DrinkSparkyCola: *lol* You keep on writing, send a word my way when you get something done.
jd burns: Oh, yesss....
everyone else: Thanks for reviewing! I love all feedback. Okay, here it comes, I finally got around to writing this... maybe this'll clear up a couple of things...
A/N: The medical stuff I know is mostly from watching Casualty. ;) Some various information I've picked from here and there. My point is that I'm no expert. Don't let that bother you too much, 'kay?
CHAPTER THREE
What do we got?
Male in his late twenties, shot in the chest, no exit wound, drifting in and out of consciousness. Sats down to 87 percent, no breathing sounds in the left side.
Pressures?
105 over 69.
Okay, get the theatre ready, and page Dr. Fletcher. Six O-negatives ASAP. -- Could you stand back, please, sir?
-- Sir? Please stand back and give us some room...
A pair of strong hands pressed gently but firmly against Nick's shoulders, making him stop his jog by the medical crew down the gray corridor of the hospital. He pushed the hands away. "I have to be there," he tried to argue, peering over the shoulder of the man that stood in his way. He could see the white-coated nurses and doctors and the paramedics in their uniforms but he could only catch a glimpse of the young lab tech's feet as the double swing doors at the end of the corridor were pushed open and the trolley disappeared out of his sight.
"Sir, it's better that you stay here," the nurse repeated, forcing Nick to focus his eyes on the figure before him. The man's face wore a understanding yet determined look that matched the tone of his voice. "They'll take care of him."
Nick let his eyes stay in the man's, as if they would hold the truth whether or not Nick could believe him. After a second or two he let the gaze brake. He wasn't sure if he'd found what he'd been looking for, though. "Yeah," he whispered hoarsely. A bitter, acid taste rose to his mouth but he swallowed it back down, pressing a hand over his mouth. He leant his back against the wall, taking support from the concrete.
"Are you a relative?"
Nick glanced up at the man. For a second he considered letting the words he was thinking of pass his lips. "No," he finally answered instead. "We're co-workers -- friends," he rushed to add.
The nurse nodded understandingly.
***
Sam's hands were shaking.
He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at the clock that kept ticking on the opposite wall. Then he cast his eyes at the door, nervously waiting for it to open. It didn't.
The chair on the other side of the small table glared at him, as empty as the rest of the interrogation room. Even the mirror window seemed to stare at him accusingly.
He knew they were watching him squirm, waiting him to crack. Knew that they could wait forever. But he also knew what would happen if he talked.
***
"I was hoping that the first case tonight would have been a little more fun than this."
Gil Grissom had heard the steps stop behind him, recognized their weight as Captain Jim Brass's, but hadn't turned around on his spot in front of the one-sided window. Even when Jim's voice interrupted the dead calm waiting he didn't turn to face the man or reply. Instead he kept his eyes on the young man on the other side of the window.
Jim's presence hovered closer until the shape of his brown-suited body invaded the periphery of Grissom's vision. It was then that he finally spoke. "Any word?"
Jim let out a long breath, he too focusing his gaze on the man in the interrogation room. "Cath called. Major surgery. At least seven hours, so you're in no hurry yet if you intend to send fresh flowers to his bed side."
"Or funeral."
He wasn't sure whether he'd actually said that out loud or not until he saw Jim's head turn at him. "He's a tough kid, Gil," he told the gray-haired CSI in a tone that clearly told him not to paint devils on the walls.
As the supervisor of the night shift, Grissom had strong faith in his team. He trusted them all to cope in any situation. To fight when necessary. He trusted Luck to be a lady whenever crossing their way. Still he couldn't keep the nagging voice in the back of his head from saying that maybe Greg had used out all of his luck.
He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Jim was right. Walking into his place of work only to find out that one of his staff had been shot in the same aforementioned place of work wasn't the most ideal way to start the evening. Especially when the shooter was who he was. "Has the lawyer come yet?" he asked, finally turning to look at the Captain.
"Yeah," Jim nodded, "some wet-behind-the-ears straight out of school who thought that working for the government would be a day's good deed. He's just filling out some forms."
"No lawyer in the world could get him out of this one."
"I know." Jim fixed his eyes on Sam, studying his slumped posture, and frowned. "I always thought of him as a nice guy. Quiet. Kind. Always did what he was told to. Been working here for -- what? Three years?"
Grissom arched an eyebrow at him. "Does that make a difference?"
"I'm just saying it's strange."
The interaction was interrupted by the sound of hurried steps further down the corridor. They both glanced at the direction of the sound just to see a young man rushing towards them with a briefcase trapped between his arm and his torso. A determined look was plastered on his boyish face that broke into a restrained smile as he noticed the two older men. They watched him approach. "Captain Brass," the man greeted Jim, and then offered his hand to Grissom. "I assume you are Mr. Grissom. I was told you would be participating in the interrogation." With an acknowledging nod Grissom shook his hand briefly. "My name is Will Stanrov. I was assigned to this case. I would like to take a few minutes to talk with my client before we begin." He sounded as if he was reading straight from a text book, and even with the professional tone he managed, Grissom could hear a little flicker of nervousness in the young man's voice. Again, Jim had been right; the kid probably hadn't handled anything of this caliber in his life.
"Whenever you're ready, Mr. Stanrov," Jim stated. The lawyer nodded and opened the door to the interrogation room. From the side of his eye, Grissom saw Sam's head pop up at the sound of the door.
Jim tucked his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket and heaved a sigh as the solicitor took a seat. "I guess it's game on then," he muttered under his breath.
***
The hospital floor looked cold.
Sara admitted to herself that it surely was a strange thing to note at a situation like this. But then again, she'd been measuring the floors with her gaze for what seemed like days. It probably had been just an hour or two. She glanced at the clock that kept on ticking on the wall. An hour and twenty... seven minutes. An hour and twenty-seven minutes since she'd moved from measuring the walls to measuring the dirty-white tiles that covered the waiting area.
The plastic chair was getting extremely uncomfortable to sit on. Her back was getting stiff from being in one position for too long. So were her legs. She leant back in her chair and stretched them out. She suppressed a tired yawn as she glanced around.
Nick was by the vending machines. He'd been pacing around before but had now settled for leaning against the pale wall. He looked as tired as she felt; he had dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked like ash. Catherine was nowhere to be seen. She had disappeared to somewhere within the building after she'd called Brass. Sara kept her mind busy wondering where she'd gone to.
Mostly because she didn't want to think about the bloody shirt that was squashed into her locker back at the LVCL.
She felt odd about it. She knew she should feel worried, nervous, nauseous, something. Instead she just thought how many washes it would take for the stains to disappear. She knew she should feel guilty for thinking so, but she didn't.
She glanced at the clock, wondering how much longer it would take.
***
"Suction," Dr. Fletcher spoke out into the concentrated silence that had consumed the theatre for the past minutes. The nurse did as told without a word. "Thank you, Kate."
The surgeon peered down at the open cut and squinted her eyes. She shook her head promptly. " 'Tis no good. I still can't see where the leak is coming from. I need some more light here." The light was adjusted above the immobile body that lay on the operating table until it pointed directly where it should.
Secretly Dr. Fletcher stole a glance at the peaceful face of her patient. She still couldn't seem to comprehend what she saw. It was enough to turn one superstitious.
The voice of her friend and her current assisting surgeon awoke her from her thoughts. "Are you okay, Rebecca?"
Her eyes darted at the man that stood on the other side of the table. The scrubs only barely exposed his eyes but she could still recognize a worried look when she saw one. "Yes, I'm fine, Hasa," she assured him and shifted her weight from one tired foot to the other. "I'm just not sure if we can repair this vein. It's pretty damaged."
"Shall I prepare to graft?"
She shook her head. "Not yet. There's a leak in here that I can't locate. We have to find it first." She rolled her stiff shoulders to ease the tense muscles a bit and then bent closer, once again squinting her eyes, this time for concentration, as she examined the jigsaw puzzle of tissue and blood that only made sense to the devoted few. A small, victorious smile appeared on her face behind the surgical mask. "I see it! Kate, clamps. Mark, get the --"
The entire surgical team jerked at the sudden beeping of the monitors, turning their heads towards the sound. "Pressures dropping," Kate announced.
"Shit," Dr. Fletcher swore under her breath as she saw that the cut was once again filling with blood. Then more loudly to the nurse that stood nearby: "Gimme suction. I can't see a damned thing from under all this blood!" The team surged into action, following her commands as she shot them out like a machine gun. The demanding beeping kept on filling the room.
TBC....
A/N: For some reason this turned out really melancholic. *shrugs* Oh, well.... But, still, I hope you got it, at least the last scene.... See ya in a while.
jd burns: Oh, yesss....
everyone else: Thanks for reviewing! I love all feedback. Okay, here it comes, I finally got around to writing this... maybe this'll clear up a couple of things...
A/N: The medical stuff I know is mostly from watching Casualty. ;) Some various information I've picked from here and there. My point is that I'm no expert. Don't let that bother you too much, 'kay?
CHAPTER THREE
What do we got?
Male in his late twenties, shot in the chest, no exit wound, drifting in and out of consciousness. Sats down to 87 percent, no breathing sounds in the left side.
Pressures?
105 over 69.
Okay, get the theatre ready, and page Dr. Fletcher. Six O-negatives ASAP. -- Could you stand back, please, sir?
-- Sir? Please stand back and give us some room...
A pair of strong hands pressed gently but firmly against Nick's shoulders, making him stop his jog by the medical crew down the gray corridor of the hospital. He pushed the hands away. "I have to be there," he tried to argue, peering over the shoulder of the man that stood in his way. He could see the white-coated nurses and doctors and the paramedics in their uniforms but he could only catch a glimpse of the young lab tech's feet as the double swing doors at the end of the corridor were pushed open and the trolley disappeared out of his sight.
"Sir, it's better that you stay here," the nurse repeated, forcing Nick to focus his eyes on the figure before him. The man's face wore a understanding yet determined look that matched the tone of his voice. "They'll take care of him."
Nick let his eyes stay in the man's, as if they would hold the truth whether or not Nick could believe him. After a second or two he let the gaze brake. He wasn't sure if he'd found what he'd been looking for, though. "Yeah," he whispered hoarsely. A bitter, acid taste rose to his mouth but he swallowed it back down, pressing a hand over his mouth. He leant his back against the wall, taking support from the concrete.
"Are you a relative?"
Nick glanced up at the man. For a second he considered letting the words he was thinking of pass his lips. "No," he finally answered instead. "We're co-workers -- friends," he rushed to add.
The nurse nodded understandingly.
***
Sam's hands were shaking.
He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at the clock that kept ticking on the opposite wall. Then he cast his eyes at the door, nervously waiting for it to open. It didn't.
The chair on the other side of the small table glared at him, as empty as the rest of the interrogation room. Even the mirror window seemed to stare at him accusingly.
He knew they were watching him squirm, waiting him to crack. Knew that they could wait forever. But he also knew what would happen if he talked.
***
"I was hoping that the first case tonight would have been a little more fun than this."
Gil Grissom had heard the steps stop behind him, recognized their weight as Captain Jim Brass's, but hadn't turned around on his spot in front of the one-sided window. Even when Jim's voice interrupted the dead calm waiting he didn't turn to face the man or reply. Instead he kept his eyes on the young man on the other side of the window.
Jim's presence hovered closer until the shape of his brown-suited body invaded the periphery of Grissom's vision. It was then that he finally spoke. "Any word?"
Jim let out a long breath, he too focusing his gaze on the man in the interrogation room. "Cath called. Major surgery. At least seven hours, so you're in no hurry yet if you intend to send fresh flowers to his bed side."
"Or funeral."
He wasn't sure whether he'd actually said that out loud or not until he saw Jim's head turn at him. "He's a tough kid, Gil," he told the gray-haired CSI in a tone that clearly told him not to paint devils on the walls.
As the supervisor of the night shift, Grissom had strong faith in his team. He trusted them all to cope in any situation. To fight when necessary. He trusted Luck to be a lady whenever crossing their way. Still he couldn't keep the nagging voice in the back of his head from saying that maybe Greg had used out all of his luck.
He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Jim was right. Walking into his place of work only to find out that one of his staff had been shot in the same aforementioned place of work wasn't the most ideal way to start the evening. Especially when the shooter was who he was. "Has the lawyer come yet?" he asked, finally turning to look at the Captain.
"Yeah," Jim nodded, "some wet-behind-the-ears straight out of school who thought that working for the government would be a day's good deed. He's just filling out some forms."
"No lawyer in the world could get him out of this one."
"I know." Jim fixed his eyes on Sam, studying his slumped posture, and frowned. "I always thought of him as a nice guy. Quiet. Kind. Always did what he was told to. Been working here for -- what? Three years?"
Grissom arched an eyebrow at him. "Does that make a difference?"
"I'm just saying it's strange."
The interaction was interrupted by the sound of hurried steps further down the corridor. They both glanced at the direction of the sound just to see a young man rushing towards them with a briefcase trapped between his arm and his torso. A determined look was plastered on his boyish face that broke into a restrained smile as he noticed the two older men. They watched him approach. "Captain Brass," the man greeted Jim, and then offered his hand to Grissom. "I assume you are Mr. Grissom. I was told you would be participating in the interrogation." With an acknowledging nod Grissom shook his hand briefly. "My name is Will Stanrov. I was assigned to this case. I would like to take a few minutes to talk with my client before we begin." He sounded as if he was reading straight from a text book, and even with the professional tone he managed, Grissom could hear a little flicker of nervousness in the young man's voice. Again, Jim had been right; the kid probably hadn't handled anything of this caliber in his life.
"Whenever you're ready, Mr. Stanrov," Jim stated. The lawyer nodded and opened the door to the interrogation room. From the side of his eye, Grissom saw Sam's head pop up at the sound of the door.
Jim tucked his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket and heaved a sigh as the solicitor took a seat. "I guess it's game on then," he muttered under his breath.
***
The hospital floor looked cold.
Sara admitted to herself that it surely was a strange thing to note at a situation like this. But then again, she'd been measuring the floors with her gaze for what seemed like days. It probably had been just an hour or two. She glanced at the clock that kept on ticking on the wall. An hour and twenty... seven minutes. An hour and twenty-seven minutes since she'd moved from measuring the walls to measuring the dirty-white tiles that covered the waiting area.
The plastic chair was getting extremely uncomfortable to sit on. Her back was getting stiff from being in one position for too long. So were her legs. She leant back in her chair and stretched them out. She suppressed a tired yawn as she glanced around.
Nick was by the vending machines. He'd been pacing around before but had now settled for leaning against the pale wall. He looked as tired as she felt; he had dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked like ash. Catherine was nowhere to be seen. She had disappeared to somewhere within the building after she'd called Brass. Sara kept her mind busy wondering where she'd gone to.
Mostly because she didn't want to think about the bloody shirt that was squashed into her locker back at the LVCL.
She felt odd about it. She knew she should feel worried, nervous, nauseous, something. Instead she just thought how many washes it would take for the stains to disappear. She knew she should feel guilty for thinking so, but she didn't.
She glanced at the clock, wondering how much longer it would take.
***
"Suction," Dr. Fletcher spoke out into the concentrated silence that had consumed the theatre for the past minutes. The nurse did as told without a word. "Thank you, Kate."
The surgeon peered down at the open cut and squinted her eyes. She shook her head promptly. " 'Tis no good. I still can't see where the leak is coming from. I need some more light here." The light was adjusted above the immobile body that lay on the operating table until it pointed directly where it should.
Secretly Dr. Fletcher stole a glance at the peaceful face of her patient. She still couldn't seem to comprehend what she saw. It was enough to turn one superstitious.
The voice of her friend and her current assisting surgeon awoke her from her thoughts. "Are you okay, Rebecca?"
Her eyes darted at the man that stood on the other side of the table. The scrubs only barely exposed his eyes but she could still recognize a worried look when she saw one. "Yes, I'm fine, Hasa," she assured him and shifted her weight from one tired foot to the other. "I'm just not sure if we can repair this vein. It's pretty damaged."
"Shall I prepare to graft?"
She shook her head. "Not yet. There's a leak in here that I can't locate. We have to find it first." She rolled her stiff shoulders to ease the tense muscles a bit and then bent closer, once again squinting her eyes, this time for concentration, as she examined the jigsaw puzzle of tissue and blood that only made sense to the devoted few. A small, victorious smile appeared on her face behind the surgical mask. "I see it! Kate, clamps. Mark, get the --"
The entire surgical team jerked at the sudden beeping of the monitors, turning their heads towards the sound. "Pressures dropping," Kate announced.
"Shit," Dr. Fletcher swore under her breath as she saw that the cut was once again filling with blood. Then more loudly to the nurse that stood nearby: "Gimme suction. I can't see a damned thing from under all this blood!" The team surged into action, following her commands as she shot them out like a machine gun. The demanding beeping kept on filling the room.
TBC....
A/N: For some reason this turned out really melancholic. *shrugs* Oh, well.... But, still, I hope you got it, at least the last scene.... See ya in a while.