Title: Blackout 2/4
Author: Romantique
Email:
Classification: Early Edition. Gary/Marissa, Hurt/Drama
Rating: T
Summary: It is Gary Hobson's fate to keep harm from coming to others; however, this time, it is Gary himself who needs help. His friend Marissa is along for the ride. (This fan fiction began as a Halloween challenge, but evolved into a stand-alone story.)
Disclaimer: This fan fiction occurs some time in Season 3, after Chuck leaves Chicago.
Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.
Early afternoon ...
Quite some time passed before Gary slowly began to come to. The left side of his face was swollen black and blue ... the left eye was completely shut.
"Marissa?" his right eye fluttered open. He woke to find her holding onto him.
"Oh, Gary," Marissa thanked God in utter relief. Still holding pressure on the head wound, she asked, "How are you feeling?"
His face felt cool but clammy.
"I'm okay," he said, heavily shading the truth, for he was not alright. He was dizzy, and pain seared through his shoulder and into his chest whenever he took in a breath.
It took a moment for him to gain his bearings, to remember where he was. "Where are they?" he finally asked, remarkably remembering to keep his voice down low. A brutal blow to the face would do that.
"I don't know. I heard their steps go off in that direction," Marissa answered and pointed to where she last heard them, behind the counter. "Gary, the police are here. They've surrounded the building."
"The Paper," he whispered, grimacing as he tried to shift his position.
He glanced up at the wall clock and wondered where the past several hours had gone.
Marissa chastised him, "Gary, you're in no shape to worry about the Paper."
"I need to see it," he spoke softly. "Can you reach it? It's on the floor, to your right."
"I'll try," she relented. But first, she took his hand and placed it over the thoroughly blood-soaked, makeshift compress. "Keep the pressure right here, okay?" she instructed him.
Then, she leaned to her right and felt all around the floor for the Paper with her hands which was indeed just to her right.
"There," she thought to herself upon feeling the folded Paper, and she started to pick it up.
"Be careful. Hold it from the edges," Gary warned, breathing a little harder. "You've got blood on your hands."
It was his blood. Disturbed by the thought, carefully and quietly, Marissa picked up the Paper and brought it to him. Then, she maneuvered it as Gary instructed until he could see it with his right eye.
"Hostage Siege Goes Into Second Day," Gary whispered upon finding the headline. He slowly read on a little further, in between painful breaths. "Negotiations for release of the twelve hostages came to an abrupt halt when a second deadline for the release of injured hostages again came and went. A failed attempt by a SWAT team to enter the bank through the duct system was named as the cause of this latest stalemate."
"Second day?" Marissa repeated. Upon hearing this, her resolve suddenly went flat, as if it was a balloon that had just been deflated.
The mere suggestion of remaining trapped for a second day caused her concern to increase by twenty-fold. For although the bleeding had slowed, Gary's head was still bleeding. He had lost consciousness. It hurt him to breathe. He was in urgent need of medical attention.
"Injured hostages?" Gary slowly repeated to himself. The plural 'hostages' caused Gary to find his own concerns. "Marissa? We've got to find a way to get outta here."
"But how?" Marissa whispered.
"There must be some way out," he spoke in a soft voice. Thinking, after a moment, he asked, "Where's the Loan Officer?"
"Mr. Morris?" Marissa softly called out behind them.
Quietly sliding over to them, the banker responded, "By now, I think you can call me Jim."
"Jim," she turned her face in the direction of her voice. "You work in this building," she began to explain. "Is there any way out that the robbers wouldn't know about?"
After a beat, Jim the Loan Officer answered, "No. But I often work nights, so I have a set of keys. If I could make my way to the front door, I could open it."
Gary looked over towards the front entrance of the Bank. "That's got to be 40 yards away. We'd need to create some kind of a distraction."
"What are you all talking about?" one of the robbers suddenly appeared out of nowhere, his gun in plain view.
Thinking quickly on her feet, Marissa calmly and evenly answered the man. Her prior psychology training was coming into play. She honestly believed this was a robbery gone wrong and that they didn't intend to hurt anyone. She refused to be frightened by these thugs any longer. "Sir," she respectfully addressed their captor. "My friend needs medical attention. Couldn't you let him go so that he can get the help he needs?"
"We're workin' on it, Lady," the man said in a bass voice. "If we get what we want, you'll all be home in time for dinner."
Still thinking, she added, "I don't mean to cause you any trouble, but I don't think he can wait that long."
This gunman looked over and took a good look at Gary for the first time. Gary was pale and clammy, and his was breathing labored. The gunman tightened his jaw and took in a deep breath. "You all sit tight. I'll be back," he firmly instructed and left them.
Once the gunman was out of earshot, Gary asked his dear friend, "What are you doing? You're drawing attention to us, not away from us."
Placing a steady hand on his shoulder, she asked in a whisper, "Do you honestly believe you could make it past 40 yards?"
As Gary attempted to shift his weight forward, he came dangerously close to passing out again from the intense, stabbing pain. He began to take controlled breaths, in and out, to keep from crying out. As much as he hated to admit it, Marissa was right. He wasn't going anywhere ... not under his own steam.
A few minutes later, the gunman returned with a woman who also was a banking customer. In her hand, she was holding a small First Aid kit.
"I'm a nurse," the older, red-headed woman said to Gary. "Let me take a look at you," she offered, and then, she kneeled down on the floor on the other side of him from Marissa.
"Hey! Just keep it down, okay?" the gunman insisted, as he allowed the woman to assist Gary. It was becoming obvious that he didn't want his partners seeing him showing them any sort of kindness.
The first thing the nurse noticed was the bleeding coming from Gary's temple and the swelling and contusions along the side of his face. She looked into his right eye and asked him to track the movement of her finger. Then, she took his pulse and respirations.
"Do you have a headache? Are you sick to your stomach?" she asked the injured man.
"Yeah," Gary slowly nodded. He really didn't want to be reminded.
"I'm almost certain you have a concussion," she ascertained from her very cursory exam under these stark circumstances.
She opened the Bank's First Aid kit and took out the antiseptic and some sterile gauze. She then, opened several packets of Band-Aids so that she could quickly move.
"Owwww," Gary recoiled as the nurse began to clean the angry, red head wound.
It burned. He clenched his jaw shut and tears came to his eyes, as she continued to dab the gash with the stinging liquid.
"Sorry," the woman apologized with a kindness in her blue eyes. "But I have to do this. Just take in as deep a breath as you can without hurting yourself."
The woman proceeded to follow up the cleaning with an application of antibiotic ointment and covered the wound with gauze, holding it in place with the Band-Aids. She could tell his face was cool, clammy.
"You need stitches," she said to Gary so that the gunman could hear her, too. "But maybe cleaning it will help keep infection at bay until we can get you to a doctor."
Then, she noticed he was holding his right arm tightly against his body.
"Where are you injured?" she asked. "Is it your arm?"
"I think it's the shoulder," he winced at the thought of her touching it. "Something cracked when I hit that post." Gary indicated the direction of the post with his head.
The nurse looked up at the steel post, cringing at the thought of colliding with it. She decided his injury could be one of several things. "We need to immobilize your arm. Take the weight of the arm off the shoulder."
Looking up to the gunman the nurse said, "I need something to use as a sling."
After a moment, Marissa piped up. "Would this help?" she asked, removing a long, ethnic scarf from around her neck.
"Yes. That will work just fine," the nurse nodded, taking the scarf from Marissa.
The nurse then looked over to Jim, the Loan Officer.
"I need you to help me sit him up," she said. Then, looking at Gary with firm compassion in her eyes, she said, "This going to hurt to move you before it feels better. You need to be ready for it."
Gary nodded, steeling himself prior to being moved.
"Okay, on the count of three," she then looked at Jim in the eyes. "One ... two ... three."
The two of them pushed Gary from a leaning to an upright sitting position.
"Ahhhhhhhhhh," Gary exhaled as stinging tears came to his eyes.
Jim held Gary upright while the nurse worked quickly and put his right arm in the scarf. She pulled the arm inside the scarf upwards and towards his body, placing the arm in neutral position. With Jim's help, they tied the scarf tightly around Gary's neck on the side of his uninjured shoulder.
After that long moment of agony, Gary finally felt a sudden relief from the searing pain. Unfortunately, that relief was only short-lived.
"Thank you," Gary said to the nurse, but then, he began to shake in a cold sweat.
The nurse asked, "Are you in pain?"
Gary answered, taking in a short breath. "I'm cold ... so cold." Then, his teeth began to chatter beyond his control.
"He's going into shock," the nurse called out in alarm. "I need a blanket ... something to give him warmth. And some water."
The nurse did not understand. Immobilizing the arm should in no way have caused him to crash.
"Here. Take this," Jim said, and he took off his wool suit jacket.
Jim Morris was a big man; and his jacket more than covered Gary's upper torso. Jim covered his wounded customer with the garment, as the nurse pulled it up close to Gary's chin and tucked it around this back. Once again, they leaned him back against the desk for support.
"Is that any better?" the nurse asked.
"Yeah, it's good," Gary answered, relishing the welcomed sense of warmth of the wool coat. Suddenly, he couldn't keep his good eye open much longer. The pain was too much to endure. It hurt to breathe. He was suddenly weak, as if he'd suddenly lost all his strength. "If I don't make it ..." he began. His mouth was so dry; he could hardly speak the words that were coming out of his mouth.
A second robber arrived with a coffee cup filled with water. He handed it to the nurse who offered Gary a sip. He promptly choked on it, bracing himself against the jarring, painful movements.
Alarmed by what she was hearing, at how quickly Gary was going downhill, Marissa was sitting quickly moved towards him. "Don't say that," she was beginning to become angry with him. "You're going to make it."
Gary Hobson felt very strange, as if he was hovering somewhere between this life and the one beyond. In all his many brushes with death while doing the Paper's bidding, he had never before felt so zapped of the strength to fight.
With his good eye finally closed, Gary barely whispered, "M'rissa. I don't think I can."
A wave of desperation came crashing over Marissa, and she turned towards the nurse, searching for answers.
Sharing Marissa's concern, the nurse pensively looked up at the gunman. "I've done all I can do here. This man needs to go to the hospital ... NOW."
Leaning in closer to Gary, Marissa whispered in his ear, "You can't leave me, Gary Hobson." She mustered up a well of emotional strength. "Do you hear me? I don't want to live in a world without you."
The sighted world had become a whole lot safer and friendlier since Gary Hobson came into her life. There was no way she would walk out of this bank without him.
If Gary wasn't strong enough to fight for his life, then she would do it for him.
To be continued ...