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randomweavingTitle: Survivor
Characters: JD/Perry, JD/Jordan, Jordan/Perry, JD/Perry/Jordan
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Chapter Rating: R for graphic imagery
Description: A terrible accident requires JD use all his skill to save the mentor he idolizes. But times of crisis can bring people together in unusual ways...
Warnings: Eventual OT3, het content.
JD stared at the TV through Rowdy's legs, too lethargic to actually get up and move him. He had to wonder what Turk had been doing with the dog, but...he'd been wondering that for years, when he found Rowdy in various compromising positions and states of dress and undress. At least Carla's bra wasn't draped over him this time.
He was trying to figure out how badly he wanted the remote, sitting on the far end table, when the muted Happy Days rerun he'd been half-watching was interrupted by a breaking news bulletin. He blinked, swinging his legs over the side of the couch and sitting up a little, automatically glancing at the scroll. Plane crash. Ah, shit. He cringed, shaking his head slowly; God, those things were horrible. So many lost so quickly...
He watched the information popping up at the bottom of the screen. Headed into Burbank, landing malfunction, crashed into Griffith Park, massive causalities, so far no survivors... His frown deepened at the view on the screen. God, how the reporters could live with themselves, getting so close to something like that? He shook his head, about to get up and change the channel--this was really depressing, and he didn't need depressing on his time off--when the plane's origin caught his attention.
Chicago? Dr. Cox was flying back from Chicago that night, wasn't he? ...but nah. Odds were definitely against it being his plane. Surely it was another. There were lots of airplanes.
Still, JD found himself watching more anxiously, getting up long enough to shove Rowdy aside, before settling back and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as further reports came in. Flight 1446...was that Dr. Cox's flight...? It sounded vaguely familiar, but...but no, Dr. Cox was flying 1496. Right? He had it written down somewhere, didn't he? Scrambling to his feet, he hopped over the back of the couch and squinted at the schedule tacked to the fridge, where he'd scrawled the flight info in case there was a delay and he needed to cover a shift. Shit--was that a four or a nine?
We really DO have bad handwriting, he thought, tugging the sheet off the fridge. A nine...please, God, it had to be a nine...
He was just wondering if he should call Carla at work--she always knew things like that--when there was suddenly a harried knock at the door. He felt the blood draining from his face, and dropped the schedule, hurrying forward--then feeling his heart sinking when he saw who was on the other side.
He pulled the door open quickly, eyes going wide. "J-Jordan?" he whispered. Oh no, oh no, oh no...
"Get your kit together, DJ, or whatever you call it. You're coming with me," she said, no greeting. "He'll need a doctor when they find him, and I'm not having whatever fumble-fingered idiot they have down there doing it."
JD felt the blood drain from his face, and for a moment he could do nothing more than gape at her, fingers clutching the door so hard his knuckles ached. "Doctor?" he whispered. "Oh, God...it was his plane?" No, no, no! Dr. Cox...Perry...
"It was, and come on," Jordan snapped, her voice cracking on the last word, giving JD a glimpse of just how scared and worried she was. "He needs help and, much as it pains me to admit it, you're the one he trusts most. Now get moving!"
"But...they're...they're saying no survivors..." he whispered, still feeling stunned. "He...what if he's..."
"He. Is. Not. Dead." Jordan snapped out, each word a slap across the face. "I don't believe it for a second, and neither do you. So get moving! We can't waste the time for you to freak out."
JD jumped, but was finally shaken out of his stupor. He darted back into the apartment long enough to grab his jacket, then followed her back into the hallway. It wasn't a terribly cold night, but if...no, when he found Pe--Dr. Cox, the jacket might come in handy.
Jordan led him downstairs, where Dr. Cox's Porsche was parked half on the sidewalk, driver's side door wide open. He swallowed hard, feeling something inside him tighten painfully that these were the circumstances under which he finally got to ride in his mentor's cherished car, but climbed in anyway, fumbling with the belt as Jordan started the car and threw it into gear, peeling out of the parking lot.
"You can tell them you're a doctor, they'll need help," Jordan was saying, the car eeling in and out of traffic, slipping into holes between cars that seemed barely big enough for it. More than once, JD closed his eyes, just praying she'd get them through. His knuckles were white where he gripped the dashboard and the door handle, though he couldn't decide if the nausea in his gut was the result of the reckless driving or the leaden ball of terror that had settled there the moment he'd seen her at the door. He nodded briefly in response to her question, cringing when she swerved around a bus into oncoming traffic, halfway tempted to tell her they wouldn't be saving anyone if they got killed themselves.
But then he pictured Dr. Cox, lying twisted and broken and bleeding somewhere out in the darkness, life's blood seeping into the hard ground, and he found himself unconsciously pushing his foot down on an imaginary accelerator.
The crash sight was easy enough to make out, when they finally did arrive, faster than JD would've thought possible but still not nearly as fast as he would've liked. Huge lights had been brought in from somewhere, throwing the scene into eerie relief. It was like something out of a TV show, sirens and flashing lights everywhere, emergency vehicles at the ready, reporters and onlookers alike pressing against the caution tape.
JD and Jordan both bolted from the car as quickly as if they'd been sitting in ejector seats, pushing their way through the gaping, whispering people to the caution tape, and the officers trying to hold people back.
JD managed to get the attention of an officer, explaining tersely that he was a doctor, with EMT training. The officer told him he'd certainly be welcomed, if they found anyone alive. He stood at the edge of the tape, clenching his jaw more tightly, trying to squint through the smoke and lights into the remains of the plane, looking...
Jordan grabbed his arm, hanging on for a moment before righting herself again. JD supported her, feeling a swell of sympathetic nausea. God...could anyone be alive out there...?
"Was he flying first class?" he asked, going up on the balls of his feet.
"I don't know," Jordan admitted, viciously elbowing a woman who tried to push past her to get a better look. "He was going to try to get an upgrade, but he didn't tell me if he managed it."
"You knew someone on the plane?" The woman Jordan had elbowed asked, an incredulous look on her face. "I don't think there's anybody alive out there! They'd've found 'em by now."
Jordan rounded on her. "Look, dye job, you really don't want to start something with me right now. So turn around, walk away, and mind your own goddamn business, all right?"
JD ignored them, again worrying his lower lip between his teeth, scanning the grounds. From this distance it was difficult, even with all the lights, to determine what was debris, what was luggage, what was rock and plant life and what was simply...well, remains. He shuddered, and suddenly, as much as he wanted to be out there looking, he realized that if he were to happen upon a piece of Dr. Cox...
He nearly threw up, right there, closing his eyes and putting a hand over his mouth; a moment later, he felt a hand on his arm, and turned to see Jordan looking at him, face inscrutable. "He's going to make it through this," she said firmly. "We just have to wait. And keep the idiots away," she added, glaring off to the side.
JD felt a swell of shame, knowing he should be the one offering comfort to her, not the other way around. But his heart had twisted itself into a painful knot that wasn't allowing him to breathe properly, the thought of losing his...his whatever Dr. Cox was to him making it difficult to see, to think.
"Come on, DJ," Jordan said. "Don't fall apart here. He's going to need your help. We can panic after we know he's okay, all right?"
JD nodded, offering a smile he was surprised to find returned, if only for a moment. But before he could offer her anything more, there was a commotion off in the distance, on the far left side of the wreckage field. JD gasped, trying to see into the darkness as the flashlights bobbed off in that direction, and the shouting grew louder.
Suddenly, the officer he'd spoken to before appeared in front of him. "You!" he said. "You're the doctor?"
"Yes," JD replied immediately, feeling the detachment it'd taken so long to perfect slip over him in a moment. "I am. You've found survivors?"
"Group of them," the officer confirmed, after listening in to his radio for a moment. "Four or five. Part of the plane disintegrated and it looks like they were thrown clear. They're in bad shape, though. Come on."
The officer held up the caution tape, and JD ducked under it, glancing back at Jordan, who gave him a nod and a solemn thumbs up. He sucked in a breath and turned around. "Where are they?"
"This way. Watch your feet, you don't know what all you might step in. EMTs are on the scene, but there's more than they can handle."
The officer kept talking, keeping up a running commentary, but JD tuned him out when it proved to just be chatter. Probably the man's way of dealing, and JD didn't blame him for a second. The crash site was like something out of a nightmare...One he knew he'd probably be having, soon enough.
The officer held up his radio again. "Location, Steve?"
There was a static-filled response, and the officer nodded toward JD, altering their path a little to the right and picking up speed. JD tried not to look at the images that flashed ever so briefly in the beam of the flashlight as it darted over the uneven ground. The smell alone was one he knew would haunt him for years--the stench of scorched flesh, bile, and massive amounts of blood, as well as the acrid tang of singed metal, and the overwhelming reek of fuel and burning rubber. He found himself wishing absently he had a handkerchief to press over his nose and mouth.
Just then, a cluster of lights came into view: A group of EMTs gathered around a group of what could only be passengers. JD tried to slow the pounding of his heart and raced forward, slipping over the blood-spattered sand. "How many?" he gasped as he approached, trying to scan the faces of the people on the ground.
"Eight alive so far, they're pulling out a few more. You the doctor?" At JD's nod, the woman turned away again. "That one on the end won't make it, a couple are touch and go, those four could all use your help..."
JD nodded, stripping off his jacket and pairing up with her, pushing his worry away for the moment, grabbing glances of the other passengers as he treated the ones in front of him, reflecting again that this was an under-appreciated job if there ever was one. He worked, and kept working, until they approached the last of the passengers she'd assigned them to and he felt his heart sinking. Oh, no, please, no...
Dr. Cox wasn't there.
He fought back the disappointment that threatened to overwhelm him once more and focused instead on helping the woman on the ground in front of him, reminding himself that she was someone's mother, or wife, or sister, or daughter, or friend...that someone out there might feel as bad as he did right now, but that he could reverse that. He shook himself, focusing on getting the worst of her wounds packed and treated.
He was so involved in his work that he didn't realize the continued shouts of the paramedics had drawn near once more. He glanced up only when they were practically on top of him--four of them, holding two stretchers, which they laid down next to JD and the four survivors he'd already helped treat.
He finished suturing the woman's wound, then stood, moving to the next: A young teenage boy who'd apparently been pinned beneath a piece of scrap metal, half impaled on it. Then an older woman with a severe head wound and a badly crushed leg. One after another, the paramedics freed the survivors from the wreckage, pulling them out and laying them in a line, where JD and the others could treat them.
They'd been working for nearly an hour, and JD had fallen into a kind of numb routine, when, upon kneeling next to the next survivor, he suddenly realized he recognized the digital watch on the man's wrist.
He spent a great deal of his time watching Dr. Cox's hands, after all. Demonstrating procedures, flying around in every direction as he ranted, wrapped around a coffee cup in the cafeteria. They were good hands. Strong, capable, attractive...he'd had to force his imagination away from them more than once. He knew he shouldn't be thinking about his attending like that, even if it was sometimes hard not to.
But he knew those hands, and he knew that watch.
All that flashed through his mind as his gaze went up the arm, the shoulder, to familiar curly hair. "Oh God..."
Dr. Cox was alive. Thank God...he was alive.
But hurt. Badly. His right arm was clearly dislocated, and bent awkwardly at the elbow as well, another site of a possible break. A gash on his forehead bled freely over his face; JD reached for some gauze and pressed shaking fingers over the wound, staunching the flow of blood, feeling its wet warmth as it oozed through the cotton fibers. He grabbed another piece, wetting it down as best he could with a canteen of water he'd been handed after ten minutes or so, and began to wipe Cox's face clean of blood, even as his eyes roved over the rest of his body, taking in his injuries. Blood was oozing from half a dozen cuts, a few quite deep, and JD could tell from the strained sound of his breathing that he'd probably broken a few ribs. He would need surgery soon--the risk of a punctured lung was great. He clenched his jaw, thinking of the way the rescuers were carrying people in--Jordan was right, they were fucking incompetent. Jesus...
He continued his visual assessment of the older doctor. His right leg looked to be the worst of the injuries--it was a mess, and JD knew it must've been pinned beneath something before the rescuers found him. He barely bit back a dismayed moan--the older man's kneecap was crushed, clearly shattered, and the tibia and fibula were also broken in at least two places each, maybe more. The ankle was dislocated, swollen so badly Dr. Cox's shoelaces had begun to stretch, and he leaned forward, releasing the knot to relieve some of the pressure. His throat spasmed as he tried not to sob--God, it wasn't fair. Even if he survived, his mentor might never walk again. And as much as he didn't want to think about it, he was hinging that thought on a fairly substantial "if."
JD shook himself, and borrowed a stethoscope from one of the paramedics' kits, listening as best he could to Dr. Cox's heart and lungs. Fortunately, he could detect no hint of fluid build-up, which meant--for now, at least--that any internal bleeding was not entering his lungs. He wasn't in any immediate danger of drowning in his own blood before they could get him to a hospital.
His mentor had been one of the last they'd pulled from the wreck, so JD needed no excuse to stay with him. There was little he could do for the broken bones, but JD set about seeing to the minor injuries, bandaging the cuts and doing his best to stop the bleeding. As he worked, he uncovered another dozen cuts and plenty of bruises, and when he moved the older man's left hand he realized it was severely swollen--his wrist was, at the very least, badly sprained, maybe broken. He bit his lip, bandaging the wrist tightly and moping to clean Cox's face of blood. The features he uncovered were familiar and strange at the same time, the usually drawn brows relaxed, piercing eyes closed. He looked...he looked so vulnerable, and for a moment, JD felt a surge of panic--Dr. Cox was supposed to be invincible, after all. This wasn't supposed to happen to him.
But a moment later, it was supplanted by a swell of protective determination. Cox wasn't a superhero, much as JD might see him as one. He was human. And right now, he was hurt, and needed help. And JD knew, with a sudden strange certainty, that though Cox might've bitched about it and denied it, he was the one the older man would've chosen to give him that help, if he'd had any conscious say in the matter.
And even though Cox hadn't had any say in the matter, Jordan had. If anyone knew what Cox would've wanted, it was Jordan, and much as they might swear otherwise, they trusted him. And he was not going to let them down.
Jordan. Oh, Christ, he had to get to Jordan...had to tell her Cox was alive.
He tugged off one glove, digging in his pocket and relaxing when he felt the familiar shape of his cell phone, pulling it out and pressing the voice recognition button. "Call Jordan, mobile," he said as clearly as he could, almost holding his breath until she picked up, glad he'd both programmed her into his phone when he'd been with Danni and never gotten around to deleting her after.
"DJ?"
"He's alive," JD replied instantly, and saying the words aloud brought a surprising swell of tears swiftly to his eyes. He blinked rapidly, pushing them back when he heard Jordan sob in relief.
"Oh thank God..." Jordan's voice was thick with tears. "You can stay with him, right? How is he?"
JD opened his mouth to reply, feeling his throat trying to close up again. "He's...hurt," he said finally, and his voice cracked a little. "Broken arm, broken leg, broken ribs...but he's stable for now, and I think...he has a good chance," he said at last, biting his lip as he reached out with shaking fingers to stroke the hair back from Cox's brow. He knew he'd never have done it, if the older man were conscious, or if Jordan were around to see, but right now he was not going to deny himself this small comfort. "He's the last one I treated, so I think I can stay with him now," he continued. "I'll ride back in the ambulance, if they'll let me--I think they will. I'll meet you there, okay?"
"Okay," Jordan said, voice still quaking. "Take...take care of him, kid."
JD nodded fervently, even though he knew she couldn't see him. "I will," he promised, voice cracking a little but the words firm.
When he heard the line go dead, he hung up, slipping the phone back into his pocket and moving to fuss over Cox again, doing all he could to ease him. His jacket he'd pulled off when he'd started working; he untied it from around his waist, moving to carefully slip it under Cox's head, swallowing again at the odd mixture of tenderness and fear at the pliant way he could move the older man's body. "You're going to be okay, Dr. Cox," he murmured tremulously. "You're going to be fine, I promise you. We'll get...we'll get you taken care of, and you'll be yelling at us again before you know it..."
Time passed in odd fits and starts, after that. The wait for an ambulance seemed to take forever, everything else moving in slow motion around them. One of the EMTs asked him if he was okay, when he explained he knew Cox, the other man just smiled slightly, and went about his business. But then once the ambulance arrived, the trip to Sacred Heart seemed to take no time at all.
JD stayed with his mentor as long as he could, reporting his findings to the ER doctor, leaving his side only when he absolutely had to and staring blankly at the doors that swung closed, separating them again. Only then did time reassert its normal grip, the sounds of the hospital around him all coming into abrupt focus.
He turned, realizing he was still covered in blood and worse, to find Jordan walking toward him.
Her eyes went wide, and she paled slightly as she rushed forward. "Oh, God, is that...?"
"It's not all his," JD assured her quickly. "There were actually thirteen survivors, and they were all in pretty bad shape..."
She breathed a sigh of relief, nodding as she looked him over, then looked around. "Where is he?"
"They took him back to surgery," JD replied. "Have to set his leg and take a bunch of scans, make sure nothing's...nothing internal's ruptured, or..." he trailed off when Jordan went pale, and lunged forward, grabbing her by the arm just as she began to sway. "Come on, Jordan," he murmured, leading her to a chair and helping her get settled. He frowned, kneeling in front of her. "When was the last time you ate anything?"
She blinked at him, visibly shaken, now that her initial rush to get her ex-husband to safety had faded. "I...I think around noon," she whispered. "We were supposed to have a late dinner together tonight, and...um...when they called, I didn't...didn't have..."
JD shook his head, silencing her. "I need to get cleaned up," he said softly. "I'm going to grab a quick shower and change, but I'll be back in about fifteen minutes. Then you are going to come with me, and we're going to get you something to eat." He frowned, gazing up at her, feeling his throat tighten around the words of comfort he wanted to offer. But he just couldn't bring himself to say that Cox would be all right.
Not when he wasn't sure he believed it, himself.
She nodded, bringing a shaking hand up to rub her forehead, and released a slow breath through her nose. "Okay," she whispered. Then, when he stood, her hand shot out and circled his wrist; she gazed up at him, eyes shiny with tears. "Thank you," she said.
He nodded, blinking rapidly, and turned, heading for the locker room before he embarrassed himself by breaking down in front of her.
He hurried through the corridors, ducking past the other employees who were stopping to gape at him in horror. He ignored their questions, determined to get back to Jordan as quickly as possible, determined to get an update on Dr. Cox's status. He sprinted into the locker room, thinking he was home free--only to be accosted by Turk, the moment he set foot inside.
"JD, dude, I thought you were off today--holy SHIT!"
"It's not mine," JD said quickly, going over to his locker and stripping off his blood soaked shirt. "There...there was a plane crash, and...and..." He sat down hard on the bench, dropping his head to his hands. "Dr. Cox was on it. He's in the ER now and Jordan's there too, and I need to get cleaned up and get back to her and find food and figure out what's going on and...and I'm gonna be sick."
He at least made it to a trashcan.
Turk darted forward, rubbing his back; JD could hear him mumbling, "Oh, sweet Jesus...Oh my God..." but he ignored it, emptying what felt like everything he'd eaten in the past week into the flimsy plastic lining, then heaving more when there was nothing left to bring up. Finally, wiping his mouth with the back of one badly shaking hand, he slumped to the ground, leaning heavily against the lockers, trying to breathe.
"All right, man, all right," Turk finally said, kneeling next to him; JD spared a moment to feel thankful that no one would question his frazzled nerves, since he'd just come from a crash site. "If they brought him to the ER then he's alive. He's going to be okay. If a plane crash couldn't bring him down, then nothing will."
"Yeah..." JD let out a shaky breath, pulling himself under control again. "Yeah...you're right. I just...God. I couldn't break down before, Jordan's close to falling apart. And he's...it's bad, Turk, really bad, and it wasn't just him. It was like...like the worst on-call shift times a thousand. The smell..." He shuddered. "I need to get it off me, make sure Jordan's okay, shake for a bit myself, and I'll be okay." He smiled slightly. "You're on call, right?"
Turk nodded. "Yeah, man. I'll do my best for him. You got something to change into?"
JD nodded. "Yeah. Even an extra pair of shoes...started keeping them after Mr. Porter destroyed my last pair..." He knew he was babbling a little, but he found he couldn't let himself dwell on just how much this was affecting him. On how much it had hurt, seeing Cox so still, or on the wave of desperate relief he'd felt on seeing the man alive.
"All right," Turk said, rubbing his back again. "Go shower, I'll call Carla and see if she can bring something easy on the stomach for both you and Jordan. He'll be okay, JD."
"Turk...thanks," JD replied, managing a smile for him. He took another deep breath, and finished stripping, pulling his keys, wallet and cell phone out of his pants pockets before letting them drop to the ground. His socks followed, and he shuddered to see they were stained rusty red, before heading into the shower as Turk took everything away.
* * *
Next Chapter
* * *
Characters: JD/Perry, JD/Jordan, Jordan/Perry, JD/Perry/Jordan
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Chapter Rating: R for graphic imagery
Description: A terrible accident requires JD use all his skill to save the mentor he idolizes. But times of crisis can bring people together in unusual ways...
Warnings: Eventual OT3, het content.
JD stared at the TV through Rowdy's legs, too lethargic to actually get up and move him. He had to wonder what Turk had been doing with the dog, but...he'd been wondering that for years, when he found Rowdy in various compromising positions and states of dress and undress. At least Carla's bra wasn't draped over him this time.
He was trying to figure out how badly he wanted the remote, sitting on the far end table, when the muted Happy Days rerun he'd been half-watching was interrupted by a breaking news bulletin. He blinked, swinging his legs over the side of the couch and sitting up a little, automatically glancing at the scroll. Plane crash. Ah, shit. He cringed, shaking his head slowly; God, those things were horrible. So many lost so quickly...
He watched the information popping up at the bottom of the screen. Headed into Burbank, landing malfunction, crashed into Griffith Park, massive causalities, so far no survivors... His frown deepened at the view on the screen. God, how the reporters could live with themselves, getting so close to something like that? He shook his head, about to get up and change the channel--this was really depressing, and he didn't need depressing on his time off--when the plane's origin caught his attention.
Chicago? Dr. Cox was flying back from Chicago that night, wasn't he? ...but nah. Odds were definitely against it being his plane. Surely it was another. There were lots of airplanes.
Still, JD found himself watching more anxiously, getting up long enough to shove Rowdy aside, before settling back and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as further reports came in. Flight 1446...was that Dr. Cox's flight...? It sounded vaguely familiar, but...but no, Dr. Cox was flying 1496. Right? He had it written down somewhere, didn't he? Scrambling to his feet, he hopped over the back of the couch and squinted at the schedule tacked to the fridge, where he'd scrawled the flight info in case there was a delay and he needed to cover a shift. Shit--was that a four or a nine?
We really DO have bad handwriting, he thought, tugging the sheet off the fridge. A nine...please, God, it had to be a nine...
He was just wondering if he should call Carla at work--she always knew things like that--when there was suddenly a harried knock at the door. He felt the blood draining from his face, and dropped the schedule, hurrying forward--then feeling his heart sinking when he saw who was on the other side.
He pulled the door open quickly, eyes going wide. "J-Jordan?" he whispered. Oh no, oh no, oh no...
"Get your kit together, DJ, or whatever you call it. You're coming with me," she said, no greeting. "He'll need a doctor when they find him, and I'm not having whatever fumble-fingered idiot they have down there doing it."
JD felt the blood drain from his face, and for a moment he could do nothing more than gape at her, fingers clutching the door so hard his knuckles ached. "Doctor?" he whispered. "Oh, God...it was his plane?" No, no, no! Dr. Cox...Perry...
"It was, and come on," Jordan snapped, her voice cracking on the last word, giving JD a glimpse of just how scared and worried she was. "He needs help and, much as it pains me to admit it, you're the one he trusts most. Now get moving!"
"But...they're...they're saying no survivors..." he whispered, still feeling stunned. "He...what if he's..."
"He. Is. Not. Dead." Jordan snapped out, each word a slap across the face. "I don't believe it for a second, and neither do you. So get moving! We can't waste the time for you to freak out."
JD jumped, but was finally shaken out of his stupor. He darted back into the apartment long enough to grab his jacket, then followed her back into the hallway. It wasn't a terribly cold night, but if...no, when he found Pe--Dr. Cox, the jacket might come in handy.
Jordan led him downstairs, where Dr. Cox's Porsche was parked half on the sidewalk, driver's side door wide open. He swallowed hard, feeling something inside him tighten painfully that these were the circumstances under which he finally got to ride in his mentor's cherished car, but climbed in anyway, fumbling with the belt as Jordan started the car and threw it into gear, peeling out of the parking lot.
"You can tell them you're a doctor, they'll need help," Jordan was saying, the car eeling in and out of traffic, slipping into holes between cars that seemed barely big enough for it. More than once, JD closed his eyes, just praying she'd get them through. His knuckles were white where he gripped the dashboard and the door handle, though he couldn't decide if the nausea in his gut was the result of the reckless driving or the leaden ball of terror that had settled there the moment he'd seen her at the door. He nodded briefly in response to her question, cringing when she swerved around a bus into oncoming traffic, halfway tempted to tell her they wouldn't be saving anyone if they got killed themselves.
But then he pictured Dr. Cox, lying twisted and broken and bleeding somewhere out in the darkness, life's blood seeping into the hard ground, and he found himself unconsciously pushing his foot down on an imaginary accelerator.
The crash sight was easy enough to make out, when they finally did arrive, faster than JD would've thought possible but still not nearly as fast as he would've liked. Huge lights had been brought in from somewhere, throwing the scene into eerie relief. It was like something out of a TV show, sirens and flashing lights everywhere, emergency vehicles at the ready, reporters and onlookers alike pressing against the caution tape.
JD and Jordan both bolted from the car as quickly as if they'd been sitting in ejector seats, pushing their way through the gaping, whispering people to the caution tape, and the officers trying to hold people back.
JD managed to get the attention of an officer, explaining tersely that he was a doctor, with EMT training. The officer told him he'd certainly be welcomed, if they found anyone alive. He stood at the edge of the tape, clenching his jaw more tightly, trying to squint through the smoke and lights into the remains of the plane, looking...
Jordan grabbed his arm, hanging on for a moment before righting herself again. JD supported her, feeling a swell of sympathetic nausea. God...could anyone be alive out there...?
"Was he flying first class?" he asked, going up on the balls of his feet.
"I don't know," Jordan admitted, viciously elbowing a woman who tried to push past her to get a better look. "He was going to try to get an upgrade, but he didn't tell me if he managed it."
"You knew someone on the plane?" The woman Jordan had elbowed asked, an incredulous look on her face. "I don't think there's anybody alive out there! They'd've found 'em by now."
Jordan rounded on her. "Look, dye job, you really don't want to start something with me right now. So turn around, walk away, and mind your own goddamn business, all right?"
JD ignored them, again worrying his lower lip between his teeth, scanning the grounds. From this distance it was difficult, even with all the lights, to determine what was debris, what was luggage, what was rock and plant life and what was simply...well, remains. He shuddered, and suddenly, as much as he wanted to be out there looking, he realized that if he were to happen upon a piece of Dr. Cox...
He nearly threw up, right there, closing his eyes and putting a hand over his mouth; a moment later, he felt a hand on his arm, and turned to see Jordan looking at him, face inscrutable. "He's going to make it through this," she said firmly. "We just have to wait. And keep the idiots away," she added, glaring off to the side.
JD felt a swell of shame, knowing he should be the one offering comfort to her, not the other way around. But his heart had twisted itself into a painful knot that wasn't allowing him to breathe properly, the thought of losing his...his whatever Dr. Cox was to him making it difficult to see, to think.
"Come on, DJ," Jordan said. "Don't fall apart here. He's going to need your help. We can panic after we know he's okay, all right?"
JD nodded, offering a smile he was surprised to find returned, if only for a moment. But before he could offer her anything more, there was a commotion off in the distance, on the far left side of the wreckage field. JD gasped, trying to see into the darkness as the flashlights bobbed off in that direction, and the shouting grew louder.
Suddenly, the officer he'd spoken to before appeared in front of him. "You!" he said. "You're the doctor?"
"Yes," JD replied immediately, feeling the detachment it'd taken so long to perfect slip over him in a moment. "I am. You've found survivors?"
"Group of them," the officer confirmed, after listening in to his radio for a moment. "Four or five. Part of the plane disintegrated and it looks like they were thrown clear. They're in bad shape, though. Come on."
The officer held up the caution tape, and JD ducked under it, glancing back at Jordan, who gave him a nod and a solemn thumbs up. He sucked in a breath and turned around. "Where are they?"
"This way. Watch your feet, you don't know what all you might step in. EMTs are on the scene, but there's more than they can handle."
The officer kept talking, keeping up a running commentary, but JD tuned him out when it proved to just be chatter. Probably the man's way of dealing, and JD didn't blame him for a second. The crash site was like something out of a nightmare...One he knew he'd probably be having, soon enough.
The officer held up his radio again. "Location, Steve?"
There was a static-filled response, and the officer nodded toward JD, altering their path a little to the right and picking up speed. JD tried not to look at the images that flashed ever so briefly in the beam of the flashlight as it darted over the uneven ground. The smell alone was one he knew would haunt him for years--the stench of scorched flesh, bile, and massive amounts of blood, as well as the acrid tang of singed metal, and the overwhelming reek of fuel and burning rubber. He found himself wishing absently he had a handkerchief to press over his nose and mouth.
Just then, a cluster of lights came into view: A group of EMTs gathered around a group of what could only be passengers. JD tried to slow the pounding of his heart and raced forward, slipping over the blood-spattered sand. "How many?" he gasped as he approached, trying to scan the faces of the people on the ground.
"Eight alive so far, they're pulling out a few more. You the doctor?" At JD's nod, the woman turned away again. "That one on the end won't make it, a couple are touch and go, those four could all use your help..."
JD nodded, stripping off his jacket and pairing up with her, pushing his worry away for the moment, grabbing glances of the other passengers as he treated the ones in front of him, reflecting again that this was an under-appreciated job if there ever was one. He worked, and kept working, until they approached the last of the passengers she'd assigned them to and he felt his heart sinking. Oh, no, please, no...
Dr. Cox wasn't there.
He fought back the disappointment that threatened to overwhelm him once more and focused instead on helping the woman on the ground in front of him, reminding himself that she was someone's mother, or wife, or sister, or daughter, or friend...that someone out there might feel as bad as he did right now, but that he could reverse that. He shook himself, focusing on getting the worst of her wounds packed and treated.
He was so involved in his work that he didn't realize the continued shouts of the paramedics had drawn near once more. He glanced up only when they were practically on top of him--four of them, holding two stretchers, which they laid down next to JD and the four survivors he'd already helped treat.
He finished suturing the woman's wound, then stood, moving to the next: A young teenage boy who'd apparently been pinned beneath a piece of scrap metal, half impaled on it. Then an older woman with a severe head wound and a badly crushed leg. One after another, the paramedics freed the survivors from the wreckage, pulling them out and laying them in a line, where JD and the others could treat them.
They'd been working for nearly an hour, and JD had fallen into a kind of numb routine, when, upon kneeling next to the next survivor, he suddenly realized he recognized the digital watch on the man's wrist.
He spent a great deal of his time watching Dr. Cox's hands, after all. Demonstrating procedures, flying around in every direction as he ranted, wrapped around a coffee cup in the cafeteria. They were good hands. Strong, capable, attractive...he'd had to force his imagination away from them more than once. He knew he shouldn't be thinking about his attending like that, even if it was sometimes hard not to.
But he knew those hands, and he knew that watch.
All that flashed through his mind as his gaze went up the arm, the shoulder, to familiar curly hair. "Oh God..."
Dr. Cox was alive. Thank God...he was alive.
But hurt. Badly. His right arm was clearly dislocated, and bent awkwardly at the elbow as well, another site of a possible break. A gash on his forehead bled freely over his face; JD reached for some gauze and pressed shaking fingers over the wound, staunching the flow of blood, feeling its wet warmth as it oozed through the cotton fibers. He grabbed another piece, wetting it down as best he could with a canteen of water he'd been handed after ten minutes or so, and began to wipe Cox's face clean of blood, even as his eyes roved over the rest of his body, taking in his injuries. Blood was oozing from half a dozen cuts, a few quite deep, and JD could tell from the strained sound of his breathing that he'd probably broken a few ribs. He would need surgery soon--the risk of a punctured lung was great. He clenched his jaw, thinking of the way the rescuers were carrying people in--Jordan was right, they were fucking incompetent. Jesus...
He continued his visual assessment of the older doctor. His right leg looked to be the worst of the injuries--it was a mess, and JD knew it must've been pinned beneath something before the rescuers found him. He barely bit back a dismayed moan--the older man's kneecap was crushed, clearly shattered, and the tibia and fibula were also broken in at least two places each, maybe more. The ankle was dislocated, swollen so badly Dr. Cox's shoelaces had begun to stretch, and he leaned forward, releasing the knot to relieve some of the pressure. His throat spasmed as he tried not to sob--God, it wasn't fair. Even if he survived, his mentor might never walk again. And as much as he didn't want to think about it, he was hinging that thought on a fairly substantial "if."
JD shook himself, and borrowed a stethoscope from one of the paramedics' kits, listening as best he could to Dr. Cox's heart and lungs. Fortunately, he could detect no hint of fluid build-up, which meant--for now, at least--that any internal bleeding was not entering his lungs. He wasn't in any immediate danger of drowning in his own blood before they could get him to a hospital.
His mentor had been one of the last they'd pulled from the wreck, so JD needed no excuse to stay with him. There was little he could do for the broken bones, but JD set about seeing to the minor injuries, bandaging the cuts and doing his best to stop the bleeding. As he worked, he uncovered another dozen cuts and plenty of bruises, and when he moved the older man's left hand he realized it was severely swollen--his wrist was, at the very least, badly sprained, maybe broken. He bit his lip, bandaging the wrist tightly and moping to clean Cox's face of blood. The features he uncovered were familiar and strange at the same time, the usually drawn brows relaxed, piercing eyes closed. He looked...he looked so vulnerable, and for a moment, JD felt a surge of panic--Dr. Cox was supposed to be invincible, after all. This wasn't supposed to happen to him.
But a moment later, it was supplanted by a swell of protective determination. Cox wasn't a superhero, much as JD might see him as one. He was human. And right now, he was hurt, and needed help. And JD knew, with a sudden strange certainty, that though Cox might've bitched about it and denied it, he was the one the older man would've chosen to give him that help, if he'd had any conscious say in the matter.
And even though Cox hadn't had any say in the matter, Jordan had. If anyone knew what Cox would've wanted, it was Jordan, and much as they might swear otherwise, they trusted him. And he was not going to let them down.
Jordan. Oh, Christ, he had to get to Jordan...had to tell her Cox was alive.
He tugged off one glove, digging in his pocket and relaxing when he felt the familiar shape of his cell phone, pulling it out and pressing the voice recognition button. "Call Jordan, mobile," he said as clearly as he could, almost holding his breath until she picked up, glad he'd both programmed her into his phone when he'd been with Danni and never gotten around to deleting her after.
"DJ?"
"He's alive," JD replied instantly, and saying the words aloud brought a surprising swell of tears swiftly to his eyes. He blinked rapidly, pushing them back when he heard Jordan sob in relief.
"Oh thank God..." Jordan's voice was thick with tears. "You can stay with him, right? How is he?"
JD opened his mouth to reply, feeling his throat trying to close up again. "He's...hurt," he said finally, and his voice cracked a little. "Broken arm, broken leg, broken ribs...but he's stable for now, and I think...he has a good chance," he said at last, biting his lip as he reached out with shaking fingers to stroke the hair back from Cox's brow. He knew he'd never have done it, if the older man were conscious, or if Jordan were around to see, but right now he was not going to deny himself this small comfort. "He's the last one I treated, so I think I can stay with him now," he continued. "I'll ride back in the ambulance, if they'll let me--I think they will. I'll meet you there, okay?"
"Okay," Jordan said, voice still quaking. "Take...take care of him, kid."
JD nodded fervently, even though he knew she couldn't see him. "I will," he promised, voice cracking a little but the words firm.
When he heard the line go dead, he hung up, slipping the phone back into his pocket and moving to fuss over Cox again, doing all he could to ease him. His jacket he'd pulled off when he'd started working; he untied it from around his waist, moving to carefully slip it under Cox's head, swallowing again at the odd mixture of tenderness and fear at the pliant way he could move the older man's body. "You're going to be okay, Dr. Cox," he murmured tremulously. "You're going to be fine, I promise you. We'll get...we'll get you taken care of, and you'll be yelling at us again before you know it..."
Time passed in odd fits and starts, after that. The wait for an ambulance seemed to take forever, everything else moving in slow motion around them. One of the EMTs asked him if he was okay, when he explained he knew Cox, the other man just smiled slightly, and went about his business. But then once the ambulance arrived, the trip to Sacred Heart seemed to take no time at all.
JD stayed with his mentor as long as he could, reporting his findings to the ER doctor, leaving his side only when he absolutely had to and staring blankly at the doors that swung closed, separating them again. Only then did time reassert its normal grip, the sounds of the hospital around him all coming into abrupt focus.
He turned, realizing he was still covered in blood and worse, to find Jordan walking toward him.
Her eyes went wide, and she paled slightly as she rushed forward. "Oh, God, is that...?"
"It's not all his," JD assured her quickly. "There were actually thirteen survivors, and they were all in pretty bad shape..."
She breathed a sigh of relief, nodding as she looked him over, then looked around. "Where is he?"
"They took him back to surgery," JD replied. "Have to set his leg and take a bunch of scans, make sure nothing's...nothing internal's ruptured, or..." he trailed off when Jordan went pale, and lunged forward, grabbing her by the arm just as she began to sway. "Come on, Jordan," he murmured, leading her to a chair and helping her get settled. He frowned, kneeling in front of her. "When was the last time you ate anything?"
She blinked at him, visibly shaken, now that her initial rush to get her ex-husband to safety had faded. "I...I think around noon," she whispered. "We were supposed to have a late dinner together tonight, and...um...when they called, I didn't...didn't have..."
JD shook his head, silencing her. "I need to get cleaned up," he said softly. "I'm going to grab a quick shower and change, but I'll be back in about fifteen minutes. Then you are going to come with me, and we're going to get you something to eat." He frowned, gazing up at her, feeling his throat tighten around the words of comfort he wanted to offer. But he just couldn't bring himself to say that Cox would be all right.
Not when he wasn't sure he believed it, himself.
She nodded, bringing a shaking hand up to rub her forehead, and released a slow breath through her nose. "Okay," she whispered. Then, when he stood, her hand shot out and circled his wrist; she gazed up at him, eyes shiny with tears. "Thank you," she said.
He nodded, blinking rapidly, and turned, heading for the locker room before he embarrassed himself by breaking down in front of her.
He hurried through the corridors, ducking past the other employees who were stopping to gape at him in horror. He ignored their questions, determined to get back to Jordan as quickly as possible, determined to get an update on Dr. Cox's status. He sprinted into the locker room, thinking he was home free--only to be accosted by Turk, the moment he set foot inside.
"JD, dude, I thought you were off today--holy SHIT!"
"It's not mine," JD said quickly, going over to his locker and stripping off his blood soaked shirt. "There...there was a plane crash, and...and..." He sat down hard on the bench, dropping his head to his hands. "Dr. Cox was on it. He's in the ER now and Jordan's there too, and I need to get cleaned up and get back to her and find food and figure out what's going on and...and I'm gonna be sick."
He at least made it to a trashcan.
Turk darted forward, rubbing his back; JD could hear him mumbling, "Oh, sweet Jesus...Oh my God..." but he ignored it, emptying what felt like everything he'd eaten in the past week into the flimsy plastic lining, then heaving more when there was nothing left to bring up. Finally, wiping his mouth with the back of one badly shaking hand, he slumped to the ground, leaning heavily against the lockers, trying to breathe.
"All right, man, all right," Turk finally said, kneeling next to him; JD spared a moment to feel thankful that no one would question his frazzled nerves, since he'd just come from a crash site. "If they brought him to the ER then he's alive. He's going to be okay. If a plane crash couldn't bring him down, then nothing will."
"Yeah..." JD let out a shaky breath, pulling himself under control again. "Yeah...you're right. I just...God. I couldn't break down before, Jordan's close to falling apart. And he's...it's bad, Turk, really bad, and it wasn't just him. It was like...like the worst on-call shift times a thousand. The smell..." He shuddered. "I need to get it off me, make sure Jordan's okay, shake for a bit myself, and I'll be okay." He smiled slightly. "You're on call, right?"
Turk nodded. "Yeah, man. I'll do my best for him. You got something to change into?"
JD nodded. "Yeah. Even an extra pair of shoes...started keeping them after Mr. Porter destroyed my last pair..." He knew he was babbling a little, but he found he couldn't let himself dwell on just how much this was affecting him. On how much it had hurt, seeing Cox so still, or on the wave of desperate relief he'd felt on seeing the man alive.
"All right," Turk said, rubbing his back again. "Go shower, I'll call Carla and see if she can bring something easy on the stomach for both you and Jordan. He'll be okay, JD."
"Turk...thanks," JD replied, managing a smile for him. He took another deep breath, and finished stripping, pulling his keys, wallet and cell phone out of his pants pockets before letting them drop to the ground. His socks followed, and he shuddered to see they were stained rusty red, before heading into the shower as Turk took everything away.
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Date: 20 Oct 2007 16:26 (UTC)"The crash sight," or site?
Aw man, I'm so excited!