Title: Waiting Room
Author: Ms. Quartermaine
Summary: Written for the LJ Tracy Q. Ficathon. Challenge: Day In Life. Someone Tracy loves is hurt, and all she can do is wait.
Disclaimer: The dialogue in the first trauma room scene came from NBC's ER. No infringement intended.
October 23, 2006. 9:39 am.
She gulped down the orange juice before rushing out of the den…just to return less than 10 seconds later.
"Forget something?" Luke held up a brief case and dangled it in front of her. He must have come through the patio doors.
"Give me that," she went to snatch it out of his hands. "And where the hell did you come from?" A mere two weeks earlier, just after returning from Adventure #4359, her husband had set out for another.
"Aww, not happy to see me?" he frowned, leaning in to kiss her on the lips.
Refusing to give him the satisfaction, she moved back brusquely. "You left in search of Skye! I'm your wife, but you go after your mistress," she spat before pausing. "Or is Holly your mistress? You'll have to forgive me for getting confused," she narrowed her fiery eyes at him.
He responded a simple, "She was in danger."
"Robert volunteered to bring her home, but you insisted on joining him. I'm tired of you taking off every 20 damn minutes!" she admitted, wishing she hadn't.
"Aww, you know what that means? You like me! You really like me!"
"Damnit, Luke," she muttered, glancing at the watch that fit around her left wrist. "I don't have time for this. I'm going to be late. I can't be late for this." Short, simple sentences took over her speech. "ELQ's in trouble—"
"That condom thing?"
"Yes, that condom thing," she imitated him. "Your daughter wasn't the only one who ended up pregnant. And believe me, pregnancies are the least of our problems."
"You messed up, huh?"
"It wasn't my fault," she stressed, "but of course, I'm the one that has to fix—Why am I explaining this?" She looked at her watch again. "Give me that!"
Luke obliged, handing her the briefcase. "Careful, Wife. Your fangs are showing."
"Good," she smiled before once again exiting the den for her 10 o'clock meeting.
9:57am.
Tracy Quartermaine, dressed in her navy blue ensemble, took a deep breath as she boldly entered the conference room. Her face met with the faces of two others, the legal counsel that would be representing ELQ should it go that far. Two concerned expressions stared at her. Something wasn't right. How bad is this? One batch of defective condoms…It's bad, but this?
"Shall we begin?" she asked, taking a seat at the other side of the table.
The lawyers in the room continued to stare at her blankly.
"Does she know?" one whispered to another.
"Know what, Victor?" Tracy's spoke harshly. She looked at the woman sitting next to him. "Diane?"
"We weren't expecting you this morning," Diane's voice shook. "Tracy, I—"
Tracy didn't know much about this woman, other than her name, but she'd be fool to assume nothing was going on. "What is it, Diane?"
Tracy Quartermaine didn't have to do much to make people nervous. The sight of her entering the room usually had people bracing themselves, especially those people who worked for her and her family's company. But Diane wasn't nervous. She had something to say, something she knew her boss needed to hear. Tracy swallowed hard as a pit formed her in stomach.
"You haven't heard the news at all this morning, have you?"
"I drove in silence today," Tracy responded, very slowly, trying to avoid whatever she was about to be told. She could almost hear the next words out of Diane's mouth, but wouldn't let herself believe it. This was all much too similar to the time she learned of her mother's death. Tracy was delaying something that couldn't be delayed.
"No one's tried to call you?"
Her bottom lip quivered, but not wanting to expose her vulnerability, she kept it together, "My cell is off. I didn't want it interrupting the meeting."
"Tracy—," the woman began.
Victor interjected, "Tracy, go to General Hospital right now. It's Dillon."
He didn't have to say anything else. Within a millisecond, Tracy Quartermaine disappeared from that conference room without uttering a single word. From the moment Diane's voice quaked, she suspected that one of her boys had been hurt, but just as with Lila's passing, she didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to accept that it could be true…
10:09am.
Frantically, she pressed away at the buttons on her cell phone, not realizing that her brother's number had been programmed into the directory. "Come on, Alan. Come on. Pick up." She switched on the radio news just in time to catch the tail end of the Breaking News story. Something about "PCU school shooting."
She covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh my God. Alan! Pick up the damn phone!" she shouted into the receiver.
"Okay. Okay. Monica. Monica…," she fumbled through the list of numbers, just as the cell began to vibrate. Incoming call: Luke. "Luke!" she shrieked, thankful and horrified at the same time. Their argument from earlier had become a distant memory. This was far more important.
"What's going on? Tell me that Dillon is all right…What do you mean they don't know? Is Alan working on this? Monica? Do not tell me that, Luke Spencer. Family not allowed? Who the hell is taking care of my son?"
She had a million and one questions, more and more forming before she could spit the other ones out. "Okay. Okay. Yes, I'm breathing!" The tears started to fall. "Luke, how did this all happen?"
10:21am.
She stormed into General Hospital, doing the best she could at maintaining her composure, "Where's my son?" she yelled out.
Luke greeted her, "Come on, Tracy."
"I want to see Dillon," she insisted.
Police Commissioner Mac Scorpio approached her, "Tracy, I need you to answer some questions."
"I want to see my son," she stated firmly.
Luke pushed Mac aside, "Save the questions for later, Bubba."
With his arm wrapped tightly around his wife's shoulders, Luke led the way through the crowded halls. Tracy's eyes met with the eyes of the hospital's staff members. No one said a thing. No one had to.
"Luke?" she put on a brave façade. "How bad is it?"
"I already told you. They don't know."
"How can they not know?" she squeaked. "Luke, I need answers! On the phone, you said something about two gun shot wounds. One to the shoulder. One to the leg. Nothing about his heart, right? Or his head?"
"Right."
"Okay. Okay. So, that's good, right?" The walk to the trauma room took extra long. Luke held onto her the entire time, keeping her close, doing his best to comfort her.
"Yeah, that's good," he sounded uncertain.
When Luke and Tracy finally reached the room, Alan, in pure doctor form, came up to them.
"Alan, what's going on?"
"Dillon's been shot," he stated very professionally. "He tried to be the hero. One bullet was meant for the other student; the other one for Dillon for trying to help."
"Damnit! I know that! How is he? Why won't anyone tell me anything?" She was on the verge of hysterics. "I want to see him," she swallowed. It wasn't time to crumble.
"We need to let them work. Come on, Tracy."
He held out his hand, only for her to push it away, "No! You are not a doctor right now, Alan. You are a brother! You are an uncle. Now, let me see him!" she practically bolted through the swinging doors.
Luke went to grab her, but Alan shook his head. "Let her go," he whispered.
"Dillon!" she saw her son, lying in the hospital bed; monitors everywhere.
"Hi, Mom," Dillon put on fake smile.
"Hi, Baby," she refused to let the tears fall. "How are ya?" He looked rather pale, and several machines beeped around him.
"Oh, I've been better."
She let out a little laugh.
"Excuse me," the young Dr. Drake said. "Family's not allowed in here. We're taking good care of him. Don't worry—I'm gonna need CBC lights, PTPT t-type crossovers two units…"
"What the hell does all that mean?"
Alan entered and put his two hands on her shoulders, "It means they're taking good care of him.
"Alan, please stop. Please," she was begging.
"Mrs. Quart—uh, Spencer. You should leave," advised Patrick. "He's in good hands. Don't worry."
"Hmm," she became angry. "My son's hooked up to God knows what, and you're telling me not to worry?"
In a whisper, Dillon said, "Let him work, Mom."
She went to stroke his forehead. "I love you," she said tenderly.
"I know," he nodded. She didn't expect that. An "I love you too, Mom" would've been more ideal for her.
Meanwhile, Luke watched solemnly from the window…