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| With Moran safely in the cells at Scotland Yard, a blanket pinned over the broken window, and Mrs. Hudson's fine celebratory dinner inside us we talked till all hours, but at last the wine and the aftermath of all the day's excitement left us both drowsy. I considered going back to my own home – I would have to face my surgery hours soon enough – but the couch was closer, and once I had shooed Holmes off to bed I let my eyes close, hoping for a night of uninterrupted sleep. It was not my nightmare, but his, that woke us. crossposted to ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) watsons_woes | |
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| The pain had been an old friend, as familiar as the lullabies of my childhood. It proved my existence, kept me struggling against my abductors. The morphine put an end to that, denying me any touchstone to reality as neatly as it denied me all hope of escaping from under the attic floorboards. I drifted in my wooden coffin, only vaguely aware of police whistles and the crack of gunfire.
"Watson?"
I heard my name, distantly. Had I been in possession of my body, I might have tried to answer, but as it was I could do nothing but wait. | |
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| October gave way to November, and Watson reverted to his chair by the fire, finally glad that the Army had refused him that summer. I was glad too, for the rain which solved my latest case, and thought it appropriate that we celebrate. But after the first rattle of firecrackers outside drained all the blood from my fellow lodger's face I made haste to pour a little more brandy into his glass. "Guy Fawkes," I said, and he blinked away the haze of another vision.
"I remember," he said, and it was not only the gunpowder plot that he meant. | |
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| The new Sherlock Holmes trailer has inspired some truly cracky fics, to which I now add my mite, inspired by ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) janeturenne and Jude Law in that uniform thingie (see icon). Slashy, for them that minds... Silly, too. Per SuitThe brown suit disappears out of the wardrobe on Tuesday, and when it turns up again, it is ensconced in Mrs. Hudson's mending basket where it will stay until she can find matches ( for the one remaining button. ) | |
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| By the time everyone, including Dr. Whittaker, Dr. Elliott, and the snowplow driver, who was waiting for his cast to set sufficiently hard for traveling, had gotten some breakfast, the sky had brightened as much as it was going to. But the snow was still coming down, even though cars inched their way along the main street and the muted roar of plows could be heard from the nearby highway. Mollie turned up in mukluks and an ancient parka, and she and Terry and Ernie started setting the place to rights and sterilizing the used equipment. Trapper checked over Gonzo and Stanley a little more carefully after he'd had his morning coffee, and got Dr. Elliott to take a look at the frostbite and Carson to look at Stanley's head. ( Then they sat down to debate whether or not to try to get Stanley and Gonzo down to San Francisco Memorial. ) | |
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| Coffee is a good thing, Ernie thought as she looked out at the snow tumbling lazily down past the streetlights. The sky was only just starting to lighten behind the overcast. She'd caught a nap for a couple of hours while Carson watched over the three men, but the arrival of Dr. Elliott and a snowplow driver with a sprained ankle had wakened her. She took another sip and composed herself for the morning. Regardless of the weather, none of them were going to be able to get back to San Francisco in time for the morning shift. And with snow still falling, there wasn't going to be a helicopter coming to change that. ( She would have to call. ) | |
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| Trapper had made the incision, and was fussing with a primitive drill when Ernie got into the room that they were using as an operating theater. She paused a moment to settle her stomach. They had propped Stanley on his stomach, with his torso supported by a thick layer of blankets while his feet and hands trailed in pans of water. Trapper and Dr. Elliott were working at Stanley's head, while Terry passed instruments and Gary carefully worked on the frost-damaged extremities and renewed the hot water bottles that were bringing Stanley's core temperature back up to something reasonable, and Steve sat working the anesthesia. Ernie made her way to Terry. "Where do you want me?" "Here," Terry gave her the tray. "You pass the silverware while I work with Gary. It'll help if we can get his temperature stabilized." "Right." Ernie took up her position. It was her first chance to get a good look at the damage, and she was appalled. Stanley's face was puffy with fluid and he had the ‘raccoon mask' of bruising that indicated serious cerebral hemorrhaging. Most of the back of his head was purple with subcutaneous bleeding as well, and past Trapper's shoulder she could see the jagged edges of a hole right through the bone. The x-rays on the light box weren't reassuring, except in that there was no sign of whatever had pierced the skull. The blood coming out was dark and viscous. Ernie guessed that Stanley could have been bleeding into the brain since last night and her heart sank. ( This was not good. ) | |
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| "Avalanche rods, snowshoes, emergency medical kit, sleeping bags, 2 Stokes stretchers, rope and climbing gear, headlamps, helmets, ice picks, crampons, primus stove, water, food, and you've got on your long underwear and heavy boots, right?" Houlihan looked up from the pile of gear he had assembled on the living room floor, strapped neatly into the Stokes stretchers -- light aluminum stretchers designed for mountain rescue. "We may be up there into the night." "I'm ready," Trapper said grimly. "Ray's going to take the chopper to check the other roads into the park, but the pass road is ours. It'll take an hour for district to get anyone else up here, so we'll do the initial survey. Here, attach this to your coat, and when we get up to the avalanche area, all you'll have to do is string it out behind you." Trapper looked at the long orange nylon ribbon with mixed emotions. If only Stanley and Gonzo had avalanche cords, the odds of finding them before the spring thaw would be.... He killed the thought. Time enough to give up when they had made the effort first. Houlihan took the front end of the stacked stretchers and Trapper caught a hold of the back. "Are we taking the snowmobiles?" "Yes, the Jimmy would never make it if we have to go up where the avalanche has crossed the road." Houlihan answered. He set a course straight for the shed, but Trapper, following behind, looked over his shoulder at the mountain. ( And stopped. ) | |
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| "Well, I can smell something burning, anyway," Gonzo said, patting Stan on the back. "You're making progress." "It just won't burn," Stanley fretted. "I've tried and tried, and all I get is a few sparks." "Maybe the kindling isn't small enough," Gonzo said. "You've got to start with the littlest stuff first." "I'm just useless. I don't know anything practical. I don't know anything but doctor stuff," ( Stanley started to turn away, and Gonzo had to keep a hold of him. ) | |
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| "Frosty the snowman was a jolly happy soul," Gonzo sang hoarsely, "With a corncob hat and button pipe and two eyes made out of coal." "I don't think that's the right words," Stanley interrupted crankily. "It's a button nose. And corncobs are too little for hats." "So let's sing something different, then," Gonzo agreed, amiably. He was pleased that Stan had noticed the mix-up. It's not easy to test someone's coherence when they're walking behind you. "I'm tired of singing," Stanley said. "And your voice is going." "Well, I'm thirsty," ( Gonzo admitted. ) | |
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| "Gives you a warm feeling doesn't it, knowing Gibbs trusts us with a contaminated crime scene?" I ask Gerald, and he laughs, but I've got to admit that I'm wondering why Gibbs is trusting Kate to work the boat alone. Come to think of it, Officer Dimbulb probably messed with that scene too, seeing how he was too stupid to wait for an ME. Still, Kate's a newbie. It's not like she's got the routine down pat, even if I did brief her on the procedure.
I don't know whether I'm hoping she doesn't screw up or hoping that she does.
The line in italics is from the episode | |
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| New job. New boss. New hours. Not that the Secret Service was a nine-to-five gig, but it's well after midnight now and we're just starting.
"Can't work a field in high heels," Gibbs says, and leads me off to his car in search of socks.
I've got a feeling he's never going to tell me how he knew that I wouldn't take the time to go home and change into something more sensible after dumping my date. Or how he knew which size boots to bring along. One thing's for sure, it wasn't a lucky guess.
The hat fits too.
The line in italics is from the episode. | |
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| The phone rang again, and Trapper gave up and brought the whole coffeepot out from the kitchen. "Mendocino South Ranger Station," he said, tucking the receiver between his ear and his shoulder so he would have both hands free to pour the coffee. "I'm trying to reach John McIntyre?" "Speaking." "My name is Pat Flaherty; I'm with the San Francisco office of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. I've been talking to Lt. Bristow in Sacramento, and I just wanted to confirm some points with you. Is the Stanley Riverside you're looking for any relation to Stanley Riverside the businessman?" "His son," Trapper said, grateful that the agent seemed to know that much at least. "Ayuh, that's rich enough." ( The New England voice paused for a moment, and Trapper heard the scratching of a pen. ) | |
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| Gonzo felt his feet going out from under him again and tried to let go of Stanley's coat in time to avoid pulling the other man down on top of him. He hadn't the last time, and the collision had knocked the breath out of both of them. He had limited success. As he hit the snow with knee and hip and elbow, he heard Stanley landing too, but at least this time they weren't one on top of the other. "Sorry," Gonzo said. "‘S all right," Stanley sounded winded. "‘S a chance to sit down." Content not to have to move right away, Gonzo hitched himself around until he was in a comfortable sitting position on the slanted snow bank. The road had been covered in more than one place by slides, and negotiating them was taking more energy than he had to spare. He held onto his knees to keep his hands away from his face and tried to reckon their odds. ( Less than ten miles, but in knee-deep snow, very little water, no food. ) | |
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| Even after he knew that the light wasn't getting any brighter, Stanley kept his eyes closed and rested, waiting for Gonzo to stir, and hoping that the ache in his head would go away. He wasn't warm, but he had reached a sort of stasis, where the cold didn't seem to bother him as much, and he had slept, if lightly. If only the bump on his head would stop hurting, he would be able to face the day. He tried to imagine what it would be like, but it was too alien a prospect. When he was young, his father had never considered taking him along on winter outings, and by the time he was old enough to afford his own choices, he had chosen to spend his time on his studies, and his medical career. He still remembered the sixth grade career day where he had made up his mind. The principal had gotten up to make a speech, and had begun with "Every father wants his son to grow up to be a doctor." The man had meant it as a lead in to the realm of other possibilities, Stanley knew vaguely, but he had barely heard the rest of the lecture. At twelve, one of the few adults he had trusted to listen was Dr. Craymore, his pediatrician, who had never failed to ease the terror of an asthma attack, and whose crisp lab coat and confident authority had fascinated the boy. ( He had sent Stanley an otoscope when he graduated from med school. ) | |
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| "How much longer do you think, Trapper?" "An hour. Two. And then we should probably take him down to a hospital that has enough staff to keep a watch on him." Trapper bit back a yawn under the surgical mask. "Okay, I'll call District and tell them." Houlihan said. "What about you? Are you getting tired? I could call up to the cabin. Your friends should be there by now." "Oh, man, I forgot all about them." "I left a note when I went back for the stretcher. Said not to expect us till morning." Mike propped himself against the doorjamb. "If you could use the help, I'm sure they'd come." "By now they will have eaten and gone to bed," Trapper said. "It's tempting, but I'm sure that we can handle this. And I know that they'll have been tired. Let 'em sleep." "Wish I could do the same." Mike said unhappily. "Oh, well. The paperwork will keep me awake." --- Stanley listened to Gonzo's steady breathing and wondered how the man could possibly have gone to sleep. ( Didn't he know that people froze to death under conditions like these? ) | |
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| The coastal rain had long since given way to high country snow, but the fall wasn't too heavy, and the wind was gentle when Gonzo reached the pass road. He pulled up and let the motor idle while he reviewed his mental map. He had expected to have to cut over to I-5 on this road, and curve around to come to the pass road from the other side, but the gate here was open, and the road sign didn't have the "closed for winter" placard in place. Maybe they had decided to keep it open this year. It looked like someone had gone up it earlier, although the tracks were disappearing under snow. And if this road were open, it would take 40 miles off the trip. Gonzo had to admit he was already getting tired. ( He glanced over, but Stanley was still curled up like a hibernating hedgehog, and not available for consultation. ) | |
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| Friday morning dawned foggy and chilly, and Gonzo ducked back into the Titanic for a sweater before starting across the lot to the hospital entrance. Halfway there, he saw Stanley pulling into his parking space, so he waited.
Stanley, parked, picked up a bundle from the seat next to him, bit his lip, put it down, picked it up again, put it down again... Gonzo came to the rescue by tapping on the passenger window. Stanley jumped, but smiled when he saw who it was and hit the automatic window control to lower the glass. "Oh, good morning, Gates."
"Hi Stanley. Is that your stuff for the cabin?"
"Mmm. Yes. Turtlenecks and sweaters, John said. And pajamas and a robe. And a shaving kit, of course."
"Sounds like you thought of everything," Gonzo said, taking hold of the bundle cheerfully. "I'll stash it in the jeep. That'll save you the trouble of carrying it in just to carry it out again."
"That's not necessary," Stanley protested faintly, but Gonzo ignored him and put the bag into the jeep anyway. ( The best way around Stanley, as far as Gonzo was concerned, was to go ahead and do what you had planned doing regardless. ) | |
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| n.b. This one got pretty far, actually. All the adventure stuff is written anyway, but I kind of reached the end of my willingness to go out on a medical limb without a lifeline once I reached the "now you've bashed them, how do you fix them" point of the proceedings...-- John T. McIntyre, M.D., still, after all these years, known as Trapper to most of his friends and staff at San Francisco Memorial Hospital, breezed into the office he hadn't seen for more than a month and stopped when he discovered two familiar figures parked at opposite ends of his big comfortable couch. He smiled to himself in private amusement at seeing those two slumped in reflecting poses, because otherwise they were a study in contrasts.
The crumpled surgical greens and wild black curls belonged to "Gonzo" Gates, Trapper's most promising protege in the Surgical Department. He lived the life of Riley in a battered trailer he called the Titanic that was generally parked in the hospital lot. Opinionated but generous, Gonzo had matched Trapper so well in temperament and talent it was already hard to remember how he had gotten along without him.
The neatly pressed lab coat, and the straight dishwater brown hair belonged to Stanley Riverside II, the youngest Chief of Emergency Services in any hospital in the country. It was frequently assumed that Stanley had gotten that position because his father was the president of the board of directors for the hospital, but the longer Trapper had known the Riversides per et fils , the more he had become convinced that Stanley had gotten as far as he had in spite of his paternal parent rather than because of him. The classic poor little rich kid, Stanley had always had everything he wanted but affection, but his quirks didn't stop him from being a fine doctor.
For these two, who didn't always see eye to eye, to both be crashed in Trapper's office argued that something had happened last night, and Trapper began to wish he had bothered to turn on the news when he'd gotten in, ( but it was too late to worry about it now. ) | |
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| Trapper came down from the operating rooms to see how things were doing a little after nine, and found Stanley propped against the nurses' station counter, talking to someone on the phone. "Well, if you do get through, tell him that his son called. His son. Stanley. Oh, never mind. I'll try back later." He hung up the phone with a wry expression, but then noticed that Trapper standing there and brightened. "Hi, John. How is your patient?" "Doing nicely, thank you," Trapper said. "How's ER?" ( Stanley waved a hand at the nearly emptied corridor ) | |
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| Stanley emerged from his office just as word came back that the buses were arriving, still running the electric shaver over his cheeks as he closed the door behind him. He'd put on a tie, Gonzo noticed, as he fell into step alongside, pacing himself to Stanley's still awkward gait. "You shaved?" he asked. "A clean chin inspires confidence," Stanley said, quotation marks in his tone. He'd run a comb through his hair, too. "Mine mostly. I hate looking like a derelict." "You look fine, Stan," Gonzo reassured him. He offered the two packets he was carrying. "Triage or treatment?" "Triage," ( Stanley said, ) | |
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| Sirens. Sirens and an insistent knocking that broke up any chance of further sleep. Trapper opened his eyes and remembered where he was. Gonzo was emerging, rumple haired from his blankets and Stanley had pushed up onto one elbow. Trapper rolled out of the chair and went to unlock the door. "What is it?" he asked, querously. Jackpot was standing there. "I hate to say it, Trap, but we've got mass casualties coming in. One of the BART trains rear ended another train and the initial estimate is at least 200 people aboard both trains. They just yelled for every ambulance in the city." Trapper pulled a hand over his face to see if that would help him wake up. "Right. We're coming. Tell the operator to start paging extra lab techs, nurses, and orderlies, and get all the interns in." "Folder C in the emergency plan file top left hand drawer of my desk," Stanley said, flipping aside the blanket and sitting up. "There's a checklist to follow -- and remind security to get someone to start controlling the flow in the parking lot so the ambulances can get in." "Right." Jackpot disappeared from the doorway. Gonzo dropped down from the bunk and started to dig for a pair of clean pants. "Anybody know what time it is?" "Quarter of five," Trapper grunted, bending down to retrieve his shoes. "Ow!" Stanley said, and both Gonzo and Trapper turned to see him scowling at the IV feed. "Give me a hand with this, will you, John? I can't work with an IV dangling off one arm." ( Gonzo got there first. ) | |
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| There was half of a case of beer left in the box on the floor of the closet in Trapper's office, and two cold ones in his little frig. He had Jackpot put the IV bags and the rest of the paraphanalia in the empty half of the box, while he gave Ernie a call to let her know where they would be. In five minutes, they had gotten out to the Titanic with no more than a few glances from the reporters. Gloria opened the door at the knock. "I saw you coming," she said. "You aren't planning to have a party in here, are you?" "Camoflauge," Trapper said, as they clambered in. "How's Stanley?" "Out like a light," she said. She stood aside to let Trapper and Jackpot get a good look at the sleeping man. Trapper reached the bed first, but Jackpot watched over his shoulder as he turned back the covers to make a cursory inventory. " ( Could be worse... ) | |
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| In her Chicago hotel room EJ Riverside eyed the box of chocolates she had bought for her husband and decided to open it anyway. She tried to do it quietly. "Hello, Ernie. What's going on? I got an urgent message to call you, and then a message from Stanley, saying he's all right. Why would he call me to say he's all right if he's all right? What happened? Was he in an accident?" "No," Ernie said. "He wasn't in an accident. And he is safe now. Are you sitting down?" EJ tugged the top of the box free. "Safe? Safe from what?" Ernie took a deep breath. "Well, on Friday, as he was leaving work, Stanley was kidnapped." EJ dropped the phone and almost dropped the chocolates and it took her a few seconds to recover the receiver. Ernie was asking, "EJ? Are you there?" when she got the phone to her ear. "Yes. I just dropped the phone." ( EJ found a chocolate creme and held it like a talisman. ) | |
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| Gonzo had persuaded Stanley to drink about half the pitcherful by the time that the cops had finished taking them through both depositions for errors. He had finished the soup and rice as well, and his color was a little better, but Gonzo was glad when they were finally done and he could steer Stanley out toward the Titanic, which one of the cops had retrieved for him and parked in the station's parking lot. Stanley was trying to walk normally, but he wasn't succeeding very well. They got to the RV and Stanley leaned gratefully against it while Gonzo dug out his keys. "I never thought I'd be glad to see the Titanic," Stanley admitted, patting the aluminum siding. Gonzo got the door open. "I keep telling you it's the perfect living balance of living quarters and vehicle," he teased gently. "I never have to drive myself home. Can you manage the step? You look like you're sort of stiff." "Too much time in the same position," Stanley said, pulling himself up into the living space with a grunt of discomfort. Gonzo followed him inside and shut the door. Stanley had stopped in the living area to lean against the counter, and rub at the small of his back. "Oh, brother, am I sore. I'd give anything for a shower." "So take one," Gonzo said. "It's not like anyone's expecting us in the next five minutes. And I've got some sweats that would probably fit you." ( Stanley sagged a little at the thought. ) | |
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