Fic: Losing Ground [20]
Fic: Losing Ground [20]
Author: LMX
Fandom: Leverage
Rating: 15 (PG-13?)
Pairings: Nate/Sophie, Alec/Parker
Warnings: Major character death, graphic description, medical action.
AN: See parts [2] and [3].
AN2: This is therapy for me (see note at the end) and as such the second half is perhaps a little more morbid and brutal than required. Please note the warnings and take them seriously, I don't want to hurt anyone with this.
If anyone feels like donating some money at any point and is short a cause, there's a link on the pdf page linked at the bottom...
-
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20]
[20]
Alec was breaking traffic laws left right and centre, cutting cars up and running lights that he could have changed if he'd taken a second to turn on the green-lighter he had on the dash. His phone was set on the seat beside him, still open on Eliot's message that simply read, "911, Parker."
Nate and Sophie had been at dinner, easy in one another's company when the call came. Everything had been dropped, a card abandoned on their table in payment, a coat forgotten on the back of Sophie's chair. They didn't need any more information, really. Parker hadn't moved from her room in six months. There wasn't anywhere else she'd be.
Eliot was sitting on the floor outside Parker's door, unwilling to move further from her side than he absolutely had to. He could hear the chaos going on inside the room through the tiny gap in the door, but nothing that made any sense to him. She'd had a cold this morning, just a cold.
Alec spilled out of the van, tripping over himself in his haste to get to the door, even as Nate and Sophie pulled into the car park behind him. They followed him in and were in time to see him wordlessly pointed towards Parker's room by one of the nurses. She watched him go and then glanced back, spotting Nate and Sophie straight away and crossing the reception to them. "She has pneumonia," she told them. "It's very serious for someone in her condition, and she took a turn for the worse about thirty minutes ago. They're working with her now, your other friend is waiting in the hall."
They followed Alec down the hall, seeing him collapse into a seat up against the wall facing Eliot and not catching much of the exchanged conversation from the angle. Sophie sank to the floor beside Eliot, curling into his side and letting him put his arm around her shoulder when he'd finished talking. Nate took the other chair, glancing once through the narrow window in the door to Parker's room. The shift of doctors and nurses inside told him nothing new.
They waited.
--
It was one of the most dehumanising processes, the last efforts to save a life. That's what made *how* you did it so important to the nursing staff whose job it was to undertake those actions. With a case like this, with a patient who was so well loved and with family sat outside the door, it was the little things that took over. The nurses talked continuously to her as they tried to urge life into her tired, broken body. They coaxed, they pleaded, they willed her back into motion. Hard, unyielding hands pounded against her bruising chest and drugs and shocks were pushed into her body to rouse her. Every word was spoken to her, every reassurance, every flattery.
As hope faded with time, and efforts finally ceased, it was with as much reluctance and sadness as with someone they'd known all their lives, so intimate were those last few moments.
The doctors stepped away, settling things and making final notes. The nurses stepped forwards, covering her exposed chest and removing the leads and signs of the desperate struggle that had proceeded. Making her ready for her family to say goodbye. Making her human again, for a time.
A glance through the narrow window into the outside world showed a family holding each other together; hands fisted in clothing, tears pouring down cheeks and quiet noises of desolate pain.
The nurses waited with her, so that she wouldn't be alone, but left as soon as the family made it through the door. They left to take a moment. To rehumanise themselves, to face the world again.
-
Masterpost
Dear Gertie,
I hope you weren't scared. I hope that the adrenaline was sweet. I hope it didn't hurt. You were a truly amazing, awe-inspiring woman, and you will continue to inspire every person who knew you, and many who never got that chance. I hope you knew that, and believed it through and through.
Thank you for trusting us to be there. Sorry there wasn't more that we could do.
http://www.4sightsussex.co.uk/gertie_painter/A%20Tribute%20to%20Gertie%20Painter_4SIGHT%20Final.pdf
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-sussex-19045871
Author: LMX
Fandom: Leverage
Rating: 15 (PG-13?)
Pairings: Nate/Sophie, Alec/Parker
Warnings: Major character death, graphic description, medical action.
AN: See parts [2] and [3].
AN2: This is therapy for me (see note at the end) and as such the second half is perhaps a little more morbid and brutal than required. Please note the warnings and take them seriously, I don't want to hurt anyone with this.
If anyone feels like donating some money at any point and is short a cause, there's a link on the pdf page linked at the bottom...
-
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20]
[20]
Alec was breaking traffic laws left right and centre, cutting cars up and running lights that he could have changed if he'd taken a second to turn on the green-lighter he had on the dash. His phone was set on the seat beside him, still open on Eliot's message that simply read, "911, Parker."
Nate and Sophie had been at dinner, easy in one another's company when the call came. Everything had been dropped, a card abandoned on their table in payment, a coat forgotten on the back of Sophie's chair. They didn't need any more information, really. Parker hadn't moved from her room in six months. There wasn't anywhere else she'd be.
Eliot was sitting on the floor outside Parker's door, unwilling to move further from her side than he absolutely had to. He could hear the chaos going on inside the room through the tiny gap in the door, but nothing that made any sense to him. She'd had a cold this morning, just a cold.
Alec spilled out of the van, tripping over himself in his haste to get to the door, even as Nate and Sophie pulled into the car park behind him. They followed him in and were in time to see him wordlessly pointed towards Parker's room by one of the nurses. She watched him go and then glanced back, spotting Nate and Sophie straight away and crossing the reception to them. "She has pneumonia," she told them. "It's very serious for someone in her condition, and she took a turn for the worse about thirty minutes ago. They're working with her now, your other friend is waiting in the hall."
They followed Alec down the hall, seeing him collapse into a seat up against the wall facing Eliot and not catching much of the exchanged conversation from the angle. Sophie sank to the floor beside Eliot, curling into his side and letting him put his arm around her shoulder when he'd finished talking. Nate took the other chair, glancing once through the narrow window in the door to Parker's room. The shift of doctors and nurses inside told him nothing new.
They waited.
--
It was one of the most dehumanising processes, the last efforts to save a life. That's what made *how* you did it so important to the nursing staff whose job it was to undertake those actions. With a case like this, with a patient who was so well loved and with family sat outside the door, it was the little things that took over. The nurses talked continuously to her as they tried to urge life into her tired, broken body. They coaxed, they pleaded, they willed her back into motion. Hard, unyielding hands pounded against her bruising chest and drugs and shocks were pushed into her body to rouse her. Every word was spoken to her, every reassurance, every flattery.
As hope faded with time, and efforts finally ceased, it was with as much reluctance and sadness as with someone they'd known all their lives, so intimate were those last few moments.
The doctors stepped away, settling things and making final notes. The nurses stepped forwards, covering her exposed chest and removing the leads and signs of the desperate struggle that had proceeded. Making her ready for her family to say goodbye. Making her human again, for a time.
A glance through the narrow window into the outside world showed a family holding each other together; hands fisted in clothing, tears pouring down cheeks and quiet noises of desolate pain.
The nurses waited with her, so that she wouldn't be alone, but left as soon as the family made it through the door. They left to take a moment. To rehumanise themselves, to face the world again.
-
Masterpost
Dear Gertie,
I hope you weren't scared. I hope that the adrenaline was sweet. I hope it didn't hurt. You were a truly amazing, awe-inspiring woman, and you will continue to inspire every person who knew you, and many who never got that chance. I hope you knew that, and believed it through and through.
Thank you for trusting us to be there. Sorry there wasn't more that we could do.
http://www.4sightsussex.co.uk/gertie_painter/A%20Tribute%20to%20Gertie%20Painter_4SIGHT%20Final.pdf
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-sussex-19045871