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intheheartTitle: Part Five
Rating: PG-13 for swearing.
Summary: In which Danny's advice is more useful than she probably ever suspected.
Date: December 29th, 2028
Notes: none
"This one time in boot camp," Danny said, "we were in weapons training, learning to put together weapons, take them apart, you know. Couple of the guys were slow getting their M9s together. I mean consistently slow, not just having an off day. Finally the officer in charge came over to them and just screamed at them, I mean really let loose. Told them that their shipmates' lives would depend on this one day. And the one guy-- man, he took so much shit for this, but I'll never forget what he said-- he just up and says, "Sir, if someone attacks my shipmate, I will not stop to assemble my weapon. I will pick up anything to hand and beat the fucker to death with it. Sir.""
She sipped her coffee, shook her head, eyes somewhere distant. "I still can't believe he had the balls to say that, but you know, he was right. Even the officer admitted it, eventually." She blinked, looked down at Summer tucked in beside her, and half-smiled. "And you didn't hear 'fucker' from me, kiddo."
--
She was halfway to the door when the first shot went off. Summer ducked instinctively, her arms flying up to cover her head, and stumbled backwards. Someone yanked hard on the back of her jacket; she fell backwards and found herself behind the desk with the receptionist.
"I'm calling Central," the receptionist told her as she dialed-- Summer couldn't remember her name, and wasted a few frantic, irrational seconds trying. "They'll come. They'll come, right?" Her whisper took on the shrill, hysterical quality of a scream.
Summer could feel hysterics rising up herself, but she swallowed them down hard and put her hands over her ears. She could still hear the shots and the receptionist's high voice hissing at her phone, but they were muted now, more distant.
Out. They had to get out, all three of them, because Officer Ryan must still be here or else Dacre would be shooting at her. She didn't think they had time to wait for Central to respond. Officer Ryan must be doing his best, but...
But he was unarmed, and he was only one man, and Dacre wanted them all dead.
The receptionist was grabbing at her sleeve, babbling something about police and backup and five minutes. Summer ignored her, scanning the area.
The chair was too big and too heavy, the computer too little-- she squashed a spurt of nostalgia for the desktops of her childhood and their nice, big, swingable keyboards. A thrown file might distract Dacre, but it would also draw his attention to her and the receptionist. It hurt to get hit by a stapler, but it wouldn't hurt enough.
Then she saw it.
--
Zack had no fucking clue what he was going to do.
He couldn't keep dodging bullets for too long, and sooner or later the asshole was going to remember that Zack wasn't the one he'd been originally holding at gunpoint and go looking for Dr. Kendall. Zack hoped to God that she was long gone by now, but the poor receptionist was still in the line of fire.
Serve and protect. Fuck, he wished he had his gun.
Okay. Okay. He had to take out the gunman. He had absolutely nothing to take the gunman out with, unless he somehow got down into the labs, which was looking unlikely since the bastard was standing right in front of the stairs. So he was left with his bare hands and the half-remembered karate lessons he'd taken until his dad had stopped paying for them.
Bet he'll regret that when I get killed, he thought, darkly.
Okay. No more of that. Heave over the chairs, hope that distracted the gunman long enough to take him out at the knees. If he had to get shot, he would try to get shot somewhere non-vital, although of course not getting shot would always be preferable.
Zack gritted his teeth and risked a quick glance around the line of wooden chairs, to get the gunman's position. And saw, with a sudden wash of fear, Dr. Kendall rising from behind the receptionist's desk, her face set and her knuckles white on-- was that a yardstick?
Fuck. What the fuck was she still doing here?
No time to wonder; she was going to get herself killed unless he caused a distraction. He put his shoulder under the chair he sheltered behind and heaved it with all his strength at the gunman.
The man ducked sideways, closer to the desk. Dr. Kendall swung the yardstick with all her strength and cracked him a solid wallop across the wrist, so hard that the yardstick broke in half. The gun went flying-- Zack dove for it, and came up with it just in time to see the man run, cursing, out the front door as sirens rose in the distance.
--
Summer looked at the half of the yardstick that she still held, and felt the breakdown coming.
Her hands were starting to shake, she observed. In fact, all of her was starting to shake. Her knees were wobbling, her wrists trembling. If she didn't sit down soon, she was going to fall down.
He could have shot her any time. He could have shot her and no one would have known what had happened to her.
Don't think about that. Think about something else.
The lobby was a mess. Chairs thrown everywhere, wood splinters scattered across the floor, bullet holes in the wall. Officer Ryan, limping past her to help the receptionist up, looked rather more tattered than he had when he'd walked in, if unhurt. They were all unhurt, all three of them.
Summer dropped the shattered half of yardstick she held, felt her hands ache as they uncurled. There were angry red lines in her palm where she'd clutched to the yardstick; she stared at them as if she hadn't seen anything like it before.
People were coming up the stairs from the morgue. Other MEs, assistants. One uniformed cop burst through the sea of people at a dead run, gun in hand, eyes searching for the assailant. She must, Summer thought, have come from the other end of the morgue entirely, and realized then that the shooting hadn't taken very long at all. Maybe two minutes from Officer Ryan grabbing her wrist.
Two minutes. Two minutes and three people could have died. Including her.
Don't think about that!
"Dr. Kendall?" She looked up, met Officer Ryan's concerned expression. "Are you all right?"
"I have to get out," she blurted, and put her hands over her ears again. People were starting to shout outside. If one person shouted at her she was going to start to cry. "Oh, please, I have to get out!"
"You can't," he said, but not without sympathy. "You need to give a statement, you need..."
She was already shaking her head, all of her was shaking, oh, God, she was going to fall apart. People flooding into the room, people shouting, the receptionist sobbing convulsively and she could still hear the gunshots, she could still hear... "I can give it to you, please, can't I? Oh, please, please, I have to get away from here!"
There was a very strange expression on his face just then, one she couldn't even begin to interpret in the state she was in. It looked like pity but not... she squeezed her eyes closed. She was going to shake to pieces in a moment.
"Hang on," Officer Ryan said suddenly, and touched her elbow. "Hang on. I'll be right back."
--
"Remember this," Danny said, expression serious. "I know your mom said that you shouldn't try and hurt other people, and that's usually true. But if you're ever in trouble, or someone else is in trouble, and you think they or you might get hurt, it is absolutely okay to hurt the person who's going to do it.
"If someone's in danger, Summer, the rules go out the window."
Rating: PG-13 for swearing.
Summary: In which Danny's advice is more useful than she probably ever suspected.
Date: December 29th, 2028
Notes: none
"This one time in boot camp," Danny said, "we were in weapons training, learning to put together weapons, take them apart, you know. Couple of the guys were slow getting their M9s together. I mean consistently slow, not just having an off day. Finally the officer in charge came over to them and just screamed at them, I mean really let loose. Told them that their shipmates' lives would depend on this one day. And the one guy-- man, he took so much shit for this, but I'll never forget what he said-- he just up and says, "Sir, if someone attacks my shipmate, I will not stop to assemble my weapon. I will pick up anything to hand and beat the fucker to death with it. Sir.""
She sipped her coffee, shook her head, eyes somewhere distant. "I still can't believe he had the balls to say that, but you know, he was right. Even the officer admitted it, eventually." She blinked, looked down at Summer tucked in beside her, and half-smiled. "And you didn't hear 'fucker' from me, kiddo."
--
She was halfway to the door when the first shot went off. Summer ducked instinctively, her arms flying up to cover her head, and stumbled backwards. Someone yanked hard on the back of her jacket; she fell backwards and found herself behind the desk with the receptionist.
"I'm calling Central," the receptionist told her as she dialed-- Summer couldn't remember her name, and wasted a few frantic, irrational seconds trying. "They'll come. They'll come, right?" Her whisper took on the shrill, hysterical quality of a scream.
Summer could feel hysterics rising up herself, but she swallowed them down hard and put her hands over her ears. She could still hear the shots and the receptionist's high voice hissing at her phone, but they were muted now, more distant.
Out. They had to get out, all three of them, because Officer Ryan must still be here or else Dacre would be shooting at her. She didn't think they had time to wait for Central to respond. Officer Ryan must be doing his best, but...
But he was unarmed, and he was only one man, and Dacre wanted them all dead.
The receptionist was grabbing at her sleeve, babbling something about police and backup and five minutes. Summer ignored her, scanning the area.
The chair was too big and too heavy, the computer too little-- she squashed a spurt of nostalgia for the desktops of her childhood and their nice, big, swingable keyboards. A thrown file might distract Dacre, but it would also draw his attention to her and the receptionist. It hurt to get hit by a stapler, but it wouldn't hurt enough.
Then she saw it.
--
Zack had no fucking clue what he was going to do.
He couldn't keep dodging bullets for too long, and sooner or later the asshole was going to remember that Zack wasn't the one he'd been originally holding at gunpoint and go looking for Dr. Kendall. Zack hoped to God that she was long gone by now, but the poor receptionist was still in the line of fire.
Serve and protect. Fuck, he wished he had his gun.
Okay. Okay. He had to take out the gunman. He had absolutely nothing to take the gunman out with, unless he somehow got down into the labs, which was looking unlikely since the bastard was standing right in front of the stairs. So he was left with his bare hands and the half-remembered karate lessons he'd taken until his dad had stopped paying for them.
Bet he'll regret that when I get killed, he thought, darkly.
Okay. No more of that. Heave over the chairs, hope that distracted the gunman long enough to take him out at the knees. If he had to get shot, he would try to get shot somewhere non-vital, although of course not getting shot would always be preferable.
Zack gritted his teeth and risked a quick glance around the line of wooden chairs, to get the gunman's position. And saw, with a sudden wash of fear, Dr. Kendall rising from behind the receptionist's desk, her face set and her knuckles white on-- was that a yardstick?
Fuck. What the fuck was she still doing here?
No time to wonder; she was going to get herself killed unless he caused a distraction. He put his shoulder under the chair he sheltered behind and heaved it with all his strength at the gunman.
The man ducked sideways, closer to the desk. Dr. Kendall swung the yardstick with all her strength and cracked him a solid wallop across the wrist, so hard that the yardstick broke in half. The gun went flying-- Zack dove for it, and came up with it just in time to see the man run, cursing, out the front door as sirens rose in the distance.
--
Summer looked at the half of the yardstick that she still held, and felt the breakdown coming.
Her hands were starting to shake, she observed. In fact, all of her was starting to shake. Her knees were wobbling, her wrists trembling. If she didn't sit down soon, she was going to fall down.
He could have shot her any time. He could have shot her and no one would have known what had happened to her.
Don't think about that. Think about something else.
The lobby was a mess. Chairs thrown everywhere, wood splinters scattered across the floor, bullet holes in the wall. Officer Ryan, limping past her to help the receptionist up, looked rather more tattered than he had when he'd walked in, if unhurt. They were all unhurt, all three of them.
Summer dropped the shattered half of yardstick she held, felt her hands ache as they uncurled. There were angry red lines in her palm where she'd clutched to the yardstick; she stared at them as if she hadn't seen anything like it before.
People were coming up the stairs from the morgue. Other MEs, assistants. One uniformed cop burst through the sea of people at a dead run, gun in hand, eyes searching for the assailant. She must, Summer thought, have come from the other end of the morgue entirely, and realized then that the shooting hadn't taken very long at all. Maybe two minutes from Officer Ryan grabbing her wrist.
Two minutes. Two minutes and three people could have died. Including her.
Don't think about that!
"Dr. Kendall?" She looked up, met Officer Ryan's concerned expression. "Are you all right?"
"I have to get out," she blurted, and put her hands over her ears again. People were starting to shout outside. If one person shouted at her she was going to start to cry. "Oh, please, I have to get out!"
"You can't," he said, but not without sympathy. "You need to give a statement, you need..."
She was already shaking her head, all of her was shaking, oh, God, she was going to fall apart. People flooding into the room, people shouting, the receptionist sobbing convulsively and she could still hear the gunshots, she could still hear... "I can give it to you, please, can't I? Oh, please, please, I have to get away from here!"
There was a very strange expression on his face just then, one she couldn't even begin to interpret in the state she was in. It looked like pity but not... she squeezed her eyes closed. She was going to shake to pieces in a moment.
"Hang on," Officer Ryan said suddenly, and touched her elbow. "Hang on. I'll be right back."
--
"Remember this," Danny said, expression serious. "I know your mom said that you shouldn't try and hurt other people, and that's usually true. But if you're ever in trouble, or someone else is in trouble, and you think they or you might get hurt, it is absolutely okay to hurt the person who's going to do it.
"If someone's in danger, Summer, the rules go out the window."
