A preview for a new fanfic I'm working on:
The storm didn’t feel like weather anymore—it felt like something that had decided to break their world—their beautiful city. It broke Robby’s heart to know New Orleans would never be the same after this.
He’d brought Trinity to the hospital two days ago when the original calls came in, the girl clung to their three-year-old cat, Murphy, he seemed to comprehend they were in danger, letting her grip him close. They’d moved everyone up to the third floor of the hospital from ER, turning the Pediatric unit into the emergency room, having shipped out as many of the children and adults as they could to other further away hospitals before the worst of the weather had come.
Charity Hospital groaned under it. The building had stood for over two centuries, brick and bone stubborn against time, but Katrina found every weakness. Wind battered the upper floors in relentless waves, screaming through broken seals in the windows, rattling glass until some of it shattered outright. Rain forced its way through cracks and seams, dripping from ceilings, seeping down walls, pooling on tile floors that nurses tried in vain to keep dry.
Inside, the lights flickered. Then flickered again. Then steadied, but dimmer.
“Generator’s holding,” someone called somewhere down the corridor, though the words didn’t sound like reassurance.
Robby stood in a pediatric ward that no longer felt sterile or safe. It smelled wrong—metal, dampness, something faintly electrical. He had Trinity pressed against him, one arm wrapped tight around his neck, the other clinging to Murphy, her face buried against his shoulder to block out the noise. He gently gripped both her and Murphy in his arms. “Shh, we’re okay, I know.”
Each gust of wind made her flinch.
“Daddy…” she whispered, voice trembling.
“I’ve got you,” he said, even as the building seemed to shudder again. He tightened his hold on them, the two most important things in his life, instinctively angling his body between her and the nearest window. “It’s just loud, that’s all. Walls are strong.”
Everyone had decided to hunker down today, as far from windows as they could, they lined the halls, doors to the actual rooms closed, no patients in them, but rather safely stacked in the halls. It was the definition of a fire hazard, but at this point they were all far more concerned about flooding.
Ellis reached in with both her hands, grimacing as she found his little body and slowly lifted his body out, everyone instantly noticed how blue he was.
“Robby?” Jack whispered, voice choked from where he still sat at Sarah’s head, Lena’s hands on his shoulders.
“Okay, he’s out, blue and flaccid.” They brought him over to the baby warmer. Setting him down, Shen and McKay immediately got to work.
Shen began wiping away the usual birthing juices, “Poor tone, no movement. Keep the blow-by closer.”
“She seems really blue?” McKay whispered.
Robby nodded, “Some blue is normal, this is too much.”
Shen shook his head, “Not yet, no. They usually pink up with stimulation and blow-by.” The little limp body made a grimace and small noise. “McKay, bag him.”
“I’ve got a pulse ox of 42%.” Shen called out.
“It's not as bad as it sounds. I'm more worried about the heart rate. McKay, get ready with an IO in case we need epi.” Robby ordered. “Heart rate's up to 104.”
Shen spoke again, “We’re at one minute. He’s 0 for color, 2 for heart rate, 1 for reflex, tone, breathing. APGAR of 5.”
Robby shook his head, “5 out of 10. Not great. Any change over there, Ellis?” He called glancing over at the med student who shook her head. “No brain activity. There’s nothing.”
Behind them, Jack made a sound—sharp, strangled. “No—what do you mean no—she was just—she was talking five minutes ago, we were—” He stopped, voice collapsing under itself.
There was a small, sharp cry, as tiny fists and feet began fidgeting. Robby felt a rush of utter relief, “Oh thank god,” he choked, his own face damp with tears. “Good boy,” he whispered, as he continued to wipe him clean, before finally they wrapped him in the blanket. Swaddling him, finally sure the little boy would survive, he lifted him up and moved to Jack who was still crying over his wife’s body. “Jack,” he choked.
Jack shook his head, face still buried in Sarah’s shoulder. “Please,” he cried.
“Jack,” Robby said again, harder this time.
Heartbroken hazel green eyes turned towards him and widened slightly at the sight of baby in Robby’s arms. “Your son is still here,” he offered.
Jack stood, looking down at the beautiful newborn in Robby’s arms. “She’s brain dead, right?”
“She is, probably dead-on impact, I’m so sorry. But he needs you. I still need you.”
