Disclaimer: See first chapter
Rating: PG-15
Chapter Six: Vaughn
It's amazing how incredibly thick people can be sometimes, Vaughn Pearson thought with stringent clarity as he sat in the waiting room chair. How incredibly thick I can be sometimes...
It had been two and a half hours since they arrived at the hospital. Two and a half hours since the incident in the cafeteria where Madison had been executed in Vaughn's arms and Marshall had been shot.
Vaughn had been sitting in the green and blue plush chair staring at the wall for the last hour, ever since they'd taken Marshall into surgery. He hadn't said much since, just sat and contemplated. Ten minutes ago it had suddenly occurred to him that three hours ago he was celebrating his success at getting into a prestigious college all on his own. His friends were congratulating him, feeling happy for him, patting him on the back... and now everyone was either in mourning or in shock... or dead.
Ten minutes ago, it occurred to Vaughn that this isn't where he should be right now, on this day. Five minutes later he began to regret his self- pity. What had be been thinking? How could he think about people praising him when people were dead? What kind of a person was he that he couldn't realize that?
Well, Vaughn, you're definitely your father's son, he thought bitterly. Victor Pearson wouldn't care about anyone either. He'd be calm and collected, assessing the situation and moving on without a moment's contemplation as to the feelings of those around him.
When he thought about his father, Vaughn realized that he hadn't seen or heard from Victor Pearson yet, not since before the accident when Vaughn had called his dad on the phone to tell him the good news. Because, he had come to realize, there wasn't anyone else he wanted to tell more at that moment than his dad, who he desperately sought approval from in every aspect of his life. He wanted to prove to his dad that he too could be successful.
"Well, that's good, son. I'm happy for you." He had told him and Vaughn beamed at his accomplishments, but then, "Now if only your other grades could match your undertakings in the area of sports, you might actually get into Harvard, or Yale, some place more appropriate." And with that, all his satisfaction, all his pride was slashed at once, and he found himself once again left wanting, needing.
Victor Pearson wasn't there for his son then, and he wasn't there at the hospital now when Vaughn needed him most. Nobody would be there for Vaughn.
And then he came to his most recent thought with a clatter of epiphanies. It hit him all of the sudden that he was thinking about himself again, that he was still wallowing in pity, all for himself, and he immediately felt shamed.
Marshall Wheeler is in the other room dying because he took a bullet for you, Vaughn thought to himself. You would be dead right now if he hadn't jumped in to save your ass.
How incredibly thick can you be?
But why? Vaughn kept asking himself. Why had Marshall sacrificed himself for someone he hardly knew? For someone who, in all respects, he probably didn't even like very much? It didn't make sense to Vaughn, and he couldn't help but give in to the despair rising inside of him and allow the thought to cross his mind that he might never find out what Marshall did it for. Never know why he had saved Vaughn's life at the expense of his own.
Lucas Randall seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Currently he sat across the room from Vaughn, staring at the clock on the wall that didn't seem to be moving slow enough for the teenager's liking. "God, what is taking so long?!" He growled, pulling himself out of the chair and stalking across the room to the single window. The two were the only ones in the room currently. Corrine Baxter had left earlier, mumbling something about having to get a hold of Marshall's family. She'd been gone for nearly twenty minutes.
Vaughn continued staring, finding himself unable to be angry like Lucas was. He just couldn't. Lucas was seething, Vaughn knew, and why shouldn't he be? His best friend could die any minute and Lucas had absolutely no control over it. But Vaughn couldn't be mad at Chris Ghent, no matter how much he wanted to. Lucas would understand if he'd been there in the room with them... if he'd seen the abandoned, vacant expression Chris wore. No, Vaughn couldn't blame him. Chris had passed the point of no return emotionally; no one could have saved him. It was just... circumstance.
Who, then, was to blame?
Corrine reentered the room just then. Both boys turned to look at her quickly, involuntarily thinking she may be a doctor with news about their friend. Corrine seemed not to notice this. "I couldn't get a hold of Marshall's parents." She mumbled. "I called the house, no one was home... I left a message. I tried to call Grant too, but I remembered he didn't have a—didn't have a number yet... I don't know how to get a hold of him."
Lucas, sensing the harried expression on his friend's face made to move across the room, but paused. Corrine, lost in her grief, was breaking down before their eyes. She tried to keep things together – for herself, for everyone else – she tried to put everything in order, but it was all futile. Her reality was falling apart and she couldn't fix it for once. "Oh God, you guys. Marshall has no family here for him, he doesn't have anyone. We're all he has right now! Don't you realize that? We're all he has!" Lucas, needed no further coaxing. He moved across the room quickly, giving his friend a quick hug and guiding her into a chair with his injured hand.
The cut on his hand had been cleaned and stitched about an hour ago, much to Lucas's protest. He had wanted to be up in the OR waiting for Marshall to get out of surgery but the nurse insisted that he get bandaged up before he went anywhere. Lucas had finally complied and had his hand looked at before heading directly for the 3rd floor.
Now he sat next to the silently weeping Corrine, wanting to put an arm around her shoulder but holding back, too angry to make any comforting gestures. "This isn't fair. This just isn't fair. Marshall never hurt anyone, why should he be the one to suffer? Chris Ghent deserved what he got." Lucas said menacingly. "He deserved to die."
"Don't say that." Vaughn surprised himself with the sternness of his voice. When Lucas gave him a confused look, Vaughn continued, "You shouldn't say things like that." He reiterated quietly. "No one deserves to die. Not even Chris."
"Are you kidding?! Some of our friends died today! You were right there, Madison died in your arms, Marshall got shot and you're saying that Chris didn't deserve to die?!"
"Lucas—"Corrine began, wiping away her tears. "Lucas, settle down."
"I can't, not when I'm hearing things like that. Why would you say something like that, Vaughn?" His look was challenging – Vaughn knew the look. He encountered it every day on the football field – steadfast opponents defying you directly took on that look. And Lucas had it now.
But unlike on the field where Vaughn was in charge, here he felt cornered and alone. Although he knew Corrine mostly agreed with him, even she looked curious to know why Vaughn was standing up for Chris Ghent.
Vaughn took a deep breath, feeling very sick. He could feel the tears threatening to fall from his eyes again, but choked them back. "Because... Chris Ghent didn't mean to shoot Marshall. He wasn't aiming for him... He was trying to shoot me. I was the one he wanted to kill... Marshall, he—he jumped in and pushed me out of the way.
"It's all my fault." Vaughn choked. "I ignored Chris Ghent for the entire time we went to school together. I took advantage of a whole person and I hurt him, I hurt him so badly that he couldn't see any other way to deal with his problems than... than this. Marshall didn't deserve what he got, and neither did Chris. That bullet was meant for me. I'm the one to blame!" Vaughn's jaw trembled as he shouted the words, startling his two friends.
No one spoke for a few minutes, and the stunned silence reverberated around the empty room. Finally Lucas sprung from his chair again and walked away. "I don't believe this." He muttered.
"Lucas—"Corrine began again.
"Get out." Lucas stared at Vaughn coldly.
"What?" Vaughn looked up at him, disbelieving what he'd heard.
"I said 'get out.' You don't deserve to be here now. It's your fault that Marshall could die. I don't want you here right now and Marshall probably doesn't either." He said coldly.
"Lucas, you know that's not true!" Corrine defended. "Why are you acting like this?"
"Because, I can't stand the sight of him right now. I just can't believe—God, this is unreal." Lucas said.
"Lucas, you've got to believe me—I never meant for this to happen! If I could go back and change anything it would be me lying in there, not him! You've got to believe me!"
But Lucas never got a chance to answer because at that moment, the door to the waiting room swung open and an older man in scrubs walked in, taking in the three teenagers before him. "Are you the friends of the shooting victim we brought in an hour ago, a... Marshall Wheeler?"
"Yes, we are." Corrine stood up immediately and walked over to stand next to the surgeon. Vaughn noticed that there was dried blood covering his pant legs and sleeves and wondered despairingly if it was all Marshall's... But nothing was said, and the teens allowed the surgeon to continue.
"I'm Dr. Corben. Were you by any chance able to contact a parent or another relative?" He asked dutifully.
"No..." Corrine looked crestfallen. "I tried calling his parents. They live in Michigan though, and I couldn't get a hold of them... His brother lives in the area, but he's not available either."
Dr. Corben sighed, looking very tired and worn. Vaughn guessed that he'd probably been very busy that afternoon, because of the shooting. He certainly looked like he could use a rest. "You really should have a relative, or at least an adult present to hear this. It's against regulations to dispense any information about a patient to non-relatives."
"Couldn't you at least tell us how he is?" Corrine pleaded. "We can't wait any longer."
The surgeon sighed, but nodded reluctantly. "I can't release the full details, but I will tell you that Marshall survived the surgery and he's upstairs in the ICU. He's still unconscious, but we're hopeful he'll pull through. We've done all we can, kids... and it's up to him now if your friend wants to wake up."
"Oh thank God." Corrine said, relieved. Vaughn felt a heavy weight lifted off his chest, glad he was already sitting in a chair.
Dr. Corben surveyed the three teens with empathy, and gave in. "If you want, I'll allow you to go visit Marshall in a few minutes, but only if you promise to follow the rules they tell you before you go into the room, and then only one at a time. Do you understand?"
"Yes, we do. Thank you so much." Corrine said gratefully.
"Yeah, thanks a lot." Lucas added sincerely, rubbing the back of his neck. "This means a lot to us."
Dr. Corben smiled before making his way toward the door. "Glad I could help. You take care, kids. Call me if you need anything."
He left, once again casting the room in awkward silence, which Corrine finally broke. "Which one of us should go first?"
Before either boy could answer, Vaughn spoke for them. "One of you can go." He relented, looking abashed. "I'll just be downstairs and wait there..."
"Vaughn, you don't have to—"
"No, Corrine. It's OK. I'm OK." Vaughn cast a look at Lucas, who guiltily refused to meet his gaze, then quietly slipped from the room, for the second time that day feeling unheeded and unwanted.
Vaughn glanced at his watch, surprised to see that it had been only half an hour since Dr. Corben had come to tell them about Marshall. It had seemed like a lot longer. Vaughn had decided to retire to the busy emergency room where he could effectively lose himself in the hustle. Secretly he suspected that he was there only to have an excuse not to be seen.
As he sat he watched the patients in the waiting room and made mental observations of their behavior. He'd never done anything like this before – watched people so closely, followed their actions and attempted to characterize them. Sure he paid attention to some people. He was always trying to discern his father's movements, to define them and follow him... And he never failed to pay attention to Josie Trent... but this – watching complete strangers for so long that you actually feel like you might begin to know them – he was wholly unfamiliar with it.
Maybe that's your problem, Vaughn thought. That's why Chris hated you. You never noticed him, just like you never notice anyone that you doesn't immediately concern you. You're trying to make up for a lifetime of ignoring people in one afternoon but it's too late to take it back, Vaughn. Your actions have already hurt someone you didn't want to see hurt.
Vaughn was so lost in his observations that he didn't realize until he heard her voice at the front counter that Josie and Professor Zachary had reentered minutes earlier. He heard them ask for information about Marshall Wheeler from the call nurse and she answered something Vaughn didn't hear. As Zachary thanked the woman, Vaughn got up to meet them both.
"Vaughn!" Josie rushed over and hugged him for the second time that day but this time he returned the gesture, silently thankful for her presence, so close to him... he almost didn't want to let go, but Josie and Zachary had to know about Marshall. He pulled away, looking at the redhead seriously and sighed.
Josie's face grew fearful. "...Marshall."
Minutes later the three of them found themselves in the ICU, waiting outside of Room 18B. Corrine was there waiting too, and she explained to the trio that there had still been no response from their friend. She'd gone in first to visit and had left twenty minutes ago. Lucas was still in the room, and had refused to leave his friend's bedside ever since.
Vaughn had noted Corrine's demeanor toward Josie ever since her return, and vice versa. There was a tension between them that could be cut with a knife, but neither had mentioned it yet. Finally, when Zachary had gone to speak to the head ICU nurse, Josie had blurted out, "I'm sorry, Corrine. For everything I said – did – earlier. I was being stupid and afraid. You were right, and I apologize... I just didn't know how to accept this."
"It's OK." Corrine answered sincerely. "I shouldn't have been such a bitch about it." Corrine comforted, sitting down next to Josie on the couch in the small waiting area. "I understand that you're in pain, so am I... We just deal in different ways... I've done some pretty unadmirable things today too."
"It's so hard to believe, isn't it?" Josie asked. "I felt there had to be some kind of explanation. That someone was behind all this, some force at the school... It's so silly now that I think about it."
"No, it's not silly." Corrine told her. "I thought the same thing for a while. The thought wouldn't go away the whole afternoon. 'What if this has something to do with the black hole', but I couldn't deal with that and trying to keep everything together at the same time. I was too obsessed with being in charge and holding everyone else together that I guess I kind of lost myself."
Josie sighed, putting her head on Corrine's shoulder and staring at the wall. "How do we get to be such head cases?"
Corrine smiled and leaned back in the chair. "I don't know, Josie."
Vaughn smiled slightly at seeing the two friends make up, but his frown returned when he looked back at the room. He really wanted to go in... but would Lucas let him?
His question was answered moments later when the door swung open and Lucas came out, looking tired but peaceful for once. He walked over to his friends, smiling at Professor Zachary and Josie, whom he had not yet seen that day. Finally he turned to Vaughn and looked him in the eye.
"I'm sorry about earlier, Vaughn. I didn't mean what I said, about it being your fault. I know it's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault, I was just too angry to accept that."
"Thanks, but I still don't know if I can convince myself of that." Vaughn said softly.
"Vaughn, you can't blame yourself for this." Professor Zachary said. "What happened today was a tragedy, but a blameless one none the less. You can't keep holding yourself responsible for something that was beyond your control. There's no way you could have known how every action of yours would affect another person."
"Yeah, you're a great guy, Vaughn. You stood up to Chris, you tried to get him to stop, to save those people. What you did was heroic."
Vaughn grinned ruefully. "So was what you did."
Lucas blushed slightly, inadvertently looking at his injured hand. "Yeah well... You should go in there now and see Marshall. He's not awake yet, but I think he knows we're there. I bet he'd like to see you."
"Thanks." Vaughn looked at each of his friends briefly before entering 18B and shutting the door quietly behind him.
The atmosphere was different inside the room than it had been outside. He hadn't been prepared for the change, though he'd been expecting it. Most of the noise from outside was buffered, casting the room in silence. Marshall was lying on a bed in the middle of the room, next to the one window, which had drapes pulled down in front of it, adding an intimidating dim quality to Vaughn's already cloudy mood.
Around the bed was a host of machinery, helping Marshall to breathe, but the one Vaughn noticed first was the constantly-beeping heart monitor which assured him that his friend was indeed still alive, although you couldn't tell by looking.
Cautiously, Vaughn moved closer to the bed, sighing as he fell short of reaching it. Finally, he gathered his resolve, slid the nearest chair next to where his friend lay, and sat down quickly.
"Well," he began, unsure of how to continue.
This is ridiculous, Vaughn thought. You wanted to come in here, and now that you're here, you can't think of what you want to do. At least, Vaughn noted with rising resistance, at least I'm positive that there's nowhere else I want to be right now than right here. And I'm NOT going to run.
Vaughn looked again at his friend's still form, his eyes closed, hands at his side, and surged from the chair, blurting out the first thing that came to his mind.
"Oh Hell, Marshall. Why did you have to do that? Why did you have to let yourself get shot for me?" He said aloud, pacing back and forth across the room unconsciously, hands clutched into fists at his sides. "I don't know why I have any friends. I don't deserve them. I only take advantage of them, and ignore them because I'm always thinking about myself. I don't think about their problems, only about my own. I should have been the one who was shot today, Marshall, not you! Why did you make that sacrifice for me?"
Vaughn's eyes were pleading as he stopped to look at his friend. He could feel tears brimming at his eyes, threatening to fall. "Don't you know that I'm not worth saving?"
With the words out in the open, Vaughn found himself staring blankly ahead. It was as if expelling them left the teenager vulnerable and open to the harsh realities of the world. Did he really mean what he said? He was so confused, so defenseless, still so tired and worn.
Slowly, Vaughn moved toward the chair again, pulled it back, the legs scraping against the tiled floor, and sat down once more, staring straight ahead. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke, concentrating on his friend's closed eyes, willing them to open. "I don't think I've ever acknowledged aloud that I consider you a friend, not to myself or to anyone, and I regret that now. I've gone through the first sixteen years of my life without any real friends, not really, anyway, and somehow over the past year I found four and I wasn't even trying. It's amazing how you can go through your life without realizing that you've touched someone, without realizing that someone has touched you." A tear slid down Vaughn's cheek unheeded. Suddenly, he reached out and gently took Marshall's hand in his own, clasping it tightly, silently urging him with all his willpower to simply return the gesture. "Come on, Marshall. You've got to wake up now," Vaughn sobbed. "We're all waiting for you. Lucas, Josie, Corrine, Z'... me... I know you're in there and I know you want to come back to us. All you have to do is open your eyes."
The clock ticked away the minutes and nothing happened. Marshall didn't move, but neither did Vaughn. Outside the day was waning but Vaughn didn't want to leave. The door swung inward, a nurse poked her head inside. "Visiting hours are almost over, son. I'm sorry."
"It's OK." Vaughn said limply, even though it wasn't.
The nurse was sympathetic. "I'll give you a little bit longer." Vaughn thanked her and the door closed quietly behind her as she exited.
Vaughn looked back at his unconscious friend hopelessly. "I've got to go now, Marshall. I'm sorry, I don't want to go. I have to, but I'll be back tomorrow, I promise, and I'll come back every day until you wake up, if it has to take that long. We'll all be here."
It was then, just as Vaughn was about to release his grip on Marshall's hand that he felt something, a tremor, a slight squeeze. Vaughn gasped, falling silent. You imagined it, he told himself. Marshall didn't move, you imagined it because you wanted it to happen that badly. Nothing's changed. He hasn't woken up... But then he felt it again, stronger, and Vaughn knew he wasn't dreaming it. Hope rose in his gut, warming his body thoroughly. "Marshall?" He called out.
Marshall opened his eyes.
Vaughn let out a relieved sigh, felt the tears sliding down his cheeks tenfold as he gripped Marshall's hand with both of his own. "Marshall," he said gratefully. "It's about time, buddy."
Marshall opened his mouth to speak, wincing in pain, but tried again anyway. "Vaughn?" He questioned, his voice weak and slightly confused. "Where am I?"
"You're at Mercy Hospital, Marshall. But you're going to be OK now. Trust me."
Marshall didn't say anything for a minute, then nodded slowly. "I believe you."
It suddenly occurred to Vaughn that he should tell the others, and the nurse too, and he stood up suddenly, releasing his friend's hand. "I'll go get the doctor. Be right back, OK?" Marshall nodded and Vaughn headed toward the door.
He was about to turn the knob when he suddenly stopped and looked back toward the bed. Raising his eyes slightly, he met his injured friend's gaze. "Oh, and Marshall? ... Thank you."
The nurse that had warned Vaughn earlier relaxed her visiting hours policy for the happy group, allowing them to stay an extra half hour before shooing them out of Marshall's room to give him some rest.
Vaughn was the first one out of the door, and he froze at the sight that greeted him.
"Dad?"
Victor Pearson was at the desk across the room, fully suited like he'd just gotten out of the office, talking to the call nurse on duty. When he heard his son's voice, he turned around and Vaughn noticed the bags under his eyes, the worried expression his father wore.
"Vaughn!" Victor Pearson called out, crossing the room in three long strides. He gathered his startled son in both arms and gave him a huge hug before abruptly pulling away and smoothing out his suit reflexively. "They told me you were up here, son. I've been looking for you. I—I was worried about you..."
"Dad, when did you—"Vaughn dropped off mid-sentence, not even sure what he was going to ask. His dad was looking for him. He was worried about him.
"You were worried about me?" He asked, feeling stupid immediately after the words left his mouth.
Victor looked at him as if the question were absurd. "Of course I was worried. I heard the news, and then the school called, and they said they hadn't found you, that I should come down here and look, and I—I don't want to lose you, Vaughn." Victor put a hand on his son's shoulder, looking extremely awkward, yet somehow sincere. "I thought that losing your mother would be the hardest thing I'd ever have to do, Vaughn... But today I realized that losing you would have been the hardest thing. I can't lose you." Victor looked stunned at his own words, an enormous display of affection never before witnessed between father and son.
Vaughn stared at his father blankly, then suddenly became aware of his audience, standing behind him like silent sentinels, unaware with his back turned to them, that they were all just as shocked by the display as the two in the middle of the room. Seeing his father there, hearing the words he'd always wanted to hear from him, it all seemed to wash away the horror of the day, and without warning, Vaughn wrapped his arms around his father and hugged him back, feeling the tears start to fall again. "I love you dad."
Victor put his hand on his son's back, patting him comfortingly. "I'm glad you're OK, son... I—I love you too." For the first time since before the whole ordeal began, before Marshall, before Madison, before Chris Ghent, Vaughn smiled.
Rating: PG-15
Chapter Six: Vaughn
It's amazing how incredibly thick people can be sometimes, Vaughn Pearson thought with stringent clarity as he sat in the waiting room chair. How incredibly thick I can be sometimes...
It had been two and a half hours since they arrived at the hospital. Two and a half hours since the incident in the cafeteria where Madison had been executed in Vaughn's arms and Marshall had been shot.
Vaughn had been sitting in the green and blue plush chair staring at the wall for the last hour, ever since they'd taken Marshall into surgery. He hadn't said much since, just sat and contemplated. Ten minutes ago it had suddenly occurred to him that three hours ago he was celebrating his success at getting into a prestigious college all on his own. His friends were congratulating him, feeling happy for him, patting him on the back... and now everyone was either in mourning or in shock... or dead.
Ten minutes ago, it occurred to Vaughn that this isn't where he should be right now, on this day. Five minutes later he began to regret his self- pity. What had be been thinking? How could he think about people praising him when people were dead? What kind of a person was he that he couldn't realize that?
Well, Vaughn, you're definitely your father's son, he thought bitterly. Victor Pearson wouldn't care about anyone either. He'd be calm and collected, assessing the situation and moving on without a moment's contemplation as to the feelings of those around him.
When he thought about his father, Vaughn realized that he hadn't seen or heard from Victor Pearson yet, not since before the accident when Vaughn had called his dad on the phone to tell him the good news. Because, he had come to realize, there wasn't anyone else he wanted to tell more at that moment than his dad, who he desperately sought approval from in every aspect of his life. He wanted to prove to his dad that he too could be successful.
"Well, that's good, son. I'm happy for you." He had told him and Vaughn beamed at his accomplishments, but then, "Now if only your other grades could match your undertakings in the area of sports, you might actually get into Harvard, or Yale, some place more appropriate." And with that, all his satisfaction, all his pride was slashed at once, and he found himself once again left wanting, needing.
Victor Pearson wasn't there for his son then, and he wasn't there at the hospital now when Vaughn needed him most. Nobody would be there for Vaughn.
And then he came to his most recent thought with a clatter of epiphanies. It hit him all of the sudden that he was thinking about himself again, that he was still wallowing in pity, all for himself, and he immediately felt shamed.
Marshall Wheeler is in the other room dying because he took a bullet for you, Vaughn thought to himself. You would be dead right now if he hadn't jumped in to save your ass.
How incredibly thick can you be?
But why? Vaughn kept asking himself. Why had Marshall sacrificed himself for someone he hardly knew? For someone who, in all respects, he probably didn't even like very much? It didn't make sense to Vaughn, and he couldn't help but give in to the despair rising inside of him and allow the thought to cross his mind that he might never find out what Marshall did it for. Never know why he had saved Vaughn's life at the expense of his own.
Lucas Randall seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Currently he sat across the room from Vaughn, staring at the clock on the wall that didn't seem to be moving slow enough for the teenager's liking. "God, what is taking so long?!" He growled, pulling himself out of the chair and stalking across the room to the single window. The two were the only ones in the room currently. Corrine Baxter had left earlier, mumbling something about having to get a hold of Marshall's family. She'd been gone for nearly twenty minutes.
Vaughn continued staring, finding himself unable to be angry like Lucas was. He just couldn't. Lucas was seething, Vaughn knew, and why shouldn't he be? His best friend could die any minute and Lucas had absolutely no control over it. But Vaughn couldn't be mad at Chris Ghent, no matter how much he wanted to. Lucas would understand if he'd been there in the room with them... if he'd seen the abandoned, vacant expression Chris wore. No, Vaughn couldn't blame him. Chris had passed the point of no return emotionally; no one could have saved him. It was just... circumstance.
Who, then, was to blame?
Corrine reentered the room just then. Both boys turned to look at her quickly, involuntarily thinking she may be a doctor with news about their friend. Corrine seemed not to notice this. "I couldn't get a hold of Marshall's parents." She mumbled. "I called the house, no one was home... I left a message. I tried to call Grant too, but I remembered he didn't have a—didn't have a number yet... I don't know how to get a hold of him."
Lucas, sensing the harried expression on his friend's face made to move across the room, but paused. Corrine, lost in her grief, was breaking down before their eyes. She tried to keep things together – for herself, for everyone else – she tried to put everything in order, but it was all futile. Her reality was falling apart and she couldn't fix it for once. "Oh God, you guys. Marshall has no family here for him, he doesn't have anyone. We're all he has right now! Don't you realize that? We're all he has!" Lucas, needed no further coaxing. He moved across the room quickly, giving his friend a quick hug and guiding her into a chair with his injured hand.
The cut on his hand had been cleaned and stitched about an hour ago, much to Lucas's protest. He had wanted to be up in the OR waiting for Marshall to get out of surgery but the nurse insisted that he get bandaged up before he went anywhere. Lucas had finally complied and had his hand looked at before heading directly for the 3rd floor.
Now he sat next to the silently weeping Corrine, wanting to put an arm around her shoulder but holding back, too angry to make any comforting gestures. "This isn't fair. This just isn't fair. Marshall never hurt anyone, why should he be the one to suffer? Chris Ghent deserved what he got." Lucas said menacingly. "He deserved to die."
"Don't say that." Vaughn surprised himself with the sternness of his voice. When Lucas gave him a confused look, Vaughn continued, "You shouldn't say things like that." He reiterated quietly. "No one deserves to die. Not even Chris."
"Are you kidding?! Some of our friends died today! You were right there, Madison died in your arms, Marshall got shot and you're saying that Chris didn't deserve to die?!"
"Lucas—"Corrine began, wiping away her tears. "Lucas, settle down."
"I can't, not when I'm hearing things like that. Why would you say something like that, Vaughn?" His look was challenging – Vaughn knew the look. He encountered it every day on the football field – steadfast opponents defying you directly took on that look. And Lucas had it now.
But unlike on the field where Vaughn was in charge, here he felt cornered and alone. Although he knew Corrine mostly agreed with him, even she looked curious to know why Vaughn was standing up for Chris Ghent.
Vaughn took a deep breath, feeling very sick. He could feel the tears threatening to fall from his eyes again, but choked them back. "Because... Chris Ghent didn't mean to shoot Marshall. He wasn't aiming for him... He was trying to shoot me. I was the one he wanted to kill... Marshall, he—he jumped in and pushed me out of the way.
"It's all my fault." Vaughn choked. "I ignored Chris Ghent for the entire time we went to school together. I took advantage of a whole person and I hurt him, I hurt him so badly that he couldn't see any other way to deal with his problems than... than this. Marshall didn't deserve what he got, and neither did Chris. That bullet was meant for me. I'm the one to blame!" Vaughn's jaw trembled as he shouted the words, startling his two friends.
No one spoke for a few minutes, and the stunned silence reverberated around the empty room. Finally Lucas sprung from his chair again and walked away. "I don't believe this." He muttered.
"Lucas—"Corrine began again.
"Get out." Lucas stared at Vaughn coldly.
"What?" Vaughn looked up at him, disbelieving what he'd heard.
"I said 'get out.' You don't deserve to be here now. It's your fault that Marshall could die. I don't want you here right now and Marshall probably doesn't either." He said coldly.
"Lucas, you know that's not true!" Corrine defended. "Why are you acting like this?"
"Because, I can't stand the sight of him right now. I just can't believe—God, this is unreal." Lucas said.
"Lucas, you've got to believe me—I never meant for this to happen! If I could go back and change anything it would be me lying in there, not him! You've got to believe me!"
But Lucas never got a chance to answer because at that moment, the door to the waiting room swung open and an older man in scrubs walked in, taking in the three teenagers before him. "Are you the friends of the shooting victim we brought in an hour ago, a... Marshall Wheeler?"
"Yes, we are." Corrine stood up immediately and walked over to stand next to the surgeon. Vaughn noticed that there was dried blood covering his pant legs and sleeves and wondered despairingly if it was all Marshall's... But nothing was said, and the teens allowed the surgeon to continue.
"I'm Dr. Corben. Were you by any chance able to contact a parent or another relative?" He asked dutifully.
"No..." Corrine looked crestfallen. "I tried calling his parents. They live in Michigan though, and I couldn't get a hold of them... His brother lives in the area, but he's not available either."
Dr. Corben sighed, looking very tired and worn. Vaughn guessed that he'd probably been very busy that afternoon, because of the shooting. He certainly looked like he could use a rest. "You really should have a relative, or at least an adult present to hear this. It's against regulations to dispense any information about a patient to non-relatives."
"Couldn't you at least tell us how he is?" Corrine pleaded. "We can't wait any longer."
The surgeon sighed, but nodded reluctantly. "I can't release the full details, but I will tell you that Marshall survived the surgery and he's upstairs in the ICU. He's still unconscious, but we're hopeful he'll pull through. We've done all we can, kids... and it's up to him now if your friend wants to wake up."
"Oh thank God." Corrine said, relieved. Vaughn felt a heavy weight lifted off his chest, glad he was already sitting in a chair.
Dr. Corben surveyed the three teens with empathy, and gave in. "If you want, I'll allow you to go visit Marshall in a few minutes, but only if you promise to follow the rules they tell you before you go into the room, and then only one at a time. Do you understand?"
"Yes, we do. Thank you so much." Corrine said gratefully.
"Yeah, thanks a lot." Lucas added sincerely, rubbing the back of his neck. "This means a lot to us."
Dr. Corben smiled before making his way toward the door. "Glad I could help. You take care, kids. Call me if you need anything."
He left, once again casting the room in awkward silence, which Corrine finally broke. "Which one of us should go first?"
Before either boy could answer, Vaughn spoke for them. "One of you can go." He relented, looking abashed. "I'll just be downstairs and wait there..."
"Vaughn, you don't have to—"
"No, Corrine. It's OK. I'm OK." Vaughn cast a look at Lucas, who guiltily refused to meet his gaze, then quietly slipped from the room, for the second time that day feeling unheeded and unwanted.
Vaughn glanced at his watch, surprised to see that it had been only half an hour since Dr. Corben had come to tell them about Marshall. It had seemed like a lot longer. Vaughn had decided to retire to the busy emergency room where he could effectively lose himself in the hustle. Secretly he suspected that he was there only to have an excuse not to be seen.
As he sat he watched the patients in the waiting room and made mental observations of their behavior. He'd never done anything like this before – watched people so closely, followed their actions and attempted to characterize them. Sure he paid attention to some people. He was always trying to discern his father's movements, to define them and follow him... And he never failed to pay attention to Josie Trent... but this – watching complete strangers for so long that you actually feel like you might begin to know them – he was wholly unfamiliar with it.
Maybe that's your problem, Vaughn thought. That's why Chris hated you. You never noticed him, just like you never notice anyone that you doesn't immediately concern you. You're trying to make up for a lifetime of ignoring people in one afternoon but it's too late to take it back, Vaughn. Your actions have already hurt someone you didn't want to see hurt.
Vaughn was so lost in his observations that he didn't realize until he heard her voice at the front counter that Josie and Professor Zachary had reentered minutes earlier. He heard them ask for information about Marshall Wheeler from the call nurse and she answered something Vaughn didn't hear. As Zachary thanked the woman, Vaughn got up to meet them both.
"Vaughn!" Josie rushed over and hugged him for the second time that day but this time he returned the gesture, silently thankful for her presence, so close to him... he almost didn't want to let go, but Josie and Zachary had to know about Marshall. He pulled away, looking at the redhead seriously and sighed.
Josie's face grew fearful. "...Marshall."
Minutes later the three of them found themselves in the ICU, waiting outside of Room 18B. Corrine was there waiting too, and she explained to the trio that there had still been no response from their friend. She'd gone in first to visit and had left twenty minutes ago. Lucas was still in the room, and had refused to leave his friend's bedside ever since.
Vaughn had noted Corrine's demeanor toward Josie ever since her return, and vice versa. There was a tension between them that could be cut with a knife, but neither had mentioned it yet. Finally, when Zachary had gone to speak to the head ICU nurse, Josie had blurted out, "I'm sorry, Corrine. For everything I said – did – earlier. I was being stupid and afraid. You were right, and I apologize... I just didn't know how to accept this."
"It's OK." Corrine answered sincerely. "I shouldn't have been such a bitch about it." Corrine comforted, sitting down next to Josie on the couch in the small waiting area. "I understand that you're in pain, so am I... We just deal in different ways... I've done some pretty unadmirable things today too."
"It's so hard to believe, isn't it?" Josie asked. "I felt there had to be some kind of explanation. That someone was behind all this, some force at the school... It's so silly now that I think about it."
"No, it's not silly." Corrine told her. "I thought the same thing for a while. The thought wouldn't go away the whole afternoon. 'What if this has something to do with the black hole', but I couldn't deal with that and trying to keep everything together at the same time. I was too obsessed with being in charge and holding everyone else together that I guess I kind of lost myself."
Josie sighed, putting her head on Corrine's shoulder and staring at the wall. "How do we get to be such head cases?"
Corrine smiled and leaned back in the chair. "I don't know, Josie."
Vaughn smiled slightly at seeing the two friends make up, but his frown returned when he looked back at the room. He really wanted to go in... but would Lucas let him?
His question was answered moments later when the door swung open and Lucas came out, looking tired but peaceful for once. He walked over to his friends, smiling at Professor Zachary and Josie, whom he had not yet seen that day. Finally he turned to Vaughn and looked him in the eye.
"I'm sorry about earlier, Vaughn. I didn't mean what I said, about it being your fault. I know it's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault, I was just too angry to accept that."
"Thanks, but I still don't know if I can convince myself of that." Vaughn said softly.
"Vaughn, you can't blame yourself for this." Professor Zachary said. "What happened today was a tragedy, but a blameless one none the less. You can't keep holding yourself responsible for something that was beyond your control. There's no way you could have known how every action of yours would affect another person."
"Yeah, you're a great guy, Vaughn. You stood up to Chris, you tried to get him to stop, to save those people. What you did was heroic."
Vaughn grinned ruefully. "So was what you did."
Lucas blushed slightly, inadvertently looking at his injured hand. "Yeah well... You should go in there now and see Marshall. He's not awake yet, but I think he knows we're there. I bet he'd like to see you."
"Thanks." Vaughn looked at each of his friends briefly before entering 18B and shutting the door quietly behind him.
The atmosphere was different inside the room than it had been outside. He hadn't been prepared for the change, though he'd been expecting it. Most of the noise from outside was buffered, casting the room in silence. Marshall was lying on a bed in the middle of the room, next to the one window, which had drapes pulled down in front of it, adding an intimidating dim quality to Vaughn's already cloudy mood.
Around the bed was a host of machinery, helping Marshall to breathe, but the one Vaughn noticed first was the constantly-beeping heart monitor which assured him that his friend was indeed still alive, although you couldn't tell by looking.
Cautiously, Vaughn moved closer to the bed, sighing as he fell short of reaching it. Finally, he gathered his resolve, slid the nearest chair next to where his friend lay, and sat down quickly.
"Well," he began, unsure of how to continue.
This is ridiculous, Vaughn thought. You wanted to come in here, and now that you're here, you can't think of what you want to do. At least, Vaughn noted with rising resistance, at least I'm positive that there's nowhere else I want to be right now than right here. And I'm NOT going to run.
Vaughn looked again at his friend's still form, his eyes closed, hands at his side, and surged from the chair, blurting out the first thing that came to his mind.
"Oh Hell, Marshall. Why did you have to do that? Why did you have to let yourself get shot for me?" He said aloud, pacing back and forth across the room unconsciously, hands clutched into fists at his sides. "I don't know why I have any friends. I don't deserve them. I only take advantage of them, and ignore them because I'm always thinking about myself. I don't think about their problems, only about my own. I should have been the one who was shot today, Marshall, not you! Why did you make that sacrifice for me?"
Vaughn's eyes were pleading as he stopped to look at his friend. He could feel tears brimming at his eyes, threatening to fall. "Don't you know that I'm not worth saving?"
With the words out in the open, Vaughn found himself staring blankly ahead. It was as if expelling them left the teenager vulnerable and open to the harsh realities of the world. Did he really mean what he said? He was so confused, so defenseless, still so tired and worn.
Slowly, Vaughn moved toward the chair again, pulled it back, the legs scraping against the tiled floor, and sat down once more, staring straight ahead. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke, concentrating on his friend's closed eyes, willing them to open. "I don't think I've ever acknowledged aloud that I consider you a friend, not to myself or to anyone, and I regret that now. I've gone through the first sixteen years of my life without any real friends, not really, anyway, and somehow over the past year I found four and I wasn't even trying. It's amazing how you can go through your life without realizing that you've touched someone, without realizing that someone has touched you." A tear slid down Vaughn's cheek unheeded. Suddenly, he reached out and gently took Marshall's hand in his own, clasping it tightly, silently urging him with all his willpower to simply return the gesture. "Come on, Marshall. You've got to wake up now," Vaughn sobbed. "We're all waiting for you. Lucas, Josie, Corrine, Z'... me... I know you're in there and I know you want to come back to us. All you have to do is open your eyes."
The clock ticked away the minutes and nothing happened. Marshall didn't move, but neither did Vaughn. Outside the day was waning but Vaughn didn't want to leave. The door swung inward, a nurse poked her head inside. "Visiting hours are almost over, son. I'm sorry."
"It's OK." Vaughn said limply, even though it wasn't.
The nurse was sympathetic. "I'll give you a little bit longer." Vaughn thanked her and the door closed quietly behind her as she exited.
Vaughn looked back at his unconscious friend hopelessly. "I've got to go now, Marshall. I'm sorry, I don't want to go. I have to, but I'll be back tomorrow, I promise, and I'll come back every day until you wake up, if it has to take that long. We'll all be here."
It was then, just as Vaughn was about to release his grip on Marshall's hand that he felt something, a tremor, a slight squeeze. Vaughn gasped, falling silent. You imagined it, he told himself. Marshall didn't move, you imagined it because you wanted it to happen that badly. Nothing's changed. He hasn't woken up... But then he felt it again, stronger, and Vaughn knew he wasn't dreaming it. Hope rose in his gut, warming his body thoroughly. "Marshall?" He called out.
Marshall opened his eyes.
Vaughn let out a relieved sigh, felt the tears sliding down his cheeks tenfold as he gripped Marshall's hand with both of his own. "Marshall," he said gratefully. "It's about time, buddy."
Marshall opened his mouth to speak, wincing in pain, but tried again anyway. "Vaughn?" He questioned, his voice weak and slightly confused. "Where am I?"
"You're at Mercy Hospital, Marshall. But you're going to be OK now. Trust me."
Marshall didn't say anything for a minute, then nodded slowly. "I believe you."
It suddenly occurred to Vaughn that he should tell the others, and the nurse too, and he stood up suddenly, releasing his friend's hand. "I'll go get the doctor. Be right back, OK?" Marshall nodded and Vaughn headed toward the door.
He was about to turn the knob when he suddenly stopped and looked back toward the bed. Raising his eyes slightly, he met his injured friend's gaze. "Oh, and Marshall? ... Thank you."
The nurse that had warned Vaughn earlier relaxed her visiting hours policy for the happy group, allowing them to stay an extra half hour before shooing them out of Marshall's room to give him some rest.
Vaughn was the first one out of the door, and he froze at the sight that greeted him.
"Dad?"
Victor Pearson was at the desk across the room, fully suited like he'd just gotten out of the office, talking to the call nurse on duty. When he heard his son's voice, he turned around and Vaughn noticed the bags under his eyes, the worried expression his father wore.
"Vaughn!" Victor Pearson called out, crossing the room in three long strides. He gathered his startled son in both arms and gave him a huge hug before abruptly pulling away and smoothing out his suit reflexively. "They told me you were up here, son. I've been looking for you. I—I was worried about you..."
"Dad, when did you—"Vaughn dropped off mid-sentence, not even sure what he was going to ask. His dad was looking for him. He was worried about him.
"You were worried about me?" He asked, feeling stupid immediately after the words left his mouth.
Victor looked at him as if the question were absurd. "Of course I was worried. I heard the news, and then the school called, and they said they hadn't found you, that I should come down here and look, and I—I don't want to lose you, Vaughn." Victor put a hand on his son's shoulder, looking extremely awkward, yet somehow sincere. "I thought that losing your mother would be the hardest thing I'd ever have to do, Vaughn... But today I realized that losing you would have been the hardest thing. I can't lose you." Victor looked stunned at his own words, an enormous display of affection never before witnessed between father and son.
Vaughn stared at his father blankly, then suddenly became aware of his audience, standing behind him like silent sentinels, unaware with his back turned to them, that they were all just as shocked by the display as the two in the middle of the room. Seeing his father there, hearing the words he'd always wanted to hear from him, it all seemed to wash away the horror of the day, and without warning, Vaughn wrapped his arms around his father and hugged him back, feeling the tears start to fall again. "I love you dad."
Victor put his hand on his son's back, patting him comfortingly. "I'm glad you're OK, son... I—I love you too." For the first time since before the whole ordeal began, before Marshall, before Madison, before Chris Ghent, Vaughn smiled.