by A. R. Moler
Mason dropped to one knee and felt along the man’s chest and stomach. No help there. All those layers of Kevlar that made up the bullet-proof vest were a semi rigid obstruction to anything his fingers might notice. Oh. Corset effect. Mason suddenly realized that the inflexibility of the vest was probably preventing Donnelly from bending further.
“I need to get your vest off, okay? If anything I do hurts, tell me,” said Mason. He pulled the officer’s shirt loose at the waist and unbuttoned it. Donnelly shrugged out of the uniform shirt. He had a dark long sleeved T-shirt under his vest. The Velcro on the side of the vest made the characteristic tearing sound as Mason opened it. He continued, undoing the shoulder strap also before slipping it up over Mark’s head. Mason skimmed his hand carefully across the cop’s chest and stomach, pressing gently as he went. Mason knew what was coming before he got there. Crossing below the rib cage, Donnelly flinched.
“Ow,” he said flatly. Mason sensed the damage now, even with his psychic shielding still half active. Bruises to the liver, and some bleeding, probably not life threatening, but Mason would treat it with caution anyway. Damn, now he was going to have to justify why he “suspected” internal injuries.
“I think it would be a good idea to have you come lie down,” said Mason. “I’d like to see if you have any visible bruising.” Donnelly nodded and let Mason help him up into the back of ambulance. He lay down on the backboard that was on top of the stretcher and flinched again when Mason tugged the T-shirt loose and up to expose his belly. There were definitely the beginnings of discoloration beneath the skin.
“Guess I’m banged up a little worse than I thought,” said Donnelly.
“It might have been from the seat belt or maybe from the bottom edge of the steering wheel. I did point out that your car is seriously totaled,” replied Mason. Donnelly started to sit up, but Mason put a hand on his chest preventing him.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Mason said.
“So I’m going to be sore tomorrow. No big deal.”
“It could be more serious than that. You need an ultrasound at the hospital to check for internal bleeding.” Donnelly’s eyes widened a little. “It could be nothing,” Mason continued, trying not to spook his patient too badly. “But I’d rather play it safe.” Mason began to do up the straps to fasten Donnelly to the backboard. He needed to get an IV going fairly soon, too.
“I thought ultrasounds were for pregnant women...” the cop said uncertainly.
“They have a lot of uses. Checking blood flow and internal organs is just one more thing they get used for. Stay put, I need to check and see what’s going on with the driver of the pickup.” Mason walked to the back of the ambulance and jumped down so he could see what was going on with the extrication. Apparently things had gone pretty swiftly, and he could see the driver being carefully C-collared and strapped to another backboard. Mason crooked a finger at Raj and the senior paramedic walked over.
“What’s up?” asked Raj. Mason spent a moment explaining what he suspected. “Is he stable?” said Raj.
“Seems to be... You think I’m over-reacting.” Mason said as evenly as possibly. Okay, here’s where the whole ‘I’m a doctor and you’re not’ problem was going to get nasty, he thought.
“I didn’t say that. Overcautious is better than under. If the squad car wasn’t such a fucking disaster, I might say you were blowing it out of proportion. But standing here looking at it, it’s almost unbelievable to know that the guy got out and walked away under his own power. That said, it’s probably going to be a couple of minutes until we can leave.”
“Okay, I’ll get the IV going and keep a close eye on him.”
“I need to go see what’s going on with the other guy for a minute. Hang tight with your patient.” Raj hurried off back toward the second ambulance.
Mason climbed back into the ambulance where Donnelly was waiting. He was lying relatively still, not that he had a lot of choice, strapped down as he was, but his fingers were nervous fiddling with fabric of his slacks
“You doing okay?” asked Mason.
Donnelly gave him a slightly doubtful look. “I... um... I keep shaking,” he admitted.
“The whole adrenaline rush thing is wearing off. I’ll grab a blanket for you.” Mason took one out of the myriad of cabinets and, unfolding it, draped it over Mark’s legs and torso. “Are you in pain?” Mason sat on the bench next to the stretcher and took hold of his patient’s wrist under the auspices of checking his pulse. It was up a little. Mason could tell by touch that Mark was definitely less comfortable now than a few minutes ago.
“I’m fine.” That was a knee-jerk response, Mason decided.
“I’m going to start an IV on you. It’s a precaution. It might hurt a little,” said Mason. Mason glanced up toward Mark’s head as he started the IV. The man’s face had paled and his free hand had clenched against his leg. Mason grabbed the blood pressure cuff and used it. He knew Mark’s blood pressure had dropped a little, but he needed numbers to support his “theory.” 110/60. Not critically low, but lower than before. Mason laid a hand against Mark’s belly. Bleeding, slowly, but still bleeding. Mason went to the foot on the stretcher and lifted the backboard so he could wedge a blanket underneath. Tilting the backboard would help a little with hypovolemic shock.
“Tell me what you were doing when the guy hit you,” Mason suggested as he returned back toward the top of the stretcher. He needed to distract Mark a little while he did some light healing.
Donnelly started telling him about how he was just cruising through the area looking at registration stickers so he could tick off that he had written a ticket that day. Mason nodded and stopped actually listening. He sent a small flood of energy through his fingers and palm, slowing the bleeding, constricting a few blood vessels and boosting his patient’s pressure a little. Once again he was fighting the connection his Talent wanted to make. This one was harder than the gunshot victim from last week. Donnelly was awake and talking and it was just the two of them in the back of the ambulance right at that moment. Yeah, avoiding the connection was harder.
Raj poked his head in. “Everything okay?”
“Fair. We should go.” Mason replied. Raj climbed into the driver’s seat and they pulled away. The driver of the other vehicle had already been loaded into a second ambulance and transported.
~
Six p.m. and it was the end of shift. Mason was tired, hungry and trying to decide what he was going to put in his report back to Peter. He might swing by Beach General and check on the cop from earlier in the day. Mason had privileges at that hospital, despite the fact he preferred to use Norfolk for his own surgeries. His cell phone vibrated against his hip and he pulled it off. The screen indicated it was his office.
“Flynn,” he answered the phone.
“Hey Mason, it’s Tyra.”
“What’s up?”
“I was about to walk out the door. The hospice unit called.” Mason’s heart sank. He knew what was coming next. “Jason Ambers died a couple of hours ago.” Mason was silent long enough that Tyra asked, “You still there?”
“Yeah. I am. Thanks for calling me.”
“I’m sorry. I know you did everything you could.”
“Mmm ... yeah.”
“If you want somebody to dump on...” she offered.
“I’ll be fine.” He hung up and sat on the hood of his car, staring at the ground. Knowing that it was coming didn’t make it any easier. He thought about something Peter had said to him, well, actually screamed at him. If he had been there with Jason, could he have not followed the child across that metaphoric veil to whatever waited beyond? Jesus, he didn’t have an answer for that.
“Hey Mas’, you look like somebody killed your dog,” said a familiar voice. Mason looked up to see Raj walking toward his own car in the parking lot behind the station.
“One of my patients died,” said Mason.
“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry. Open mouth insert foot.”<
br />
“Four year old, he had osteosarcoma. He’s been in the hospice unit for a couple of weeks.” Mason stared at his hands for a moment before looking back up at Raj.
“Sounds rough...”
“Yeah.”
“This might lift your spirits a little. The cop from this afternoon, you were apparently spot on about the internal injuries. I was talking to one of the second shift cops. He said they were planning on keeping Donnelly overnight in ICU. He had a bleed in his liver. Not serious enough for surgery probably, but bad enough.”
“I’m glad something went right today.”
“Wanna go grab some dinner?”
“No. I... really need to head home.”
“See you next week.”
~
The garage light was on, Cam noticed when he got to Mason’s house. Somehow that just didn’t seem to bode well. He let himself in and cut through the kitchen to the door that led out into the garage. Mason was doing his woodworking thing. Cam suspected it was as close to a form of therapy as the healer would allow himself to get. The scritching sound of sandpaper was the only noise in the room.
“Talk to me,” said Cam. Mason glanced up at him. Cam could sense his lover’s churning painful emotions.
“Jason died,” Mason said.
Cam heaved a sigh, he had suspected it might be something like that. He knelt down beside where his lover sat on a stool and laid a hand on Mason’s leg.
“I’m sorry.”
Mason merely nodded.
Oh, it was going to be one of those days when Cam had to work at it, to get his lover to unwind at all. “Come on, no more sawdust. Get up.”
“Cam...” Mason protested weakly as Cam hauled him to his feet.
“We’re going down to the school parking lot and getting you back on my bike. It’s not gonna be dark for another half hour or so,” said Cam. He felt like he was pleading, but then realized his tone probably sounded more like an order. Mason stood immobile for a long moment. Cam gave him a push in the direction of the door.
~
In the parking lot of the elementary school where he had wrecked Cam’s bike several weeks before, Mason pulled on his helmet. He wasn’t sure why he was letting Cam coerce him into this again.
“Let out the clutch slow and give it just a little gas,” said Cam, standing off to one side.
Mason managed to stall it three times in row. God, he just so absolutely sucked at this.
“Okay, stop, get off. I have an idea,” said Cam.
Mason put down the kick stand and got off. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”
“Chill. Get on behind me, but don’t put your arms around me. Just snug up tight and put your hands around mine. Drop your shields,” said Cam.
“And the purpose of this is?” Mason asked. It somehow seemed reminiscent of some of the early psi exercises he had done with Peter.
“Mimic me. I think it’ll help,” Cam replied. Mason swung a leg over and slid forward until his chest was pressed against Cam’s back. He stretched his arms out and loosely clasped his hands over top of his partner’s. Cam thumbed the starter. Mason blew out a breath and let his psi shielding fall open. He could feel the concerned brush of Cam’s mind against his. Cam turned his hand palm up and threaded his fingers through those of Mason’s right hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Pay attention.” Cam leaned his head back to bang his own helmet very lightly against Mason’s. “Release slowly with your left, roll the throttle just a little with your right,” shouted Cam over the sound of the engine. The bike eased forward into a gentle roll. Then Cam stopped the bike and set it rolling twice more. Mason had to admit, feeling the motion of the flexors and extensors along with Cam’s intention made a certain amount of sense. “Let me off, and you try.”
Alone on the motorcycle, Mason glanced at Cam. He knew damn well this was a distraction maneuver as much as any desire to get him riding again. And yet, maybe Cam had a point. Mason managed to get the bike moving this time without stalling and took it on a slightly wobbly circuit around the parking lot, heart pounding and palms sweating inside his gloves. He kept flashing back to the sudden jarring thud and impact with the pavement from before. On the other hand, he had actually gotten back on the motorcycle again and driven it around the parking lot. He braked to a jerky stop near Cam, toeing it into neutral.
“Can I have my nervous breakdown now?” Mason said.
Cam grinned at him. “See, it helped.”
“Yeah, I guess it did.”
“Now, drive back to your house. I’ll walk.”
“You’re assuming I’m not going to have a wreck this time.”
“Yep.”
“My, you’re a trusting soul,” replied Mason.
“You’d better live up to that trust, ‘cause I don’t want to see you bleeding again.”
Cam gave him a thumbs up sign, and Mason put it in gear. He drove out of the parking lot and the few blocks up the street, parking it in his driveway. As he peeled off his gloves and took off his helmet, Cam came walking across the yard.
“You did fine,” said Cam.
“Uh-huh, I think I clenched my stomach muscles so hard, it feels like I just did fifty sit-ups.”
“Lot of people do that in the beginning. Don’t put your helmet away. I’m hungry. Let’s go down to boardwalk and find someplace to eat. Or did you eat already when you got done with the EMS thing?” Cam asked. Mason guiltily hung his head. “Mason... I just so need to kick your ass. What is it with you and the not bothering to eat thing lately!?”
Mason heaved a sigh. It wasn’t intentional, it wasn’t even a conscious thing. “I meant to go grab some food as soon as I got off shift. And then Tyra called to tell me about Jason and... I forgot,” Mason finished.
~
It was just so tempting to haul off and smack that man, Cam cursed internally. “Did you heal anybody today?” he demanded of Mason
“Yeah, a little.”
“Ergo, you need to eat!” snapped Cam. Mason stood silently, staring at the ground. He didn’t appear to have a better excuse or a sarcastic comeback either. Cam set his helmet on the ground and took hold of Mason by both shoulders. “I worry. You’re not taking care of yourself... Mason, I can’t stand to lose you. Do you know you’re the first person in my life I’ve ever actually worried about? I love you. The whole concept of you being hurt or sick or in danger, basically scares the shit out me!” He wrapped both arms around Mason and held him tight, pulling his lover’s head down against his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you fed. And I want to hear exactly what you did with the EMS people today.”
~
Lying in bed with Cam’s body spooned tightly up against his back, Mason let his thumb rub along his lover’s wrist, trying to lull himself into sleep with the beat of Cam’s heart. All through dinner, Cam had pried the details of the day out of him, and vehemently reassured him that his Talent had helped make sure the police officer from the accident made it through. Logically, Mason knew it was true, and the fact that he had limited the use of his healing Talent to approximately the minimum necessary would make Peter happy. So why did he feel like he was slowly coming unglued? How could things be going so close to right in his relationship with Cam and in his career and this new set of responsibilities with Division P... and this child’s death be just tearing him inside out?
“It’s okay to cry,” whispered Cam in the darkness.
Mason could feel the soft comforting brush of Cam’s mind against his own. He threaded his fingers through Cam’s and hugged his lover’s hand to his chest. “I’m okay.”
