. They’d both had that same reassuring lightness in their voices, and Penelope had tried to ask them if they knew her boyfriend, if they might know where he was, if they could find him. They hadn’t seemed to understand. Maybe she hadn’t been clear.
Penelope remembers hearing the word miscarriage, and how impossible that had seemed.
Because she hadn’t even known. She’s more afraid than anything that Gordon will think she’d been trying to keep it a secret, but the truth is she just hadn’t had the first idea.
In retrospect it explains so much, and makes her feel incredibly stupid for not having added all the pieces together into the glaringly obvious whole.
She’d put the fatigue and the tiredness down to the extra shifts she’d picked up at work, or just the change of the season, as the weather turned colder, from autumn to the beginnings of winter.
The soreness in her back and breasts she’d assumed was just a cruelty of the universe at large, a wicked irony of the fact that she’d actually saved up and splurged on a sexy, gorgeous little bra, a surprise for their first anniversary. The look on Gordon’s face as she’d slowly popped open the buttons on her pink uniform top had been worth every cent, though the thing had become the very devil to wear, despite the way it had been comfortable when she’d first tried it on.
She’d had some nausea and a few mornings before work she’d actually thrown up—but she’d had Gordon paying close attention to that, and when it had seemed to clear up as suddenly as it had started, he’d put it down to a stomach bug or a minor food allergy, especially when she’d found out that the diner had switched the sort of creamers they offered for tea or coffee, non-dairy replacing regular cream. He hadn’t been concerned, so she hadn’t been either.
The lack of her cycle—she’s dropped nearly twenty pounds since striking out on her own, she’d gotten used to the absence. Ironically, lately she’d also started to notice a slight tightness to her uniform, and had been almost grateful for the fact that she was starting to fill out again. Now she knows why.
They’ve always been careful. Mostly. They’re not perfect, but they’ve always tried to be careful. If some nights they’d been too tired and desperate for the comfort of each other to be quite as careful as usual, then they’d just hoped to be lucky and before now they always had been. If some mornings there’s a little too much urgency, if they’ve been a little too focused on the process of getting away with a quickie before work—well. It doesn’t matter. They should’ve been more careful, is really all it is.
Careful fingers gently brush her hair off her face again, and suddenly she remembers that John’s there at all. He’s not Gordon, but she’s suddenly unsure if she really wants Gordon. She wants him here, but she doesn’t want to have to tell him what’s happened. It’s the worst sort of catch-22.
“Pen, not that I blame you, but you’re kinda starting to hurt my hand a little bit,” John tells her, almost casual as though the fact that her grip is growing painful is only a minor inconvenience. She means to let go, but before she can, there’s another wave of intense cramping, and she keels forward with a moan of pain, one her hands tightening against his fingers, the other twisting in the hospital sheets. She’s sobbing again even as she leans into him, and the only word she can summon up is just, “please”, repeated again and again. It’s the last thing she says as the light in the room goes grey and then darkens to black.
I’d like to see pregnant Penny.
(here is prelude again, and I’m gonna go ahead and slap a big ol trigger warning on this one: tw: miscarriage. sorry folks, this is the soap opera AU.)
It’s generally considered that the nightmare scenario for a dispatcher is to take a call in which a friend or family member is involved, but John’s got three brothers in three separate lines of emergency service, and it’s not that big a city. He’s pretty sure if he worked it out, he’d find he routes a call to one or the other of them at least once a week, and this is compounded by the fact that he hears about it, any time one of his colleagues dispatches one of the Tracy brood for whatever reason. John and his brothers are halfway to being city mascots, by this point.
It’s probably because he and his brothers are almost city mascots, and that John’s already a senior dispatcher despite being in the younger half of the crew, and because John hasn’t frozen on a call in years that his supervisor stands him down immediately.
It’s probably mostly the latter.
Marion at the station behind him had come around, pulled the headset from his skull, had finished the call with one hand on his shoulder, warm and motherly and all the things John had convinced himself he didn’t need.
He preferred Marion when she was pissed off and brisk, to be honest. But now he can hear her whispering to his supervisor as he jams his stuff into his worn out backpack. “Yeah, sounded like she lost it…I had no idea he had a young lady…I know, so sad, after, well, everything….”
John’s in no mood to correct their assumptions. Penny’s not his ‘young lady.’ But she is his friend, and she’s alone and hurting, and if John’s been stood down off his shift forty-five minutes early, then he’s going to go help her.
The only question is whether he should call Gordon. John’s got a spreadsheet of all their shifts, a set of notes on his phone to ensure Grandma always has someone with her, and in the bright late afternoon sunshine John has to peer through the crack in the screen to see that Gordon’s on shift for another four hours at least, his phone probably still tucked away in his locker. Paramedics aren’t allowed to take personal calls on the job.
John tucks his own phone away, squares his shoulders, and sprints to make the cross-town bus. Scott’s got the car today, and John knows he could call him, but somehow it doesn’t feel right to tell Scott before Gordon. So John keeps his hands buried in his pockets in the crush of the packed bus, running the pad of his finger over the crack in lieu of having anyone to call.
His uniform gets a second look from the admissions nurse, and the sound of his voice turns more than one head. But all that means is that John is hurried through back hallways without having to prove that he’s immediate family.
He’s a redhead, she’s a redhead, they both love Gordon despite themselves, and Penny took him for three separate chore tokens in Saturday night poker with Grandma. She’s family.
As John is led down an open ward to a partially drawn curtain, John gets a glimpse of Penny gently pushing away a fussing charge nurse. She’s pale, red-eyed and hair in un-Penny-like disarray. But she’s sitting up, reclining against a stack of pillows, and she’s awake. “Let them take care of you, Pen,” he says in lieu of a greeting, stepping around the curtain.
“John!” Penny reaches for him, freezing as she winces and goes ghostly white, one hand flying to press against her abdomen.
John can feel her shaking as he helps her lie back. He doesn’t let go of her hand. “How…?”
“I caught the call.” John’s embarrassed, feels like he’s been caught snooping. But he leans in to brush her hair off her face anyway, hating the brave face he can see her struggling to maintain. “Gordon’s still on shift, but I could call dispatch…?”
She grabs his hand with an unexpected ferocity, and he’s not sure if that’s a yes or a no.
Rent Day Blues 