This is my first fic, so please be gentle. I was just playing around. Not sure if I'll continue it or not. Like I said, I'm a rookie. Thanks to all you wonderful TW fic writers that inspired me, I couldn't have done this without you!
Joey
Disclaimer: I own nothing, zippo, zilch.
The Hours After
I don't know where I am going. I lost track about an hour and a half ago. I can hear someone screaming down the hall. The sounds of pain and pure agony fill my ears and sting my eyes. I need to sit down. I glance around slowly, not letting my gaze lift too far from the floor. I don't see a chair or couch, so I lean my dead-weight body against the wall and slowly slump to the ground. My head finds a semi-comfortable resting spot on my knees, which I have managed to pull into my chest.
How could I have let this happen? How could I have put my own career - my own wants - over the life of the only person in the world that means something to me? I want to be the one fighting for my life, and though it feels that way as I struggle to breathe and remain conscious, I know there is nothing physically wrong with me.
"Sir?"
I contemplate whether or not to answer. Maybe if I just sit here with my eyes closed, they'll leave me alone in my misery.
"Sir? Are you alright? Are you waiting for your wife?" She pauses briefly, concern flees from her voice and is replaced with aggravation from my lack of response, "The waiting room for expectant fathers is just around that corner."
I lift my head and squint my eyes in confusion, focusing on the large woman who is almost standing on top of me, pointing towards a sign on the wall.
"What?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, hoarse from a lack of recent use.
"You are waiting for you wife to give birth aren't you?"
My confusion must be evident because her aggravation has dissipated and she is now talking to me slowly, like I'm foreign or something.
"Um…. No," I respond quietly. "I must be on the wrong floor. Sorry."
Another scream fills the air. It sends a shiver down my spine and sharp pains through my temples. I place my head in my hands, trying to ease the pain that is rippling through my skull. God, make it stop. That horrible sound, it's inexplicable. I can't take anymore pain - not from others, not from myself. I'm on sensory overload. I take a shaky breath and try to regain my bearings.
"Sir, are you alright?" the nurse asks again, this time slightly panicked.
"Yeah…. I just…." my voice trails off as I exhale.
"What floor did you think you were on? Is there somewhere you are supposed to be?"
"No, not really," I answer, pausing briefly as I try to force my brain to form a complete sentence. "What floor am I on?"
"Floor 5, the maternity ward."
I nod, as I remove my hands from my forehead. I brace myself against the wall as I try to maneuver my body into a standing position. I glance over at the nurse, whose eyebrows are raised with worry. 'I must look bad,' I think to myself as I prepare to continue my aimless stroll through Mercy hospital.
I make my way to the elevator. The bright pink doors are shiny enough that I can see my reflection. I have blood smeared across my right cheek. It makes me wonder just what kind of expectant father that nurse thought she was dealing with. A loud DING breaks my trance as the elevator doors separate. I step in amongst a couple other doctors who are having a discussion over a patient's chart.
"What floor?" the male doctor asks with a glance in my direction.
Do I go back down there and face the horror that has become my life? Face all the people that I have disappointed? Face her family. Face Fred, who undoubtedly wants me dead. Hell, he wanted me dead before this disaster. I can't say that I disagree with him now. Or I could go down one more floor, the garage. Walk out unnoticed - unharmed - and save everyone the trouble of having to deal with me. I stare at those two lit letters on the elevator panel. E or G.
"Excuse me, sir? What floor is it you want?" The doctor looks and sounds impatient. If only he knew what a struggle this simple decision is for me. He glances at the other doctor when I fail to respond to his seemingly uncomplicated question.
"Sir," the female doctor takes over, "We are going to the Emergency room, is that where you would like to go too?"
I mentally laugh at her tone. She must think that I'm challenged or something. Go figure, in the last few minutes I have become a mentally challenged expectant father.
"Yeah," I answer. "That's fine."
What the hell, it's now or never, Boscorelli. Suck it up and face the music. You did this, now you can deal with the consequences. You have to bring your cumbersome self out of hiding.
The elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open. The two doctors exit, and before I can even lift my head and begin to walk out into the hallway, I find myself being thrown against the back of the elevator with such force that what little air that was in my lungs is thrust out, making me feel weak and dizzy.
"Get out of my face!" The words are spoken with the pure, raw, emotion of hate. I peel my body off the floor finding myself face to face with Fred.
"You heard me, GET OUT!" His face is red and there is a large throbbing vein in his forehead. I watch it for a couple milliseconds as it pulsates rapidly. He takes my fascination in his hulk-like vein as resistance to comply with his command and reacts by grabbing my coat with both fists, spinning around and literally throwing me out of the elevator. I land on the other side of the hallway and look over to see the elevator doors close in front of him.
That wasn't half as bad as I thought it would be. In a way, I wish he had just pummeled me. Tortured me. Killed me. It would all be a little easier that way. It is certainly justified in my opinion. He did seem angry though… a little too angry to be sad. I think that may be a good thing. God, please don't take her away from me. I realize I have separated myself from this situation because I thought I could delay the inevitable. I thought that if I never had to hear those horrible words, it means it never happened. I have to know now. I need to know. This could be the most devastating day of my life, but I NEED to know.
"Bosco?" I spin my head to the left to see Kim standing a few feet away. Tears stain her cheeks and her eyes are bloodshot.
"No no no…" I mumble as my entire body begins to shake.
"Bosco, where have you been? They took Faith to the OR a few minutes ago. Everyone's looking for you." Relief washes over me as she pauses for a second. I can feel her eyes on me, and I wonder if she is uncomfortable with the situation, or if she is just relieved that I didn't go jump off a bridge. Why the hell else would everyone be looking for me?
"Why don't you get off the floor and come sit with us for a second?"
I sigh in compliance and stumble to my feet without looking at her. I slowly follow her to the waiting room where it appears the whole 5-5 is sitting. I glance around for a chair and notice an empty one next to Davis.
Some conversations stop as I walk past - others pat me on the back. I am oblivious to it all. I just have to sit down before I pass out. At this point, I am not sure if I'll make it.
"Where you been, man? Sully's out in the parking lot looking for you." Davis asks as he removes the coat from the seat next him.
"Sorry, I needed to get out of here. Try to clear my mind," I answer as I lower myself into the uncomfortable plastic chair.
"Did it work?" he asks.
"No," I groan as I rub my eyes with my palms, "can't say it did."
"She's gonna be alright, Bos. You know she's gonna be okay."
"God I hope you're right, Davis," I sigh.
"Bosco, this is not your fault."
Those words cut me like a knife. It IS my fault. She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me. No one else did this but ME. Tears begin to sting my eyes and flow freely down my hands that are covering my face. I feel Davis squeeze my shoulder in support. God it hurts so much. This is my worst nightmare come true. Why did this have to happen? I feel my stomach turn with each thought that flows through my spinning head.
"Everyone here for Officer Yokas, can head on up to the waiting room in the OR," Proctor's voice interrupts my thoughts. I hear movement all around me and Davis squeezes my shoulder again, "Common, Bos, let's go up there."
I raise my head and swipe at the tears on my cheeks. I support myself with my hands on my knees as I move to get up and follow the crowd to the next stage of this nightmare. As I move to follow Davis my vision becomes spotted and I grab onto the chair for support.
"Whoa!," Davis says as he reaches out and grabs my arm, preventing me from crashing into the row of chairs directly in front of me. "You okay?"
I nod, rub my eyes, and proceed to walk towards the elevator. Davis is looking at me like I'm the one that got shot. I wish he'd stop it, or shoot me himself so that it would be justified. Who am I kidding, Davis doesn't have the guts to shoot anyone, let alone me. He's probably too afraid I'd kick his ass.
Again I feel nauseous and dizzy and this time, there is no chair to lean on, and Davis can't react fast enough to catch me. I crash to the ground and hear the sickening crack of my head hitting the hard floor.
I sense the sudden commotion all around me. Before I slip away I see Faith standing before me, her vision is so pure. No blood, no trauma, just the Faith I have grown to love. It gives me a ray of hope. "Take me instead of her," I think to myself. The last thing I remember is someone screaming for a doctor…. I just wish they'd let me die. I really don't deserve to live.
TBC? I don't know guys, I was just playing. I don't think that this is my calling but everyone else is doing it!! Let me know what you think.
Joey
Disclaimer: I own nothing, zippo, zilch.
The Hours After
I don't know where I am going. I lost track about an hour and a half ago. I can hear someone screaming down the hall. The sounds of pain and pure agony fill my ears and sting my eyes. I need to sit down. I glance around slowly, not letting my gaze lift too far from the floor. I don't see a chair or couch, so I lean my dead-weight body against the wall and slowly slump to the ground. My head finds a semi-comfortable resting spot on my knees, which I have managed to pull into my chest.
How could I have let this happen? How could I have put my own career - my own wants - over the life of the only person in the world that means something to me? I want to be the one fighting for my life, and though it feels that way as I struggle to breathe and remain conscious, I know there is nothing physically wrong with me.
"Sir?"
I contemplate whether or not to answer. Maybe if I just sit here with my eyes closed, they'll leave me alone in my misery.
"Sir? Are you alright? Are you waiting for your wife?" She pauses briefly, concern flees from her voice and is replaced with aggravation from my lack of response, "The waiting room for expectant fathers is just around that corner."
I lift my head and squint my eyes in confusion, focusing on the large woman who is almost standing on top of me, pointing towards a sign on the wall.
"What?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, hoarse from a lack of recent use.
"You are waiting for you wife to give birth aren't you?"
My confusion must be evident because her aggravation has dissipated and she is now talking to me slowly, like I'm foreign or something.
"Um…. No," I respond quietly. "I must be on the wrong floor. Sorry."
Another scream fills the air. It sends a shiver down my spine and sharp pains through my temples. I place my head in my hands, trying to ease the pain that is rippling through my skull. God, make it stop. That horrible sound, it's inexplicable. I can't take anymore pain - not from others, not from myself. I'm on sensory overload. I take a shaky breath and try to regain my bearings.
"Sir, are you alright?" the nurse asks again, this time slightly panicked.
"Yeah…. I just…." my voice trails off as I exhale.
"What floor did you think you were on? Is there somewhere you are supposed to be?"
"No, not really," I answer, pausing briefly as I try to force my brain to form a complete sentence. "What floor am I on?"
"Floor 5, the maternity ward."
I nod, as I remove my hands from my forehead. I brace myself against the wall as I try to maneuver my body into a standing position. I glance over at the nurse, whose eyebrows are raised with worry. 'I must look bad,' I think to myself as I prepare to continue my aimless stroll through Mercy hospital.
I make my way to the elevator. The bright pink doors are shiny enough that I can see my reflection. I have blood smeared across my right cheek. It makes me wonder just what kind of expectant father that nurse thought she was dealing with. A loud DING breaks my trance as the elevator doors separate. I step in amongst a couple other doctors who are having a discussion over a patient's chart.
"What floor?" the male doctor asks with a glance in my direction.
Do I go back down there and face the horror that has become my life? Face all the people that I have disappointed? Face her family. Face Fred, who undoubtedly wants me dead. Hell, he wanted me dead before this disaster. I can't say that I disagree with him now. Or I could go down one more floor, the garage. Walk out unnoticed - unharmed - and save everyone the trouble of having to deal with me. I stare at those two lit letters on the elevator panel. E or G.
"Excuse me, sir? What floor is it you want?" The doctor looks and sounds impatient. If only he knew what a struggle this simple decision is for me. He glances at the other doctor when I fail to respond to his seemingly uncomplicated question.
"Sir," the female doctor takes over, "We are going to the Emergency room, is that where you would like to go too?"
I mentally laugh at her tone. She must think that I'm challenged or something. Go figure, in the last few minutes I have become a mentally challenged expectant father.
"Yeah," I answer. "That's fine."
What the hell, it's now or never, Boscorelli. Suck it up and face the music. You did this, now you can deal with the consequences. You have to bring your cumbersome self out of hiding.
The elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open. The two doctors exit, and before I can even lift my head and begin to walk out into the hallway, I find myself being thrown against the back of the elevator with such force that what little air that was in my lungs is thrust out, making me feel weak and dizzy.
"Get out of my face!" The words are spoken with the pure, raw, emotion of hate. I peel my body off the floor finding myself face to face with Fred.
"You heard me, GET OUT!" His face is red and there is a large throbbing vein in his forehead. I watch it for a couple milliseconds as it pulsates rapidly. He takes my fascination in his hulk-like vein as resistance to comply with his command and reacts by grabbing my coat with both fists, spinning around and literally throwing me out of the elevator. I land on the other side of the hallway and look over to see the elevator doors close in front of him.
That wasn't half as bad as I thought it would be. In a way, I wish he had just pummeled me. Tortured me. Killed me. It would all be a little easier that way. It is certainly justified in my opinion. He did seem angry though… a little too angry to be sad. I think that may be a good thing. God, please don't take her away from me. I realize I have separated myself from this situation because I thought I could delay the inevitable. I thought that if I never had to hear those horrible words, it means it never happened. I have to know now. I need to know. This could be the most devastating day of my life, but I NEED to know.
"Bosco?" I spin my head to the left to see Kim standing a few feet away. Tears stain her cheeks and her eyes are bloodshot.
"No no no…" I mumble as my entire body begins to shake.
"Bosco, where have you been? They took Faith to the OR a few minutes ago. Everyone's looking for you." Relief washes over me as she pauses for a second. I can feel her eyes on me, and I wonder if she is uncomfortable with the situation, or if she is just relieved that I didn't go jump off a bridge. Why the hell else would everyone be looking for me?
"Why don't you get off the floor and come sit with us for a second?"
I sigh in compliance and stumble to my feet without looking at her. I slowly follow her to the waiting room where it appears the whole 5-5 is sitting. I glance around for a chair and notice an empty one next to Davis.
Some conversations stop as I walk past - others pat me on the back. I am oblivious to it all. I just have to sit down before I pass out. At this point, I am not sure if I'll make it.
"Where you been, man? Sully's out in the parking lot looking for you." Davis asks as he removes the coat from the seat next him.
"Sorry, I needed to get out of here. Try to clear my mind," I answer as I lower myself into the uncomfortable plastic chair.
"Did it work?" he asks.
"No," I groan as I rub my eyes with my palms, "can't say it did."
"She's gonna be alright, Bos. You know she's gonna be okay."
"God I hope you're right, Davis," I sigh.
"Bosco, this is not your fault."
Those words cut me like a knife. It IS my fault. She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me. No one else did this but ME. Tears begin to sting my eyes and flow freely down my hands that are covering my face. I feel Davis squeeze my shoulder in support. God it hurts so much. This is my worst nightmare come true. Why did this have to happen? I feel my stomach turn with each thought that flows through my spinning head.
"Everyone here for Officer Yokas, can head on up to the waiting room in the OR," Proctor's voice interrupts my thoughts. I hear movement all around me and Davis squeezes my shoulder again, "Common, Bos, let's go up there."
I raise my head and swipe at the tears on my cheeks. I support myself with my hands on my knees as I move to get up and follow the crowd to the next stage of this nightmare. As I move to follow Davis my vision becomes spotted and I grab onto the chair for support.
"Whoa!," Davis says as he reaches out and grabs my arm, preventing me from crashing into the row of chairs directly in front of me. "You okay?"
I nod, rub my eyes, and proceed to walk towards the elevator. Davis is looking at me like I'm the one that got shot. I wish he'd stop it, or shoot me himself so that it would be justified. Who am I kidding, Davis doesn't have the guts to shoot anyone, let alone me. He's probably too afraid I'd kick his ass.
Again I feel nauseous and dizzy and this time, there is no chair to lean on, and Davis can't react fast enough to catch me. I crash to the ground and hear the sickening crack of my head hitting the hard floor.
I sense the sudden commotion all around me. Before I slip away I see Faith standing before me, her vision is so pure. No blood, no trauma, just the Faith I have grown to love. It gives me a ray of hope. "Take me instead of her," I think to myself. The last thing I remember is someone screaming for a doctor…. I just wish they'd let me die. I really don't deserve to live.
TBC? I don't know guys, I was just playing. I don't think that this is my calling but everyone else is doing it!! Let me know what you think.