Phillip Hughes, M.D, S.J. (fidesetratio) wrote in whatprice, @ 2009-06-01 09:45:00 |
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Current mood: | worried |
frightened shadows appear behind the light and the coldness seizes me a paralyzing pain catches me
Who: Hughes & Jones
When: Late Night through morning (last tuesday/wednesday?) , not long after the Seren / Jones fiasco BACKDATED
Where: A field, a helicopter, a hospital
What: When an agent goes down, they call in a medic. In this case, the medic is a man of God. Talk of vampires, eating brains, sunshine, and a smattering of touching moments. And tribbles.
This was the part of his job that Phillip didn't like. He'd been at
headquarters in London when the call had come in that they
had an injured agent in the field. Immediately, his notes were closed and
his computer logged out as he rushed over to Section C under escort by one
of their agents. Honestly, if they hadn't wanted him to have a gun, why
train him to use one. But Section C did not like others snooping around.
There was the matter of signing out a gun, which was for his own protection, but he couldn't
help the disgust as he checked the harness before pulling the jacket
on. Distasteful, really. Grabbing his medical field bag, he nodded his
assent to the agent who was going to accompany him. After all, someone
had to cover the medic as well.
A helicopter ride out to the middle of nowhere and as it touched down,
Phil was poised by the door, ready to jump out the moment the go ahead
was given. Running over to the body, he shook his head.
"Jones, now, why'd you go and get yourself injured? Were they
threatening another day of harassment training?" he asked, trying to
keep her responsive as he assessed her injuries.
She'd managed to wrap a crude tourniquet around her leg, the fabric of
her jacket twisted around and staunching the blood. Phillip could
see, as he looked at her, that the leg was the worst of her injuries -
part of it just simply gone. There was a strange smell about
her, however, like ash and fire, as if she'd been burnt from the
inside and she looked up at him, the black of her pupils deep and
wide.
She tried to push herself up, her pale skin paler from loss of blood.
Her other hand was still clutching her mobile, fingernails dirty with
blood wrapped around it. She was starting to sweat.
"No, no, fuck no, they'll stick me on training now if I can't walk.
They'll have me caught." She gritted her teeth through a laugh, in
obvious pain. "Bloody hell, Hughes, I feel like I've been fucked by
lightning."
At least he had better supplies than when he was in India, he thought
wryly to himself.
"Stay down," he coaxed her with a gentle but firm hand on her
shoulder. "I'll do my best not to get you sidelined. Something for the
pain, first."
A few quick swaps with an alcohol pad, prepping the syringe quickly
and he sent the morphine into her veins. He wanted to sedate her to
make it easier to work, but the higher ups would want her conscious,
if possible. He checked her vitals, making mental notes before working
to assess her leg. Well, that would take him and some help most of the
night to fix, if that.
"Tell me what happened?" he asked, grabbing disinfectant and gauze to
try and stop the leg. Hopefully they'd be able to save it. Heather
would like have his head if he didn't.
"I went out to collar this fucking bitch-" She winced. "Caught her
treating some registered-" Another grimace as she muttered,
"Motherfucker. Tried to take her in. She... did something." Her
fingers dug into the ground, still sweaty, as she tried to blow the
hair out of her eyes with a quick breath. "Can I have a fag, Hughes?
Or... something." Heather was starting to calm, but slowly, as the
morphine began to flood into her veins.
"I already gave you something, Jones. Besides, you can't smoke in the
chopper and I don't need you blowing it up. I need to get you to
London. You can have a smoke later," Phillip said, trying to assess
the damage on the leg. The muscle was exposed and partially damaged.
As he wrapped it up, he knew this was something they couldn't fix at
headquarters just yet. Taking out his phone, he called
London HQ first, telling them to send whoever was available to St.
Luke's hospital and that he'd meet them there. Finishing that call, he
dialed St. Luke's. Considering he'd work there and the Jesuits had
pull, it didn't take much to drop a few names and government threats
before he had an operating bay being prepped and a surgical team
standing by. Hanging up the phone, he turned his attention back to
Heather.
"Do you think you can hop or should I just strap you into the stretcher?"
"I can hop," Heather said. "Just give me a hand up." The morphine
was kicking in, if slowly, but she didn't trust herself to walk to the
chopper on her own. She was tough - not stupid.
Phillip slid his arms under and around Heather to help her up,
signalling to the other agent to assist as well.
"Do not even attempt to put any weight on that leg right now,
Jones, is that clear?" Phillip said. It was more an order than a
question. Right now, he was in full triage mode, taking care of the
scene and giving orders, although he did maintain his concern for his
patient.
Taking orders was something Jones was surprisingly good at, when it
was warranted. She meekly allowed Phillip and the other agent to
support her, leaning into his shoulder. "Believe it or not, I can
take an order." Heather limped as well as she could. "Was in the
goddamn force long enough."
"Well, I could carry you," Phillip said, supporting as much of her
weight as possible.
"But you might punch me," he joked.
"Depends." Her hair brushed his shoulder as she leaned into it. "You
gonna grab me?"
"Only if you ask nicely. C'mon, Jones, it's not that far. You can do
it. Can't have you going all cripple on me," Phil teased, hoping it
was the right approach to keep her conscious and coherent.
"Nah. If I was gonna go cripple, I'd've done it in the war." Her
words were slurring a little, tripping over themselves as the medicine
deepened its hold. "Besides, I gotta get better. Got a birthday
party to go to tomorrow."
"Well then, better do my job so you can go to your party," he said as
they reached the helicopter and he aand the other agent gently lifted
her in and strapped her in. "You alright?"
"No." She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "Sixteen
screaming eight year-olds and me with no left leg. Fuuuuuuuck."
"Not losing this leg on my watch Jones. Do you want another dose of
morphine for the ride?" Phillip asked, making sure his voice was
filled with confidence.
"Like to stay upright, thanks." Her eyes snapped open. "You coming
with or not?" The sharp worry in her tone was mitigated by a weak
smile.
"Not leaving you," Phillip said as he strapped himself in beside her.
"Besides, you think I'm going to trust your care to anyone else? Not
likely."
Once he was strapped in, he signalled to the agent that they were
ready to go to St. Luke's.
"You'll get to see my old place of work though. Nothing too fancy."
"Don't want to go... to church..." Heather slurred a little, tilting
her head back. Her limbs felt heavy, a sensation that she didn't
appreciate.
"Don't worry," Phillip said, running a hand over Heather's hair.
"Not taking you to church. Just to my hospital. Going to fix your leg there."
"That's... really fucking creepy, Hughes." She didn't bother to
explain, just grinned, her eyes closing gradually.
"Just trying to find the best way to eat your brains," Phillip teased.
"With a spork," Heather answered. "Pointy fucking end and
something to scoop with."
Phil managed a laugh.
"True. Or I could always go chopsticks through your nose," Phil teased
before getting serious.
"Jones, once we land, we're going to take you into surgery right away.
Now, I'm going to do everything in my power to save your leg, but she
did a number on you. We may have to amputate. I just want you to know
that now."
"Do I get a fucking peg leg? Like a bloody pirate?" She muttered,
wincing. "'s not so bad, being disabled... Better than fucking being
dead."
Phillip chuckled.
"Yeah. Whatever type of pegleg you want. Dread pirate Jones," Phil said.
"Not dead. Definitely not letting you die."
"I don't think God gives you a choice," Heather's eyes squeezed shut tight.
Phil chuckled.
"You forget that I work for God as well. And sometimes I have a bit of
pull with him."
Phil's face was drawn in worry as the chopper made its descent. At
this point, things were touch and go.
"Hope so," was all she said before slipping into oblivion.
"Jones! C'mon, stay with me. Wasn't planning to knock you out just
yet," Phil said as the chopper touched down on the roof of the
hospital. There was a stretcher and trauma team standing by - St.
Luke's had been one of the hospitals that had tried to develop a
better trauma team after the subway bombings had caught London's
hospitals unaware. It was amazing how quickly things moved when clout
was involved. Less than thirty minutes later, Phillip was in the
operating theatre again, working with familiar colleagues and trying
desperately to save Jones' leg. They were there for most of the night,
but with a bit of luck and fair amount of skill, they were able to
repair most of the damage. The sun had risen by the time Jones was in
recovery, in a secure private room with plainclothes guards at the
door. MI7 did not take chances. Phillip, for his part, was asleep in
the chair next to Heather's bed, a cup of coffee precariously held in
his hand.
She awoke, pushing herself up on an arm, strands of blonde hair
falling wild over her shoulders. It was a few moments before Heather
said anything, her eyes studying Phil thoughtfully as her head fell
back to rest against the pillow.
"Thanks." It sounded clumsy and she amended, "Fucking hell."
Phil stirred at the words, causing the coffee to splash over his hand.
"Sweet Hell," he cursed, setting the cup down on the nightstand and
shaking his hand to cool it off. Seeing that Heather was awake, he
smiled as he got to his feet to check her vitals.
"Morning, sunshine," he said tiredly as he stifled a yawn. "Sorry I
couldn't let you die. Managed to save your leg as well. How's the pain
level? Apart from 'fucking hell'? "
"Don't call me sunshine - you sound like my dad when you do that."
Her fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face before submitting
to a pulse check. "It isn't bad. Maybe a 7." Her leg was throbbing
but that was, Heather regarded, a good thing. It meant she could feel
it.
"Sorry. Haven't gotten much sleep. Boundary lines are blurred," he
said tiredly.
"Do you want something for the pain. The standard is to keep it below
a 5, but well, MI7 has little protocol.
"Was trying to tease you, Hughes." Heather managed a smile despite
the pain. "Guess my lines are blurred too." Glancing down, she
added, "Looking at the fucking leg... guess you could say it
literally." Then she grinned. "Sure thing - give me the bloody drugs
then you got to get some sleep." Her hand reached out, gently
punching him in the shoulder.
Phillip grabbed a syringe and injected it into her IV bag before
flopping down in the chair.
"I can sleep here. Means less paperwork.."
"Don't you have nurses for that?" She said critically.
"Possibly. But since I was up all night with you, only fair you should
endure my presence today. Plus, it's either here or in the office. And
there seems to be less work to do here," Phil said with a bit of
friendly snark.
"What? Don't you have a fucking flat?" Heather snarked right back,
her mouth tilting in a faint laugh.
"I'm a priest who sleeps at the office during the week and at the
church on weekends. Vow of poverty and all that," he teased. "Besides,
monitoring you is working. Someone's got to make sure you don't harass
the staff here."
"That... is really sad, actually." The woman said, meaning it. "You
haven't got anywhere your own?" There was a soft, revelatory look on
her face as she watched Phillip.
"Don't really need much," Phillip said with a shrug.
"Guess not. Guess you got God or some shit." Heather let her head
drop. It wouldn't've been enough for her. "Can you send a note for
me? To my niece? I don't think I'm gonna be able to drive her to her
friend's party."
Phillip chuckled.
"More that I'm supposed to trust that my needs will be provided for,
but it's hard a lot of the time," Phillip explained.
"Of course. Wouldn't it be quicker to call her?"
"Yeah," she visibly brightened. "Have you got a phone? Shite, my
parents are going to fucking freak out though." Heather sighed.
"That's the downside, you know? Can't fucking really explain anything
anymore."
"I do," Philip said, digging out his phone and handing it to Heather.
"Go right ahead. Want me to step outside?"
"Would you mind?" Again, the reveal of a human being at the core.
"Christ, I feel like a real shit." She pressed her fingers against
the keys, staring down at it for a moment before pressing send.
Her voice echoed into the hallway outside, in tones completely
different than she used at MI7. This was the voice of a daughter and
an aunt, a woman trying to explain something in lies that she didn't
want to tell. Apologies rattled the door until, finally, she'd
finished and tossed the phone back on the bed, sinking back into the
pillow.
She felt more exhausted than she had after taking the brunt of the spell.
Phil came back after a few minutes of silence had passed.
"All done?"
"Yeah. I had to promise I'd sit through a goddamn High School Musical
marathon." Heather groaned. "Is that normal for an eight year-old
girl?"
"Probably? I don't know. My brother's children are much younger. One
and Three," Phillip said with a smile, wondering if it was something
Hadi would have been interested in.
"I hope so. Fucking worry about that girl sometimes." Heather shook
her head, laughing. "When I was her age, I liked Star Wars."
Phillip burst out laughing.
"I was such a fan of those movies," Phillip said grinning. "Those were
the best. The original ones though. Maybe you should try to get her
into Star Wars. Or take her to the new Star Trek? It wasn't bad."
"Really? Haven't fucking seen it." Heather sighed. "They got me out
asking wizards about all those deaths on the Seeker. Guess you knew
that already. It feels like I don't fucking have time to breathe, let
alone watch a movie." She paused, then said, "But the old one'd work
too - remember the Tribbles? Fucking amazing. How could anyone not
like Tribbles?"
"Well, you've earned yourself a few days vacation now. Go see a movie
tomorrow because you sure as hell won't be on active duty," he said
with a smirk.
"Thanks, Hughes," she closed her eyes. "Fight with you about that in
the morning, okay?"
Phillip chuckled.
"Sure thing. Rest, Jones," he said, settling himself into the chair with a book.