Our Favorite Mortal Instruments quote of the chapter:
Hodge looked alarmed. "I-I-I had a very filling breakfast," he stammered. "I mean lunch. A filling lunch. I couldn't possibly eat–"
"I threw out the soup," Isabelle said. "And ordered Chinese food from that place downtown."
Jace unhitched himself from the desk and stretched. "Good I'm starced.
"I might be able to eat a bite." Admitted Hodge meekly.
–Hodge, Isabelle, and Jace
Quick medical notes:
1)PTSD is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's when something very traumatic happens (usually involving the threat of injury or death) to someone. It can be initiated by things that remind the person of the traumatic event. They can experience both physical and mental symptoms. For a fully synopsis see: .com/health/ref/Post-traumatic+stress+disorder
2)A BVM (short for bag valve mask; also called an Ambu valve) is the bag like things people use to pump air into a patients lungs
I'm looking for a beta for this story. If you're interested, send me a message or leave me a comment. I need some help with the flow of my plot. Thank you all for reading!
oOo
"Wait. Try one more time."
"Simon Lewis…" she says warningly.
"I'm just having a really hard time believing Clarissa Fray, normally fairly normal Clarissa Fray, went off with Jace. Jace. The absolute definition of doucheyness and jackassedosity."
"I don't know what to say to that."
"Because I'm right."
"Because I have no idea what you just said." She gets off the couch, putting the videogame they're playing on pause, and grabs a soda from the fridge.
"Let me dumb it down for you. You left an awesome party to hang out with Jace. Jace is bad. You are good. Do you see where this is going?" Clary takes a long drink from her can and glares at him.
"I have to be at work in one hour," she says.
"What does your work schedule have to do with anything?"
"Nothing really. I just need a good excuse to get away from you."
"Jeez. The magnitude of your friendship is astounding."
"I try. I will be showering."
"Thanks for the update," Simon says, un-pausing the game. After a thirty minute shower, two minutes of picking out her clothes and another minute of putting said clothes on, Clary was ready.
"I'm heading out, Lewis," she announces at seven o'clock, snatching the keys off the counter and taking Simon's grunt as a sign of acknowledgement. She walks down the stairs, the familiar sights reminding her of Jace. I've walked down these same stairs a million times, she thinks, and all I can remember about them is running into Jace? She wards away the unwanted thoughts with effort. As fate may have it, standing at the bottom of the stairs is Jace.
"Hey," he says.
"Hi," she says. He falls into step beside her. "Were you waiting for me?" she asks.
"Potentially," he says, watching her out of the corner of his eyes.
"How would you….?" she trails off, unsure of her question.
"I have my ways," he says, answering her unspoken question.
"Interesting."
"Interesting?"
"Interesting." Jace steals a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She notices he's watching her, but chooses to ignore it. "How are you?"
"Interesting," he says with a smile. She sends him a glance. "Where are you off to?"
"Work. You too, I assume."
"Yep." They lapse into one of those uncomfortable silences between you and someone you don't know that well yet.
"Are you really a paramedic?" Clary asks him.
"I really am."
"So you weren't screwing with me?"
"I screw girls very often," he says waggling his eyebrows, "but this time I was, surprisingly, not screwing with you. If I was, I would have come up with something more interesting like, say, an astronaut."
"But I wouldn't believe astronaut."
"I'm a very convincing liar." Clary rolls her eyes. She spots her car and starts walking in a diagonal towards it.
"I'll see you later?" she asks.
"That you will. Have a nice day," he says with a ridiculously exaggerated bow.
"You too," she says, climbing into her car.
oOo
"Wait, wait, wait. You mean you and assy-boy-wonder?" Maia asks Clary.
"That would be Jace."
"Why?" Maia asks.
"He's not as bad as you think." Maia looks at her skeptically. Clary rolls her eyes, trying to hide her amusement, and turns back to her paperwork.
"Good evening, one and all," Dr. Bane says, striding through the emergency room doors like he owned them (which he probably did seeing as he's a reservoir of wealth that the hospital is more than welcome to delve into). He spots a group of new interns, crowded over a charts, and I see a broad, excited smile spread over his lips. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?" he asks striding over to him. One of the interns looks up at him, wide-eyed. Her struggle not to stare at his radioactive yellow pants and blue spiked hair was more than amusing.
"Hi…sir!" she says, eagerly. The other interns quickly follow suit. "My name—"
"No, no. I don't care what your name is. I just came over here to welcome you to the world of medicine and ask you to try your hardest not to kill someone. You see, if you were to kill someone, it would be on me. I don't want to be blamed for your stupid mistakes because you worthless buckets of crap don't know a thing about trauma, or this hospital, or medicine. Actually, screw trying not to kill someone. You can just stand in the corner and watch the real doctors work. That would probably be the best for everyone." The interns stare at him, wide-eyed and frightened, and nod quickly. They stand there staring at Dr. Bane. He puts on an angry face, something he doesn't have often. "Back to work!" he says loudly and commandingly. They hurry away. He turns to us, a smile spread across his face. "Good day. Great day. Absolutely fabulous day."
"You just scarred those poor interns," Maia says, trying to be scolding but coming across as encouraging.
"Good job, doctor," Clary says. The nurses clap for him and he bows with a flourish. Clary remembers Jace doing almost the same thing and smiles. Dr. Bane picks up a chart and scans it quickly.
"Anything interesting?"
"Just standard stuff." The phone starts ringing and the closest nurse picks it up. The smile falls from her face.
"We have a 16-year-old girl in cardiac arrest coming in in about five minutes." Dr. Bane sighs.
"Let's get to work people." The trauma team hurries to get ready. They wait for the ambulance outside, the cold quickly penetrating their thin trauma gowns and scrubs. The ambulance pulls up, sirens blaring, casting a red-blue light over everything.
They wheel the gurney out of the ambulance. Lying on the bed is a girl who Clary estimates to be around 16-years-old. Straddling her is Jace, his hands on her chest as he furiously administers CPR.
"Lorrie Slifer. Age 16. Coded on the way," Jace shouts out. For a brief moment, Clary is frozen. The look on Jace's face as he works astounds her; a mix of anger, focus and something she thinks is fear, a weird look on someone who refuses to take anything seriously. She shakes her head to clear it then rushes to work with the rest of the team. She pushes the doors open as Dr. Bane, Maia, and a few other nurses push the gurney into the ER. They wheel the patient into trauma room one and immediately start hooking her up to monitors.
"How long has she been down?" Dr. Bane asks.
"Ten minutes," says Jace. Dr. Bane shoots a glance at the other paramedic.
"Why aren't you in control of the situation?" Dr. Bane asked him. The paramedic held up his hands in a show of innocence.
"He took complete control. Started shouting orders. Didn't know how to stop him so I helped."
"That's a great reason to let a medic-in-training take over," Dr. Bane says, sarcasm dripping from his words.
"I won't let another one die," Jace says fiercely, still pounding on the space over her heart. He restarts his quiet counting. A nurse slaps a BVM over the patient's mouth.
"Get off my patient," Dr. Bane says. Jace effortlessly swings off of the gurney, his hands never faltering in their rhythm. Lorrie Slifer's forced heart rhythm is showing on the monitor. A nurse wheels in the crash cart. Dr. Bane turns on the defibrillator and picks up the paddles, rubbing the gel between them.
"Charging," Dr. Bane says. Jace steps away from her, staring at the heart monitor, as Dr. Bane places the paddles over her bare skin.
"All clear," a nurse says. Her body jerks violently as the current rushes through it, the monitor beating once, then flat lining again.
"Charging to 300," a nurse says. Dr. Bane rubs more gel on the paddles then places the paddles back on her. "All clear." The girl jerks again, the monitor giving one beat, then flat lining.
"Charging to 360," the nurse says.
"Come on, come on," Jace urges.
"All clear," says the nurse. Lorrie jerks again, but it ends in another flat line. Dr. Bane sighs, a line between his brows. He gives Jace a meaningful look. Hospital policy says that after three attempts, the patient is considered dead.
"Charge again," Jace demands.
"We can't—"
"Charge again!" Jace screams. The nurse looks from the furious paramedic to the tired looking doctor.
"Charging to 400," the nurse says. A hopeful kind of pleading spreads over Jace's face, replacing some of the anger. Dr. Bane places the paddles on the girl's chest. Hope briefly fills Clary's chest. Please, we need a miracle. She crosses her fingers, feeling like a little kid as she stares intently at the monitor. It flat lines once again.
"No," Jace says savagely, placing his hands over her heart and continuing compressions.
"She's dead," Dr. Bane says. Jace shakes his head in response. Clary's heart squeezes, amazed at the multitude of layers he had, layers she couldn't have even imagined.
"Come on. Don't die. Please don't die," Jace mutters to the girl. Everyone in the room watches him as he works tirelessly over her dead body, forcing her tired heart to beat when all it wants to do is die. He needs to stop. He needs to understand it's over. Clary walks over and places her hand gently on his arm.
"Jace," she whispers to him. He doesn't take his eyes off of the dead girl. "Jace," she says louder. "She's dead, Jace. You did everything you could, but she died." He shakes his head, trying to clear his mind of her words. Clary puts her hand on his and tries to hold it still. She slips her hands between his and eases them away from Lorrie's body.
"Time of death," Dr. Bane says, "twelve thirty-nine PM." A nurse writes the time on her chart. Jace's shoulders slump as the realization reaches him. All the doctors and nurses file out of the room, bringing Lorrie's body with them, and leaving Jace and Clary alone. He stares off, his eyes unfocused.
"Are you okay?" Clary asks him. His golden eyes meet her green ones. They don't give away even the smallest emotion.
"No," he says, his voice as empty as his eyes.
"Jace," Clary says, touching his arm again. He rips himself away from her touch.
"Don't," he said, his voice stony, "touch me." She feels her eyes widen and steps away. His muscles are trembling. He's pinching the bridge of his nose. Clary can practically see the bad memories swimming in his head.
"Jace," she whispers. "Please don't."
"Clary," he clutches his head with his hands. "Go away." He drops down, clutching his head firmly.
"Jace," Clary says, her voice pleading. "You don't have to—"
"Go away!" he screams. Clary backs away, her hands searching for the door handle and her eyes searching for any of the warmth that his eyes held just hours before. She finds the handle faster than the kindness. She slips out of the room and clocks out, wanting more than anything to leave the waves of memories threatening to overcome her.