First, thanks so much for all of the love for the first chapter of this. I've been recovering from a rough patch of things health-wise, so all the comments and kudos, etc., made me smile. 3
So. All I can say about this chapter is that maybe it served as an alternative outlet to the cry I so desperately need, because it was not intended to remain quite so angsty. Thanks toDrinkwaterDrinkWine for helping make it better, and for being my tireless cheerleader and partner in crime, and to Michael Nyman for composing this ( watch?v=mOM_bCsh7Gw) lovely piece for the "End of the Affair" so I could wallow in the right headspace for this chapter. Remember though, we're only on Chapter 2!
And now, please enjoy "DI Jack and the Flair for the Dramatic," in which baby Robinson demonstrates that the propensity for making a memorable entrance may well be genetic.
Jack entered the hospital at a run, and didn't stop running until he found the little knot of people who were Phryne's. Dot was sniffling into a distressed Hugh's shoulder, while Cec hovered nearby, holding out a handkerchief and looking anxious. On the other hand, Bert, leaning against the opposite wall, was shifting from foot to foot and looking like he desperately wanted to hit something.
"What in God's name happened?" Jack burst out.
Seeing him, Dot broke into a fresh sob, but still managed to answer. "Oh, Inspector! There was-she just started bleeding, and I didn't know what to do, and Miss Phryne looked so pale and frightened, so I phoned Dr. Macmillan, and she said Miss Phryne ought to be brought straight here, so…" Sniffing loudly, she accepted Cec's handkerchief and blew her nose.
Continuing from where Dot left off, Cec added, "Bert and I had stopped in for tea…we figured we could get her here quicker in the cab than waiting for the ambulance,"
"Never drove so careful in me whole bloody life," Bert rumbled out around his cigarette.
Jack glanced at him sharply. The man sounded rattled, and if Bert was rattled, then—
"Jack! Good, we didn't want to wait much longer." Mac strode up quickly, taking Jack's arm and pulling him slightly to the side.
"What's happened? There's bleeding? Why is she bleeding?" Jack could hear the panic edging his own words, hating that he was blurting out questions like a fool instead of just letting Mac explain, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.
"We suspect that the placenta's detached from the uterus, at least partially, and that's what's causing the bleeding. It's been heavier than we like to see, and it's not stopping, so we need to operate."
"Operate? But the baby's not due for another month!"
"Right now it's safer to get the baby out, and we need to get that bleeding stopped."
"You can do it, stop the bleeding? You're certain?"
"I'll be assisting Dr. Crewson; he's the best we have. There are newer techniques that are less invasive, and he's made a special study of them." Mac's grip on his arm tightened, and her bright gaze grew more intent. "Jack, right now this is the best chance we have to save both of them, you understand? Phryne's agreed, but she wanted to wait to see you if she could. I can give you a moment, but she mustn't be upset. Can you manage that?"
Jack stared at her blankly. Could he manage? In just a few minutes his entire world had upended, and his mind was reeling, careening from question to worry to anguish and back again. Through the haze of panic, he tried to will himself to nod, because he had to manage, he had to, of course he did, but the sudden ringing in his ears made everything seem very far away. Then his gaze fell on Mac's hand on his arm, caught the lurid brightness of a smear of blood on her wrist, and the sudden stab of pure, icy fear in his chest brought him back to himself like a shot.
"Yes. Yes, of course I can."
God, she looked so bloody small in that bed, despite the swollen belly, and it wasn't right. It just wasn't right. Nor was the sheen of tears in her eyes, or the fear she tried to disguise behind a miserable attempt at a plucky smile. It wasn't right, and it wasn't bloody fair, and for a moment absolute and utter self-hatred pierced Jack's heart for putting her there. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was being unreasonable, knew Phryne would argue the point vociferously if ever he voiced it, but he didn't care. He'd blame himself if he damn well wanted to.
"Jack, I'm so sorry," she murmured.
His eyes snapped to hers. "What? Why? There's nothing to be sorry for, Phryne. Nothing."
"For once in my life, all I wanted to do was be completely and utterly ordinary. Just once, Jack, and I couldn't even manage that, and now look!" Though soft, her voice was strained, and desperate in a way he hadn't heard since that night at the observatory after her father disappeared. When a single tear rolled down her cheek, Jack nearly couldn't bear it, but somehow he summoned a smile for her.
Cupping her cheek, he brushed the tear away with his thumb. "This, coming from the woman who huffs whenever I insist on doing anything by the book? At this point, I don't think you could do anything ordinary if you tried, love. Besides, if anyone can sail through extraordinary circumstances like they're nothing more than an afternoon's pleasure cruise, it's you, my peerless Phryne." He paused, moving his hand up to stroke her dark hair . "But there's really nothing so extraordinary here, is there? Just a nice long sleep and then we'll have a baby." He could feel his smile wobbling at the edges, but he was going to keep it on his face if it was the last thing he did, damn it, even if the world went to hell in the meantime.
He must have managed it, because the answering quirk of her lips was tremulous but genuine. "I suppose you're right—it really isn't. It's a silly thing to be glad about, but I am. Bless you, Jack…and to think that I once called you my unsung hero…"
"Jack." In the doorway, Mac jerked her chin towards the hall. "It's time."
"That's my cue, I suppose." He kissed her hand. "Now, it may be time for your solo, but this pas de deux ends with a duet, remember?"
"Don't you mean a trio, Jack?"
"Quite right. And I'll be waiting for both of you right where you left me, waiting for my entrance, so just make sure you turn up on time, all right?"
"Of course you will, my stalwart Jack." Her hand still clasped in his, she squeezed tight, and after one last, desperate glance, he retreated, crossing to Mac before his calm façade crumbled completely away.
Outside, Mac eyed him searchingly. "Is she all right?"
Jack blew out a short, incredulous breath. "Yes, she's all right." He ran a hand over his face before asking, "How long?"
"For Phryne? An hour, perhaps less, assuming there are no complications. There might well be, you know, Jack. More radical surgery is sometimes necessary. "
"Look, just get her through this, all right? Just…please, Mac." For a moment, his expression was utterly beseeching, and then his face hardened as he swore fiercely, "If something happens to her I will never forgive myself, ever, so anything else…just make sure you save her." Unsure he could utter another word without disgracing himself, he wheeled abruptly and stalked down the corridor, fists clenched so tightly that he could feel where each nail bit into his palm.
Jack left so quickly, he didn't see Phryne grab Mac's sleeve, and it was probably very fortunate he was halfway down the hallway before she spoke, for if he had actually heard their conversation, he might very well have succumbed to the tears he'd worked so hard to keep at bay.
"Mac. Mac, listen. Jack, he mustn't be alone, so you must at least save the baby, all right?" Phryne said urgently.
"Good God, if the two of you get any more Shakespearean…" Mac muttered. "Listen to me, Phryne, I have no intention of losing either you or the baby. Not if I have to drag you kicking and screaming from the pearly gates myself."
"You sound so sure it would be the pearly gates you'd be dragging me from."
"Yes, I bloody well am, and you damn well know it," Mac retorted somewhat hoarsely. "More importantly, I'm absolutely sure that any talk of gates is entirely irrelevant to this situation. Apart from anything else, your Jack Robinson would never forgive either of us, and I for one have no intention of earning his eternal enmity."
"He really wouldn't forgive us, would he?" agreed Phryne, a hint of relief in her tone.
"And just you remember that, Phryne Fisher. Now, I'll get the orderly…it's time to get you to theater."
When Jack thinks of that time spent waiting later, he's never sure how long it actually was or what happened when. He knows at some point he'd removed his jacket, and then his tie, but he had no recollection of what he did with them. Perhaps Cec, who shadowed him a good deal of the time, had collected them, but it was more likely Dot, who had followed him with a worried gaze if not with her feet. No, perhaps Cec had been the one to unbutton his cuffs, when for some reason his own fingers wouldn't quite cooperate. Someone had steered him toward a bench then, and he'd sat down heavily, his head in his hands. He thinks he recalls the sensation of his hair falling over his forehead then, too, so he must have run his hands through it enough to loosen the rigid hold that Phryne so often preferred to muss. Perhaps after that was when Hugh's hand had landed on his shoulder and the lad had started to say something, only to be cut off by a sharp glance from Bert. He does remember when a cigarette entered his field of vision, accompanied only by Bert's steady gaze, and how for a moment he was no longer in a hospital corridor, but in a trench in France after a heavy bombardment, when the only thing that seemed to make any sense, that might make the shaking stop, was sharing a cigarette with the equally lucky blighter next to him. He's fairly certain he smoked the whole pack, almost one after the other, even though he can count the cigarettes he'd smoked in the previous decade on one hand.
He sometimes wonders why he remembers as much as he does, when God knows the only important thing that day was the sight of Mac coming towards him, her hair blazing like a beacon, and his hoping with every fiber of his being that it signaled salvation, rather than the utter devastation that was the only other alternative…
Okay, so, I KNOW, and I'm so sorry, but can I just be really clear upfront and say that I hate tragedies? Absolutely hate 'em, and pretty much refuse to go near them, regardless of their supposed critical merits. Just so you know. ;)
Notes now, mostly on medical things, kind of in order:
- So according to my research, in 1923 the Victorian Civil Ambulance Service had 6 motor ambulances and three horse-drawn ones, so I figured the risks of waiting for one of those vs. being carefully carried down the stairs and transported to the hospital in the back of a cab were probably about even, in the circumstances I presented? Plus, I also wanted an excuse to get Bert and Cec involved, so…
-From my reading I get the impression that C-sections are kind of a last resort in the case of a placental abruption nowadays, unless they know it's very severe or that mother or baby are in absolutely dire distress. But we have many more ways to check that now, and lots of other interventions to try first, whereas in 1930 probably the only choice was to go in surgically once they determined the bleeding wouldn't stop (which apparently it can sometimes)? Oh, also, apparently by 1930 the "modern" horizontal C-section incision should have been fairly common, which is better for you in the long run, so yay for that.
-Kind of connected to that, I know that while I was writing part of me was screeching, "Stop talking and get in the operating room, darn it, because BABY, and placenta, and ARGH!" But I imagine that Jack got the message pretty quickly, and they would have had to take time at the hospital to determine what was going on, and that things weren't going to stop, and really, between Jack getting to the hospital and his storming away from Mac, I figure maybe ten minutes have elapsed? Suspension of disbelief may still be required, of course, but I hope things don't seem too implausible. And without all the lovely "conversating" there wouldn't be nearly so many feels, and I think it was kind of therapeutic for me to wallow, actually, so…
-As regards research for Chapter 3, if anyone has any idea what recovery from a C-section would have looked like in 1930, do let me know, because all I can think is that there was probably a heck of a lot of morphine, a much higher risk for infection, and a hospital stay that was certainly longer that two days or so, and then I hit a wall.
So I hope you enjoyed, despite the angstiness, and that you'll forgive me enough to stick around for Chapter 3. Hugs and stars, friends. 3