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.

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.

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(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.

Keep reading

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.

Keep reading

It’s a minor miracle that John’s here. She so easily could’ve been alone.

Keep reading

Gordon’s feeling good as he saunters the half-block down to Penny’s cafe.

Keep reading

In the end, he’d had to admit that they’re not really family.

Keep reading

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.

rent-day-blues:

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(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.

Keep reading

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.

Keep reading

It’s a minor miracle that John’s here. She so easily could’ve been alone.

Keep reading

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.

Can I offer a prompt please – handmade gifts

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(prelude here, I’ma start this one off with…)

Gordon’s last gift to his older brother was a pamphlet listing a variety of hand and wrist exercises, in an effort to help stave off the carpal tunnel syndrome that’s probably just about inevitable, considering all the typing his brother does. Of the five of them, John and Alan are the only ones who spend any time at desks any longer, and though it doesn’t happen often, occasionally John ends up with idle time on his hands, nothing to do while he sits at his desk. Come Christmastime, it becomes apparent that he’s been putting this time to productive use. It’s not clear if he’s used any of this idle time for the provided wrist exercises.

Apparently one of the other dispatchers had taught him the basics over the course of a couple lunch breaks. Apparently she’d gotten him started with a spare pair of needles, and an old skein of yarn that she’d meant for him just to practice with—by her standards, the colour of it was too bright and gaudy for anyone to reasonably want to wear, bright, chunky, golden rod yellow—but John’s a fast learner and a perfectionist, and by the end of a few particularly slow weeks, he’d had a respectable four feet worth of scarf, garter stitched the whole way through.

John says it’s nothing much, and that he won’t mind in the least if Gordon doesn’t wear it. He doesn’t even know if it’ll be particularly warm, being made of cheap acrylic yarn, nothing like high quality wool. He’d made it just to make it, after all, it was only supposed to be for practice. And anyway it’s out of regs, as far as the uniform goes.

Gordon doesn’t care. Gordon loves it. And he wears it from the depths of December, right up until the city starts to thaw out again.

Grandma used to do this when she was a girl, and the Depression made everything scare and then scarcer still.

Keep reading

Alan’s not sure what Scott was trying to prove, giving him something of Mom’s. Especially her wedding ring.

Keep reading

Penny wasn’t brought up to be the kind of girl to do her own baking.

She was brought up to be genteel and ornamental and functionally useless. She was brought up to be pretty and charming and obedient, to go where she was told and to do as she was bid.

The diner doesn’t care about pretty, or charming, or even obedient as long as the eggs made it to the table still hot from the kitchen. The diner cares about girls that can carry eight plates at once and keep the coffee topped up.

It’s exhausting and leaves her coated in grease, and it doesn’t pay enough, even with tips that are delivered as often as not with a slap on her ass, but a part of her is so, so proud of herself for making it this far.

The library cookbook has a thumbprint marked in grease on the corner of the page. Penny’s got her tongue permanently parked in the corner of her mouth as she studies the instructions and guesses weights and measures with a chipped coffee mug and a bowl that she’d been using to hold her fruit.

The result is lopsided, the icing slowly oozing downhill to spill over one side. But the candles encountered nothing but fluffy sweetness as she jammed them in, setting them aflame with Virgil’s borrowed lighter.

Gordon’s eyes are golden in the firelight as he leans in to blow out the candles. “Happy birthday, darling,” Penny said as she kissed his cheek, mindful of his brothers and Grandmother ringed around the table. “What did you wish for?”

Gordon wasn’t brought up to be genteel or charming. He catches her jaw in a gentle hand, pulls her in for a kiss that still makes her toes curl. “Nothing. I’ve already got everything I could want.”

picking up from @preludeinz through me to @drdone

Brain’s is glad that Kayo’s the one spinning lies. Somehow, the mirrored lenses always seemed to reflect back a truer version of yourself than you wanted the Mechanic to see.

It’s how Brains had found himself in this mess in the first place.

He’s still not sure that the Mechanic is buying Kayo’s story, but at least he’s not outright angry. Brains is so nervous waiting for the explosion he almost misses his cue to nod furiously when the Mechanic glances over to check Kayo’s point about taking Brains on a joyride.

Kayo looks relaxed in his presence, the slight arrogance Brains had come to identify with the real street rats, the ones who’d pick his pockets if it wasn’t for his ties to the big boss. Brains himself can barely breathe as the Mechanic stares at her, impassive and unmoving.

“Bring me a car,” he growls finally, dismissing them with a flick of his hand. “Then we’ll talk.”

Brains almost yanks Kayo away, desperate to get deeper into the maze of makeshift workshops that had already sprung up in the new shop. He needed to talk to her without eavesdroppers. “We’ve got a problem,” he manages to hiss with only one false start; Brains could see at a glance these weren’t racing pits.

“Chopshops,” Kayo murmurs, running a knowing look over the VIN cloning setup, the industrial grinders, all the accoutrements of slicing cars up in all the ways that couldn’t be traced.

Brains nods tightly. He’d seen this twice before. “He’s cleaning house.”

Kayo’s slight inhale told him she knew exactly what that meant.

* * *

“I’m giving her another ten minutes and then I’m calling it.”

Next to him, John sniggers softly, little more than an exhalation in the dim quiet. “You said that ten minutes ago. You’re not calling this in.”

Scott drags his gaze away from the door he’s been staring at for a good twenty minutes now to stare at his brother instead. “You sound pretty sure of yourself there.”

John’s messing with his phone, texting or Tindr or Candy Crush, Scott can’t tell. He’s set the screen down as dark as it will go, but it’s still bright in the darkness, casting his brother’s cheekbone’s into even starker relief. “You won’t call it in because right now you trust her a lot more than you trust the rest of your entire department not to screw this up.” John looks up at that, a humourless smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “And you really don’t want to screw this up.”

The words it’s what dad would have done are like acid on his tongue, and even a year ago Scott would have spat them at John. But he’s gotten good at keeping that anger deep down where it won’t show. “What are you doing, anyway?” he asks instead, jerking his chin at John’s phone.

John’s thumbs are already flying again. “Something this big, moving late model cars? I’ve heard enough dispatch calls to know they use hackers to clear the plates. And hackers,” he adds, pausing long enough to point at a discreet black box sitting on top of a fuse box near the door Kayo had vanished through twenty-two minutes ago now. “Need wifi. I’m just trying a few passwords….”

Scott scoffs despite himself. “Somehow I don’t think anything the Hood’s involved in will use ‘password’ as a password.” In cup holder by the handbrake, Scott’s own phone rattles, the screen flashing too bright. Kayo’s message was terse, more code than words. “Round back.”

John’s craning his neck to read upside down. “Can’t get any plainer than that.”

Scott’s scowling as he turns the motor and eases them around the lot.

WHEW sorry for the delay. looping back around to the a-plot.

@preludeinz picking up from here courtesy of @drdone and passing off to @akireyta

Her service weapon and her badge have both been entrusted to her partner, who isn’t happy about the plan, but admits that it’s a good one. It had been his brother who’d been her unexpected ally, who’d taken her side in the argument, and made the salient point that Kayo’s involvement on the inside track of the street racing circuit might just prevent any other kids like Alan from getting hurt, or worse. This is going to happen again anyway, and this might be the only chance they get to make sure they can stop it.

More surprising even than John’s support had been Scott’s eventual, grudging agreement.

So now she walks through the front door of her uncle’s warehouse with her head high and her shoulders back. Brains walks in front of her and she has to slow her pace in order to stay behind him, because her impulse is to stride out in front. It was her idea, after all.

At the far end of the warehouse, the Mechanic waits. She can feel him staring at her. Her teeth clench slightly, but she keeps her head high. She doesn’t flinch as she approaches, doesn’t shrink beneath his gaze, though he hides his eyes behind mirrored orange sunglasses. He’s dressed all in black, leather jacket, jeans, gloves on his hands and heavy soled boots. His hair is dark, shaved close to his scalp, patterns cut into it, razor sharp lines. He’s built beneath the jacket, Kayo can tell just from the way he holds himself, but shorter than Brains. If he’s not carrying a gun, she’ll eat her badge, or would if she hadn’t left it in the car, entrusted to her partner.

And she does trust her partner. Likewise, she can tell that he trusts her, and more than anything she wants to live up to that trust. Scott’s the reason she’s doing this, anyway.

She’s just not sure why Scott is the reason. A little voice at the back of her brain keeps saying it’s because he’s her partner, but it’s more than that. Loyalty was something her family always preached, but her loyalty to her family has been stripped and scoured away, abraded by all the wrong they’d done—not just to her personally, but to the world at large. Apparently the void left by cutting all ties to her background has been yearning for something to fill it. Kayo’s never had a partner before, never had this particular relationship with someone. She considers Scott a friend, but it’s more than just friendship. She feels a bone-deep devotion to him that she hadn’t expected. She hadn’t known what sort of a police officer she’d make—half the reason she’d gone into law enforcement was just in deliberate defiance of her own legacy—but she’d hoped to find herself drawn to something like a cause. Hoped to find something to fill the void where her loyalties had used to lie.

It’s a big, complicated feeling and it fills her up, fuels her, and fires her purpose like clay in a kiln, hardens it and makes it whole. It’s the reason she’s taken a few of her own days off work, in the name of bringing an end to the man who’s brought harm to her partner’s family. It’s the reason she can be here, and be unafraid, as she finally approaches the Mechanic, who stares at her for a few impassive seconds, before he looks to Brains, impatient and expectant. His voice is deep, oddly muffled when he growls, “Who the hell is this?”

Kayo’s got an answer of her own before Brains can so much as squeak out an apology for his tardiness.

“I’m just someone,” she starts, and squares her shoulders, hopes that her brashness and her confidence don’t tip her hand, give her away before the game’s even begun, “who heard that you’re looking for drivers.”

worst phone call john ever got vs. the best one (I imagine 911 call since he’s dispatch but take it how you like)

rent-day-blues:

The new kid’s been in the break room for an hour now, but after a call like that, it’s not like anyone can blame him. Fires are always bad, but this fire had trapped and killed two children, and the new kid had been on the line with their mother the whole time. It’s an hour since the end of the call, and he hasn’t said a word since.

The captain’s pulled him off his console, stuck him somewhere quiet to calm down. But it’s been an hour, and it’s time to send in the cavalry. The cavalry, in this case, has just clocked on for his first shift of the evening.

There’s a coffee machine and a beat up old kettle in the break room, but Ned doesn’t trust either of those things. He makes his tea at home and brings it to work in a two litre thermos, hot and strong and sweet, and sacrosanct. The new kid is still too new to recognize the magnitude of the gesture being made, when Ned ambles into the break room, pulls up a chair beside him, and pours out a generous cup of tea from his very own thermos. He pushes the mug over, clears his throat, and says, magnanimous, “There now, lad, a cup of tea will help.”

Even this doesn’t get an answer, and now that he’s sitting down, Ned can see that there’s a procedural manual open in the young man’s lap. There are a couple spots of damp on the open page, and Ned pretends not to notice these as he reaches over to close the book. He picks it up and sets it aside. “Now, don’t you go beating yourself ‘bout the head with the manual,” he chides gently. “Procedure sounds grand on paper, but it’s the only place this job is actually that black and white.”

“But I did everything right.” The protest is hollow, and the first thing Ned’s heard the boy say, since the call that’s left him in this state, shaken and numb. With the crisp professionalism—the rigour of training—stripped out of his voice, he sounds alarmingly young. Ned can’t help but wonder at his age, even as he shakes his head, confused as much as he’s hurt. “I—I know I did. If they’d gotten there just a minute sooner…”

“No doubt you did everything right, but sometimes it all goes awry even so. Can’t recall if it says so in the book, but it ought to. Sometimes even everything isn’t enough.” Ned heaves a sigh. “It’s a funny old world.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I didn’t mean the sort of funny what gets a laugh. Meant the sort of funny that makes you feel sick inside.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely that.” There’s a shuddering sigh and the shake of a bowed ginger head. “I don’t think I can do this. I thought—I thought it wouldn’t get to me. But it’s so much worse than I imagined.”

Ned nudges the cup of tea closer again. “How old are you?” he asks, tries to make it sound like idle curiosity, rather than a question he means to use to make a point.

“Twenty-two,” is the answer, and Ned manages not to wince, though it’s about what he’d expected. Barely old enough to drink, or at least to drink in this country. Hopefully too young to be inclined to really start, because Ned’s seen far too many people in this line of work turn to stiffer drinks than tea.

But as sad as the fact is, it still helps him make his point. “I’ve been doing this job longer than you’ve been alive, lad. And I won’t lie to you—there’ll be worse days than this. But you’ll help so many people, and I hope you can believe me when I tell you, that’ll help get you through.”

“Really?”

“Really. You’ll be the best part of the worst day of people’s lives, and there’s worth in that. I know it won’t seem like it, but it’s true. Now, drink your tea, and let’s get you back out on the floor. Back in the saddle, son.”

Eventually, finally, the young man reaches out and wraps his hands around the warmth of the ceramic. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll try.”

(am i gonna pick this up? I’m gonna pick this up)

John’s trying not to lurk, but Gordon’s been at his first day of work for a whole three hours now, and John’s dying to know how it’s going.

Gordon’s still a probie, riding along with a senior team, and John knows he has nothing to worry about. This isn’t like Virgil’s first day, where John had sat listening for fire dispatches until his head was ringing like a bell. Gordon’s job only starts once the danger has passed, strictly enforced by regulations and rules they all know off by heart. Gordon’s safe.

Even so, John’s worrying for Gordon. He knows, they all know, how the first day in job knocks all the shine off, the carefully imagined perfect ideal of thrilling heroics and dramatic rescues. Gordon should know better, with three older brothers in the trade, but John recognized the shine in Gordon’s eyes as he’d tugged on his pristine and crisp uniform this morning.

John reached for the battered thermos tucked safely away under his station. The steam helps clear his head, soothe his sore throat, in the little lull that John knows better than to expect would last.

He’s three sips in when boards across the room light up like it’s disaster Christmas. The little cap-shaped mug by his side grows cold as John catches and throws messages, his eyes constantly glancing up at the situation monitor along the wall of the room.

Take old gas mains in the part of the city no-one’s patched up in decades. Add sparks. Mix with over-crowded tenements and watch every service flirt with descending into chaos.

John’s supervisor is liaising with the fire chief, throws John the paramedic dispatch with gestures more than words.

Words are reserved for saving people.

There’s burns and broken bones, more glass than most people realize. A gas main in a residential building was like a shrapnel bomb going off under the kitchen table. John’s got half a dozen wagons in motion, a ballet of bodies and bandages negotiating their way around tankers and fire trucks and more squad cars than are useful at this point in the process.

“Hey,” Liesel got his attention over the low partition with a click of her fingers. “Got someone here asking for you direct.”

“Throw it over,” John said, glancing up at the status of the fire units. Virgil really needed to be broken of his annoying habit of calling to John directly. “Virg, I….”

“John?” Gordon sounds tiny and young, and John immediately tracks to unit 24, Gordon’s ride-along for tonight, safely tucked away on the southern perimeter ready to roll into the building’s lot as soon as fire and rescue gave the all clear. Gordon should be idling, gloves on and ready to follow his elders around like an obedient and safe little puppy.

“Gordon? What the….” in the background of the call came a scream of pain. John’s identities stuttered, brother and dispatch crashing into each other. “Report.”

“So Jack and Noorah went to go a sitrep and then this kid came and banged on my door and his mother, I think the blast set her off, and John, I think this baby isn’t going to wait for me to go fetch the wagon.”

John breathed out. “You’ve been trained on maternal first aid, right?”

Gordon’s voice was thin, just this side of a reedy wail. “Only in my textbook. There weren’t even any pictures.”

John flicked three incoming calls to junior operators and settled back in his chair. “Okay, Gordon, first thing you need to do…”

In his earpiece, Gordon’s breathing steadied as he obeyed John’s instructions, his training slowly locking into place with the messy, screaming, panicking human being in front of him.

“John, I think this kid is coming right now.”

John bit his lip to stifle his laugh. “Then catch it,” he said as patiently as he could.

One of the best tricks John ever learned as a trainee was to listen to the background, not just the voice on the line. There was something unmistakable about the scream of a woman giving birth. “Holy shit,” Gordon panted.

“Language,” John scolded mildly as he caught Liesel’s eye and gestured for her to put another tick on the new baby tally. “Give it to her, keep them warm.” His fingers were already tapping, rerouting one of the smaller units away from the disaster towards where Gordon’s GPS was throbbing like a heartbeat on his map. “I’m sending two-two to collect them, they’re only a block away.”

“Got it,” Gordon managed to be professional for five seconds. “Hey,” he cooed a second later, and John knew it wasn’t him Gordon was talking to. “Welcome to the world, little lady.”

John knew he should end the call, log the incident, get back to helping his team coordinate paramedics around the crater. But something made him linger. “Gordon?”

“Two-two have got them. Mission accomplished,” Gordon quipped weakly.

“You okay?”

There was a long pause. “Wow, that was…Johnny, that was really something else.”

John could see the service messages on his screen start to back up. He took a deep breath. “It really is. But now other people need you.”

“Yeah. Blast. Shit, sorry…but wow is it weird I completely forgot about that?”

John leaned in, his hand hovering over his keys once more. “Hey, think of it this way. Your first baby.” He waited for Gordon’s happy little noise. “I think there’s gonna be a lot more firsts for you today, probie, so time to gear up and get back in the saddle. Can you do that for me?”

A weak chuckle echoed in his ear. “I’ll try.”

John ended the call and gave himself a moment to exhale, to feel the warm soft glow of pride. Then he tapped a key and picked up the next call.

In Part 1, Scott says something about Gordon being a fairly grumpy teenager as well; as a prompt: each of the boys at 16? I love this AU & the writing is fantastic!!

He’s sixteen, and he’s gonna be a cop just like his dad. He’s gonna have a uniform and a beat and a bunch of cop buddies, and he’s gonna make his family proud, just the same way his dad does. He’s gonna serve and protect, be the thin blue line, live up to the family name. Officer Tracy has a hell of a ring to it, and Scott can’t ever help but puff up a bit with pride when he hears people address his father. He’s gonna enlist in the academy right out of high school, and he’s going to kick the training course right in the ass. He’ll be a cadet for two years, and then he’ll be on the force, bringing home a paycheck that’ll make his part time after school job look as futile as it had felt, for all that he’d known his parents were grateful for the help. He’ll finally be making a damn difference.

He’s sixteen and if cancer killed his mother, it feels like might just be grief that kills him. The doctors had said that his mother hadn’t felt anything like pain, towards the end, that by the time she was in the hospice, it was mostly the morphine that had brought her life to an end. John’s been thinking about death pretty much ever since his mother first started dying, and with her gone, all he has to hope for is that the way she’d died had been a gentle, easy end to the fight she’d had for life. He stands at his mother’s graveside, with Gordon at his elbow and Alan in his arms, too old and too heavy to hold for this long, but it’s not like that stops him clinging. He’s not even sure Alan really understands, but then, he’s not sure if any of them ever will. It’s not fair, and it makes no sense.

He’s sixteen, and hockey and football both cost more than they can afford. Both the coaches keep telling him he oughta go for it, casting speculative glances at him as he continues to add weight to the bar, sending both their team captains over to spot for him, make their hopeful cases. He turns them down. The weightroom at school is free, and after class he can spend at least an hour, maybe as many as two, losing himself in the discipline of sets and reps, in the burn of his muscles and the fact that as long as he’s got an excuse to be here, then he doesn’t have to be at home, listening to Dad and Scott screaming at each other about money, and about what Dad does to get it. Sometimes it seems like the worst thing that could’ve happened was for Scott to follow in Dad’s footsteps. It turns out their Dad walks a pretty crooked path.

He’s sixteen and he’s got a concussion, because he’s fallen on the wrong side of a barbed wire fence, and cracked his head against solid concrete. His arms are scratched and scraped and he thinks his wrist might be broken, but all he can do about any of those things is stare up at the muddy darkness of the starless city sky, and hate himself for being so stupid. He’d just been bored. He’d just wanted to get out of the stupid fucking house, because he’d hated the sound of their grandmother crying softly in her room. He thinks he can hear sirens and he wonders what they belong to. He doesn’t know yet that the security guard, walking his rounds along the perimeter of the warehouse where he’d been trespassing, had seen him fall and hadn’t seen him get up afterward. He doesn’t know that the ambulance that’s been called has been called for him. And when the paramedics show up, he’ll be surprised by how nice they are, how kindly they’ll treat him compared to anyone else.

He’s sixteen and he’s got his license. He’d had to whine and rage and beg and bitch and carry on about it endlessly, before he’d managed to get his brothers to get their acts together, to do their goddamn jobs with respect to their responsibilities as his guardians. Scott had taught him the basics, driving around whatever empty lots met his strict standards and eventually working up to proper practice on the city streets. John had been the one to help him with the written test, had kept after him about studying and told him he couldn’t expect to coast on good test taking skills; that the rules of the road were important and that he needed to really know them. Virgil had waited patiently with him at the DMV, even when he’d had to go back for a second try at the road test. And Gordon had been the one to intercept the letter with his license in it, to hold it in a clenched fist and jab a finger in Alan’s collarbone, swearing up and down that if he ever had to pull his brother out of a car wreck, there’d be hell to pay beyond the pale of the accident itself.

But, finally, Alan’s got his license.

Now all he needs is a car.

Ayo @akireyta to me to @preludeinz

continuing from

”You look like shit,” is Gordon’s greeting to Virgil as he enters Alan’s hospital room.

“Still better than you,” Virgil says automatically, stretching as he stands. “Did you bring my charger?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Gordon says, pulling it out and tossing it. He raises an eyebrow when Virgil fumbles it, badly, and has to lean down to pick it up off the floor.

Virgil avoids his gaze as he moves to plug his phone in, feeling about ten times heavier than normal. He can still feel Gordon staring at him as he sits down on the chair on the far side of the room.

“Did you sleep?” Gordon finally asks, sounding like he already knows the answer.

Virgil shrugs. No, he hadn’t, because nurses had been coming in and out of the room and he didn’t want to sleep in case anything happened. He can almost hear Gordon rolling his eyes as he powers his phone back on, wincing at the twenty-seven missed calls. He hates not having his phone charged.

“You should go home,” Gordon says.

Virgil shakes his head. “I’m not leaving.”

“Well, Penny’s still with Grandma, and someone needs to relieve her,” Gordon points out. “And you need sleep. I’ll stay with Alan. You go home.”

“Wait, why’s Penny with Grandma?” Virgil says, caught off guard. “What about John?”

“What about him?” Gordon asks, picking up Alan’s charts. “He’s with Scott, isn’t he?”

“With Scott? Why is he with Scott?”

Gordon shrugs, flipping through the pages. “I don’t know, why are you asking me? You have your phone now, ask them yourself.”

Virgil watches as he frowns. “Are you supposed to be reading those?”

“No,” Gordon says without looking up.

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Did John or Scott say anything about where they were going?”

Gordon snorts. “You’re kidding, right? Do any of us actually talk anymore?”

Virgil winces, because it’s not like Gordon’s wrong. “I tracked down where Alan usually ends up last night.”

Gordon looks up at that. “You did?”

Virgil nods. “I found the garage. I found the guy who builds the cars. Scott’s rookie Kayo found us, and we came back here. Scott was supposed to take John home before going off and acting like a damn hero.”

“But instead he took John with him,” Gordon says. He sounds exhausted. “Robin to his Batman. Or the other way around, I’m never sure.”

Virgil can’t help but give a small smile. It feels weird on his face after the night they’ve all had. “Yeah, well, they’re both idiots.”

“Yeah, but so are the rest of us,” Gordon says, setting Alan’s charts down. “Seriously, bro, get some sleep, you look like you’re about to fall face first on the floor and I can’t promise I won’t laugh and take pictures for blackmail.”

Virgil glares at him, but he has to admit his body feels way too heavy. He leans back in the chair and closes his eyes, and almost immediately drops off to sleep.