LRPD - one shot sneak peek- "fear"

LRPD's chronological story is over but there are still one shots in the works.

Content warning: violence

His day starts like it always has for the last four years. He drops Riley off at school, manages to get a kiss from you in the hall before rounds, slogs through some charts, follows up on whatever happened overnight.

Perfectly normal.

“Hi.” You smile sweetly in the elevator, and he has to resist the urge to slam the emergency button and stop its descent in its tracks.

“Hi baby.” Your fingers brush his. You’ve been different lately, the last month or so, more physical. In the middle of the night he wakes up to you wrapped around him like an octopus, and causal touch has become more intense, lasts longer. Even holding his hand, you’re reluctant to let go.

He’s not complaining, he's soaking it up. It’s just different.

“Going to lunch?” You nod.

“Ava still won’t eat in the cafeteria so we’re going down the street.” He grimaces. He wish John and Ava would figure their shit out, he hates when you go off campus to eat. Something about not having you close bothers him. Always will. You sigh. “He won’t sign the papers.” Simon snorts.

“She’s fightin’ a losing battle.” You give him a look. The two of you are at odds over Ava and John. You’re supporting her, naturally, and he’s not taking sides. He only knows the truth.

John Price doesn’t do divorces, even if the wedding took place in Vegas.

“See you after then?” He leans in, brushes his lips across your cheek, breathes you in. Leather and honeysuckle, still the same.

“See you after.” You turn your mouth to his, a little brazen, lingering in a kiss after the doors open. “Have a good lunch Doctor Riley.”

“You too, Mrs. Riley.”

A man is yelling.

Simon hears him all the way down the hall, nearly clear across the hospital. The shouting is loud, raw, rich with anger, bouncing off the walls and echoing across the unit.

The NICU is a tumultuous place. Loved ones celebrate and mourn, families are torn to shreds or come out stronger. It’s not uncommon to witness the full spectrum of human emotion in one day, but something to this degree is a rarity.

He wonders who it is, can’t think of anyone he’s seen lately that he considered a loose cannon, and his steps quicken when more voices are added to the mix. He just has to get there, and he can sort it. Get the guy removed, have Henry-

Someone screams. At first, his brain scrambles, tries to do gymnastics to shelter him, try to convince him that it’s not your scream, but he knows it. He knows everything about you.

He runs. Sprints. And what he finds around the corner stops him cold.

A woman he recognizes as one of his patient’s parent is at the nurses station, sobbing with a split lip. Key is on the floor, crying, hyperventilating, screaming your name, Henry is running from the opposite end, taser coming free from his belt.

They all fade to black when he sees you.

A hysterical, crazed man has his hand around your throat, and the back of your head bleeds against cracked glass. It lolls above his grip, loose and lacking consciousness.

Henry is much, much closer. The security guard shoots the man with the taser and he drops to the ground, leaving your limp, lifeless body without support.

Simon is too far away to catch you, all he can do is shout your name as he runs, trying to get there but not close enough to stop your fall, stomach bottoming out as you slump to the floor. The man howls as Henry pins him with his full weight, and he can vaguely hear Key crying, Isa frantic on the phone. It all blurs into the background as he goes to his knees and rolls you to your back.

You’re unconscious. Blood is leaking from the back of your head, it’s ruby stain left on the glass above. His jaw clenches so hard he thinks his teeth might break, every thread of control trying to fray apart and leave him flailing. He could lose his mind right now, in this very second, lost to insanity just by the sight of you like this, beaten, broken.

“Daisy.” The first time is soft. It’s a plea. Nothing. He rubs your sternum and says your name louder, rougher. “Daisy!”

Your lashes flutter. His heart stops.

And when your eyes open, he wants to die.

They’re stained in blood. Wide with terror, confusion, flooded from the subconjunctival hemorrhage you sustained from this piece of shit strangling you to the point of near death. You’re breathing, but it’s an awful high pitched sound, one that makes his stomach turn. Stridor. Your upper airway is blocked, you’re not getting enough oxygen.

You can’t breathe.

Panic sets in. It sinks its teeth into you, into him, and he momentarily loses it until you try to open your mouth with a horrible croak. It shocks him back into his body, clears his head, reframes his focus. The space between your ribs sinks and shudders as your nostrils flare wider and wider, trying to find air, tears traveling down your temples. “Hey, hey, look at me, I’ve got you.” Your hand flails, swinging through the air towards your head but he catches it, pulls it down to your side. “Easy baby, stay still.” Your lips move, face crumpling in pain and he swallows to dislodge the lump in his throat. "Good girl, that's it. You're okay, everything's okay." It's not, but he has to stay calm. For you.

“Transport is coming.” Key says somewhere behind him, and he nods, eyes never leaving yours. You’re so, so scared and it’s almost too much for him, his own fear trying to overwhelm him, trying to dissolve any semblance of calm and send him into a tailspin.

He has to get it together. He has to. He can fix this.

“I have you.” He leans in, presses his mouth to your forehead, takes your hand in his. Ring to ring. “I have you, I’m here baby, right here. 'm gonna fix it.”