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Grief Riddled
Sensations Lost
Tue Mar 14, 2006 22:23
12.210.110.222

Merry fukkin' Christmas.

Devon frowned, staring at Sonnet's prone form. Family had wanted him to be with them for the usual banquet, but he couldn't force himself to leave her side. Just couldn't, not yet. If his partner had been awake, maybe. He wasn't so much of a bastard as to leave Michael here alone, no matter the arguments they may carry on. Those had been surprisingly few as of late, and even more quiet and less heated with the room's new occupant.

He knew the firefighter in the other bed, from his rounds over the years in the city. The man was tougher than leather and harder than week old shit, and wouldn't let a 'few little burns' - as he put it - get in way of going back to work as soon as possible. Of course, he had also been suitably awed upon realizing who he was sharing a room with. Hell, was there not a city department that hadn't heard about Sonnet's misfortunes as of yet? Likely not, judging by the veritable jungle of plant life that had been installed in her room over the passing days.

Then it was his turn for sleep, even if he really didn't want to succumb to that never-ending darkness. Where he always saw Sonnet's prone form, screaming wordlessly as she was beaten. He always bolted awake after one of those nightmares, usually with a nurse tutting at his shouts, or a doctor looking at him worriedly. He didn't want or need their damned pity. If God was merciful, it would be him laying in that bed, not Sonnet!

Ironically, Devon never found himself angry that Lucy had escaped the beating with Sonnet's help. In fact, he was proud of the woman for doing such a thing. And while he lov... while he was fond of her, Luciana was family as well. Sonnet had done her job admirably, and that was something he could never fault her for. Managing to wipe the scowl from his features, Devon leaned down to brush the customary kiss across his partner's forehead, just like he always did when leaving the room. It didn't matter if he was simply heading down the hall, or leaving for a nap. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing her for the last time without doing so.

Hell, it had gotten to the point that once he did lay down, his shoes were always on, and he remained fully dressed, covered by a light knit hospital blanket. Occasionally a doctor or nurse was in their break room, but they never mentioned losing part of their personal space to a cop. Half the time, and he knew it happened for Michael as well, Devon found hot food waiting for him on the table when he woke up, or a fresh cup of coffee. Always with a little note along the lines of you need to eat more. And the infamous smiley face. He hadn't figured out which nurse was leaving all the notes just yet, but he swore he'd kiss her when he found out. It was the random acts of kindness that made the terrible silence radiating in Sonnet's room a little more bearable.

Of course, once his head hit the pillow, Devon was out like a light. The couch was only a little small for him, and he had become used to sleeping with a bent neck and feet sticking over the edge. God knew how Michael felt on this thing. The dreams that followed his uneasy slumber were of the usual variety. Except Sonnet would die, and Lucy was taken, or vice versa. It never ended well for the women, and he cringed in his sleep with every violent action. Blood and gore, screams and jeers, it all assailed his senses. But it was their pleading eyes that injured him the most, always haunting. He was ever thankful when the black would recede.

"... spoke my name. Looked at me. Knew who I was."

Devon began attempting to blink the sleep from his eyes, world tilted on its axis. How long had he been asleep? Then it hit him, really hit him, what Michael had said. One moment the blanket was flying, and then he was running down the hall after Sonnet's brother, glee dancing merrily through his veins. Sonnet was awake! Thank God! He knew she would be all right, everything would be okay, the bitch was too tough to let anything like this get her down. Shit, he could have done a merry little jig and dance right in the hallway with one of the oldest and grumpiest nurses right then, and not cared a whit when she would decide to beat his ass!

Code Blue, two-ten. Code Blue, two-ten.

The officer could feel an icy hand clutch at his chest, and his strides lengthened that much more in a futile effort to reach Sonnet's room faster. But the way was blocked by a number of nurses rushing in and out, orders shouted from every angle. He definitely wasn't familiar with everything they said - he was a cop, not a doctor - but what he could understand made his heart leap into his throat. It was painfully obvious that, regardless of all the equipment dedicated to keeping Sonnet alive, her body was going through a systematic failure. Devon was horrified to watch the machines tick off their own alarms as another vital system went down. Kidney, then lungs, and finally... heart.

"...Dev-" Oh God!

"Someone get those two clowns out of here NOW!"

Devon wanted to scream, shout at Sonnet that everything would be all right, she was fine. But his throat seized, and he couldn't even force his lips to form the syllables to his pleas. Yet there were so many people moving back and forth, trying to do something - anything - for Sonnet, that they went largely unnoticed for a few painfully long moments by the door.

"Get the crash cart."

Sending a silent prayer that she would be fine, Devon shuffled aside and out the door with Michael, so the cart could be rushed in. It was terrifying to watch Sonnet be intubated and bagged in the meantime, compressions painfully forced down on her chest cavity, oxygenated air working its way through her lungs with every squeeze of the bag. But the dreadful drone of the monitor continued, causing his hackles to rise.

"Clear!"

Devon's jaw clenched, forcing the scream that welled in his throat to become a small whimper as Sonnet's body lurched from the hospital bed. Her head lolled, the eyes lifeless as her chin tilted towards the door. She seemed to be mocking them with every electrified jolt of her body. He wanted them to do anything to make those eyes come back, to see her gaze twinkle in good mirth when a civilian decided to punch him again. He wanted to heard her laugh, hear her shout and scream at him because he walked in on her in the shower accidentally. Anything but that fukking incessant flatline!

"I'm calling time of death. Oh-nine hundred hours, eleven minutes." No. No no no! Devon could feel his features contort, eyes burning as he stared at the nurses. One even patted Sonnet's hand, as if to tell her that they did their best. Well their best wasn't fukking good enough, God damn it!

"I'm sorry, Mister Pierson. I... we've done all we can." No! Sell your souls, bargain with the Devil, anything to bring her back! He wanted to shout this, scream and wail until he was hoarse, but all he could do was grind his teeth. Their best wasn't good enough. It wasn't. They had no right to take Sonnet from them. From him! "I'll need to notify next of kin."

"I am next of kin." Devon barely heard the words, not even bothering to glance in Michael's direction. Instead, he had stepped into room two-ten, where the firefighter lay, staring dazedly at the ceiling. Carefully treading towards Sonnet's bed, Devon gingerly avoided tubes and wires in his trek, managing it to her side. Someone had already closed her eyes, and it almost looked as if she were sleeping. Just as she had since he refused to leave her side.

"I'm..." The voice that he had finally found was gruff, the tears hot coarsing down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Sonnet. I love you." Her skin was still so warm, and the illusion of her chest rising and falling in deep slumber seemed so real. Leaning down, Devon managed to place a gentle kiss upon Sonnet's lips. That was when he fully realized he could never do that again. One ragged sob ripped from his throat, soon to be followed by others as he clutched her face, wishing it was all a bad dream. Just a horrible nightmare. He could wake up, and she'd be in his arms, just like she had been before. One day wasn't enough for him, he wanted more, damn it! "I love you..."

How he even managed to navigate his way out of the room and down the hall to the nurses' station was beyond him. Devon stared blankly at Michael's back as the phone called proceeded. He wanted to scream at Sonnet's brother that he was wrong, she was still alive. But it would have been all a lie.

"Hi, Dad. It's Michael." The man's voice sounded strained; tight and watery. "Sonnet... She, uh... Sonnet died a few minutes ago." God, he couldn't cry, not now! Devon rushed through the door and into the break room, forcing deep breaths into his lungs, attempting to find that semblance of calm he had managed to maintain all this time. It was elusive, he barely managed to stop gasping raggedly for air. He didn't want to do this, didn't want to be here.

Drawing his cell phone out of a back pocket, Devon carefully navigated through the memory menu, barely able to read the small screen through his blurred gaze. Everything was a haze, it was just a bad dream...

"Isabel..." Devon's voice choked at the pivotal moment, and he forced himself to breathe. "Mom, she's gone. Sonnet died a few minutes ago."

The hours in between then and now had been utterly terrifying, and beyond terrible. There were scant few times in his life that Devon could remember feeling such grief; when grandfather died, and then mother. To say that tears had flowed would have been a terrible understatement; a veritable deluge of emotions assailed them all.

That hadn't been the worst of it. Devon had a duty as well, and forced himself to go to H.Q. and speak with the Chief. There had been a great deal of shouting and screaming upon his behalf. Things were thrown, and officers in the station gathered at the large bay window that allowed a prying eye to wander into the Chief's office. There were a great many obscenities to follow, before Devon threw open the door and stormed out. The place felt wrong, somehow.

Devon knew he shouldn't be driving, not in his state of mind, but he had still done so. In fact, his subconscious knew where he was going better than he did. Some time later, he found himself parked in front of Caleb and Lucy's home, staring through the windshield at absolutely nothing and everything. God, he could still smell her, and not the sickly sweet scent of illness and injury; the gentle clinging lilac that always tickled his nose and drew him closer to her, even when he never meant to get close. Burying his face in her hair, holding her warmly... He'd never feel it again.

Stumbling from the car, Devon staggered toward the front of the house. His appearance left something to be desired; from the unkempt hair and clothing that needed washing, to the three-day beard growth and bloodshot eyes. It all screamed at people passing by to be wary, and steer clear, though there was no one on the wide-expanse of the front porch. Leaning heavily on the doorbell, he listened to its chimes over and over again, refusing to remove his finger until someone answered the damned door.

When it opened, Devon could only stare at Lucy. It was funny, how he noticed that she wore a light pink blouse with no frills, and a pair of gray slacks, with her hair swept up. The small silver hoops dangling from her earlobes drew his attention for a few scant moments, before he could register the expression on her face. Consternation; she had to wonder why he was here, looking like shit. Then worry accompanied, before fully blossoming in her expressing brown eyes. He remembered thinking that they were liquid pools he could lose himself in. Now all he wanted were the bright blue eyes that teased him mercilessly.

In those quickly passing moments, he could feel himself losing grip on the small bit of control he had left in reserve. One moment Devon's features were blank, and the next they were contorted into grief and rage, the tears coming unbidden. A sob dropped from his gaping mouth as the tears fell, unable to stop. Lucy's comfort only made him cry that much harder.

"Shh..." Devon practically clutched Lucy to him, burying his face into the crook of her shoulder as his grief flowed freely. "Shh..."

  • Flights of AngelsCreation's Shadow, Tue Mar 14 20:05
    We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, and a happy New Year ... Manhattan General Hospital was an old building, it's original foundation dating to the mid eighteen-hundreds,... more
    • Sensations Lost — Grief Riddled, Tue Mar 14 22:23
      • CondolencesSniffles, Tue Mar 14 23:45
        They arrived in under an hour. Ms Isabel Marchand, Mrs Ben Adams and Hugh Pierson. None of the three looked healthy, Isabel especially had that waxy look Michael tended to associate with mannequins.... more
        • Shadows RisingOfficer Holmes, Thu Mar 16 23:15
          This was Hell. It had to be. Lucy's comfort only did a bit of good, his family feeling more the nuisance than anything else. Why she even allowed him to weep quietly into her shoulder was beyond him. ... more
          • In Memoriam, Pt 1Michael Pierson & Crew, Thu Mar 23 08:58
            Mom -- Housework is done and the trash is out. There's a pot roast in the fridge when you get hungry. Eat, please? Call me if you need anything. Love, Devon It was staring at him blatantly when he... more
            • In Memoriam, Pt 2Michael Pierson & Crew, Thu Mar 23 11:58
              Through many dangers, toils and snares I have already come. 'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, And grace will lead me home. Luciana Holmes’ voice gave a surreal sense of awe to the hymn,... more
              • Obligations and CommitmentsDevon Holmes, Sun Apr 9 23:23
                He wasn’t ready for this. “Sonnet was…” Devon paused, still feeling Lucy’s song wrap about him, swaddling his body in a comforting blanket. “The worst partner anyone could have asked for.” Only his... more
                • Final FarewellsVittorio Castelluccio & Company, Sun Apr 9 23:24
                  How the hell had it come to this? “Someone will be by shortly to retrieve your belongings, Signa Holmes,” Vittorio found himself murmuring into his cell phone. Matteo had extended his offer, via Vic, ... more
                  • Ordinary DaysLara Sorensen, Mon Apr 10 09:21
                    Standing on the edge of time Playing out a reckless pantomime And every day's another wrong to rectify I dream about a stranger's touch And voices in my head I cannot hush And every night's a hunger... more
                    • Rat-a-tat-tatBennet Holmes, Tue Apr 11 23:40
                      “Dad, do I have to do this?” “Damn it all, Bennett, yes!” Benny sighed, refusing to fidget while his father adjusted the previously perfectly good knot in his tie. Oh, he knew very well he was acting ... more
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