Prompt: "Will you stop flirting with me, I'm your EMT, I'm trying to save your life, I don't care if my green eyes match the color of your purse."
A/N: I have over 11,000 words to this one shot and it still doesn't feel finished, but I was so anxious to just get it out there my brain wouldn't let me sleep. After three sleepless nights, I've decided I'm gonna break it up into 3-4 chapters most likely.
Also this was meant to be fluffy, but when are my stories ever fluffy without a little bit of drama and tension? The High Five are 24-25 in this alternative universe.
Enjoy! Review and Favorite, lemme know if you like it xx
(*)
"On a scale of one to ten, how excited are you for tomorrow?"
A small smile spreads across Maya's face as she glances around the studio room. She had three different art pieces being shown at the opening tomorrow and she was just...there wasn't a word to describe rocking on the balls of her feet, her fingers tingling, mind in the clouds.
Relieved. She feels relieved. She dropped everything, her family, her friends, her life for the smallest bit of hope that she could succeed here. Mind you, it was only a mere two hours away from home and she was still in the busy city of New York, but she never liked change. She grew up with the corrupt thought of being a mediocre house wife and that was all she was gonna be.
Her eyes fall over her latest painting, running a hand along it.
She was happy and that was one trait that didn't come easy for Maya Hart. There was something about the satisfaction of proving everyone wrong that made her feel all warm inside. She finally made something of the skill she knew like the back of her hand, a pathway that rarely leads to success unless you croak first. Or cut your ear off. Neither of which sounded like a good time in her defense. She worked her ass off and spilled her blood, sweat and tears to reach this very moment.
"Nineteen. Nineteen out of ten." She responds, gripping the phone between her cheek and shoulder to fish her keys from her purse. She had to sneak in to look at her art one more time, hung on the walls. Just to imprint the image in her mind, just so she knows it's real and that something good came out of her shitty life.
Riley chuckled on the other end. "God, Maya, you have no idea how proud everyone is down here. I showed them the picture you sent me in front of the studio and Dad started crying. I was painfully present to witness Josh trying to comfort him with a pat on the head."
Maya snorts, pulling the keys from her purse. She would give an arm and a leg to see that, she hasn't seen the Matthew's in over three months trying to meet the deadline for the opening. Turning around to soak in the scene in front of her one last time, a ghost of a smile creeps onto her face. "Yeah, I miss you guys. I'm coming down next weekend," She mumbles, "Apparently Shawn proposed and my mother realized she wants a real family. Only took her twenty four years but better late than never." Adjusting her phone against her ear, she reaches over to flick the lights off when a clinking sound pierces through the room.
Turning around slowly, a chill runs down her spine.
"Did you get your car fixed or are you busing it down? Farkle finally passed his drivers test, I can ask him to pick you up if you want? Or oh! Charlie and I can come down! He got a promotion and bought a Mustang in the cutest color!"
She opens her mouth to reply, when she hears it again. Tightening her fingers around her keys, she narrows her eyes, trying to adjust to the dark. Maybe it's the rusty pipes again. But if it was, she needed to check it out.
Taking a staggered breath, she walks through the room, heels clicking against the floor beneath her. She ponders all the possibilities of what's actually lurking in the shadows and swallows hard.
"Maya?"
"Ye-um. Sorry. I just thought I heard some-" A crash makes her jump. She whips her head around as a shadow flashes by her. Inhaling sharply, she steps back until she hits the wall. Okay, she's fine, this is fine. Being an artist comes with a wild imagination. She can't count the amount of nightmares she's had with all the darker paintings she's done recently.
She can debunk this all she wants, but she knows she's not alone and her skin crawls at the thought. "Hey, Honey, I'm gonna have to call you back." She whispers before ending the call, leaning her head back against the wall. She knows she's gonna regret doing that. Horror movies 101: Never hang up on the person who could potentially save your life. Or at least know how you died.
She doesn't hear the clinking again and the tension subsides. Her shoulders slum in relief, loosening her death-grip on her keys, her eyes start to adjust to the dark.
Until the room started to fog in noxious fumes. Her eyes start to sting and she coughs to rid the smoke from her lungs. Panic runs through her veins and she grabs for anything to keep her knees from giving out.
What the hell was happening?
She reaches up frantically, grabbing at one of the painting with shaky hands. Her weight was too much and her throat starts to swell up as the painting snaps off the wall. She squeezes her eyes shut as she crashes to the ground, her keys slipping out of her hands.
Letting out a cry for help, tears build up in her eyes.
Please don't let her die in these shoes, she hates high heels and she did not pay a hundred and fifty dollars to be murdered her first time wearing them. She better be buried with these shoes.
A door creaks open, faint footsteps mixed with mumbled curse words rip into the silence.
Where are the flashbacks of all the great moments in her life before she dies? Where's her high school graduation, where's her scholarship to NYU, where's the fucking beaming white light that's supposed to shine down?
Her eyes slowly flutter back open as a shadowed figure creeps closer to her, a ski mask hiding their face and gloves that hide the color of their skin.
A frustrated "Fuck!" Slips out of the man's mouth as he kicked at her keys feverishly, taking notice in her. Her vision starts to blur and the shy colors are blending together but she squints to see him nonetheless. If she makes it out alive, you best know this asshole's karma is coming to him. "You weren't supposed to be here!" He hisses and stalks back towards her.
She shakes her head blindly, crawling back to the wall. She lets out a strangled weep in fear when he reaches down towards her.
Her head suddenly feels like dead weight and she pulls a hand up to it as she watches him rip the painting out of her grasp. His long sleeved shirt rises in the slightest as he grabs it, letting her eyes fall to the Scorpion tattoo he inked on his wrist.
The last thing she hears before her vision goes black is hushed words and the bell above the front door.
"I'm sorry, Maya."
(*)
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Sighing, Maya flings an arm out to find the snooze button before a strangled "ow!" makes her pause. Eyes still closed, she takes a breath. "You are not my alarm clock." She points out.
"Last time I checked, no I am not." A deep voice answers back and maybe this was hell. God knows she's not going to heaven.
And what the hell is on her face? Her eyes spring open but, before she can tear the mask off, large hands are pinning her wrists back down on the gurney. The room sways and she blinks a few times, squinting at the bright lights. The beeping echos in her ears as the hands release her wrists.
"S'instinct, they always go for the mask first." There's that deep, I-just-woke-up voice again.
She lets out a little giggle, swaying her head to the side to take in the mystery man. Her eyes meet sea green ones, which belonged to a broad shouldered brown haired man. Her eyes trail along his face to his sharp jawline and full lips, down to his blue shirt that read "EMT".
Hold up.
She sits up abruptly as large, calloused hands grab her shoulders, pulling her back down. She doesn't have the strength to fight back, in fact she doesn't give a flying fuck if his hands stay on her body. She'd actually prefer it.
And is she in the back of van? She doesn't even care. Her headache miraculously disappeared and she feels great.
"That," The man speaks up again, "Would be the morphine kicking in. It'll help with the pain."
She snorts in response, lulling her head back to the side to look at him again, her eyes falling heavy. "Whoa. You know what I just realized?" She slurs, her eyes wide. "Your eyes are the same color as my purse." It falls silent, she doesn't notice. "I like my purse."
The man blinks back at her, clearly unimpressed. "Okay...anyways," He says slowly, reaching down to the bandage on her forehead. "How are you feeling? You inhaled extremely toxic fumes, we weren't sure you'd wake from a coma, let alone in the car ride to the hospital." He explains, but his words become a blur as she stares at features. His brows were furrowed and his jaw was locked as he examined her wounds. Not one fucking pimple on this guy's face, unbelievable.
She realizes she's zoned out when he's starring at her with raised brows, oh shit it was a question. "I'm sorry, what?"
With a sigh, the sex god takes the mask off her face, draping an arm behind her head. "Do you remember your name?" He asks again.
"Why, so you know the name of the girl you're gonna give your number to?"
The man's head drops and she swears a small smile appears on his lips for a fraction of a second. "Will you stop flirting with me, I'm your EMT, I'm trying to save your life. I don't care if my green eyes match the color of your purse." He dismisses her, taking his arm off the gurney.
She scoffs. "Okay, you should feel flattered, that's my favorite purse."
"I'm gonna try this again, what's your name?"
"Hopefully Mrs. EMT."
"Oh my god."
(*)
When she wakes up, it takes her four minutes to realize she's in a hospital bed, another five as to why the fuck she's in a hospital bed. She winces as memories flood back to her in flashes.
Ski mask. Keys. The studio. The opening tomorrow. Toxic fumes. Sea greens eyes.
What?
Sea green eyes, jaw line, brown hair, purses, EMT's, morphine.
She let's out a whimper of embarrassment, sitting up in the bed. She flirted with a stranger, tripping on drugs. Put that on the list of things she'll think about when she can't sleep, along with tripping over her graduation gown and getting puked on on the subway.
Running her hands over her face, she glances down at the cord taped down to her arm. Oh god she hated needles. Also, the tape they use takes her like two weeks to get off, and that includes ripping the smallest of her arm hairs out along with it.
"You're awake!" She jumps slightly at the noise, her eyes snapping up to a nurse skipping in with a friendly smile. She responds with her own small awkward one. "Lucas said you were quite a fire ball last night. How are you feeling?"
She closes her eyes for a moment, holding her hand up. "Lucas?" She repeats in a groggy voice. How long was she out? Her throat was burning and her legs were aching.
The nurse shoots her another smile, holding out a paper cup. She takes it slowly, looking down at the clear liquid. "Oh, he's one of our EMT's. Sight for sore eyes, am I right?"
Maya eyes her over the paper cup, feeling the luke warm water run down her dry throat. The crow's feet and dark circles around the woman's eyes tell her she's at least mid forties. "R-right." She deadpans, glancing back down to the needle in her vein. She'd rather forget the whole fiasco and wallow in self pity later. "How, um," She pauses, "How long was I asleep?"
"About seven hours. We checked on you regularly, but we were waiting for you to wake up before running tests."
"Seven hours." Maya whispers before panic starts to sink in. The opening, her paintings, she's gonna miss it. Flinging the blankets off her legs, she takes a breath before ripping the needle out of her arm and stands up.
The nurses eyes turn frantic, rushing over to her. "No, no! You shouldn't be stan-" She warns just as Maya starts to sways back, steadying herself with the hospital bed.
"I have to go, I have to go right now." She murmurs, pushing the nurses hands off her, bee lining to the door. She did not bust her ass just to miss this because she accidentally got in the way of a juvenile crime.
(*)
She doesn't realize she's still in a hospital gown until she's pushed the back doors open and feels a slight chill where there shouldn't be a chill. She glances down as the door slams shut to her bare feet. "Oh, come on!" She yells in frustration, tossing her head back. "I'm fucking done with this stupid fucking shit," She mutters under her breath and kicks at the brick wall a few times.
Before she breaks a bone, the sound of sirens ring through the air. She snaps her head towards the sound as an ambulance pulls through the driveway, stopping a few feet away. Sluggishly, she drops her hands from the wall, watching a tall brown haired boy jump down from the passenger side seat. When he looks up, green eyes meet hers, a provocative smirk spreads across his lips.
Did she kill someone in her past life? A Nazi? Converted to cannibalism? Because the only thing that could make this day worse was running into this shit dick.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she waits until he makes his way over to her with an amused expression before rolling her eyes.
"What are you doing?" Is the first thing he asks as he takes in her appearance.
"Leaving." She snaps and starts to walk towards the busy street, feet burning against the scolding cement in the unnecessary hot weather. She stops and turns around to see the man still watching her, shaking his head. "Oh, and like, thanks for saving my life, or whatever. Later HeeHaw!" With that she spun back around as footsteps trailed behind her slowly. She picks up the pace but her legs are still achy and she's still light headed. The footsteps catch up to her until someone's grabbing her arm, whipping her back around to face them. Okay, he clearly had the advantage on her, he's like six foot four.
Lucas towers over her, eyes flicking between her eyes and her wounded forehead. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, where are you going?" He pesters her, causing her to roll her eyes. Again.
"The studio, Ranger Rick, I have an opening today and a fresh out of school wanna-be doctor isn't gonna stop me."
"You know I liked you better when you were highly medicated."
Maya nods, pursing her lips. "I like me better when I'm highly medicated also. Now I'd appreciate it if you'd stop wasting my precious time. Don't you have kitten's to save from tree's?"
"Think that's firefighters."
"I didn't ask."
Lucas lets out a small laugh, "S'my break ma'am. Plus, you're not legally allowed to leave the premises until you're cleared. Which," He stops, his eyes trailing over her disheveled appearance, "You were clearly not." He points out with a cocky grin.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she took a step closer. Fisting his shirt between her fingers, she drags him down to eye level in a heated rage. She was so done with his shit. "I am an independent women, I do what I please." She warns. He doesn't flinch and she's suddenly well aware of the short distance between them when she realizes his eyes have a flicker of gold in them.
Huh.
It falls silent for a few seconds as they stare at each other, her stomach does a flip.
What in the holy hell was that?
Before she has time to question it, he lowers his gaze. "You have no shoes, independent women."
Despite previously acknowledging this fact, she looks down to see for herself just as Lucas looks up. Their heads smack together and she pulls back like a wounded puppy because fuck it was right on the gash over her eyebrow.
"Ow!"
"Shit!"
Looking up, Lucas rubs at his own forehead. "That's the second time you've hit me in the head in the last twenty four hours, I'm running out of brain cells for you to damage." He growls.
His accent comes out more when he's angry, she notices first.
"Are you sure you had many to begin with, Huckleberry?" She argues, rubbing her temple to appease her sudden headache. If he wasn't so prone to invading her personal bubble, things like this wouldn't happen.
Lucas lets out a dry laugh, gesturing over to his ambulance. "I find it extraordinary how cynical you are. Need I remind you that just a couple hours earlier you tried to propose to me?"
Her cheeks turn crimson red, suddenly exposed. Vulnerability was not an emotion she displays to the public, let alone to this Neanderthal. It's something she hides away until she's safe within the walls of her apartment where she can blast the music so loud she doesn't have to deal with it. Not even that, but she's basically wearing a shower curtain in the middle of a busy New York side street; confidence wasn't her strongest suit at the moment. "Look, whatever your name is-"
"Don't pretend you don't know my name."
She narrows her eyes. "Sorry I'll rephrase, who the fuck cares what your name is," He rolls his eyes. "I'm not missing the opening, do you have any idea how far West Street is?"
The brown haired boy tilts his head, throwing his arms up in disbelief. "Considering that's where I saved your life, it may ring a bell. Plus, your head is bleeding again." He adds, his attitude falling from conceited to concerned.
Jesus this guy was as bipolar as it gets.
"I'll slap a band-aid on it and call it a day!" She shouts, turning back around to leave again. His words repeat in her head, causing her to wipe at her forehead roughly. She could already feel the blood trickle onto the back of her hand before she pulls it down to look at it.
Her inner panic prevents her from hearing the footsteps gaining on her. "If you don't walk back in there with your own two bare feet, I'm going to haul you over my shoulder and drag you back in myself." Lucas calls out, crossing his arms over his chest.
She decides its probably in her best interest to abide by his rules, she doesn't need him invading her space again. "You know, I liked you better when I was highly medicated too."