Chapter Two: Face To Face
"There's a sadness that they don't see,
When you come to me with your sorrows
It's not enough for you to cry
Cause you don't know why it still hurts
I know we've been here a thousand times
With your past full of lies its still there
A constant struggle to find yourself
But I know that I can't help at all,"
27th February 2001. It was a day like any other. He couldn't say it was a particularily good day, but he was working on a 3:1 save to kill ratio, which considering they'd already dealt with 2 car crashes and a classroom explosion was OK. It was now just after 7:30, and he was approximately halfway through his shift.
"Multiple victim RTA!"
"ETA?"
Someone shot back automatically as the department kicked into action. He'd already seen two deaths as the result of careless driving today. Were all the idiots on the road today or what?
"Pulling up!"
Kerry's voice was alarmingly falsetto over the call of the sirens as the rigs arrived. A sharp elbow in his ribs made him follow his boss outside. There were three rigs in all, blazing away in the relative murk of the Chicago dusk.
"Dave, with me,"
Kerry yelled. She still kept an eye on him at all times, just waiting for him to screw up. He moved to obey her barked orders, falling into step beside the gurney. He looked down at the patient for the first time, half-listening to the bullet. A bolt of recognition hit him and he froze. Too stunned to move. Kerry turned and questioned him silently, as the wailing sirens calmed and the gurney's entered the hospital. He remained frozen even as the activity died away and he was left alone in a now silent ambulance bay.
*****
"What was that all about?"
Kerry's crutch squeaked slightly on the lino behind him. He wheeled, suddenly nervous.
"What...?"
His reverie broke with a start. He almost hadn't noticed his inactivity.
"That RTA. I've never known you turn down a decent bloody trauma, usually...."
He braced himself for another stereotype. It was all he was to them. A caricature. A figure of ridicule. Did he even really exist to them? He noticed the lack of anger in Weaver's voice. It sounded more concerned and that worried him.
"I'm off my game, we all have these days,"
"Not well?"
His boss questioned. It became clear that she'd seen something he hadn't intended in his expression on viewing the patient.
"Just don't push O.K?"
For whatever reason, something in him snapped.He didn't storm off, didn't want a scene. He had to remain calm. This was an event he could rationalise given time. He went to try and find one place he could have space to think. Nothing had troubled him this much since he had moved to County. Life before County, he had pretty much denied its existence. He had left all that behind, his old life, who he had been in college, his high school years. The person in the memories which ad now returned seemed alien to him, someone else living his life. Those had been the most screwed up years of his life, that he had a living reminder of in his son, now nearly five. That wasn't who he was now. Now - he was confiedent, settled, together, and, yes, arrogant. That was the person his colleagues saw - was it the real him or simple someone he'd created to mask the pain?
The stairs up to the roof were cold, dark and lonely, perfect for his contemplation. The concrete was freezing through his navy scrubs, a welcome bite of reality. His elbows rested comfortably on his knees and his head fell heavy into his hands. He knew Kerry had been right - usually he wouldn't turn down a decent bloody trauma as she had put it. Usually he could sweeap aside personal matters with a sarky comment until his shift ended and he could face whatever it was alone. This was different. It was then he realised he'd never asked how the patient was. Then he questioned, and this realisation was more painful, did he really care?
"Thought I might find you up here,"
His head came up from his hands just long enough to glimpse the brunette. Abby, always on hand in a crisis.
"Do you know where everyone goes to be alone?"
His voice was cold. Abby didn't seem to care.
"I spend a lot of time seeking alone time remember?"
She sat down beside him, close enough that their knees touched but no more.
"Do you want to tell me what that was about earlier? I thought Weaver was going to lose it,"
He shook his head, pointedly keeping his eyes turned away.
"You don't ever react like that. I know you well enough to know that's out of character,"
Out of character? How could she even begin to judge out of character for him? He willed her to go, silently, needing to be alone.
"There's a sadness that they don't see,
When you come to me with your sorrows
It's not enough for you to cry
Cause you don't know why it still hurts
I know we've been here a thousand times
With your past full of lies its still there
A constant struggle to find yourself
But I know that I can't help at all,"
27th February 2001. It was a day like any other. He couldn't say it was a particularily good day, but he was working on a 3:1 save to kill ratio, which considering they'd already dealt with 2 car crashes and a classroom explosion was OK. It was now just after 7:30, and he was approximately halfway through his shift.
"Multiple victim RTA!"
"ETA?"
Someone shot back automatically as the department kicked into action. He'd already seen two deaths as the result of careless driving today. Were all the idiots on the road today or what?
"Pulling up!"
Kerry's voice was alarmingly falsetto over the call of the sirens as the rigs arrived. A sharp elbow in his ribs made him follow his boss outside. There were three rigs in all, blazing away in the relative murk of the Chicago dusk.
"Dave, with me,"
Kerry yelled. She still kept an eye on him at all times, just waiting for him to screw up. He moved to obey her barked orders, falling into step beside the gurney. He looked down at the patient for the first time, half-listening to the bullet. A bolt of recognition hit him and he froze. Too stunned to move. Kerry turned and questioned him silently, as the wailing sirens calmed and the gurney's entered the hospital. He remained frozen even as the activity died away and he was left alone in a now silent ambulance bay.
*****
"What was that all about?"
Kerry's crutch squeaked slightly on the lino behind him. He wheeled, suddenly nervous.
"What...?"
His reverie broke with a start. He almost hadn't noticed his inactivity.
"That RTA. I've never known you turn down a decent bloody trauma, usually...."
He braced himself for another stereotype. It was all he was to them. A caricature. A figure of ridicule. Did he even really exist to them? He noticed the lack of anger in Weaver's voice. It sounded more concerned and that worried him.
"I'm off my game, we all have these days,"
"Not well?"
His boss questioned. It became clear that she'd seen something he hadn't intended in his expression on viewing the patient.
"Just don't push O.K?"
For whatever reason, something in him snapped.He didn't storm off, didn't want a scene. He had to remain calm. This was an event he could rationalise given time. He went to try and find one place he could have space to think. Nothing had troubled him this much since he had moved to County. Life before County, he had pretty much denied its existence. He had left all that behind, his old life, who he had been in college, his high school years. The person in the memories which ad now returned seemed alien to him, someone else living his life. Those had been the most screwed up years of his life, that he had a living reminder of in his son, now nearly five. That wasn't who he was now. Now - he was confiedent, settled, together, and, yes, arrogant. That was the person his colleagues saw - was it the real him or simple someone he'd created to mask the pain?
The stairs up to the roof were cold, dark and lonely, perfect for his contemplation. The concrete was freezing through his navy scrubs, a welcome bite of reality. His elbows rested comfortably on his knees and his head fell heavy into his hands. He knew Kerry had been right - usually he wouldn't turn down a decent bloody trauma as she had put it. Usually he could sweeap aside personal matters with a sarky comment until his shift ended and he could face whatever it was alone. This was different. It was then he realised he'd never asked how the patient was. Then he questioned, and this realisation was more painful, did he really care?
"Thought I might find you up here,"
His head came up from his hands just long enough to glimpse the brunette. Abby, always on hand in a crisis.
"Do you know where everyone goes to be alone?"
His voice was cold. Abby didn't seem to care.
"I spend a lot of time seeking alone time remember?"
She sat down beside him, close enough that their knees touched but no more.
"Do you want to tell me what that was about earlier? I thought Weaver was going to lose it,"
He shook his head, pointedly keeping his eyes turned away.
"You don't ever react like that. I know you well enough to know that's out of character,"
Out of character? How could she even begin to judge out of character for him? He willed her to go, silently, needing to be alone.