2007-10-31: Desperate Measures


Elena_icon.gif Jack_icon.gif Rook_icon.gif

Summary: Elena is driven to her apartment by her father to grab a few more items for her prolonged quarantine in the mansion. Jack busts in on her shortly after, carrying a wounded Rook.

Date It Happened: October 31st, 2007

Desperate Measures

Elena's Apartment, East Centennial Apartments Building, New York City

The early morning of the 31st has left her rather exhausted. But having snuck out of bed and leaving a note for Peter to let him know she was picking up more clothes from her apartment. She can't just keep wearing the same things over and over after all. Her father, of course, was willing to pick her up, having driven from their country home to the Petrelli mansion, so he could drop her off at the complex with instructions to call him should she need pick up. So when Elena opens the door to her apartment, it was empty, cold since she kept the heat off, and empty. Pictures of herself, Nadia, and friends were everywhere, and it's the sight of these that makes her heart a little heavy. Why she was so reluctant to come back.

With a quiet sigh, she takes her duffel bag and moves to her room, so she could grab some clothes. She wanted to come back early enough before seeing Peter off to Bat Country Labs because Cass had asked him to come. So out come a pair of jeans, a few tank tops, a sweatshirt or two…and underwear, of course. She should do another Victoria's Secret run when she got better.

Clothing piles are stacked neatly in her bedroom for packing, and then she wanders out again so she could rifle through the mail she had brought in.

Swerve. Fishtail. Squeal tires. Run red light. Repeat. This is how Jack gets his stolen van from the warehouse he just robbed to Elena's apartment. She might only be a med student, but that puts her head and shoulders above his medical knowledge. Hopefully, she'll be able to tell if he'll have to risk taking his comrade Rook to the emergency room. His friend. His friend that he shot on accident.

Stress-induced sweat is beading at his brow and upper lip, his teeth are gritted, and he's swearing. "Shit. Shitshitshit. Hold on, Rookie. We're here."

CRASH. Unable to break fast enough, Jack plows the van through a fence and someone's charcoal grill before it comes to a halt. In a matter of seconds, he has Rook cradled in his arms and is bolting up to his niece's apartment. He doesn't stop at the entryway. He doesn't even slow down. He just shoulders straight through the door.

"Avon Calling!"

That's Rook. Still trying to keep a smile on his face. Though he looks like he's seen better days. Especially with the loss of blood that's happened. He stops in his smiling to actually cough up a bit more of the nasty life fluid that he holds so near and dear to his heart. Literally. He's practically dead weight in the arms of the strong and capable Jack. Which is always a good pair of arms to be in during dire and stressful situations like this.

No Homo.

When the door bursts open, Elena, who looks very much like an exteriminator at present, with the face mask, and the latex gloves, looks startled. She had been careful to dress not only for the weather outside, but to prevent from contact with her bare, physical self. She was wearing a long sleeved shirt under a hoodie with her hood pulled over her head, a pair of jeans, and boots. She's about to scream, but she recognizes Jack….Jack with someone cradled in his arms. "…J…Jack! What are you— oh my god! Who is that?" she cries, a little flabbergasted. She moves quickly to close the door shut, before anyone sees the commotion.

Jack's upper lip curls into a snarl at Rook's flippant words. "Shut up!" he barks. "Jesus, can't you ever take anything seriously?" And then he actually shakes the injured man. "You and your video games and your stupid Star Wars mask. You're going to get yourself killed!" By the end of his rant it's not clear exactly who Jack's frustrated with, but it's not all Rook.

Shaking his head, the Irishman staggers into the kitchen and uses his elbow to shove enough crap off of the counters so he can lay out his injured man. "His name's Rook," he answers shortly. "He's one of my crew, and it so happens he's got a big hole in his guts. Can you fix him?"

"Oh god….what the hell were you guys doing?" Elena says, her shock keeping her voice a little squeak. She also gives Jack a significant look - the fact that she was sick might hurt the person he brought in even more. But at all the blood seeping into Nadia's couch… "It depends on whether he got hit anywhere important. Put him on— okay." Her nuncle had placed the man on the counter, and she moves over to go grab first, the First Aid kit, and second, the Manny kit. She never thought in her entire life that she would be grateful for having been the older sister of a now ex-gang member who got shot at on occasion. She yanks both of these out of the bathroom, and moves quickly to where both men are. She yanks out a bottle of alcohol and tosses it at Jack. "Wash your hands with that, I might need your help," she tells him. In case they need to hold Rook down. She'd put him to sleep, bleed off his shock, but the damned virus was leeching off her powers too.

Rook is lost. He's no longer listening to Jack. Because of the delicious sight before his sore eyes. And they are quite sore, that's for damn sure. He blinks a little more and has to even tilt his head to remind himself that he's not lost in some kind of dream state. Maybe he's already died and gone to heaven. Maybe not. Either way, he's gawking (as much as a dying man can) at Elena.

"Please tell me you come in packages of five…" are Rook's first words to the person that's probably going to get him all fixed up. Not that he even feels the pain any more. Nope. Gawking.

"Blood's not black, so I know he's not hit in the liver or kidneys," Jack replies with clinical detachment. "If it hit his heart he'd be dead by now. Besides, it's too low. HEY—" he catches the bottle of alcohol, cracks it open, and splashes some on Rook's torso to rinse the wound. Painfully. "That's my niece, dick. Mind your manners. So, where was I? Right, heart. He'd be dead. No odor, so it's not stomach or intestines. And no whistling, so no lung damage." As he runs down the checklist, Jack pours more alcohol over his hands and rubs them together briskly. "What do you think?"

Conveniently, Jack forgets to answer any questions about exactly how Rook got injured.

CONVENIENTLY, yes. But at Jack's assessment of the situation, Elena nods and looks at him. He was pretty right about that. The first sign of black blood meant exactly twenty minutes to live, minus just how much time it took for them to get from the place Rook got shot, to her place, where she would've sent them both to the hospital where surgeons could deal with it. Elena is no surgeon. The best she can do is stitch someone up. "Here…" She takes a step near Jack, dragging a pair of scissors and leaning over so she could cut Rook's shirt open so the cloth doesn't have to get in the way of what she's about to do. This was dangerous. She knows it….but she has to check. She grabs a large magnifying glass from one of the bookshelves, a novelty item that Nadia keeps around the house, and she uses that to inspect the wound. "My name's Elena," she says, giving Rook a reassuring smile. "Just hold still, okay? Jack if he flails, hold him down?" She then starts to peer into the glass carefully.

She makes a quick call. "He's not going to die, but he is in shock."

She tries accessing her powers to try and do it the easy way, and fails. She shakes her head. "We need to do this quickly," she tells Jack, rifling around and finding a scalpel from the Manny kit. "I don't have a way to anesthesize him either. What's your name?" she asks, trying to keep Rook alert, lucid. Anything else, and he might succumb to the shock, so she pulls her mask down for the man to have something to focus on. "How long have you known Jack? Just…keep talking, okay? Try not to close your eyes."

Wincing from the burning alcohol of doom, Rook has to stop himself from glaring over at Jack. But then his nurse tells him her name and he gets all warm and fuzzy inside. Wait, that could be the fact that he's SHOT. Either way, he's smiling at her, weakly and trying to keep his eyes open. He's been shot before… many times. And every time he knows he has to keep his eyes open. It's his focus, his drive, his mantra.

But now that Elena has told him to talk, well, this may not end pretty. Rook LOVES to talk. "Well, my name's Rook. I enjoy long walks on the beach, sex, action movies, sex, girls that look like you, sex with girls that look like you, you and quite possibly Pamela Anderson in her younger days. My dislikes are if you're going to tell me you have a boyfriend, snakes, Jack's underarm odor and Benadryl." What in the hell is Rook even talking about? He doesn't even know. "You see, there's something you should know about me. And that's my life. Which I'm hoping not to lose right now. I'll tell you how I came to be." He can't believe he's doing this. Dying. Slowly.

"It all started when I was a twinkle in my father's eye…"

"Here. I have something." Grimly, Jack digs one of his pen injectors from an inside pocket and pulls the safety cap off with his teeth. "There's morphine and epinephrine in here," he explains to Elena after spitting it out. "That ought to see him through, and hopefully it'll shut him up. Rookie, you're going to feel this. And if you don't close your fucking hole, I'm going to bite your fingers off." Without further ado, Jack jabs the injector into Rook's thigh and thumbs the plunger down all the way. "There. Ask him all the questions you want. Just don't ask him about me."

"…" What. Elena can't help but ah-heh rather sheepishly, and then looks at Jack. "Yeah, he's in shock. He thinks he's dying but he's really not. The wound's just bloody. He needs to breathe normally." She watches Rook's face as he talks, reaching out with gloved hands to touch his face and tilt it up just slightly. "…and he's bleeding from the mouth because he bit his tongue from the pain. He'll be alright… a little weak from what he's lost, but he'll be okay." Turning the conversation to Rook, she nods. "You'll be okay, Rook. I just need to give you something to make you a little more comfortable. Just try to relax and not move so much." If the man was part of Jack's crew? This probably wasn't his first rodeo.

"Jack, I need your help," Elena murmurs. She takes out a pair of tongs, plucks a cotton swab between, and hands it to him. "I need you to swab for me." She takes the scalpel and poises it over the wound. "We need to get all of it out in one go." She administers the morphine first, but she shakes her head at the epinephrine, giving him a look. She knows what it's for, and she knows who needs it more. But once the morphine takes effect in an area close to the wound, where it will spread, she makes a small incision on it, and looks for the clamps.

"Oh look. Rainbows…"

Gone. Rook is goner than N*Sync without Lance Bass. Lost in the land of La La, the mouthy bastard with a smile that can do things, is starting to lose focus. But he's also not moving, which is a good thing because there's a scalpel present. His eyes, though, are watching the invisible creatures on the ceiling do their damn thing while the people down on earth with him do theirs. He kind of feels the need to let them know he's coming along fine, so he comes up with this bad joke. "Don't… don't touch the sides…" Operation reference?! Really?

Though he's a barely passable medic, Jack has watched enough TV and treated enough of his own wounds to know what Elena's looking for. He trades her the clamps for the tongs and swab and sets about cleaning the wound. "Hear that, sport? You're going to be fine. Just stay calm, and stay still."

"I won't," Elena tells Rook reassuringly, though she casts a questioning glance at Jack. Taking the clamps, she slips it within the wound, taking advantage of the cut that she had inflicted on it so they could fit into his body a little better. Thank goodness for the morphine, because this would've hurt like a bastard without it. She slowly spreads the wound with the clamps, and pushes it in further around the bullet that she sees thanks to the magnifying glass in her hand. More blood pours out, for Jack to swab so she could get a clear view of it. It's slow, and painful, but the wound is deep - accounting for the blood, but thankfully it hasn't penetrated any organs. And deeper bullets meant the higher the risk of bullet fragments getting left behind and turn toxic if she's not careful.

Finally, she grabs the clamps, and keeps a firm, tight grip on them. With a deep breath, she yanks the bullet out in a smooth motion, more blood pouring from the now open wound - but the metal is gone. It looks like all of it. The bloody tongs and the bullet and the scalpel are dropped in a glass full of alcohol. "We got it, Rook," she tells the patient. "You're doing fine, just keep ….not doing anything."

She'll wait for Jack to swab some more, before she moves to start closing up the wound.

"Sport? I like sports. Cricket's lame so don't play that. Um…" And he's losing his train of thought because it's almost time for him to pass out. He's fighting to stay conscious, in case he still has. "Don't uh… trash." He's mumbling, mostly because he's surrounded by strange things in his mind. However, he has to admit that if getting shot is going to allow him to see her… that's going to be a very interesting: How Many Times Do I Get Myself Shot, the game. "Want it…" And for some odd reason, he wants the bullet. Gross.

Jack grimaces, but it's a sentiment he understands. He swaps his sodden swab out for a fresh one, which he first uses to wipe off the bullet. When it's clean he hands the deformed slug to Rook and goes back to his sponging and sterilizing. "Elena, there's an awful lot of his blood on the outside of him," he observes. "Should I… I dunno. Go get him some more?"

She changes gloves, dumping the bloodied latex objects in the trash and slaps on a pair of new ones. With what Jack says, she nods. "Yeah," Elena says softly. "We'll hook him up here, but we have to move him someplace comfortable first." When she looks over at Jack, the worry in her eyes is unmistakeable. The unspoken question was there too. What were you doing? And his friend…his friend needed help. He was in no condition to go anywhere. "We can…have him….take Nadia's bed," she says softly. Nadia would've helped. She would've offered. She wasn't coming back. She'll clean the counter later. "Make sure you get Type O. We don't know what his blood type is, but Type O will take no matter what he's got." But they have to move him first. She'll let Jack handle that, he was MUCH bigger and stronger than her. Before that can happen, however, she'll have to stitch him up. Which she does.

Rook is gone. He's a little too far gone to really understand what's happening or what's happened and then some. He's practically lost his mind as well as a lot of blood. But since everything is all good on the front of his chest being all stitched up and the bullet being gone, well, there doesn't seem to be anything left for him to stay awake for. As he starts to drift off, eyes closing one after another, he finds the energy to say something to the effect, "Please don't be a dream." to Elena…

When someone's unconscious, they feel lighter. Something to do with slackness of muscles and lack of resistance in the joints. It's an easy task for Jack to pick Rook up again and move him toward Nadia's bedroom. "Feels like I've been hauling your sorry ass around all night," he complains good naturedly now that his crewman has passed out. "Though I guess I do sort of owe you one. My bad for shooting you, seriously." He pauses and glances at Elena. "Hey. After I put him down, can you take a look at my ass?"

"I'm not, I promise," Elena replies to Rook kindly when he finally drifts off to sleep. Following Jack to Nadia's bedroom, she keeps with the instructions. "He needs to keep warm, and he needs to be monitored…I'll stay with him while you get the blood. We'll need some tubing too, and a needle." She jerks the covers off the bed, so Jack can lie his buddy down on the sheets. She can't help but look worried still, and tired, but the face mask is yanked back on her face. "He got lucky, Jack. I don't know what you guys've been doing…" She gives her nuncle a look. "I didn't even know you had a crew still." She thought Jack had left that behind a while ago, when this all 'save the world' thing started. What happened? Was it connected to why he had vanished for weeks?

"Okay. I know it's going to be hard, but try not to look at my penis," Jack orders sternly. Then, as requested, he loosens his belt and drops trou', exposing the savage dog bite on his rear. Muttering, blushing, pants around his ankles, he climbs awkwardly onto the coffee table and stretches out face down. "Gah. This should really be our little secret."

"If you think I'm going to be telling anybody about this, you've got me pegged for another gal," Elena tells him dryly, and she groans inwardly when she sees him from behind. "Now bend over." Oh, christ. She waits for him to get on the coffee table on his front, and then she changes gloves again. She was going through her box of latex gloves like toilet paper at this rate. But she moves over, armed with the medical kit she had left in the kitchen, and peers at the dog bite. "….I'd recommend you getting a rabies vaccine too just in case," she tells him, wrinkling her nose at what he sees. "And…this is going to be cold." She swabs the wound gently with alcohol. "I know…you're not big on telling the women in your life what sort of shenanigans you've been up to, but one of these days you're going to have to tell me so I'll be prepared just in case. Have you talked to Trina yet?"

"OOH! Oooh. Ahhhhh," Jack whines, squirms, wiggles, and in general acts like a small boy when the alcohol makes contact. "That hurts more than when I bloody got bitten! Devil woman! Strumpet! Lady of the eeeeeeeeve…" he trails off when the swab breaks contact. "Oh God, Scrappy. I'm sorry. I didn't mean— BITCH. DIRTY BITCH. /SHITSANDWICH/. Fuck me, are you almost done?"

She helps with that by grabbing a nearby pillow and shoving it at her nuncle's face, so he could bury his head in it and whine as much as he wants, or bite onto it in case the pain gets too much. And the noises, the groaning, what he's saying. The neighbors are going to hate her. It's bad enough coming from Peter's apartment. "Jack!" Elena cries. "That sounds a LITTLE SUSPICIOUS willyoustopit?" And once the blood is cleaned off, it looks like the wound is clotting just fine, so she just applies more antiseptic and tapes some gauze over it to keep the wound clean. "There," she groans. "You can get dressed now." And she turns away. So she doesn't have to see anything. Lachlan was bad enough.

Gratefully, Jack buries his face in the pillow and continues swearing, albeit a little more quietly. "Balls. Balls and damn. Titties and bitches. Are you done? Good. Thank God that's over. No wonder you girls are so nervous about guys trying to use the emergency exit. Stay turned around, I don't want you to see me with my privates all a-dangle." He slides off of the table, tucks himself away, and buttons up. "'Kay. The convict is back in his cell."

"That's not really a pro— nevermind I'm so not opening the door for that sort of discussion with my own nuncle." Elena could kill pain after all, if the state of her powers is normal. Since it's not… when Jack gives her the clear, she turns around to give him a look. Standing up from her seated position on the floor, she moves to start cleaning up. "….did you drive here with a dog bite on your ass?" she wonders out loud. "…oh god you didn't crash into anything, did you?"

Jack winces as he recollects the series of stop signs, mailboxes, and trash cans he hit on the way over, not to mention the fence and the grill downstairs.

"Only a little," he replies reluctantly. "No big deal. Besides, I crash better than anyone I've ever met. Look, I should probably go scrounge up those medical supplies. You think of anything else you need, just call me."

"Some antibiotics too," Elena tells him. "For yourself and your friend, especially, just in case. We kept him pretty sterile but I don't want to take any chances. Intraveneous if you can, but if you're stuck, pills should work." She moves over, pausing from her cleaning for just a moment so she could open the door for her nuncle. "And please be careful this time," she tells him.

Jack pauses in the hallway. He doesn't look back, but he hunches his shoulders and bows his head slightly. "Thank you," he whispers. "For everything."

Then he turns the corner and he's gone.

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