Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.
Author's note: you're going to hate me for this chapter. Sorry.
*Karasuma*Firestorm*
The Worst That Could Happen
Chapter Seven: Friday
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
I woke up in a hospital bed of my own. Where was Gordo..?
The room was blindingly white, glaringly white, and it made my eyes ache and my head hurt. I tried to sit up, but it was a struggle. I realized with horror that I couldn't move at all.
"Oh, God, Sam, I can't believe she's gone," I heard someone say, and it occurred to me that it was my mother talking. Gone? What was she talking about? I wasn't gone; I was right here. In front of her.
She was staring at me with sad eyes. Eyes that were...*dead*. My dad was standing next to her, his arm around her shoulders tightly, his other hand on Matt's shoulder as my little brother leaned against Mom for support.
"I can't believe this..." Mom sobbed. "It's just not fair."
"No, it isn't," Dad said softly. "But there's nothing we can do."
"Mrs. McGuire?"
Gordo stepped into my frame of vision, looking tired. My heart swelled with relief. He was okay! He was standing, and he didn't seem to be injured in any way. The only thing wrong with him was just that tiredness in his eyes. "Mrs. McGuire," he said softly, "I'm so sorry."
Mom didn't even look at him. What was wrong? Mom loved Gordo.
"It's not your fault, son," Dad said gently, offering Gordo a sad smile.
Mom's eyes bugged and she turned to Dad accusingly. "Son? Don't you *dare* call him son!"
"Jo, honey, he's our daughter's best friend. He loves Lizzie more than anything."
"*Was* her best friend, Sam. Was. And look where it got her! She's dead! And it's Gordo's fault!"
Dead? Gordo's fault?
"I'm so sorry, Lizzie," Gordo said softly, taking my hand. I could only barely feel his touch, as if I wasn't quite connected to my body. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, not ever."
"Gordo, I'm fine, it's you who's hurt..." I tried to say, but my mouth wouldn't open, and words wouldn't come out. What was happening?
"Lizzie, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Gordo said. "Lizzie..."
"Lizzie!"
My head jerked up so fast that I could feel my neck rebelling against the rest of my body. Oh well. If I had whiplash, the best place to get it was in the hospital. I blinked in confusion, trying to clear my head.
"Lizzie, are you okay?"
A face was coming into focus in front of my eyes. Gordo..?
No, Miranda. I shook my head slightly. "I'm...I'm okay. It was a dream, wasn't it?"
She frowned at me. "Was what a dream?"
I was so groggy, I wasn't sure. "I don't know. Any of it."
Miranda graced me with the saddest of smiles. "Sorry, it's not. We're in the hospital still."
Hospital. Gordo. Coma. Surgery. It was all coming back to me now. Gordo was the one in the hospital bed, not me. What I had seen, it had all been a dream. Of course.
The dream was surprisingly metaphoric, though. Because Gordo *was* killing me slowly. And if anything happened to him, I might as well be dead. I turned my head, although my neck screamed in agonized protest. I must have fallen asleep at his bedside, hunched in my uncomfortable chair, head bent at an uncomfortable angle, using his sheets as a pillow, inhaling the smell of disinfectant.
Gordo was still asleep, comatose, dark curls even darker against the pale blue of his pillow. I stood up, trying to flex my muscles back into working order. I leaned over and kissed his forehead sadly, then looked to my other best friend. "How long have I been out?"
She lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "I'm not sure. A couple of hours, at least...I went home for awhile." I checked her over; she'd changed clothes.
"Has his condition changed at all?"
"I'm not a doctor, Lizzie."
I stared at her penetratingly, and she sighed. "Not really. He was out cold when you fell asleep, and he's out cold now. He just came out of major surgery, Lizzie. This is what happens. We wait."
I sighed and slumped back into my chair. The molded plastic pressed awkwardly into my back. "I miss him, Miranda."
Miranda put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed gently. "I know you do, honey." She'd never called me 'honey' before, but now was not the time to call her on that, nor did I particularly want to. I was surprised anything she said was registering in my brain. I was just exhausted. It's weird, how sometimes, the longer you sleep, the more tired you get.
That theory in mind, Gordo would be absolutely exhausted when he woke up.
If he woke up.
No, not if. When.
"We all miss him," Miranda continued softly.
I leaned against her. Because she was still standing, my head was against her stomach, and I could hear her heartbeat faintly. It still wasn't louder than the infernal beep of the monitor hooked up to my boyfriend, but it was comforting somewhat.
After several minutes at least of us holding that position, I stood up. "I have to go to the bathroom," I admitted. "Don't let anything happen without me, okay?"
She half-smiled at me. "I promise."
As I left, I encountered every member of my, Miranda's, and Gordo's immediate families. They all fixed me with concerned looks and pestering questions, but I just brushed past them. The bathroom was mercifully empty, for which I was grateful. No more of that scent...that mixture of disinfectant and death.
Gordo's room smelled like death.
I must have lingered too long. I had promised Gordo I wouldn't leave him again, but now that I had, I was scared to go back. What if he didn't ever wake up? What if, what if, what if..?
As I strolled back to the room, I felt myself again entering movie-of-the-week vision. A doctor clamored into Gordo's room in slow motion, past a gaggle of frantic parents. Roberta and Howard Gordon chased after him in slow motion. I started to run, expecting the worst. I pumped my legs, but the hallway seemed to grow longer with every step, Gordo's door that much farther away. I must have been dreaming again. This sort of thing always happened in dreams.
But I wasn't asleep. I was very much awake.
A nurse ushered Miranda out of the room and shut the door after her. The Gordons remained in the room with their son, pushed to the back wall. The rest of us crowded against the window, struggling to see.
A glass partition and a coma separating me from the boy I loved.
I saw them lifting out the paddles.
I saw the doctor's mouth moving but heard no words as he barked instructions at the nurse.
I blacked out.
Author's note: you're going to hate me for this chapter. Sorry.
*Karasuma*Firestorm*
The Worst That Could Happen
Chapter Seven: Friday
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
I woke up in a hospital bed of my own. Where was Gordo..?
The room was blindingly white, glaringly white, and it made my eyes ache and my head hurt. I tried to sit up, but it was a struggle. I realized with horror that I couldn't move at all.
"Oh, God, Sam, I can't believe she's gone," I heard someone say, and it occurred to me that it was my mother talking. Gone? What was she talking about? I wasn't gone; I was right here. In front of her.
She was staring at me with sad eyes. Eyes that were...*dead*. My dad was standing next to her, his arm around her shoulders tightly, his other hand on Matt's shoulder as my little brother leaned against Mom for support.
"I can't believe this..." Mom sobbed. "It's just not fair."
"No, it isn't," Dad said softly. "But there's nothing we can do."
"Mrs. McGuire?"
Gordo stepped into my frame of vision, looking tired. My heart swelled with relief. He was okay! He was standing, and he didn't seem to be injured in any way. The only thing wrong with him was just that tiredness in his eyes. "Mrs. McGuire," he said softly, "I'm so sorry."
Mom didn't even look at him. What was wrong? Mom loved Gordo.
"It's not your fault, son," Dad said gently, offering Gordo a sad smile.
Mom's eyes bugged and she turned to Dad accusingly. "Son? Don't you *dare* call him son!"
"Jo, honey, he's our daughter's best friend. He loves Lizzie more than anything."
"*Was* her best friend, Sam. Was. And look where it got her! She's dead! And it's Gordo's fault!"
Dead? Gordo's fault?
"I'm so sorry, Lizzie," Gordo said softly, taking my hand. I could only barely feel his touch, as if I wasn't quite connected to my body. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, not ever."
"Gordo, I'm fine, it's you who's hurt..." I tried to say, but my mouth wouldn't open, and words wouldn't come out. What was happening?
"Lizzie, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Gordo said. "Lizzie..."
"Lizzie!"
My head jerked up so fast that I could feel my neck rebelling against the rest of my body. Oh well. If I had whiplash, the best place to get it was in the hospital. I blinked in confusion, trying to clear my head.
"Lizzie, are you okay?"
A face was coming into focus in front of my eyes. Gordo..?
No, Miranda. I shook my head slightly. "I'm...I'm okay. It was a dream, wasn't it?"
She frowned at me. "Was what a dream?"
I was so groggy, I wasn't sure. "I don't know. Any of it."
Miranda graced me with the saddest of smiles. "Sorry, it's not. We're in the hospital still."
Hospital. Gordo. Coma. Surgery. It was all coming back to me now. Gordo was the one in the hospital bed, not me. What I had seen, it had all been a dream. Of course.
The dream was surprisingly metaphoric, though. Because Gordo *was* killing me slowly. And if anything happened to him, I might as well be dead. I turned my head, although my neck screamed in agonized protest. I must have fallen asleep at his bedside, hunched in my uncomfortable chair, head bent at an uncomfortable angle, using his sheets as a pillow, inhaling the smell of disinfectant.
Gordo was still asleep, comatose, dark curls even darker against the pale blue of his pillow. I stood up, trying to flex my muscles back into working order. I leaned over and kissed his forehead sadly, then looked to my other best friend. "How long have I been out?"
She lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "I'm not sure. A couple of hours, at least...I went home for awhile." I checked her over; she'd changed clothes.
"Has his condition changed at all?"
"I'm not a doctor, Lizzie."
I stared at her penetratingly, and she sighed. "Not really. He was out cold when you fell asleep, and he's out cold now. He just came out of major surgery, Lizzie. This is what happens. We wait."
I sighed and slumped back into my chair. The molded plastic pressed awkwardly into my back. "I miss him, Miranda."
Miranda put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed gently. "I know you do, honey." She'd never called me 'honey' before, but now was not the time to call her on that, nor did I particularly want to. I was surprised anything she said was registering in my brain. I was just exhausted. It's weird, how sometimes, the longer you sleep, the more tired you get.
That theory in mind, Gordo would be absolutely exhausted when he woke up.
If he woke up.
No, not if. When.
"We all miss him," Miranda continued softly.
I leaned against her. Because she was still standing, my head was against her stomach, and I could hear her heartbeat faintly. It still wasn't louder than the infernal beep of the monitor hooked up to my boyfriend, but it was comforting somewhat.
After several minutes at least of us holding that position, I stood up. "I have to go to the bathroom," I admitted. "Don't let anything happen without me, okay?"
She half-smiled at me. "I promise."
As I left, I encountered every member of my, Miranda's, and Gordo's immediate families. They all fixed me with concerned looks and pestering questions, but I just brushed past them. The bathroom was mercifully empty, for which I was grateful. No more of that scent...that mixture of disinfectant and death.
Gordo's room smelled like death.
I must have lingered too long. I had promised Gordo I wouldn't leave him again, but now that I had, I was scared to go back. What if he didn't ever wake up? What if, what if, what if..?
As I strolled back to the room, I felt myself again entering movie-of-the-week vision. A doctor clamored into Gordo's room in slow motion, past a gaggle of frantic parents. Roberta and Howard Gordon chased after him in slow motion. I started to run, expecting the worst. I pumped my legs, but the hallway seemed to grow longer with every step, Gordo's door that much farther away. I must have been dreaming again. This sort of thing always happened in dreams.
But I wasn't asleep. I was very much awake.
A nurse ushered Miranda out of the room and shut the door after her. The Gordons remained in the room with their son, pushed to the back wall. The rest of us crowded against the window, struggling to see.
A glass partition and a coma separating me from the boy I loved.
I saw them lifting out the paddles.
I saw the doctor's mouth moving but heard no words as he barked instructions at the nurse.
I blacked out.