Did you know it's been over a year since I updated this? I'm sorry for the long wait. That is assuming there is anyone still reading this? Long story short, that 'dream job' I obtained became the job from hell. I ended up off sick with depression and no desire to write anything. It took being fired (yes, for being off sick), and finding a new job, for any writing desires to come back, but until today nothing for Rescue. I've just spent the past couple of hours trying to locate the work I had done on this story but I've also managed to lose my memory stick with it all on. I actually think I left it at the company that fired me. All gone, along with my plot outline. Never mind. It just means that I have to rethink this.
So, with that in mind, and taking into consideration the fact that it has been that long since I wrote the last chapter, please forgive me if this chapter seems a little jumpy. That is if anyone is still reading it and I haven't lost all of you? Which would be understandable... but if you are still reading, please do let me know!
But Who's Going To Save You
Chapter 23: The Rugby Final, pt 2
"I hate drunks," Vince muttered under his breath. He was stood back, away from the drunken idiots, allowing Chase to treat them. It wasn't a serious cut – the guy had fallen over and scraped his knee. He probably couldn't even feel it. Vince sighed. He probably should help, but he was also probably more likely to hurt the guys further than help them. Drunks just weren't his favourite type of people to treat.
As they burst into the fourteenth rendition or We Are The Champions, he pulled some paperwork out. If it wasn't for the god-awful massacre of Queen it wouldn't have been too bad a day. The stadium had emptied quickly and looked to be deserted short of a handful of staff who were already setting to with the clean-up process.
Short of the pair of idiots behind him, there wasn't much to write up. He was done about the same time as Chase. "That's not the way out," he muttered as they watched the two guys make their way down the stairs towards the pitch.
"Told them twice," Chase shrugged. "They said they wanted some grass. Thought they were talking about something else."
"Bunch of bloody morons," Vince muttered.
Chase grinned cheekily. "I'm sure in your many years of experience you've done much worse."
The comment earned him a smack upside the head. "Less of that or you're walking home."
Although continuing to grin, Chase packed up the last of the bags, and slung it over his shoulder. He turned, ready to make a snarky comment to Vince about how long it was taking Felicity and Lachie to return from Rescue 1, when their radio's exploded into life.
"Vince, we need-" Lachie's voice was cut off by an almighty crash which seemed to echo around the stadium in stereo.
Vince and Chase froze, staring in horror at each other, the colour draining from their faces as they realised exactly what had happened. "Lachie!" Vince barked into the radio. At the static that only returned back to him, he charged after Chase, running down the corridors in the direction the sound had emanated. "Rescue Portable 8 to Rescue Portable 7, Lachie?!"
They raced down the corridors, past the fans who were still mingling, yet staring down in the direction the two Rescue members were headed. Finally, the air became thick with dust and the once faint sound of a horn became blaringly louder. "Lachie!" Chase cried in horror, spotting Rescue 1 and the doorway which lay over it – and more importantly, the dark haired man who was slumped over the steering wheel.
. . .
Jordan sat at the kitchen table. Opposite him, Freya was staring a long-since cold cup of tea. Since making it nearly half an hour ago, they had sat at the table in silence, other than the light tapping of Freya's foot as she jiggled her leg up and down. The previous night, unable to turn her away, he had quickly text Heidi back and told her that he was going straight to bed. That was half right. He'd bundled Freya into his bedroom, given her a spare shirt to change into, and allowed her to spend the night in his bed while he took the couch.
"What the hell happened, Freya?" Jordan asked, finally growing impatient at Freya's silence. There was only so long he could stare at the ghost of the beautiful woman he once knew. Her skin was sallow, her eyes sunken, and her once luscious locks hung limply down her back.
She looked over at him, taking a few seconds to focus in on him, and let out a bitter laugh. "What happened?" she repeated. "You happened."
"I don't understand," he told her.
"You told me to turn myself in," she said, pointing her finger at him. "You said it was time to stop running. They sent me to prison, Jordon. Prison."
"You robbed a store," Jordan responded. "You were there when your boyfriend killed a man. I didn't think you would get sent down, no, but you can't tell me that was my fault."
"You left me again," Freya cried, the accusation turning into a sob. "You left me again," she repeated, finally bursting into tears.
Guilt flashed through Jordan. She was right. He had promised to keep in touch – to visit – to be there for her. He hadn't even been there for her sentencing. The guilt gnawed away at his stomach. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He stood, moving to her side. "I'm so sorry," he said again.
Tears turned into anger, and Freya leapt up, shoving at his chest. "Sorry? Sorry! I don't want your apologies," she spat at him.
Jordan stood there, motionless. Although her hands had a slight sting to them, she wasn't the strong woman he once knew. She was broken, in more ways than one. Finally, the hits subsided, and she fell against him, crying again. Unsure as to what to do, he wrapped his arms around her, and rubbed her back.
They stood like that for a while, until Freya suddenly stepped back, looking embarrassed. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I shouldn't have come."
"You said you needed my help," he pointed out. "What do you need?"
Her arm flew to her forearm, subconsciously scratching it while she peered up at him. "Money," she said.
Jordan stared, watching her scratch, before returning his eyes to hers. "For what?"
"I, uh... I owe someone some money," she told him.
"Who?" Jordan demanded. "How much?"
"Just a couple hundred dollars," she said, he gaze quickly shifting to the floor.
"A couple hundred?" Jordan repeated. "For what?"
"Stuff," Freya shrugged. She glanced back at him, cocking her head as her hand reached out for his upper arm. "I could pay it off," she said, stroking his muscle.
Jordan's eyes widened as he realised what she was implying. "Freya!" he exclaimed, stepping back.
"Or you know, I could pay you back," she suggested with a shrug. "Whatever."
"I am not giving you money so you can go out and buy drugs," he told her firmly.
Freya's expression darkened. "Screw you!" she spat at him, before turning on her heel, and storming out of the house, the sound of the door slamming shut echoing behind her.
Wearily, Jordan sank down on a vacant seat, rubbing a hand over his face. "Oh Freya," he sighed. "What happened to you?"
. . .
Felicity opened her eyes, finding Lachie's bright blue eyes staring down at hers. She blinked for a moment, returning the stare. "That would be number five," he told her.
She blinked again, trying to make sense of what had happened. Her head was pounding, and judging from the pain at the back of it, she suspected that she had hit it. She was pressed up against a wall, dust and debris raining down around her as Lachie held her close to him, his arms wrapped around her.
"Are you okay?" he asked her, his eyes showing concern at the lack of response. He took half a step back to assess her, releasing his hold on her. In an instant, his arms were firmly clamped around her waist, supporting her as a wave of dizziness washed over her. "Goldfish?" he tried again, moving his head in closer to hers.
"My head," she said finally, her hand flying to the part of her anatomy in discussion. She frowned, wondering why all she could hear was a horn blaring around her.
"Okay, let's sit you down," Lachie said, keeping his hold on her firm as he helped her lower herself down the wall. As soon as she was sitting, he motioned for her to lean forward and he quickly examined her head. "There's no cut, but I think we need to get you a hospital and that head of yours looked at properly."
"I'm fine," Felicity insisted, leaning past him. It finally dawned on her that what she was seeing was Rescue 1, mangled beneath the door they had only just been stood next to, and that annoying horn belonged to the vehicle. "We need to help them," she muttered, trying to get to her feet.
"We don't need to do anything," Lachie corrected her as she failed to stand.
"He needs help," Felicity said weakly. She knew she had to help – that was her job. But for some reason, her legs didn't agree with her as they refused to take her weight. It also seemed to be getting darker, and she couldn't quite work out who was playing with the lights. That didn't make sense. They needed the light to be able to see what they were doing. The horn was making her head hurt and she closed her eyes.
"Hey," Lachie said gently, his warm hand cupping her face startling her into opening her eyes back up.
This time, the look in his eyes was less concern, and more worry... no, that was the wrong word. Panic? "Lachie?" she questioned.
"I think you need to sit here," he told her.
"No, I need to help," she insisted. Again, she tried to stand, and again, she failed. "Lachie, something isn't... something isn't right..." she realised.
"Flick!" Lachie cried as the woman in front of him suddenly lost consciousness.
"Lachie!"
Lachie turned, hearing his brother shout over the blare of the horn. "Over here, Chase!" he yelled back.
. . .
Vince arrived at Rescue 1 moments after Chase had, and spotted the same thing he had: the dark haired man slumped against the steering wheel. The two of them moved straight over to the injured driver, instantly coming to the conclusion that the man in the Warriors shirt wasn't the middle Gallagher brother. "Thank god," Vince muttered, as he heard Lachie's call over the sound of the horn. Beside him, Chase made to move around to the far side of the truck. Vince's arm shot out, grabbing Chase's collar just in time before part of the ceiling fell down on where Chase was about to step. "Lachie, sitrep!" he barked.
"I'm fine," Lachie yelled back. "Flick's unconscious: a head injury."
"Shit," Chase muttered beside him.
"How's she doing?" Vince asked, while assessing the situation in front of him. "Chase, you see to the driver, and take it easy."
"Vince," Chase started to object.
"Now," Vince ordered. As soon as Chase made for the driver, Vince tried to map away around to Lachie and Felicity.
"No other injuries, but her breathing is shallow. She needs a hospital," Lachie called.
"Lachie, I can't get to you this way. Can you get her out your side?"
There was a moment's pause. "Yeah, I think so."
"Go," Vince ordered. "I'll have an ambo waiting for you." He reached for his radio, quickly putting in the request. As soon as he had the assurance that there was still an ambulance at the stadium and it was being redirected to their location, he turned his attention to the rescue unit. Although there was plasterboard raining down on them, he wasn't concerned that the building was about to come collapsing down on them. Not that the plasterboard didn't cause a hazard.
Suddenly the horn stopped and he moved back around to the driver's side. Chase already had a brace around the driver's neck and had moved him back against the seat. "I need a hand, Vince," Chase called over.
Vince hurried over, avoiding the debris and reached into the back. As he reached for the backboard, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Felicity, limp in Lachie's arms as he carried her out through a small gap. Relieved to know they were out and Felicity would soon be receiving the attention she needed, Vince pulled the backboard out, laying it on the ground beneath him. Together they removed the driver and secured him on the board. "We can't get him out this way," Vince quickly told Chase.
Chase nodded. Ensuring his vitals were stable, they lifted him back the way they had come, past the crowds which were being controlled by the police, and out a nearby emergency exit to where another ambo was waiting. It wasn't until the man was safely on the ambulance that Chase turned to his superior. "Felicity?"
"Lachie got her out," Vince assured him. "Get one of the officers to give you a ride to the hospital. I'll let Michelle know what's happening while I take care of things here, but you need to keep us both updated. Understand?"
Chase nodded, quickly hurrying over to a nearby officer.
. . .
It was past midnight before the police had finished with Lachie. Chase had not long after Felicity had been safely delivered to a waiting doctor, and both his other brother and Lara a while later. After being assured that Felicity was going to be kept overnight thanks to a concussion, but she was out of the woods, the doctor had insisted that there was no reason that any of them had to stay any later than they had to.
Of course, they had all waited until Felicity had regained consciousness and heard for themselves that short of a horrific headache she was fine, before they had all filtered off. Lachie had gone straight to the police station to give his statement. He'd been there for a while, mainly because the officers were still busy dealing with the aftermath of the game and there hadn't been anyone to take his statement until an hour ago.
Finally free from the barrage of questions, Lachie was allowed out of the interview room, and headed back to the, now quiet, reception area. This one had a small television playing in the corner, and he was ready to walk past it, but a live news story caught his attention. "Hey, would you turn that up?" he asked the harassed looking officer behind the reception desk. Although he gave Lachie a filthy glare, he did as requested. Lachie ignored him and hurried over.
"... spirits from their earlier win. The place is packed and the team are in no short supply of someone to buy their drinks from them. This is Michael Connors reporting live from Tiger Bar..."
It wasn't the words so much as the images behind the reporter. Clear as day, in the middle of a crowd, doing shots, was Cole. Lachie frowned, glancing over at the clock. It was nearly two in the morning, and he was still out drinking? There was no way Felicity would have been taken to the hospital without Michelle notifying her fiancé.
The report must have been a recording – stock images? Lachie figured as he headed out to his jeep. Surely Felicity's future husband wouldn't have continued to party knowing his fiancé was spending the night in a hospital bed?
With a manoeuvre which caused the guy behind to beep his horn, Lachie swung his jeep around and headed back over to the hospital. Still in his uniform, he didn't have any trouble making his way through the hospital, and the floor Felicity was being kept on was quiet enough that he snuck into her room unnoticed.
The room was lit by a security light from the building opposite, streaming through the windows with the curtains still hanging open. Lachie's eyes narrowed as he realised Felicity was all alone. "Oh, goldfish," he muttered.
"Lachie?"
Lachie glanced over at the figure on the bed. "You should be asleep," he told her, surprised she was still awake.
"I feel like I have a hangover from hell, without the fun of the alcohol being involved," she responded dryly. "But if I should be asleep, why are you here?" she asked him. "Is Cole okay?"
Lachie snorted, making his way over to the side of the bed. "Your fiancé is still out drinking," he told her.
Felicity watched as pulled a chair over and sat down. "I know," she told him, simply. "Why are you here?" she asked again.
"You know?" Lachie asked in disbelief.
Felicity carefully nodded her head. "Yes. He called, and I told him it was just a concussion."
"But you're in hospital," Lachie exploded. Felicity winced at his loud outburst and he immediately felt guilty. "Sorry," he muttered. "But he should be here with you."
"Why should he?" Felicity asked quietly. "He has just won the biggest game of his career."
"And you're his fiancé."
"So?" Felicity shrugged. "Have you seen the injury rates for this team? This won't be the first or last time that I spend a night in a hospital bed. A rugby player's career is limited. This might be the only league win that Cole will experience. I don't want to take that away from him. Besides, it's not exactly visiting hours."
"I still made it in," Lachie pointed out.
"And why did you?" Felicity asked him. "You still haven't told me why you're here."
Lachie sat back, raking his hand through his hair. Why was he here? "I just wanted to make sure you were alright," he shrugged.
Felicity gave him a small smile. "Just a headache."
Lachie nodded and let out a deep breath. They sat there in silence for a while, until he suddenly grinned. "I think that takes my count up to six."
"Six?" Felicity repeated, dubiously.
"The Izuzu; the tree; that cliff face in the Blue Mountains; the fight at the stadium; moving you out of the way of doors; and getting you to the hospital," he listed, counting them off on his fingers as he did so.
Felicity stared thoughtfully at him. "Three. I'll allow three. But thank you," she added, giving him a grateful smile.
The grin on Lachie's face disappeared into a more serious expression as he leant over and grabbed her hand. "That's still three too many," he pointed out, squeezing gently. She stared at him, an emotion in her eyes he couldn't quite read. Quickly he released her hand and cleared his throat. "I think that clearly you should upgrade me to VIP at your wedding. I think top table honours are deserved. And I think you should also increase your bridesmaid numbers to include some hot, single blondes."
"And there's that annoying Lachie charm I know so well," Felicity said, rolling her eyes.
I was going to reply to each of your reviews here, but as I discovered that there were several mentions of how long it has been since I updated, I figured this would be a better approach:
Despite my long absence, I haven't given up on this story. There's a few more ideas left in me yet. I also want to make it clear that I truly appreciate every single review and even page view that this story has received. It completely floors me that so many of you have taken the time to read this little creation of mine, and while you continue to do that, I will continue to write. Even if the updates aren't as frequent as they should be, I will endeavour to finish this!