SteepVision
New Member
Before his eyes, the patient began to seize. Their body listed sideways form the chair, rigid with violent contractions of tonic-clonic spasm. Hank caught their shoulders. The tall figure light in his grip. Surprisingly so. Tremors knocking a glass from the table that shattered brightly on the floor. He pulled them away from the shards and lay them down. “You’re alright. The ambulance is on it’s way.” Spoken low, and calm. Dark suit jacket swiftly pulled from his shoulders to tuck beneath the man’s head. “This'll pass, it’ll be over soon.” Glanced shortly at the face of his watch to time the episode with half an ear on the young woman’s answer.
Hank's hands felt unsteady, ignoring a tremor as he worked to loosen the collar at the patient's neck and keep their airways clear. His pulse felt too fast. Sickeningly “helpless” to do a thing without the setup of surgery. Helpless but to take their hand while they shook. “You’re gonna be just fine.” What the hell was going on? No medic-alert tag on their person to indicate epilepsy or other chronic condition. The thick, white foam at their mouth a symptom of hypoarousal, intolerance or… substance ingestion? Focused gaze drawn to the crumb of cake and icing that clung to the patients face. To shattered glass, a puddle of clear liquid spreading across tile, and to the two women at the table. One, surprised but apparently calm. The other’s eyes wide with shock and concern. ”“What do we do? Tell us how we can help and we’ll do it.”
The double wide doors burst open. Green-clad paramedics rushing a gurney through the reception hall. Hank scanned their faces to find none familiar. He stepped aside. “You did everything you could.” The reassurance automatic and absent. Turning away as they lifted the man from the ground to scan for Carlos.
His husband looked commanding and assured. The signs of intoxication all but gone from his body language. Shoulders tall, focus in his face. Into his element amongst chaos and tension the way Hank stepped into scrubs at surgery. But Hank couldn’t forget the look on his face when they had spoken their vows. The tender sheen to dark eyes, the flashes of vulnerability searching so dependently on him. To be the man he could depend upon.
Carlos might not forgive Hank leaving him at their wedding. But the cop would. Hank broke into a quick stride, following the paramedics through the main exit and the elevator, his hand catching the door before it hissed closed.
“Sir!” A paramedic planted a palm on his chest. Her expression flat. “We’ll handle it from here.”
Hank shook his head. “Doctor Hank Pierce. From LMH.” They’d know the name of the hospital. No doubt in his mind. But the woman's face did not change. “Step aside, Sir.”
“Listen.” His tone dropped. Short, and sharp. They didn’t have time for politics. “I know-”
The medic pushed him. Hard. Stumbling back with the unexpected force, his shoulders making contact with the wall. Shock reflected in pale eyes as the elevator doors slid shut.
Hank's hands felt unsteady, ignoring a tremor as he worked to loosen the collar at the patient's neck and keep their airways clear. His pulse felt too fast. Sickeningly “helpless” to do a thing without the setup of surgery. Helpless but to take their hand while they shook. “You’re gonna be just fine.” What the hell was going on? No medic-alert tag on their person to indicate epilepsy or other chronic condition. The thick, white foam at their mouth a symptom of hypoarousal, intolerance or… substance ingestion? Focused gaze drawn to the crumb of cake and icing that clung to the patients face. To shattered glass, a puddle of clear liquid spreading across tile, and to the two women at the table. One, surprised but apparently calm. The other’s eyes wide with shock and concern. ”“What do we do? Tell us how we can help and we’ll do it.”
The double wide doors burst open. Green-clad paramedics rushing a gurney through the reception hall. Hank scanned their faces to find none familiar. He stepped aside. “You did everything you could.” The reassurance automatic and absent. Turning away as they lifted the man from the ground to scan for Carlos.
His husband looked commanding and assured. The signs of intoxication all but gone from his body language. Shoulders tall, focus in his face. Into his element amongst chaos and tension the way Hank stepped into scrubs at surgery. But Hank couldn’t forget the look on his face when they had spoken their vows. The tender sheen to dark eyes, the flashes of vulnerability searching so dependently on him. To be the man he could depend upon.
Carlos might not forgive Hank leaving him at their wedding. But the cop would. Hank broke into a quick stride, following the paramedics through the main exit and the elevator, his hand catching the door before it hissed closed.
“Sir!” A paramedic planted a palm on his chest. Her expression flat. “We’ll handle it from here.”
Hank shook his head. “Doctor Hank Pierce. From LMH.” They’d know the name of the hospital. No doubt in his mind. But the woman's face did not change. “Step aside, Sir.”
“Listen.” His tone dropped. Short, and sharp. They didn’t have time for politics. “I know-”
The medic pushed him. Hard. Stumbling back with the unexpected force, his shoulders making contact with the wall. Shock reflected in pale eyes as the elevator doors slid shut.
Pierce
Hank
Before his eyes, the patient began to seize. Their body listed sideways form the chair, rigid with violent contractions of tonic-clonic spasm. Hank caught their shoulders. The tall figure light in his grip. Surprisingly so. Tremors knocking a glass from the table that shattered brightly on the floor. He pulled them away from the shards and lay them down. “You’re alright. The ambulance is on it’s way.” Spoken low, and calm. Dark suit jacket swiftly pulled from his shoulders to tuck beneath the man’s head. “This'll pass, it’ll be over soon.” Glanced shortly at the face of his watch to time the episode with half an ear on the young woman’s answer.
Hank's hands felt unsteady, ignoring a tremor as he worked to loosen the collar at the patient's neck and keep their airways clear. His pulse felt too fast. Sickeningly “helpless” to do a thing without the setup of surgery. Helpless but to take their hand while they shook. “You’re gonna be just fine.” What the hell was going on? No medic-alert tag on their person to indicate epilepsy or other chronic condition. The thick, white foam at their mouth a symptom of hypoarousal, intolerance or… substance ingestion? Focused gaze drawn to the crumb of cake and icing that clung to the patients face. To shattered glass, a puddle of clear liquid spreading across tile, and to the two women at the table. One, surprised but apparently calm. The other’s eyes wide with shock and concern. ”“What do we do? Tell us how we can help and we’ll do it.”
The double wide doors burst open. Green-clad paramedics rushing a gurney through the reception hall. Hank scanned their faces to find none familiar. He stepped aside. “You did everything you could.” The reassurance automatic and absent. Turning away as they lifted the man from the ground to scan for Carlos.
His husband looked commanding and assured. The signs of intoxication all but gone from his body language. Shoulders tall, focus in his face. Into his element amongst chaos and tension the way Hank stepped into scrubs at surgery. But Hank couldn’t forget the look on his face when they had spoken their vows. The tender sheen to dark eyes, the flashes of vulnerability searching so dependently on him. To be the man he could depend upon.
Carlos might not forgive Hank leaving him at their wedding. But the cop would. Hank broke into a quick stride, following the paramedics through the main exit and the elevator, his hand catching the door before it hissed closed.
“Sir!” A paramedic planted a palm on his chest. Her expression flat. “We’ll handle it from here.”
Hank shook his head. “Doctor Hank Pierce. From LMH.” They’d know the name of the hospital. No doubt in his mind. But the woman's face did not change. “Step aside, Sir.”
“Listen.” His tone dropped. Short, and sharp. They didn’t have time for politics. “I know-”
The medic pushed him. Hard. Stumbling back with the unexpected force, his shoulders making contact with the wall. Shock reflected in pale eyes as the elevator doors slid shut.
coded by reveriee.