Hesam's secret online blog

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do not represent those of the Regional EMS Council of the New York State Department of Health,

or New York Mercy Heights Emergency Medical Service,

or any of their affiliates.

Strange coincidences

Posted by nycmedic059 on 10 May, 2007, 9:32 PM

I had my last day with Jerry DuPont the day before yesterday. After three years, it's a pity he stops working with me, and I don't get why on earth he wants to do more night shifts now (mostly since we get those anyway when we're running doubles). I guess it all has to do with being twenty-two years old, being newly precepted (and single) and wanting to trade patient transfers for stabbings and drunks.

Like I said, I don't get it.

Since he'll still be working for MH EMS, and we'll end up working together again at any rate, we keep our last day mostly unsentimental, apart from when he gets us both an Italian B.M.T. sandwich. It nearly moves me to tears to find he's finally remembered, after three years, that I despise the honey/mustard sauce he keeps asking for, and got me Chipotle Southwest.

We have a couple of quiet calls, too, all in all, a rather quiet day. Lots of time for his newspaper in between calls.

As usual, he reads the sports page and leaves me most of the rest. (Something else I don't get.) I go through the Washington section and find an article entitled "Petrelli promises to clamp down on national security threats."

Jerry catches my disgruntled noise. "What's up?" he asks.

"This Senator Petrelli. He's on the warpath against terrorism again."

"Senator who?"

"Petrelli. He's the junior New York senator."

"Never heard of him. I must have voted for the other guy."

"Gal."

"What?"

"His main opponent was Dena Allen."

Jerry shrugs. "Never heard of her either."

"Because you're a disgrace for your city, that's why."

He wags a finger at me from behind the sports page. "And you wonder why I'm moving to night shifts?"

I shake my head as I read the article. "If this new domestic war on terror becomes even more popular, I guess my brother can stop going by plane altogether."

"Why's that?"

"They kept him at JFK for four hours last winter, trying to find where he was hiding his bomb. He must have been totally their prey pattern. He missed his flight and never even got an apology."

"Did he tell them his brother dons a cape at night and protects the streets of New York City from evildoers?"

"No, he told them next time, he would tape some hot dogs round his waist. Just out of spite."

"Was that before or after they kept him for four hours?"

I scratch my head. "Dunno. He was kinda unclear on the timing."

Jerry laughs, and we get a call for difficulty breathing on 57th.

We actually manage to turn in at a quarter past seven, so after cleaning and restocking, it's half past, and we share one last coffee in the EMT room.

The next day, I work with Karen O'Neill. Her partner, Nicholas Greentree, is off on vacation (and sends in postcards every other day just to gloat. He can't possibly be visiting all the places he sends postcards from. Karen says he's probably staying next to a postcard factory in upstate New York).

It's another slow day, and we get permission to come in for a one-oh-one (that's lunch) around 2 PM. They've got some pretty decent cheesy chicken turnovers in the canteen on Wednesdays. As we head back to our rig and stop by the EMT room to pick up a couple of new run forms, there are a couple of people there. Two of them I've never seen before, a blonde woman and a dark-haired guy. "Ah, fresh meat," Karen says with a grin as she approaches them. I remember someone telling me there would be new paramedics – the service is stocking up on the ALS (Advanced Life Support) cars and is hiring currently.

Supervisor Jackson is there as well; he seems to be showing them round. "This is Shannon," he introduces the woman. "Hesam, this is Peter. I'm going to team you up with him."

We shake hands. He looks like an easy-going fellow. I've got to go back, but we make some small talk – I'm a bit surprised to find he hasn't worked in EMS before, but used to be a nurse (I can't imagine why he switched; certainly can't have been the pay) – when I look at the name tag lying on top of the folded uniform he has over his arm. It reads P. Petrelli.

The first thing I actually register is that Peter Petrelli, Paramedic is as good a reason as any to switch to EMS, if only for the alliteration, before I look at his face, trying to find a family resemblance. Damn, yes.

I look at his name tag again, and begin, "Is that…?"

"Yeah," he says. "That's my brother."

I feel like an idiot. He probably gets that all the time, and has probably had it several times today, too. I tell myself that's hardly my fault. If anything, it speaks in my favour that I read newspapers.

Still, the way he rolls his eyes and grins as he says it immediately tells me he probably won't search me for bombs.

Which is a pity, actually. I've always wanted to try that hot dog trick sometime.

.

Notes:

1. This one's at odds with my fic "Unsung Heroes", where I still assumed that Hesam and Peter weren't working together regularly, but since it's obvious that they do, I retconned. ;)

2. I'll update this one infrequently as the muse descends. And I'm looking forward to it. XD

3. Nooo, I haven't forgotten "Trauma"! Of course not! I've just felt like some "light writing" recently.

Thank you for reading!