Title: Finding yourself

Summary: Paramedics do everything at 60 mph: their jobs and their life. They spend their lives taking care of others, but who takes care of them? Can one paramedic save another or will their job take its toll on them?

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Saved. I do own Christine 'Chris' Morgan. But if she's real, my apologies, I don't own her. Please don't sue; I'm a poor high school girl.

A/N: I've only seen one episode of the show so far, so I'm basically making this up as I go along.

A/N: This is probably a little different than any part of the show. I don't care. When an idea pops into my head, I type it out on paper; sometimes the ideas give way to stories, and sometimes they don't. This is just an idea. It's not meant to be an episode of the show or anything. My apologies to those who I offend, but I don't care.

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"Ooo, foxy lady!"

Wyatt and I both say at the same time. The day had actually been pretty nice: the calls weren't bad ones, just some minor stuff, Wyatt and I hadn't fought and he hadn't made any rude comments. From what I could tell, Sack had told me the truth: Wyatt Cole was actually a pretty good guy. I just didn't want to get too attached to this partner incase the department decided to switch us all up again.

"You have a pretty good taste in music, Chris."

"Why, thank you, Wyatt. Yours isn't too bad, either. Jimi Hendrix had some good stuff, so did Alice Cooper."

"It does surprise me though. You don't look like a rock music kind of girl, Miss Morgan."

"Like I said earlier, when I was younger, I would do anything possible just to piss off my parents. Rock music was just one of many things that I fell in love with back then."

Before we could go anymore in depth, a call came over the radios for a huge structural fire, involving casualties, and possibly fatalities.

"Hey, isn't that the address of that labored breathing call was that we answered earlier? The one with the drug addicts, and,"

"And the abusive boyfriend. Yeah, it is."

Wyatt and I had answered a call earlier this morning for an unconscious man. We get there, wake the guy back up, and give him some oxygen, but while we were waiting for the drugs we gave him to take effect, Wyatt noticed that there were three kids sitting on the sofa, two of them were under five, but one was about seven years old. I asked the boy, Quentin, why he wasn't in school, and when I went to put a hand on his shoulder, he flinched. Wyatt lifted up the shirt, revealing multiple bruises. In the end, we found out that he was being abused by his Aunt's boyfriend, the one who was unconscious. Wyatt called the cops to see what could be done, but our job was over. Legally, we had done all that we could do, but each of us made a mental side note to check up on the kid by the end of shift. Wyatt hit the lights and sirens and we practically flew back down to the apartment. By the time we arrived, the place was in flames and the firefighters were trying their hardest to put it out. Seeing that all of the victims were already being taken care of by other paramedics, we went off in search of Marissa (Quentin's aunt), her abusive boyfriend, and the rest of the kids. Marissa was bawling and about to run inside.

"Have either of you seen Quentin?"

"No, why? Where is he?"

"I don't know, I think he's still inside."

That fact alone made Wyatt and I both panic. Before either of us could stop her, Marissa went running into the building, screaming out Quentin's name. Wyatt tried to stop her, and ran after her, but as he reached the entrance to the building, the fire chief stopped him and made him come back over with the rest of us. I felt a small tug on my jacket, so I turned around and saw Quentin standing there.

"Hey buddy, are you alright?"

"Where's Marissa?"

"She went back inside to look for you. We all thought you went back in."

Before anybody could say anything else, we saw one of the firefighters carrying out a woman in blue jeans and a black tank top: Marissa. Wyatt and I both grabbed our bags and ran over to her, immediately starting treatment. Angela and Harper, who had been called here, came over and helped Wyatt and I load her into the bus. Harper drove, and the other three of us stayed in back, trying to keep Marissa stable. Halfway there, Harper made an extremely sharp turn, making half of us fall to the other side of the vehicle.

"Harper, don't kill us before we save her!"

Angela really hated being paired up with a newbie more than anything else. Right after the sharp turn, we lost a pulse on Marissa, and decided to shock her. Each time, it would bring her back for a minute, and then it would weaken and die again.

"You want us to administer the drugs, Christine?"

"No, don't. She could flat line at any minute."

"If you shock her again, she could die."

This was a very hard decision to make. If I gave Marissa the drugs, she most likely would flat line and nobody would be able to bring her back. If we shocked her, there was a small chance that she would die, but the risks were much less for the latter choice.

"She won't die, not on my bus."

I took the step and shocked her again, but before anybody could celebrate, her heart stopped. For a moment, I thought I had killed her. Being a paramedic and having one of your patients die, is a scary, scary thought.

"Look, Chris, you tried,"

As Wyatt began to comfort me, Marissa's pulse got stronger and stronger, until it was like she was alive and carrying on a conversation with us. The three paramedics sitting in back started laughing, mainly at how lucky I got.

"Alright Sims, now it's Daytona!"

Angie said, letting Harper know that it was alright to begin speeding again. Like I said, saving lives is a great feeling.