2010-02-14: A Good Day To Save Lives



Guest Starring:


Date: February 14, 2010


Valentine's Day brings Daphne some love.

"A Good Day to Save Lives"

Building 27 — Governor's Island

Nothing about a cell screams of friendliness, but this particular one has been insufferably silent. Ever since the departure of another agent days ago, there's been no one allowed in or out. The prisoner strapped down there has been left to stew in her the suffering of her own making. For a while, the time ticked by like eons piling together, then the hours became blurs of indistinguishable amounts where fanciful but terrifying images of night and violence combined with one gleaming moment of remembered happiness — one, brief, shining moment he was almost there — but then she woke up.

The last two days have been the worst, a development witnessed only by the scared speedster; her legs, untended and wrapped in grossly old bandages, have finally given way to the worse stages of infection. With watering eyes, Daphne can only assume that the delirium from the sickness is what caused her dreams of old happiness, and that something a bit more permanent will follow.

From what little mobility she has, she wiggles her fingers down to the edges of the slab she's been laid out on. The movement tickles the tube in her nose, what little good it's doing there, with no overpowering drugs to put her under. She inches her grip farther and farther down until she can't anymore and then shuffles those fingers to the side until she can feel it: the wound, her leg. It's still there. But for how long? And once it's gone… can she really face a life like the one she swore would never happen again? The bitter taste in her mouth says she can't.

And from down the hall a bubbly voice echoes against the concrete, " — I think you should be happy today Agent Morris! C'mon, just give me a smile!!" Unlike the clinical sound of heels against concrete, her steps themselves are silent. "It's a good day! It's a good day to save lives my friend! Believe me!" Dr. McCarty spins in a tight circle causing her white lab coat to spin around. "Ooooo so who's next Agent Morris? Where to?"

Agent Morris is a tall dark skinned man who says little. He says nothing about any of her comments about smiling or anything of the like. "Room ten… you know the way…" The tall agent steps ahead of the good doctor and begins to lead the way.

Janet follows for awhile before she sees a room she hasn't noticed before. Twitching with curiosity she pads over to the door and peers through the windowed glass. Her eyes widen largely. "Agent Morris! Agent Morris! This woman… in there, she needs medical attention, and she needs it now!!" Her tone is frantic as she bangs on the locked door panicked.

Agent Morris turns on his heel and pursues little Janet. "Room ten."

"NO! I swear Agent Morris, that woman needs attention and if you don't let me provide it I will report you and this operation to the World Health Organization and there will be hell to pay! Let me in. Now." She stares at him sternly. She may be little and young, but she is determined.

The Agent hesitates and then reaches for the keys at his belt and unlocks the door. And as he does so, Janet shoves her way in, "Get my bag from my office… the big one with the surgical supplies, her legs need stitching!"

Morris stares at her blankly and then sighs before he trudges off down the hallway.

"Hello ma'am. I'm Dr. McCarty and I'm here to help you," she says simply as she grabs Daphne's chart from the end of the bed.

It's been a bit too long since that door was fiddled with, and without the preparatory sound of those clicking heels, Daphne manages to blindly writhe her way through the doctor's entrance. Eyes flutter open at the sound of another voice, one that isn't a dream now, and she blinks through that damp around her cheeks. "What…" Her brain is feeling reluctant and sluggish, her forehead on fire with fever, but the moment she processes exactly what's being said— hell, who is she to disagree.

"The leg," she blurts out immediately, fingers still curling around the blood-soaked gauze that hides the blotchy red skin, the open pus-leaking wound. The thing is about as bad as it gets… if Janet had been a day later… "I can't lose it," the bleakly unaware speedster insists, not really caring if this is some new interrogation device. Bring it on.

"Of course," Janet nods quickly. As she touches Daphne's skin. "Dammit! CODE RED!" She turns towards the back wall and hits a button. "You're very sick and infection has set in — I don't know who your regular doctor is, but… I'm going to try to save your leg…"

Randomly, to no one around she yells, "What the hell is taking Morris so long?! EFFFFFF." She frowns as she jumps over to a drawer to the side of the room, loaded with medicines of various sorts. She opens a syringe and loads it with morphine and promptly injects it into the IV. Then she does the same with antibiotics.

"Ma'am, what happened to your leg… I need to know. I need to know so I can treat it correctly… when did it happen? Was it recent or… ages ago… nudiustertian in the figurative sense? Please. I need to know as much detail as possible." That said she snaps a pair of blue gloves over her fingers as Agent Morris returns with her bag.

"No talking to the prisoners, Dr. McCarty."

"Eff you. I'm assessing the situation. I need more staff. Get me a team and get them now… do it Morris."

This time the agent refuses and hangs in the doorway after placing the bag on the counter of drawers.

Laid out on the table, Daphne has little hope of keeping track of who or what this wild doctor is yelling at or about. Her eyes half closed, she tries to rile up the energy to care because this is about her legs. But she's been mired in hopelessness a bit long. "They shot me," she bleats out in 'duh' fashion. "You guys shot me. I'm not even…"

Morphine, blessed morphine. There's half a chance that the trailing silence that takes over the blonde woman is her falling asleep. She hasn't been pain-free for— The tight pull of her eyebrows shows signs of awareness. "Nude what?"

And then, a shadow of a horrible thought falls over her and she shudders against the restraints, knees bobbing inwards and toes faking real movement. Maybe it's the infection, or maybe the wound isn't the only thing affecting her. But her eyes snap to an intensity she hasn't reached in months when she tries to watch this new person across the room. Groggy but insistent, "Hey— hey, McCoy— did I say something? Is that what this is about? Did I… did something happen?"

"I swear to your Morris, if this woman dies, I will find a way to shoot you down myself and I've never used a gun so that's saying something! Go get me a team! Do it! The patient is clearly not able to explain anything to me! GO. GO NOW!" This time at the doctor's urging, the Agent sighs and disappears down't the hall. "Incompetent dolt," Janet murmurs as she busies herself with examining Daphne's leg. She takes a syringe and freezes the area, "I'm giving you a local anaesthetic. It should stop the pain for awhile particularly as I try to fix it…"

She clears her throat however at the question. "It's McCarty actually. Call me Doc. Just Doc. Everyone does. Annnnd… are you suggesting they refused treatment unless you answered their questions…" Now that's just wrong. Completely wrong in the eyes of the doctor. "I'm not supposed to be treating you right now, Miss. But I honour the hippocratic oath more than I fear the government's retribution. And I am a healer. I don't know what you did to get in here, but I will treat you to the fullest of my ability. Now… I need you to try to relax…" She removes the bloodied, useless gauze and frowns at the smell of infection; it's not good.

The localized flare-up of pain from the needle gets the monitors behind Daphne racing with her panicked heartbeat, but it only lasts a moment. "N-n-n-nnnn…" It's actually a good noise, as she relaxes in a way she hasn't been able to in too long. Modified *beep*s tell of a lower but not altogether safe-zone heart-rate; it isn't good to be on either side of extremes, and she's certainly not normal yet. Her fingers loosen a touch from their grip on the table, though her knuckles remain vaguely white around the edges. Doc's persistent talking is actually a bit soothing, and whatever the ailing blonde mutters in response is too low to be audible.

"Okay, I'm going too… " Janet stares at the wound. She can't see much at all. Quickly she cleans it with everything she's got at her disposal and her team still hasn't showed up. "Useless," she murmurs. "I'm sure I'm the only one around here who actually cares about my patients." As she cleans the wound her eyes widen. "NO ONE BOTHERED TO TAKE OUT THE BULLET!!! AHHHH!" Now she's outright pissed off. She was mad before, panicked even, now she's over the edge. "UNBELIEVABLE!!"

There's no team. No anaesthetic and no one to monitor the vitals to put Daphne fully under. With a deep breath, she pumps Daphne with more local before she goes to cut it out surgically. Infection is settling in around it. "You're going to feel some pressure. I'm fixing your leg… I promise…"

Some pressure? That could sound like a breeze compared to what the last few days have been like. But Daphne cringes yet as the poking and prodding picks up, messing with that which she seriously cares about. Her hands are now clenching and unclenching in rhythmic as she uses this to house most of her concentration. The tissue where Janet is working is infected now, but the truth is that it's never been healthy. During the process, her leg twitches a few times before bolting upwards, the knee bending but then falling inward again. A pained crease ruins Daphne's features as her hand slams down on the table as if to tell her leg to behave through intimidation. Above her eye also suffers a few spasms before she stills.

The bullet comes out easier than Janet expected and her gentle touch does wonders on Daphne's leg, even if it does hurt. In fact, within a good ten-twenty minutes she's stitching up her work. "I'm sorry… it's been left so long that it will scar… but with a little luck and a lot of care it should heal no problem." She nods emphatically at this. After finishing her stitching, she changes Daphne's dressings, applying fresh gauze. After doing this she removes the gloves and tosses them into the nearby disposal. "Ma'am are you with me? How are you feeling?" She reaches out to touch Daphne's skin again.

That was… Daphne takes several large breaths to force all the strain out of her face before she can roll her head to stare at this doctor who came out of nowhere! "No problem? Y-You're kidding me…" Don't get her wrong, she's relieved, it just all seems unreal. After a few more heaving moments to really sensitize herself to what's happened, she regards her odd savior. "I feel almost… normal." Tone falling; it's the most depressing thing she can think of after the pain.

"I'm sorry?" how is normalcy a bad thing? Oh well, Janet did her job and she did it better than the government would've let her. "I wasn't supposed to treat you. Your room isn't on my list, but I have words to mince with your doctor. It was sloppy work at best…" She presses her lips together as she tidies her work station. "Be glad you're keeping your legs. Any longer and it might not have happened." She sighs heavily as she reorganizes the bottles and syringes. "And I'm really not okay with someone on my watch losing their legs, regardless of your crimes," her tone is matter-of-fact as she finishes cleaning up her station and adjusting her turquoise coloured scrubs. "Are you feeling more comfortable?"

She could continue to be mulish about her own condition but a calmed Daphne takes the time to unhinge her right hand from its death-grip on the table and wiggle the fingers to her protector. "… Thanks. I hope they don't… you know, give you your own slab for this." A sour note, crimes, but even as her hands slide back self-consciously and her lips thin out, it's not one she can argue. Now that her legs are fine, she'll just be doing the time like everybody else. So is she comfortable? "… I'll live."

With a sigh of relief Janet nods, "Good. I'm glad. I'll be pushing to get put on your case as I'm familiar with the nature of your injuries. And I'm sure I'll be fine." And why wouldn't she be? She's doing her job! What they paid her for!! "I'll have a nurse check on your through the night. Someone really made an oversight with tha —" But Janet is interrupted midsentence by the entrance of the team.

" — Dr. McCarty. Time to go to Room Ten. They need their meds…" Morris growls drawing Janet out of the room.

With a frown and a measure of reluctance, Janet nods, "Fine. She's out of the woods now. No thanks to you people. I swear I will talk to my superiors about this. It's unacceptable what you let this woman live through — "

"Is it your job to talk to the prisoners?" Morris asks sternly.

She frowns, "No."

"Is it your job to object to their treatment plans?" He asks.

"No. BUT it is my job to save lives… and you and your carelessness brought her to the brink of death and I saved her… I'm going to room ten…" She trudges out the door begrudgingly before yelling, "MY SUPERIORS WILL BE HEARING ABOUT THIS!"

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