Dr. Sen and I burst into the hallway, keeping pace with the orderlies pushing the hospital bed. I removed what little remained of the PRT trooper's helmet and armour, exposing his wounds and lumping the remnants at the foot of the bed. Dr. Sen snapped instructions at another nurse to prep the OR and turned to question the other PRT trooper opposite the bed while she looked over our patient. "What happened?"
"He took the brunt of the explosion," the other trooper was explaining. "We launched a raid on the Boston Boys, but I think they were expecting us or something and — "
"Amy!" Dr. Sen said, cutting the trooper off and looking at me. "I count two gunshot wounds. Stomach and thigh." I nodded and moved to inspect the injuries — thigh first, in case the bullet had nicked an artery — and Dr. Sen turned back to the trooper woman. "What explosion? Was there debris?"
It took the woman a moment to realise Dr. Sen was talking to her. "They blew up the wall."
"Was there debris?"
"Oh, uh, yes, sorry," the trooper woman said. "The wall was made of concrete, and he got showered in it. Maybe some rebar and glass, too. He was right next to the wall when it went up."
Dr. Sen nodded as we turned into an operating room. She stopped before we entered and pulled the trooper woman aside. The orderlies took care of transferring the injured man to the table, and I began intubation while another pair of nurses stripped him, started cleaning his wounds, and connected him to the medical monitor.
"Any other injuries?" Dr. Sen asked, going through the hygiene preparation. "Did he engage with any parahumans?"
The trooper shook her head. "They blew the wall the minute the operation started, and Gordon spent the whole thing on the ground. If he was hit by anything else, I didn't see it."
"Thank you." The doctor slipped on a surgery mask and pointed to a chair. "You can wait there," she said, then joined the rest of us in the OR. But the trooper didn't sit. Instead, she stood by the window and watched.
* * *
Gordon Manning went into cardiac arrest halfway through surgery. The hospital's attempts to resuscitate failed, and Dr. Sen declared the patient dead at 6:03 P.M.
The duty of informing his family would be left to the PRT.
And thank god for that, I thought, peeling off my blood-stained gloves. I glanced over at Manning's colleague, currently being told the news by Dr. Sen. I didn't think that was really necessary, given that the woman had seen everything that happened in the OR through the window, but I suppose tradition carried a strong weight. I wondered idly if the trooper would have to pass along the news herself. I don't envy your job, lady.
The trooper nodded at something Dr. Sen said, and the doctor patted her armoured shoulder, then left. Slowly, the trooper sank into the chair by the wall — the first time she'd sat since I'd seen her. She didn't move as the other nurses and I cleaned ourselves up, and she didn't make a sound when an orderly came to move Manning's body. It was only after we had all left the room that I, the last person out, heard the woman cry.
* * *
The last two hours of my evening shift were not quite so exciting. I hooked a sleeping stabbing victim up to an IV and ran a few errands for the doctors, then spent the rest of my time fluffing pillows and making sure people were comfortable. Busywork, yes, but enough to keep my mind from drifting to unsavoury places.
The clock on the wall ding-dong'd at eight o'clock, and I wasted no time making my way to the changing rooms, waving to Sam and Joe — just starting their own evening shifts — as I passed. Then, with my scrubs thrown in the wash basket and my regular clothes once again adorning my body, I left.
The parking lot was foggy and cold, filled mostly with tents instead of cars, and most of the cars that were there were being used as shelter; Brockton Bay's population — though it wasn't really a bay anymore — had exceeded its housing capacity for years now, and working cars were expensive: more of a luxury than the necessities they once had been.
Golden Morning had hit all industries hard, but oil was ultimately less necessary and more difficult to produce than many other things, so the effort had not yet been put forward. What little fuel people had was either imported from off-world — and therefore, expensive enough that only bigger groups, like the union that ran my hospital, could afford it in any useful quantity — or made by parahumans — and therefore, probably belonging to one of the gangs.
I nodded at a few of the refugees gathered around a giant pot on a fire, filled with bubbling soup. They raised inquisitive eyebrows and gestured, inviting me to join, but I continued past them and onto the street, where my feet weaved a path around the shattered and broken areas without any conscious thought on my part. I'd walked this road a thousand times.
I pulled a cigarette from my pouch and lit it with a match, taking a long drag and releasing the smoke into the air with a dry chuckle. It said a lot about humanity that vices like cigarettes had been one of the first things the people of Bet had clamoured to resurrect. And alcohol, of course. Breweries and distilleries had been intensely profitable in those first few years. But then, that didn't really surprise me. Everyone needed their vices. I certainly did.
"Amy!" someone called.
I stopped and turned to see Emily Guzman hurrying down the street. I sighed. This again. "What?"
Emily stopped in front of me and laughed in between her panting breaths. "Are — shit, I should really start exercising more. You're goin' to the Tap, right?"
"Yes," I said, turning and starting down the street again.
Emily followed. "I thought so," she said. "You always do." Then she grinned and slid an arm around my shoulders, leaning in close to murmur in my ear. I felt her breasts press against my arm and tried to ignore them. "So is this the night you finally give in to my seductions? Let me take you home?"
I pushed her arm away. "No. I told you last time: I don't date coworkers."
"Yeah, but I'm not talking about dating. I'm talking about sex."
"Doesn't matter. The answer's still no."
Emily groaned dramatically, leaning her head back. "Playing hard-to-get is only hot to a certain point, y'know. My patience is not everlasting."
"Still no."
"Oh, hold on," Emily said, grinning again. "I see, I see. You're worried I'll ruin you for other girls, hmm? I can go easy with you, if you want."
"Never gonna happen, Emily."
"Aw, c'mon Ames, there's nothing — "
I stopped and snapped around to face her. "Don't call me that!"
Emily jumped. "Whu — what?"
"You called me Ames," I said, glaring. "Don't."
"Uh... okay," Emily said, looking down at her feet. She shifted. "Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, I just... Sorry."
"I don't care. Just don't call me that again." I turned and continued walking down the street. But my anger cooled as quickly as it had came, and I looked back to see Emily shuffling uneasily beneath the cold light of the street-lamps. Don't be a bitch, Ames. Throw a girl a bone. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Emily!"
She looked up.
"I'll see you on Thursday," I said.
She smiled. "See you on Thursday!" she agreed, then waved at me and ran off into the night.
I continued down the street.
* * *
The Tap was a reasonably large bar, about two blocks from the hospital and a ten minute walk from my apartment. It was also just across from the market square, so most days it saw little to no gang activity and lots of regular folk coming and going: travellers moving through town and stopping for a night of warmth and companionship; trading caravans popping in to pawn off their best liquors and steaks; and of course, the constant stream of refugees as other settlements collapsed, caught in the constant warmongering that Bet's warlords seemed to obsess over.
I liked it, and I don't like many things. It was quaint. Part of that may have been the endless flow of newcomers also making one-night-stands a little easier. But still, most nights I slept alone, so I had to like the place for more than the prospects.
I took a seat at the bar. Ken brought me my usual order, and I sipped it while I scanned the crowd. I dismissed the regulars, laughing and carousing at their tables, and searched for women I didn't recognise. The pickings weren't amazing tonight. A busty girl with pink and blue-dyed hair played darts with a lanky man by the bathrooms — maybe a couple, maybe not. It didn't matter: I wasn't going to insert myself to find out, no matter how hot she was.
An equally well-endowed blonde sat at a table, almost perfect. I longed to go and speak to her, to ask her name and hear her voice and invite her to share my bed. But she was smiling demurely and talking quietly with a young man who had his hand on her knee, and I knew I couldn't have her.
Ken brought me a second glass, and a third, before I settled on a brunette seated at the bar; alone, like me. Not blonde, and not my usual type, but she'd be pretty enough in the right light. I walked over to her and leaned against the bar. "Excuse me," I said. She looked at me and I smiled. "Can I buy you a drink?"
She stared at me for a long few seconds. Her eyes were red-rimmed, like she'd been crying recently. It probably says bad things about me that that made me more attracted to her. "Are you hitting on me?"
"Yes," I said.
She blinked in obvious disbelief, then laughed, and I felt my smile widen. "Okay," she said. "Sure, why not. First time for everything, right?" She held up a glass filled with something dark and swished it around. "Though I'm not done with this one yet."
I sat on the stool beside her. "Then I'll buy the next one," I said, and held out a hand. "I'm Amy."
She shook my hand, still smiling. "Taylor. It's a pleasure."
"Likewise. So..." I raised an eyebrow at her. "First time for everything?"
She gave me a sidelong glance and grinned. "Yeah. I've never been picked up at a bar before."
I grinned back. "Then I'll try to set a good baseline."
Taylor chuckled and sipped at her drink, looking at me curiously. "You were one of the nurses, weren't you?"
I froze. "What?"
"At the hospital. You were one of the nurses that tried to save Gordon. I thought I'd seen you before." She looked down at her glass and twisted it in her hands. "Thank you."
"Uh... don't thank me," I said, casting my memory back. "I was just doing my job. You... you're the other trooper?"
Taylor nodded. "Yeah."
I quieted, feeling uncomfortable. "Sorry for your loss," I said. Then I sat in silence for a moment, shifting in my seat. "Um. I — sorry, I shouldn't be trying to pick you up right now. I'll, uh, I'll leave you — "
"No," Taylor said, grabbing my hand as I stood to leave. She met my eyes. "If I wanted you to leave, I would've told you so. Besides — " She held up her drink, still half full. " — you said you'd buy me my next drink, and I'm still not done this one."
I looked at her, then sat down again. She didn't let go of my hand until I glanced down at it — though if she hadn't released me, I wouldn't have minded. I wasn't sure what else to say. The doctors usually dealt with the patients' families and loved ones, not me; I was just a nurse, and I wasn't even professionally trained like some of the others were.
"I didn't know him very well," Taylor said, looking down at her glass again. "Gordon, I mean. I'm — I'm pretty new. I only signed up a few months ago, finished training in May. Gordon had to teach our class on gun safety, `cos the regular guy was sick. He wasn't a great teacher. Bit of an asshole, really. But today..." She looked at me. "Did you hear what happened today? I think you were there when I told the doctor."
"Um... the Boston Boys, wasn't it?"
Taylor nodded. "They robbed a shipment from Soleica three days ago, just outside town. Medical supplies, I think. Like, needles and painkillers and stuff. It's not a very exciting story. My CO tells me we got a tip from a reputable source about where they were keeping the loot, but that they apparently had the back door rigged to explode when it was opened. Gordon swapped places with me before we started, `cos it was only my second mission and he said the rookies ought to be at the rear."
She looked away. "We didn't even get the shit back."
She lapsed into silence, and I didn't say anything to break it. All that came to mind was `sorry for your loss,' but I'd already said that. Besides, it was nothing but a platitude. And I hated platitudes. So I stayed quiet.
Taylor lifted her drink and downed the rest of it in one motion, leaving only ice. She planted the glass on the bar and wiped her mouth with one hand, then looked at me. "Now. We can order me a new drink and talk about something a little less depressing, or..." She leaned forward and laid a hand on mine. "We can find somewhere more private and skip the small stuff." She smiled. "It's up to you."
I narrowed my eyes and fought off a smile of my own. "Is that some sort of test?" I asked jokingly. "Trying to see if I'm interested in you or your body?"
"I don't think you're particularly interested in either," Taylor said. "But I don't mind. I could do with some stress relief, and I think maybe you could too."
I quieted again, appraising her and hoping I was adequately concealing my surprise. She'd read me like a book. "What if I pick the wrong answer?"
Taylor chuckled, spinning her empty glass in her fingers. "There is no wrong answer, Amy."
"Oh?" I said, raising an eyebrow. "And what if I said I wanted to sit here and talk? Would that take sex off the table?"
"Of course not," she laughed. "They're not mutually exclusive. The order doesn't matter as much as people would like it to. And if I get my way, we'll do both."
I pursed my lips, thinking about what she'd said. I glanced down at her hand on mine and ran a thumb along her fingers. It almost felt like she was picking me up. That was unusual.
My eyes moved up her arms. There was more muscle there than I'd expected. She probably could pick me up, physically speaking. That could be fun.
Taylor trapped my thumb with hers and smiled at me. "So? Which are we gonna do first?"
* * *
I unlocked the door to my apartment and led Taylor inside. Leaving my shoes by the entrance, I walked to the kitchenette, which was maybe a half-dozen strides from the door. My apartment wasn't very big.
"Welcome to my humble abode," I said, spreading my arms and gesturing about me. I grabbed a pair of cups from the cupboard and put them on my tiny, tiny, kitchen counter. "It's not much, I know, but nurses didn't make great money even before Golden Morning. I can't afford much more than this."
