---------------------------------
Chapter Twenty-Three: Come Around
---------------------------------
Don't give me
No comic book
Sad looks no more
--------------------------------
Dave went to the 28-day rehab program, as promised, and John moved
back into the apartment while he was gone. It was the same as he
remembered it, but something was missing. Obviously Dave, but the
apartment lost something else without him. John had wandered around
the place for days on end, just walking around, touching everything
that was his, that was Dave's, that was theirs, trying to figure out
exactly what. It came to him one day, as he was sitting alone on the
couch flipping through mind-numbing channels: the place was empty and
quiet. Dead and lonely. It was just like any other apartment. It
wasn't a home, not without Dave Malucci.
Was this...was this how Dave had felt when John had left him? Had Dave
wandered around the apartment aimlessly for days on end, remembering
what had once filled the empty spaces? Had that emptiness, along with
everything else, been the catalyst that led him back to drugs?
Suddenly, John felt a swelling of guilt in his stomach. This really
was his fault, maybe not all of it but he was partly to blame. Dave
had cheated on him, and that had been enough for John to leave him. He
hadn't stopped for a minute to listen to what Dave had to say about
it, that he was under the influence of nearly every drug in the damn
hospital. He'd been overdosing, for Christ's sake! He'd almost died!
But the only thing John could seem to understand was what Dave had
done with Luka, his archenemy in this childish playground sort of way.
Dave had hurt John, and that was all that had mattered. And now,
because he couldn't get over himself, he'd hurt Dave, the person he
cared about the most.
God, what had John done to him? And now all he could seem to imagine
was Dave wandering around the apartment, everything falling apart
around him until he'd finally just given up, too lost to move on.
Lost. Dave had been lost without John, just as John was now completely
lost without Dave. Not to mention completely insane. Due to the policy
at the rehab center, no one could call patients, only the patients
could call, and only at certain times. From a payphone, no less,
basing the amount of time during a call to how many quarters you could
scrounge up. So John spent his days literally sitting by the phone,
waiting for Dave to call. His cell was always on as well, even in the
hospital where it wasn't allowed. And no matter how short the call, it
was always worth it, even if they only got a few words in before Dave
had to go.
"What did you talk about in group today?"
"How staying on drugs would affect the most important thing to us."
"What did you talk about? Being a doctor?"
"No. I talked about you."
"Dave...we talked about being careful, remember? Discreet?"
"John, this is important to me. I want to get better, I - "
"I want you to get better too, Dave."
"I know you do."
"So...why can't you just not mention me? I mean, your recovery's
supposed to be about you, not me."
"Because you're a part of me."
Silence.
"John?"
"Yeah, I'm still here. You're right. You're right, Dave, I'm sorry."
"You don't have to worry, John. Nobody knows us here, and I never used
your last name. Your secret's safe with me."
Sometimes, when he was alone in the apartment and waiting for his
lover to call, he would pretend that Dave was there just to break the
silence. He would be making himself something to eat or going to bed,
and would start talking about his day at work to the empty apartment
(and to Kermit), filling in Dave's responses, knowing just what his
lover would say. He knew he must've sounded like someone from the
Psych Ward, but it made him feel better and not so alone. Although he
had to admit, when he began to laugh at Dave's jokes, it was at those
times he really wished he could visit.
Visiting days were always Sunday, and only for an hour. John knew that
was hardly enough time to visit, but it was for such a short time
because it was important that outside forces (friends and family, such
as himself), didn't influence patients into doing things they
shouldn't be doing. Staying there was hard enough, especially after a
visit. Sometimes patients even left. It was hard to see the people you
loved the most leave without you, almost seem to leave you there.
Alone.
"John," Dave had blurted out the first time he'd visited, meeting
outside in the courtyard. The young man had hesitated only briefly
before moving to John, moving into John's arms. And John wouldn't have
cared if everyone on the planet had been watching, not the ER, not his
parents, not anyone, because it all would've been worth it for that
one embrace. Silence for a few moments before Dave spoke up again with
a soft chuckle. "You know I had like a thousand and two things to say
to you, and now I can't think of one. Well, I can think of a couple.
Like I love you. And I miss you so fucking much."
"I miss you too," John had said, holding Dave tightly, remembering how
those strong arms felt around him, the way Dave smelled, and the way
his skin felt. That had been the worst, probably: Knowing that they
were together but that they couldn't be together, at least not yet.
"I wish I could come home," he'd stated then. He pulled back, looking
up into John's eyes. "Maybe I can. I mean, it wasn't a big relapse,
right? I'd be just as sober here as at home...right??"
"No," John said firmly, shaking his head. "No. Wrong. You can't go
home, Dave, not yet...and you know it. You have to get better *here*."
"You don't...you don't want me home?"
"Don't do that," John murmured, pulling him close once more. "Of
course I want you home. I'd be lying if I said I didn't. But you need
to be here. It was hard for me to stay in rehab in Atlanta, it was the
hardest damn thing in my life. But I stayed because I had to get
better, or I was going to end up dead." He leaned back to look Dave in
the eye. "You need to stay here for that same reason. You have to
learn how to stand on your own two feet or you'll end up dead.
Besides, twenty-eight days isn't that long."
Pause. "Do you always have to be right??"
John smiled. "Please stay here, Dave. I know you want to get better,
don't you?"
"I do, I do," Dave replied, nodding vigorously. "I want to get
better."
And he did. He wanted to recover with every fiber of his being because
he was better than this. He was better than this, and he would learn
to recover and learn to accept it as a lifelong process. And every
time he visited, John could see he got a little bit stronger, a little
bit better. A little bit closer to home, a little bit closer to John.
By the time Dave's twenty-eight days were over, the staff knew John
just as well as they knew his boyfriend. Dave had spoken about him a
lot during group and one-on-one with a therapist, and when Dave
finally left, many of the staff were glad to see both of them leave to
live their own lives happily and healthily.
When Dave returned to the apartment permanently, it was as if the
place was suddenly alive again. His spirit filled the empty spaces,
his laughter filled the air. His heart filled John's, reminding him
how much he'd missed the younger man. Reminding him what it was like
to be in love again.
And so they relearned how to live together. They relearned being in
each other's space constantly, after spending one month living alone,
another month before that avoiding one another. They relearned each
other's habits, that John preferred the left side of the bed and Dave
the right. They relearned each other's routines, that Dave showered
after a shift while John just collapsed on the bed and waited until
morning. They relearned each other's hospital schedules each week,
frequently managing to get the same day off. They even relearned how
to work together again, with John allowing Dave to give the orders in
front of the young medical students from time to time.
More importantly, they relearned each other's bodies, all over again,
as if they had never been intimate before. They found each other's
erogenous zones (Dave was always a sucker for feather-light fingertips
against the back of his thighs), and they discovered each other's
boundaries. They relearned each other's minds and hearts and souls,
until they knew each other better than they knew themselves.
In short, all was it should be.
Now, they lay naked beside one another in bed, holding hands. The moon
was the only illumination, which crept in through the open curtains
and cast sporadic beams of muted light throughout the room. The clock
radio was on, soft oldies drifting through the air to their ears,
almost as if it were carried lazily by a light breeze. John quietly
began to sing along to a Beatles song, "I Feel Fine," before Sam
Cooke's "Cupid" could be heard. John knew that one too, surprisingly.
"How do you know all these old songs?"
"I'm a loser." He felt Dave chuckle beside him. "No, really. After
Bobby died, and Chase found his own friends, I didn't really have
anyone...so I listened to music all the time."
"This kind of music?" Dave asked.
"I hung around my grandfather a lot," John told him. "He became my
best friend."
"Lucky guy."
"Lucky *me*."
"No offense, man, but your grandfather didn't have great taste. This
sounds like music they used to play at a store I used to work at when
I was a kid." Dave reached out and switched the dial on the radio,
until a familiar song came on. John could see him grin in the
moonlight. "Now *this* I can live with," he said, as Aerosmith's
"Pink" began to play.
They laid in silence for a few more minutes, listening to Aerosmith
end and Bruce Springstien begin. John knew Dave was delaying something
he'd mentioned earlier, and he gave Dave's hand a tug. "You said you
had a surprise for me."
"I know."
John waited for his lover to elaborate, but even those two words had
been hesitant. Half jokingly, he asked, "Should I guess?"
"If you want."
"Okay," John said, nodding in the dark. "Uh...is it a gift?"
"Sort of," Dave replied, a nervous edge to his voice. Suddenly he was
fidgeting. "Not really. I don't know. Depends on how you look at it."
"Is it candy?"
"No," he stated, chuckling softly, amused by the response. He turned
on to his side to face John, one hand coming up to run over John's
side until it rested on his hip. At the angle the younger man was now
laying, the moon hit his eyes, lighting them up an exotic amber brown.
He glowed in soft light, but his lashes seemed to absorb it, along
with the angles and curves of his face, accentuating his features and
making him seem like a carved sculpture. At that moment, the young man
proved to live up to his name: he was the perfect image of David.
"You're beautiful," he couldn't help but say, reaching out to touch
the side of Dave's face.
"Mr. Romance."
"I mean it," he persisted, and even if it was dark, John could see the
blush rise in Dave's cheeks. "Now what surprise did you have for me?"
"I don't know," he said slowly, turning on to his back once more,
staring up at the ceiling, and even out of the light his lover didn't
look any less stunning. "I thought that, you know...maybe we
could...try again."
"Try what again?" he asked, puzzled.
"You know...it."
"It?"
"*It*."
"Oh," John replied, realizing he was talking about *it* - sex, that is
- but unsure of just what he meant by it. "But...we've done 'it' since
I moved back in. Just last night. And the night before. And before
that, at the - "
"I know," Dave interjected, facing John again, an almost exasperated
tone to his voice. "I mean...with you, you know...touching...me."
"*Oh*," John said, and this time he really did understand. He
remembered the last time they'd tried, with Dave barely handling John
touching his erection, not quite ready to allow John to do that. And
John didn't want him to feel as if he had to do anything, that that
hadn't been the reason why he'd left before, and even so he was here
for good this time. They had forever, and he would wait that long.
"I know," Dave said, after John voiced his concerns. "But before, I
wouldn't - "
"Couldn't," John interrupted.
"*Didn't*," Dave continued, "let you touch me, and now I want to. I
want to be able to do this without freaking out or losing it, or
whatever. I want to be..." He sighed, frustrated. And when he spoke
again, his voice was so desperate but so damn hopeful. "I want to be
normal."
"Dave." Gently, he reached out, his hand finding Dave's arm and
rubbing it up and down comfortingly. "If you aren't ready, we don't
have to do this."
"I'm ready," he insisted, exhaling sharply. "I want to try."
"If you really think - "
"Shut up already and kiss me."
John was more than happy to do as he was told, leaning forward and
kissing his lover full on the lips, his hands slipping on either side
of Dave's face. It still surprised him how explosive their kisses
were, how Dave could still take his breath away just like the first
time he'd kissed him in the ambulance bay. He could hardly believe
that he'd been willing only a month ago to give this all up, to give
up the touches and caresses and lovemaking and gentle smiles and
whispers and, God, those kisses.
His hand trailed down Dave's jaw and neck, touching his chest and
feeling those strong muscles beneath warm skin. His fingertips traced
a long scar that ran down his side to his waist, then lower, past his
navel to rest on his hip. Carefully, slowly, giving them time to kiss
and get worked up, distracting Dave with a little tongue, he moved his
hand to rest against Dave's ass. He felt the young man tense but he
didn't flinch, and soon he relaxed. But John didn't linger there too
long, knew Dave wasn't nearly as ready as he claimed to be, and
relocated his touch to the small of Dave's back, expertly tracing the
tribal sun tattoo there without even being able to see it.
The gesture seemed to somehow reassure Dave, who relaxed more,
thrusting his hips against John's, grabbing John's erection and
stroking him with slow, teasing strokes that made John ache with need.
He pushed into that hand, nearly gasping between kisses, "Fuck me.
Jesus, Dave, please."
"You don't...I mean, you know. You don't - "
John knew what he was going to say before Dave even said it. "No, I
don't."
"Why not?" he asked. "You don't...want me like that?"
"Of course I want you like that," he stated, kissing him softly. "But
I know you're not ready for it. I don't think I am either."
"You aren't?"
"No, I'm not," he said, seeing the relief in Dave's face that he
wasn't the only one who wasn't ready to have John penetrate him, glad
that he could supply that solace with his honesty. Gently, he took
Dave into his arms, holding him close. "Forever, remember?"
"Forever," Dave agreed. "Love you, Carter."
"Love you, Malucci."
--------------------------------
Please don't use
Those same excuses
You've used before
--------------------------------
The Chief of the ER was out. They weren't playing softball, either.
She was out as in *out*, as in I'm a Lesbian. As in I Have a
Girlfriend. As in I Kiss that Girlfriend in the Halls. As in - well,
you got the point. And if you didn't, Dave sure as Hell did, and he'd
been the first to giggle like a little kid when he saw the Chief
kissing that hot paramedic that wouldn't give him the time of day.
(And trust him, he'd tried.)
Everybody knew it, even if they pretended not to. Frank was the only
one who seemed to obsess about it, and that was only because he wanted
to prove the Chief had a first-class ticket to Hell once she switched
trains out of this life and into the next one. Well, Frank obsessed -
and so did Dr. Romano. But, then again, when was Dr. Romano quiet
about *anything*?
"Your sisters are under-serviced and we can fix that," he was
currently saying to Dr. Weaver, as Dave headed down the hall in one
direction and they in another. "County General's Center for Lesbian
Excellence!"
He glanced at them, absolutely dumbfounded and positively amused, when
she said to him, "Dr. Malucci, you didn't hear that."
Quickly, he flashed a grin while covering his ears with his hands, and
kept walking. He found himself at Admin, his amused expression turning
to one of puzzlement as he saw his boyfriend sitting on a stool rather
awkwardly, adjusting his weight continuously. He came up beside him,
looking through the rack for a new case as he did so.
"What's the matter, Hoss?" he asked, studying John's pained
expression. "Is that an icepack on your crotch?"
"Yeah," he admitted, his cheeks flushed red from embarrassment and
perhaps discomfort. "I got defibrillated."
"Again??" Dave asked. "Who was it this time? Still Jing-Mei?"
"I heard that," the Asian doctor interjected, stepping between them to
grab a pen before moving to the board.
"Med student," John confirmed.
Dave made an "ah" of understanding, although he didn't completely know
all the details. He knew John would tell him later though, so he
turned his attention away from his lover and to the charts before him,
trying to find the most disgusting case in the bunch. "Here we go.
Open knee fracture. And from the looks of it, it's a messy one."
"Dave, please," John protested, holding up his hand. "My stomach's a
little queasy from the hit."
"I bet it looks like hamburger meat."
"Dave - "
"Raw hamburger meat, with loads ketchup all over it."
"I think I'm going to throw up," John stated, before putting a hand to
his mouth. "I hate you so much right now."
"I'll make it up to you," he promised, winking with a sly grin. He
began to leave, before leaning down and whispering into John's ear on
his way, "And if you want, I can make it up to you by making your
booboo go away."
"Oh, really?" John dared to ask, making sure they weren't overheard,
although in the hustle and bustle of the ER, he knew it was
impossible. Although Jing-Mei was currently writing something on the
board nearby, but she was probably too far to catch anything. Still...
"Meet me in the supply closet near Sutures in an hour," Dave replied
then, standing upright. "Now I have to take care of the raw hamburger
meat knee with extra ketchup and maybe some mustard and sauerkraut on
the side."
He walked away with a new bounce in his step as he heard John vomit on
poor Jing-Mei's shoes behind him.
--------------------------------
You've told yourself
So many times
It's okay
--------------------------------
Ardal O'Connor had been driving school busses for the past fifteen
years, since he'd retired from his job at the soda factory. It had
been a great way to make some spare cash when his Social Security
check had failed to provide enough money to live on, but jobs were
never only about money to Ardal. He took all of his jobs very
seriously, including his duties as a bus driver. Getting the children
to and from school, or any other buildings, safely and soundly was his
number one priority. Money always came second.
Today, he had had a chance to make even more money when the principal
at his usual school had asked him to drive thirteen students and four
teachers home from a retreat for the drug-free program. All the way
from north Illinois he'd had to drive, a three-hour ride into Chicago
where dozens of parents were waiting for their middle school children
to arrive safely and soundly. And that was his number one priority.
"Safely and soundly," he said to himself, nodding in agreement. He
glanced up at the mirror that allowed him to view the children in the
seats behind him. Some of them were sleeping even though it was only
seven in the evening, exhausted from the trip. Others were talking and
laughing, some playing their video games on those little machines.
Each one of them his children. He repeated, "Safely and soundly."
They were in Chicago now, nearly home. His duty as a school bus driver
was almost complete. Only down the highway, through a few side
streets, into town, and they would be at the school. His children
would be with their parents, reunited after a three-day trip. Mommy
and Daddy would say they missed their children, but their children
would never admit to being homesick. They would only wish to go back
and be with all of their friends to enjoy more time together away from
the cares of the world. And Ardal would be more than happy to take on
the job of getting them back there, safely and soundly.
"Safely and soundly."
"Did you say something?" one of the teachers asked, the young and
pretty brunette married to that handsome firefighter that came around
the school sometimes to teach fire safety.
"No, ma'am," he replied, shaking his head and smiling happily at her
as he continued to drive.
Faintly, he heard sirens approaching in the distance, slowing down as
he prepared to pull the bus over to allow the police car or ambulance
to pass. He noticed the exit he needed to take was nearing, the only
exit in nearly ten miles from the last and five from the next, and
decided he could turn off now and avoid pulling over all together. It
was a steep curve, so he picked up enough speed to make it up, but
went slow enough to be able to maintain control without going over the
side into the lake below.
However, Ardal O'Connor was not in control of his own fate and never
had been, just like everyone else on this planet. There were always
other elements in play, including the boozehound behind the wheel of
the Ford pickup, who happened to be on several other drugs in addition
to alcohol. He also noticed the only exit for five more miles, and he
was growing tired of this high-speed police chase, knowing it was only
a matter of time before the cops got him. He needed to get out of
here, and fast. So he headed for the exit.
Ardal didn't know what hit the side of his bus so fast and hard it
rocked the hulking vehicle on its wheels, didn't know what
subsequently caused the steering wheel to jerk in his hands. All he
knew was that he had to regain control of his bus before it was too
late.
Metal scraped against metal, louder than the sound of the teachers and
children screaming in terror. Louder now, the sound of the bus
crashing through the guardrail, balancing preciously on two wheels,
balancing until it tipped onto it's side, falling, falling, falling
until it hit the ground. But the ride wasn't over yet, inertia and
gravity were still tag teaming against the bus, pulling it down the
hill, pulling it towards the lake below. Further, further, until the
front windshield made contact with the icy water but did not break.
Safely and soundly, Ardal had sworn, but now he knew that promise had
been broken as irrevocably as the guardrail in the bus' wake.
Apologizing to the Heavens and asking God to keep the children safe
was the last conscious thought he had until the glass broke against
the pressure of the water.
The sound of silence was louder than anything he had ever heard
before.
--------------------------------
So eager to try
But you just don't know
How to come back down
--------------------------------
"...'Cause pink is a new kinda lingo," Dave sang softly to himself,
walking casually down the hallway, heading towards the supply closet
where he was to meet John in about five minutes. He grinned, licking
his lips in anticipation before continuing to serenade the ER with
Aerosmith. "Pink, like a deco umbrella. It's kink, but you don't ever
tell her...pink when I turn out the li - "
In a flourish the door was open, and it actually took him a minute
before he realized just what he'd walked in on: Luka and Abby, heavy
in their own make-out session within the closet. He gaped for a
minute, before regaining his composure and bursting into laughter.
"You do know," he said, once he could speak, "that everybody comes in
here because there's a lock on this door."
"Dave!" Abby exclaimed, smoothing down her hair. "It isn't like that.
We were just..."
"Getting supplies," Luka finished, grabbing a bottle of hydrogen
peroxide. "We were getting supplies."
"Oh," Dave said, nodding in agreement, a know-it-all grin on his face.
"Yeah, okay."
"Dave?" He glanced to his left to see John come up beside him. His
lover peered inside of the supply closet. "What's going on?"
"Luka and Abby were 'getting supplies'," he said, although the
expression on his face suggested otherwise.
John smirked. "Oh."
"You are such a jerk," Abby told Dave, pushing past him and into the
hall. "Excuse me, some of us actually have work to do."
"Sorry to keep you," Dave retorted, and now his grin could only be
described as shit-eating. "From getting laid - I mean work. Of course
I meant work, how could I mix that up?" He watched her leave, before
turning back to Luka, beaming. Obviously impressed with the older
doctor's latest catch, he held his hand out. "Nice work, bro."
"Thanks," Luka replied sheepishly, slightly hesitant as he held out
his own hand, unsure of what Dave was doing, only realizing when he
found himself in a low-five. And then he found himself stuck there,
Dave holding on to his hand, and when he looked up he saw that that
smile was gone and had now been replaced by a rather serious
expression.
"You'd better take care of her, Luka," warned Dave, gently but firmly.
"I will."
"Fuck her over and I'll fuck you up," he stated, calm as could be, but
his eyes were telling a different story. They were hard. They were
cold. They were serious. They were filled with love for his one true
friend. "Don't hurt her again, Luka. I mean it."
"I won't," he said, very, very sincerely. "I mean that too."
Dave flashed another grin, a full-fledged honest smile. "Good luck,
bro."
"Uh oh," Luka replied, grinning himself as he moved past the two men
and into the hallway. "Will I need it?"
Dave only winked in response before pulling John inside of the supply
closet by the sleeve of his lab coat and closing the door behind them.
"Discreet, remember?" John asked, as Dave pushed him up against the
far wall and pressed his body against John's, already kissing at his
neck. "Dave..."
"We do this all the time," the man murmured against John's skin, his
hands roaming.
"I meant the way you just pulled me in here," John replied. "Somebody
could've seen."
"Nobody saw."
"How do you know?"
Dave leaned back, his hands braced against the wall on either side of
John's head. "You're really killing the mood here."
"I'm just saying," John stated, his tone edged with exasperation, "you
need to be discreet. You always forget."
"I don't forget," he stated, his own voice suggesting his annoyance.
"Sometimes I maybe just think that you're over this already. I don't
know, it's probably just wishful thinking, isn't it?"
"Over what??" John asked rather defensively.
"Over whatever it is we're arguing about."
"We're not arguing."
"Okay." And then Dave's mouth was on his own, ending all discussion.
But, apparently, John wasn't done talking yet since he placed two
hands on Dave's chest and pushed him back gently. Dave groaned,
"What?? I thought we weren't arguing?"
"We're not," John said, and almost immediately Dave tried to kiss him
again. "Dave, I'm serious."
"I don't get what the problem is," he said. "We've been seeing each
other for almost eight months."
"So?" John asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "We - "
"So??" Dave snapped, taking a step back. "So when are you gonna stop
hiding?"
"We're not hiding."
"That's right!" Dave exclaimed. "*We're* not hiding, *you* are."
"I'm not hiding!" John declared. "I told you already, I'm not ready
for - "
"That was *months* ago!!" Dave nearly shouted. "How much longer is it
gonna take? Years??"
"Dave, let's be real about this," John argued.
"John, I can't get much more real!" he said. "I'm ready to tell
everybody how I feel about you, that I'm going to spend the rest of my
goddamned life with you if you'll let me. And yet you're waiting for
something. A sign from God, for Christ's sake?"
"Come on," John demurred. "We don't know what's going to happen."
"What!?" Dave asked, his eyes wide with surprise and utter
bewilderment. "You don't think I'm serious about us?" He staggered for
a minute as a thought occurred to him. "Or maybe you're not sure how
serious *you* are about us. Maybe you don't think we're going to last.
Is that it, John? Is that the problem here??"
"Dave," John interrupted, placing his hands on Dave's arm, stopping
him before he fell into a full-on rant. "That's not what I meant. I'm
just saying that we don't know what will happen once we...you know..."
"Come out??" Dave finished, brushing John's hands away. "You can't
even fucking say it!"
"Don't swear at me, Dave."
"Who are you, my mother?" he asked, annoyed that John was changing the
subject. "Maybe," he considered then, pacing the small room before
turning to John again. "Maybe the *real* problem here is, all this
time I've been feeling something you don't. Maybe we aren't even in a
relationship."
"Dave..."
"Are you my boyfriend??"
"Of course I am."
"Do you love me?"
"You know the answer to that."
"Do I?"
"Come on, Dave." He rolled his eyes in response, tired of arguing,
tired of hiding, tired of waiting. He was just tired. "Dave."
"Don't 'Dave' me like I'm crazy. Just answer the goddamned question.
Do you love me??"
"Of course I do."
"Then why don't you try acting like it sometimes?" he snapped. "Like
those times when I'm not almost dying or in some kind of crisis? I
think it's called *on a daily basis*."
"Now you're being sarcastic."
"I'm being honest!! I'm trying to tell you how you make me feel!" he
exclaimed, so frustrated he could've pulled his hair out. "You always
act like I'm here to serve you, like I'm just some Junior Resident.
You don't even act like I'm your friend half the time! I want to feel
like I'm your friend. I want to feel like you love me. I want to feel
*important* to you!"
"You are important to me."
"You're not listening!" He pursed his lips several times, searching
for the right words to get through to John's head, but he knew he
never would, why should he try? He sighed, his shoulders sagging in
defeat.
"Dave?"
He looked up. "What?"
This time, he allowed John to place his hands on Dave's arms. "Please
don't be mad."
"I'm not mad."
"Yes, you are," John stated. "When you're mad you make that face, and
that scar above your eye wrinkles."
Dave smiled in spite of himself. "I didn't know that."
"It's true. Still mad?"
"A little."
John kissed him. "What about now?"
"Feeling better."
Another kiss, this one deep and slow, leaving them both breathless.
"Now?"
"Much better," he replied, even though, in the back of his mind and
deep in the bottom of his heart, he still ached.
And they kissed some more, hands roaming and tongues clashing and
bodies touching. Dave loved it when they did this, kissing and
touching and teasing in a fleeting moment. Because even if John didn't
want to come out, doing something like this when someone could catch
them was risky, and if John was taking that risk then Dave was
convinced he wasn't ashamed of their relationship. He wasn't ashamed
of Dave, wasn't ashamed to be with him or to be seen with him or to be
caught kissing him.
"Dave," John breathed between kisses.
"Mmm?"
"Maybe..." Gently, he eased out of the kiss, just as out of breath as
Dave. "Maybe we shouldn't do this here anymore...I mean...at all."
"What?" Dave asked, surprised. "Why?"
"What if someone walks in?"
"The door has a lock on it," Dave stated, annoyed as he leaned back
against the counter behind him. What had he just been saying about
John not being ashamed?? "That's why everybody comes in here."
He realized that was the wrong thing to say when John took a step
back. "What if somebody saw us go in here?"
"I told you, nobody saw."
"How do you know??"
"I *know*."
"What if someone sees us leave?"
"We'll go separately," Dave suggested. He reached out and took John by
the hips, pulling him close. "Don't worry."
"Somebody could - "
"The door locks, remember?"
"But did you lock it?"
Simultaneously, they glanced at the doorknob, seeing that the button
wasn't depressed almost at the same time that the knob started
turning. Quickly John stepped away, pushing Dave back instinctively
although he was up against the counter. He banged his head on the
cabinet behind him instead, swearing softly as the Chief pulled open
the door.
"I've been looking all over for you two," she barked, as Dave rubbed
his head. "What're you doing in here??"
"We were just - " John began, but she cut him off instantaneously.
"I don't care," she said, waving off whatever excuse he was going to
supply. "There's been an accident. School bus with thirteen kids, four
teachers and the driver. Two kids DOA, along with the driver. The
teachers are okay, but they're still pulling kids out. We need doctors
out at the scene, you two are going with me."
"Really?" Dave asked, standing in surprise. "I mean, I get to go?"
"Am I speaking Spanish??" she asked.
"Actually, I understand Spanish."
"Save it, Dave," she snapped. "Get the medical bags and meet me
upstairs."
"Wait, we have to take the helicopter?" he asked. "I don't know if - "
"What's the problem here?" she asked, in full bitch mode.
"I just get a little air sick sometimes..."
"Take a Dramamine and suck it up, Malucci," she snapped, and Dave
clammed up, knowing warpath when he saw it. "Get the bags and get
upstairs! It's unsettling that lives depend on you."
"Thanks, Chief," he said, but she was already gone. He glanced at
John, about to make a flippant comment about his motion sickness when
he saw the look on his face. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong," John repeated, as if it was the most ridiculous phrase
in the world. "What's wrong?? You know what's wrong."
"I don't. That's why I asked you."
"You didn't lock the door."
"I'm sorry, I forgot."
"How could you forget something like that??" John exclaimed, nearly
irate. "Christ, Dave, she could've walked in on us when we were...you
know..."
He made motions with his hands that Dave was supposed to understand,
but he pulled a face. "Kissing, you mean??"
"Quiet!" he hissed, indicating the open door. "You want somebody to
hear??"
"Why would that be so horrible??" Dave asked. "The Chief's out and
nobody gives a shit!"
"Maybe they don't now," John replied, "but what happens later? What if
she messes up? What if there's a sexual harassment case, like there
was against that psychiatrist upstairs?? What if - "
"What if the Earth opens up and swallows all the gay people?" Dave
asked, annoyed. "Then you'd really be screwed."
"This is serious!"
"No, it's not," Dave said, resigned. "It's a relationship, it's
supposed to be easier than this. What's serious is hurt kids that need
our help right now, John. The world is bigger than you."
John sneered. Dave was surprised at how ugly it made him. "You did
that on purpose, didn't you?"
"Did what?" he asked, perplexed.
"To out me. You did that on purpose," John snapped. "That's low, even
for you."
"Wait a second!" Dave blurted out, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You
think I left the door unlocked on purpose?? I would never do that to
you, and you know it. And what the fuck's that supposed to mean, 'low
even for me??'"
"You did it at the rehab center!" John exclaimed, ignoring the
question.
"Did what??"
"You outed me!" John replied. "You told all of those people in group
and your therapist about me. About *us*!"
"We talked about this!" Dave shot back. "You agreed that it was
important for me to be honest in order for me to start my recovery.
Why is it suddenly a problem now??"
"Because you only talked to me about after you did it!" John nearly
shouted, and then lowered his voice, the open door gaping at him from
the corner of his eye. "You didn't talk to me about it first."
"What would you have said?" Dave asked. "Would you have let me do it?
Or would you've talked me out of it, because your little secret is
obviously more important than me and my recovery."
"Dave, you know that's not - "
"What would you have said??" he spoke loudly over John's voice. Calmer
then, quieter: "What would you have said?"
Now, John said nothing.
"That's what I thought."
"Dave..."
"Whatever, let's just go. I don't want to deal with this anymore. You
win, okay? End of argument."
"We weren't arguing."
Dave shot a glance at his lover. "Well, we sure are now, aren't we??"
--------------------------------
And now you'll beat me up and break me down
Hoping I don't come around
Kick me when I'm on the ground
--------------------------------
Fire trucks, police cars, ambulances, and one huge crane, all from
different districts, were crowded into one small area. Three
helicopters from different hospitals stood nearby, and several more
from various news stations were hovering in the air. Sirens and lights
were blaring. Men and women were shouting, some were crying. And the
focus of all of these people was a school bus lying on its side, half
of it partially submerged in a small lake, the other half precariously
balanced on the steep ground. The crane beside it was perched
awkwardly on the precipice, barely able to support itself, let alone
the bus. It was, quite frankly, a big mess.
"Whoa," Dave said, standing beside John in a blue jacket with the word
"doctor" emblazoned on the back in bold letters. John wore one as
well, and they both carried matching medical bags with several
supplies they might need.
"Dave, come with me," the Chief said over the noise, ever the watchful
mother since he returned three weeks ago to work. She still didn't
like to leave him alone, always hovering over him but managing not to
be intrusive while doing so. He kind of liked it, because it showed
that she really cared, no matter how hard on him she was. He felt, for
the first time, as if he might actually be fitting in here. And it
felt good. "Carter, I want you to go check out the guy that caused
this mess."
"The one driving the truck?" he asked, glancing at Kerry dubiously.
"Why don't we just let another hospital take care of him?"
"Because I asked you to," she stated firmly. "It looks like they just
pulled him out of the truck. Get over there while Dave and I help the
major cases."
"We get the big ones?" Dave asked, hopeful.
"We get the big ones."
"Be careful," John called.
Dave turned with a glare. "Watch it. Might make it sound like you
actually care."
"Dave," John warned, glancing at Dr. Weaver, hoping Dave didn't sound
like he was insinuating anything. He'd been awfully close to crossing
the line all night.
"Told you," he scoffed, before joining Dr. Weaver and running off. The
older doctor watched him go, hesitating before finally he headed
towards the truck that was nearly smashed into the side of the steep
hill. He stepped over a piece of guardrail that had been torn out of
the ground, twisted and bent as if it had been aluminum foil and not
metal. Finally, off to the side and away from most of the action, he
reached the gurney the paramedics had just placed an unconscious man
on.
"Hey, Dr. Carter," Riley, one of the EMTs, called, greeting him.
"You're probably the only one who rushed over here."
"What happened?" he asked, placing his bag on the gurney beside the
man and leaning forward to begin his ABCs - airway, breathing,
circulation. But he reeled back suddenly, exhaling sharply. "Oh, my
God. He smells like he bathed in alcohol. Christ. I think I can figure
out what happened now."
"Found his wallet!" another EMT said.
"What's his name?" asked John, finished with his A's and B's and
moving on to his C's.
"Uh..." the EMT said, holding up the small leather wallet to the light
to read the information. "James Carson, age thirty-five."
"Mr. Carson??" John said loudly over the sounds of the scene. Roughly,
he rubbed his fist against the man's chest. "Mr. Carson, can you open
your eyes for me??"
Almost immediately, James Carson's eyes shot open, panic overwhelming
them briefly before he focused on John. "What's going on?? God, my
fucking head."
"Mr. Carson, you were in an accident," Riley replied. "Do you remember
anything?"
"Yeah! Some fucking bus hit me!"
"No, asshole, you hit a school bus full of kids. You already killed
four and one's still missing."
"I did not, you fucking liar!" the man spat, reaching out to strike
Riley, but the EMT stepped back quickly. So he went for the next
person close enough: John. The drunk and high and possibly insane man
grabbed his jacket, pulling him close, ready to do *something*, John
didn't know what and didn't care to find out, when Riley grabbed the
man with both arms, pulling him back on to the gurney. He let go of
John in surprise, and the doctor quickly scrambled back to avoid
bodily harm of any kind. "Fuck all of you! I didn't do anything!! Get
the hell off of me! Get away from me, you punk kid. I'll fucking kill
you!!"
"Ten of Haldol," John yelled over the man's obscenities. "And get hard
restraints. Get him to another hospital, we don't want him at County,
you can count on that."
"Okay, Doc," Riley said, another EMT rushing over to carry out the
orders. "You go take care of other people who're actually worth it. We
can handle him."
"You won't get any argument from me," John replied. He paused briefly.
"By the way, why were the cops chasing him?"
"They raided his house and found a meth lab. They had a warrant for
his arrest...he took off."
"Idiot," John whispered. All this over drugs...his mind flashed to
Dave, flashed to himself, contemplating the damage that drugs caused
because moving back into the chaos.
--------------------------------
Beat me up and break me down
Hoping I don't come around
Kick me when I'm on the ground
--------------------------------
"Transport her to County," Dave demanded, pointing to the gurney next
to him, staring down the EMT on the other side of it.
"Mercy already claimed her!" the woman yelled. "You can't just take
cases that aren't yours. They already worked her up!"
"Her husband is a paramedic," Dave argued. "His district is County!
He'll be in and out of that hospital all night tonight."
"I understand that," she retorted, and Dave could swear she wasn't
cutting him any slack because she'd never really liked him. So maybe
that one time last year when he'd grabbed her ass had been wrong, but
he thought she'd been interested. Sue him.
"Then why don't you take her to County??" Dave asked, ready to
transport her himself if he had to. "Her husband - "
"I heard you already," she replied. "But it's not happening. So let go
of the gurney and let me get her to Mercy."
"He can check on her whenever he's there," Dave retorted, his grip
only tightening on the hard metal railing. "She has a serious head
injury! He'll want to be with her as much as possible!"
"If she's seriously injured," the woman said, "then let me get her out
of here already! Hey, Dr. Weaver, can you please control your doc
before I put him in his place??"
"Try it," Dave spat.
"What's going on here?" Dr. Weaver asked, leaning heavily on her
crutch.
"This woman's husband is a paramedic," Dave explained before the bitch
paramedic could open her mouth. "He transports to County, and if
something happens he'll want to be with her as much as possible. He'll
be in and out all night."
"So take her to County," the Chief assessed.
"Mercy already checked her out and claimed her," the woman replied.
"You can't take her now."
"For God's sake," Dr. Weaver groaned. "Then take her to Mercy. If
something happens and her husband isn't there, it'll be on your
shoulders."
"Let go of the gurney," the EMT told Dave, satisfied with the answer
even if it wasn't the one she was looking for. "Let *go*, Malucci."
Reluctantly, he released his death grip on the gurney, pushing it
toward her roughly. He moved around it to step up to her. "You're a
real bitch, you know that? This is one of your own's wife, and you
can't let your personal feelings go long enough for you to do what's
right. I hope you sleep well tonight."
"Fuck you, Malucci, and get out of my face."
"Gladly."
He watched her go, disgusted that she could allow personal feelings to
get in the way of patients. He was surprised when he felt a gentle
hand on his arm, followed by a reassuring squeeze. He glanced at his
chief, who glanced at him, and he was about to say something when he
heard a faint sound amongst the white noise of the scene. He turned
away from her, listening with a furrowed brow.
"What is it?" she asked, letting go of his arm and watching him
carefully.
"I thought I heard something," he stated. "Do you hear anything?"
"I can barely hear *you*," she replied, indicating the accident around
them. "It's so noisy here I can't hear myself think. What did you
hear?"
"I thought..." He trailed off, stepping closer towards the sound,
closer towards the bus. He shrugged, glancing at the Chief. "I guess
it's just - "
Except there it was again, a faint cry from within the confines of the
bus, from within the twisted and broken yellow metal looming above
Dave on it's side, a full three feet taller than him. He glanced at
Dr. Weaver, wide-eyed. "The missing kid, he's still in the bus! I
mean, he's alive in there, Chief, we gotta get him out!"
"*We* can't do anything," she pointed out. "Get some firefighters over
here."
Without a word, he turned sharply on his heels, nearly tripping in his
haste. He grabbed the first firefighter that he saw, and by pure
chance it was Sandy Lopez, the chance he'd pick the Chief's girlfriend
out of the crowd surprising him slightly although he didn't have time
to dwell on it. "The kid that's missing, he's in the bus. I heard
him."
"What do you mean, you heard him?" she asked gruffly, eyeing him as if
he was crazy. "Over all this noise? He's yelling or something?"
"Yeah, he's yelling, or he's crying, or *something*," he said in one
burst. He grabbed her arm, nearly dragging her over to the bus, but
she pulled out of his grip roughly. "You gotta help him."
"We can't go in there right now," she told him, and his jaw nearly
dropped to the ground. "They're hauling it out with a crane and we're
not allowed."
"Bullshit!" Dave exclaimed, incredulous. "I heard him crying, we gotta
tell them to stop and we gotta get in there."
"You say 'we' as if you're a firefighter."
"Almost was one," he said to her, and she glanced at him with raised
eyebrows. "Swear to God. But doctors make more money."
"Not to mention they get all the glory."
"Better benefits."
"No way. I got you beat there, pretty boy."
He almost opened his mouth to disagree before he conceded she was
right. They flashed grins at one another, before he indicated her to
follow him through EMTs and police cars and firefighters and just
about any other emergency vehicle and person you could think of. The
crane, eighty feet in height fully extended, was attached at several
places to the bus, carefully pulling the huge vehicle out of the
water, the metal groaning in protest. Even painstakingly slow, the bus
creeped further and further into the water, occasionally jerking
violently. It didn't help that the crane was hardly able to stay
steady itself.
"It's not safe to climb in through the windows," the fire chief told
them, once they reached him. "You'll have to cut through the metal on
the roof."
"That'll take too long," Dave protested.
"The hell it will," he snapped back, refused to be pushed around by a
kid doctor who thought he knew all there was to know about search and
rescue just because he'd been called to a scene. Dave knew this, and
wisely kept his mouth shut, although Sandy placed a hand on his arm to
warn him just in case. "If the kid's yelling, then he's not that badly
injured. Cut through the side. If it takes too long then we'll decide
on something else."
And now it was Dave's turn to be annoyed with a fire chief who thought
he knew everything there was to know about assessing a patient just
because he was calling for help. And he was glad for the hand on his
arm, because otherwise he might be saying something not so nice to
Sandy's boss.
"Sir," she said to him, her New York accent roughening her words, "we
gotta get the kid outta there. Let's just - "
"Cutting him out is safer."
"But it takes longer," Dave interjected.
"Do me a favor, doc," the man said to him, stepping close. Dave raised
his chin, stood straighter, reflexively making himself seem bigger.
Tense and ready to fight by pure instinct. "You do your job, and I'll
do mine. Sandy, get over there and start cutting, and let me know if
you need anything."
"Jerk," Dave said, once he was gone, as they headed towards the bus.
"He thinks he's so tough."
"Tell me about it," Sandy muttered. "Ever since he's been chief it's
been nothing but pure misery. Hey, Carlos! Get the saw over here and
start cutting into the side of the bus." She turned back to him.
"Malucci, right?"
"Yeah," Dave replied. "Dave Malucci."
"You can play firefighter and tag along, but don't tell Kerry," she
added quickly. "I don't got no desire to be sleeping on the couch
tonight."
"Yeah, well, when my better half finds out, I'm screwed too," Dave
stated. "So don't let anything happen to me."
"Deal."
--------------------------------
Well how 'bout those people
I know that you know the ones I mean
--------------------------------
"What happened?" John asked, peeling back the gauze soaked through
with blood. He winced for the little girl on the gurney, whose arm had
been cut open, the wound so severe bone was visible, her arteries
torn. He re-bandaged it and started working quickly, knowing she could
lose her arm if he hesitated even briefly.
The EMT replied, "She got cut real bad on some glass. We're trying to
get her pressure stabilized before we give her anything."
John reached into his medical bag, finding a short rubber tube,
usually used to tie above the elbow for drawing blood. He wrapped it
around the upper part of the girl's arm, tying it tightly above the
wound. Almost immediately, the supply to her arm stopped, and John was
satisfied when he pulled back the gauze and no more came. He glanced
up at the paramedic, prescribing a small amount of morphine. "To at
least take the edge off. They can assess her better at County. Get her
there by helicopter, if we waste any time she'll lose her arm."
"You got it, Doc."
--------------------------------
Not so good, not so bad
Only know what they have
And they have only what they've seen
--------------------------------
"Hey, kiddo??" Dave called, standing next to the bus, waist-deep in
murky water that was still cold in the middle of June. "Kid??" he
shouted, louder this time, trying to carry his voice all the way past
sheets of thick metal. "Can you hear me in there??"
"Hello?" was the faint reply he received. "I'm stuck!"
"I hear him," Dave told Sandy, who was standing next to him, along
with another firefighter holding a saw. He turned back to the bus.
"Where are you stuck?"
"The seat!" he shouted, his trembling voice cracking. "It's all over
and I can't get out!"
"Is there any water coming in?" Sandy yelled.
"It's in the window," he shouted back, tears audible through his
voice. "Can you help me?? I can't get out! I'm stuck!"
"It's okay, kiddo," Dave said to him. "You don't have to worry, we'll
get you outta there. What's your name?"
"Kyle," he replied, crying. "I can't get out..."
"Hey, Kyle, I'm Dr. Dave," he said. "Don't cry, okay? You gotta be
real brave, and we'll get you out."
"Promise??"
He glanced at Sandy. She shook her head. He turned back to the bus.
"I promise." He glanced at Sandy, who sighed loudly. "I don't lie to
kids, so we'd better get him out of there."
"Or else?"
"Or else I die trying."
--------------------------------
Them mediocre bad guys
Can really bring you down
--------------------------------
John Carter surveyed the crowd with his eyes, catching sight of a
teacher with a bandage on her elbow before the bus jerking further
into the water caught his attention. He noticed men in the water, a
saw sending sparks flying as it drilled into the metal, and he briefly
wondered if they'd found the missing boy. He stopped caring when he
saw Dave standing in the water, next to the firefighters, saying
something to the one that he'd heard had outed Kerry Weaver. Quickly,
he ran over, dropping his bag haphazardly on the way.
"Dave!" he shouted, but he could barely hear himself over the shriek
of the saw. "Dave, what are you doing?? What's going on??" His lover
glanced over at him, turned back to the bus. John nearly shouted in
frustration. Dave was ignoring him. "Dave!! Get over here and tell me
what's going on or I'm coming to you!!"
"Do what you want, John!" Dave shouted back. "You always do!"
"I'll..." he began, thinking up a better threat. "I'll get Weaver!"
John could almost hear Dave sigh as he turned to look at Sandy Lopez
before running over as fast as he could while treading water. Tersely,
he said, "The kid's trapped in the bus and we're trying to get him
out."
"So what are you doing in there?" John asked, startling back as the
bus shifted again, the metal groaning in protest. "It's too dangerous,
get out of the water."
"I can't," he said. "They keep stopping and I make sure the kid's
still okay."
"They can do that!" John exclaimed, nearly ready to drag Dave out of
the water. "Get out of there, it's not your job, it's too dangerous."
"I'm fine," Dave insisted, visibly shivering from the cold water. He
offered John a cold, hard stare. "Go back to the other patients, I can
handle this."
"You're not a firefighter!"
"I know, don't tell Weaver."
"What???"
"Dave!" Sandy called, and he turned to face her. "The kid's not
talking anymore!"
"What?" Dave asked, rushing over against the protests of his boyfriend
behind him. "What do you mean?" He rapped his fist against the roof of
the bus. "Hey, Kyle?? Kyle, can you hear me? Kyle, answer me. Kyle!!"
"Carter!" Riley, the young EMT, was yelling. "Carter, this girl's arm
won't stop bleeding again!"
"Make a tourniquet!" he yelled back.
"It's not working," he cried. "Would you please get over here?? They
can handle that!"
"Dave!" John yelled.
"Get out of here," he retorted, waving him off. "Go take care of
somebody else, I can take care of myself!"
This time, John really did cry out in frustration before turning to
help with damage he could actually fix right now.
"I'm going up there," Sandy stated, as the firefighter beside her
started up his saw. She indicated the top of the bus, the windows
gaping wide at the sky.
"I'm almost through!" the man yelled.
"I'm going up there!" she shot back. "That kid's gonna be dead by the
time you cut a hole in that frigging thing. I'm going to try to get in
through the windows."
"Can you climb up there?" Dave asked, examining the bus, the windows
facing the sky since it was on it's side. "I mean, could you make it?
This thing's sliding like crazy."
"I know," she stated, looking up at it with a worried brow. "I don't
like it either, but we can't do anything else. If we don't do
anything, he's dead. I'm going."
"Then I'm coming too," Dave stated, grabbing her arm before she could
go anywhere. She gaped at him dubiously. "I'm serious."
"You'll be a liability," she protested. "I can't keep track of your
ass and the kid's."
"I can take care of myself," Dave reminded her, as he had reminded
John only minutes ago. "Besides, if you go and something happens to
you, Weaver will kill me. You're going to need a doctor to see how he
is once you get him out from under the seat. We're in this together,
whether you like it or not."
"You just want to play hero."
"Face it," he told her. "*Firefighters* get all the glory, not
doctors."
She sighed. "You'd better watch your ass, because I ain't doing it.
Come on, before Kerry makes me sleep *outside*."
--------------------------------
They can't be defeated, you know
And they're never gonna come around
--------------------------------
Dave Malucci was climbing up the front of the bus to get to the top of
it, the windows facing the sky at a sharp angle, barely steady on the
steep hill. It jerked once, twice, as he and Sandy Lopez climbed,
climbed, yelling to the boy inside and peering through the windows,
trying to find him to successfully get him out. It was absolute
madness. It was absolute stupidity.
"Dave!!" John shouted, but the man couldn't hear him over every other
sound. "Dave, God, get down from there! Please, get down!"
"What the hell is going on here?" Dr. Weaver asked, coming up beside
him. "Is that Dave?? What the hell is he doing up there!"
"I don't fucking know," John breathed, gasping and staggering forward
as Dave lost his footing and slipped. He recovered his balance fairly
quickly, but John's heart didn't stop beating at ninety miles an hour.
"Oh, my God. He's going to get himself killed."
"Is that Sandy??" she suddenly asked. "Of course it's the two of them.
Goddamned idiots, the both of them. Of course it's them. What're they
thinking??"
"Dr. Weaver," he replied, "I don't think they are."
--------------------------------
They'll just beat me up and break me down
Hoping I don't come around
Kick me when I'm on the ground
--------------------------------
"Kyle!" Dave yelled, glancing through one of several broken windows,
jagged edges of glass like teeth in the sides of the frame. "Kyle, can
you hear me?? Damn, we don't know where he is."
"Where's the door?" Sandy asked, standing precariously with both hands
held out for balance.
"It's on the other side; under the water," he replied, one hand on the
frame of the window for support. "Kyle, can you hear me? Shit, he's
gotta be unconscious. Shit! What if the last time the bus slipped it
took him under water??"
"Shit," Sandy agreed. "There's gotta be a way to get in here.".
"The windows are too small to us to fit through," Dave stated. "By the
time we get that saw up here, it might be too late."
"So what now?" she asked him, and immediately wished she hadn't.
"The door's under the water," Dave replied, meeting Sandy's eye. "We
can't just leave him in there."
"God damn," she hissed.
--------------------------------
Beat me up and break me down
Hoping I don't come around
Kick me when I'm on the ground
--------------------------------
"What is she doing?" Kerry asked, stepping closer to the bus, but she
didn't dare go far. If she slipped she'd never be able to regain her
balance with her crutch; she'd fall hard and probably break her head
open on the rocks near the lake if she didn't break her neck.
"Taking off her jacket."
"What is *he* doing??"
"Taking off his jacket."
"Fucking idiots," she spat. "Goddamned fucking idiots."
"Dave, please don't do what I think you're going to do," John pleaded
quietly, watching as Sandy and his lover inched their way to the end
of the bus furthest into the water. "Dave, please..."
"Yo, docs!" They turned, seeing a paramedic supporting another, the
wounded EMT cradling his ribs. "The asshole in the truck got him
pretty bad. Got out of his restraints in the rig. Will one of you
check him out?"
"I don't want to go to the hospital," the young man said. "Just say
I'm good to go."
"I..." John began, hesitant.
"You stay," Kerry told him, stepping carefully towards the paramedics.
"You can do more if something happens."
"Thanks," John replied gratefully, and when he turned back to the bus,
Dave and Sandy were nowhere to be seen.
--------------------------------
Beat me up
Break me down
Hoping I don't come around
Kick me when I'm on the ground
--------------------------------
To be continued...
Copyright Footer', 'This site is not affiliated in any way with "ER", its writers or production company, or NBC, and makes no profit from the show. The ERROS skin is by Brihana. The script is eFiction version 3.4.2© Tammy Keefer, http://efiction.org\r\n