A/N- This is a teaser prologue to a new story I have started. I know this is on the shorter side, but Chapter 1 has already been written and will be up in the next day or so. Reviews, as always, are welcome and appreciated.
Disclaimer: SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. I own nothing.
Sacrifice – Prologue
Time. For those individuals within the walls of Mercy General's emergency room trauma ward, time was a common enemy. One they all battled against. Each fought in their own way, determined to win the war.
For family members, time meant waiting. Watching the clock on the wall with baited breath as the hours and seconds ticked away. Some sat fidgeting in the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room, sipping on cups of stale coffee that had been procured from the hospital's cafeteria or a nearby vending machine by well-meaning friends. It was an attempt to distract, an attempt to soothe and comfort. Others chose to leave the chairs behind, opting instead to pace the linoleum, walking back and forth in paths already worn into the floor by so many who had come before them.
The hospital staff were a flurry of activity in their part of the war on time. Receptionists and front desk staff did their best to placate the waiting family members when they had little or no news to offer. Nurses raced about, heedless to their own needs, working hand in hand with the doctors to treat, diagnose and save their patients. Despite all their efforts, not everyone would emerge a winner. Some battles – some lives- would be lost. Blood would be spilled, tears would be shed. Hearts would be broken, lives would be forever changed.
It was the patients who had the hardest job. They were fighting a battle not only against time, but a battle of life and death. If the scales tipped too far in any one direction, it could mean their battle here on earth was over. Even at the brink of unconsciousness, they had to gather the internal will to dig deep and fight hard, pushing through to victory.
On this day in particular, a sea of blue flooded the waiting room. As was always the way when one of their own had fallen in the line of duty, they took up the battle as a collective unit. Brothers and sisters in arms. They were all in this fight together.
Sitting off to the side, a small group of men sat together. They were talking quietly among themselves. One, a bald man in a suit, would occasionally receive a phone call on his cell which he would deal with in short, clipped tones. He was frustrated with all the interruptions, and while he knew things needed to be dealt with, now was not the time. His concern was on the woman they were all waiting on word for.
A second man, also in suit, seemed to grow impatient with waiting. He stood and announced to the small group he was going to get some coffee for all. He received a couple nods of thanks from his colleagues, and headed off toward the cafeteria.
The third man, an African American who had just questioned the receptionist for an update, and probably come across more intimidating than he intended, returned with no new news. He announced this aloud, hoping to get some sort of reaction from their other companion, sitting farther away from the group, but the man didn't even as much as blink.
This man sat slumped in his chair, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. He didn't even realize that his son was sitting next to him. He took no notice or care in his appearance, in the blood that stained his clothes, hands, and face. He also paid no heed to the steady stream of tears that leaked from his bright blue eyes. He was too overwhelmed by the guilt that consumed his heart, mind, and soul.
The teenage boy who sat next to him was wearing clothes that were similarly rumpled and stained like his father's. The boy, too, wore a worried and anxious expression. He fidgeted with his phone, having used it recently to make a call, securing a change of clothes for both himself and his father. Somehow he knew his father was in no condition to think of such things. He, too, was battling with his own feelings of grief and guilt.
All who were in attendance were worried about one woman in particular. She had been injured today when what should have been a routine situation went very wrong very fast. Being the brave woman that she was, she inserted herself into the middle, not caring about her own welfare. She didn't realize how much her life mattered to each and every person in this room. If the scales should tip in the wrong direction, so many lives would be affected by her loss.
Meanwhile, within the walls of a trauma room, doctors and nurses worked in a frenzy to save the life of the very woman in question.
She had a tube down her throat to assist her breathing, and one nurse squeezed a bag that had been attached to it in a rhythmic pace to sustain her lungs with air. Gauze pads were swapped out at a frenetic pace in an attempt to control the bleeding from her rib cage and abdomen. Not bothering to properly dispose of them, the bloodied bandages littered the floor around the gurney.
A sudden, steady whine from the heart monitor prompted the doctor in charge to grab the paddles and try to shock her heart back into a steady rhythm. After two shocks, they were successful, the lines on the monitor rising and falling at an even pace once again, and all in the room breathed a temporary sigh of relief.
A phone call from upstairs was the news they had all been waiting for: an operating room was now available, and now that their patient was somewhat stabilized, she could be rushed upstairs for surgery. They all looked around at one another, sharing a knowing glance. One battle had been won, but could she win the war? Could she emerge victorious and fully recovered? Or would death return and drag her over to the other side? Only time would be able to tell.
