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“Listen up Station 115,” Captain Perry White yells as Clark and his teammates climb out of the engine truck and the ambulance. “Station 112 was first on the scene and has secured the area as much as possible. Either way, be on your guard. This overpass is only partially collapsed, I don’t want the rest of it falling on anyone.”
“Yes, sir!” Clark finds himself answering in unison with the rest of his crew.
“Remember the triage tags protocol; we can’t be everywhere at once,” White says, a hint of sadness in his voice as he surveys the scene surrounding them.
The busiest overpass between Metropolis and Gotham City collapsed about fifteen minutes ago. After Station 112’s initial response, they quickly called for backup. Every station in Metropolis that could spare a truck and an ambulance has been rerouted to Interstate 295.
There have already been reports of casualties and Clark knows that the city’s hospitals are about to become overwhelmed.
“Grant, Lane, Lombard, Kent and Olsen you’re on search and rescue,” Perry barks out, quickly recapturing Clark’s attention. “Troupe, you’re with me. We need to put out that fire,” he continues to say, pointing at a nearby pickup truck that’s at risk of endangering them.
“You guys have a to-go bag?” Lois Lane asks as she removes the Jaws of Life, the hydraulic apparatus used to pry open vehicles, from the engine truck. Steve Lombard is by her side grabbing a saw and other tools they’ll need to extract victims from their cars.
“Got them. Think fast, Probie,” Cat Grant says as she throws Clark one of the medical bags from the ambulance. Although Clark has been working with the 115 for three months now, he has yet to shake the probie nickname. He knows he won’t lose it until he’s completed his first full year as a probationary firefighter.
“Grant, go with Lombard to the blue Jeep. Probie and I will work on the Mercedes-Benz,” Lois orders. “Jimmy, start checking the other cars and tag for us.” None of them argue when she orders them around; they are all used to her taking charge when Captain White is busy. And although Lombard sometimes likes to challenge her, they are all aware of the severity of the current situation.
Clark is quick to make his way to the white-coloured luxury car Lois pointed out. Lois is hot on his heels. As he runs over, he makes sure to keep an eye out for any other environmental dangers on the way. Or, God forbid, any passengers that were ejected from their cars.
“Adult driver, she’s unconscious,” Lois announces as soon as she’s close enough to get a good look into the car. “Looks like she’s pinned behind the steering wheel.”
“There’s a toddler car seat in the back,” Clark adds, having approached from the passenger side. “The kid seems conscious but he isn’t very alert. He’s also got some lacerations.”
“Can you get in?” Lois asks as she starts lining up the Jaws to open up the passenger seat.
“Yeah,” Clark replies, which is all the confirmation Lois needs to start working. The passenger back door is a little dented, but Clark can still open it. The window shattered during the bridge collapse which means Clark doesn’t have to worry about actively showering shards of glass on the child. But he will have to make sure the infant hasn’t already been harmed by them.
The sudden loud and jarring noise of the Jaws of Life turning on seems to scare the little boy out of his shocked daze. Clark gets a glance at his big, blue eyes before the boy seems to take in his surroundings and immediately starts to cry. Fat tears immediately start to roll down his chubby cheeks.
“It’s okay, little guy. It’s going to be okay,” Clark tells his patient, speaking loudly over the sound of Lois’ rescue. But his words fall on deaf ears. Panicked and agitated, the boy doesn’t seem to hear Clark’s words of reassurance as he continues to thrash around in his car seat, still restrained by the straps and seat belt. The boy’s cries of panic quickly morph into those of pain as he rolls himself on sharp shards of glass.
“I’ve got you,” Clark says as he continues to try and calm down the boy. “I’m going to take you out of your car seat. My friend Lois is working on getting your mom out, and then we’ll take you both to the ambulance. I’ll turn the sirens on for you, won’t that be cool!”
Clark unclasps the buckles to the toddler car seat as quickly as he can. He then scoops the boy off his seat, making sure to support his neck and protect his head on the way out.
“There we go! Isn’t that better,” Clark says as he glances over the child’s body. Apart from a bump on the head and the cuts from the glass, the little guy seems to be in surprisingly good health.
Clark’s ears register the sound of the Jaws turning off. He looks over to Lois as she finally manages to yank the door open. Clark knows he should be making his way back to the ambulance so he can get a better look at his patient. But he’s frozen in place as he waits to hear Lois’ initial assessment of the boy’s mother.
“Get the boy to the ambulance, Kent,” Lois suddenly orders. She still has the upper half of her body in the car. She’s leaning over the woman, but she isn’t making any moves to dislodge the steering wheel that’s pining the woman down nor is she attempting any life-saving methods.
Clark inhales sharply, knowing exactly what’s going on. He wishes he was wrong.
“I need the Jaws over here!” Clark suddenly hears Jimmy yell out. He’s standing near a red Sedan that’s partially stuck under large pieces of rubble from the bridge.
“Coming!” Lois replies as she quickly finishes placing a triage tag around the woman’s neck. “What are you waiting for, Probie? Go!” Lois repeats when she notices Clark is still hovering beside the passenger door. She gives him a stern look before leaving to go help Jimmy.
Clark looks down at the child in his arms. He’s still crying, but it’s turned into quiet whimpering. He’s sucking his thumb in a self-soothing way.
It’s obvious to Clark that the little guy is in pain, scared and panicked. But he doesn’t yet know about the fate of his mother. He isn’t aware yet of the kind of future that awaits him; the pain that comes with surviving a tragedy like this.
Clark looks between the car and the ambulance. He knows he should get the boy on the rig as soon as possible; time is of the essence. But Clark’s gut, and maybe his heart, tells him he needs to grab one more thing. Clark gently uses his left hand to press the boy's head into his chest, preventing him from seeing his mother as he gets closer to the front of the car.
“Shh, you’re okay,” Clark softly says, trying to calm the child down as he bends down and reaches for something in the passenger front seat. It takes him a couple of seconds but he manages to grab the mother’s purse. Having secured what he needs, Clark starts running back toward the ambulance.
He arrives at the same time that Cat and Steve are finishing loading their patients onto the rig.
“I’ve got two red tags,” Cat says over her shoulder as she climbs into the crowded ambulance. With Steve driving, Cat is stuck with a patient on the stretcher and another on the bench, both of them are hooked to oxygen and seem to be severely bleeding despite the amount of gauze they’re wrapped in. “Gotham is sending more ambulances and rerouting to their hospitals. Can your patient wait? ETA is two minutes.”
“Yeah, we can wait,” Clark replies, glad that the little guy in his arms isn’t in as bad of shape as Cat’s patients.
Cat nods, turning her attention back to the two victims. Clark manages to balance the kid and the purse while he works to close the doors of the ambulance. Once securely closed, he gives Steve the signal, prompting the man to drive back toward Metropolis.
“Come on kid, let’s find you an ambulance,” Clark says. The kid is still silently crying, which in this case, is good. Clark doesn’t want the kid falling unconscious, especially with the concussion Clark suspects.
“115, this is dispatch,” Clark suddenly hears over his radio. “Ambulances from Gotham are arriving to pick up patients, please make your way to the north side of the interstate.”
“Dispatch, this is Kent with the 115. Copy,” Clark replies as he starts to change direction. In the distance, he can see some of the ambulances making their way through the crowded highway.
It takes him longer than he would have liked, but Clark manages to make it to one of the ambulances just as it opens its back doors, ready to accept patients.
“I’ve got a toddler with a possible concussion and several lacerations caused by shards of glass,” Clark says instead of a greeting.
“Load him up,” the EMT replies, stepping aside to let Clark in. “We’ve been directed to bring as many patients to Gotham General Hospital. Are the parents far behind?” she asks him.
“It’s just us,” Clark replies grimly. The woman nods in understanding.
“I’ve got a patient,” another firefighter suddenly pipes up from behind them. Clark doesn’t recognize the man or his partner, which means they’re from another firehouse in Metropolis. “GCS 3 with a BP of 90 over palp.”
“Load him up too. Does he have anyone travelling with him?” the EMT asks, her New Jersey accent strong.
“No.”
“Okay, we’ll bring them both to Gotham Gen,” the woman says. “Kent! Are you good to hold the kid and sit on the bench?” she asks after glancing down at Clark’s name tag.
“Yes, I’m staying with the kid,” Clark confirms as the other firefighter loads the stretcher. The patient has already been bagged, so the EMT takes over from the firefighter. She continues to administer the rhythmic pumping that’s helping the patient breathe.
“Okay, let’s go,” she says, prompting the remaining firefighter from the other station to close the doors behind him. Only Clark, the EMT and the two patients are left in the rig.
“Captain White, I’m en route with an unaccompanied infant to Gotham General. I’ll be back as soon as possible,” Clark says over his radio, not caring if Perry agrees with his decision to ride with paramedics from a different state. But he doubts that under these circumstances, Perry will reprimand him. And even if he does, Clark wouldn’t change a thing, consequences be damned. Nobody, certainly not a kid, deserves to be alone in a moment like this.
“Copy,” is the only thing Clark hears in response.
The boy is still silently crying; his shirt is soaked through with the tears that have been falling from his face. It breaks Clark’s heart to see the boy’s distress. He probably has no idea what’s happened, why he’s in pain or why he’s been separated from his mother.
Speaking of the boy’s mother, Clark takes a second to place the purse on the bench beside him. He feels bad about rifling through a dead woman’s handbag, but he needs to find her wallet. He needs to find a way to identify the mother so the boy can be reunited with the rest of his family as soon as possible.
A couple of months ago, Clark experienced a dire family medical emergency and having his mother by his side during the ordeal, especially in a strange city like Gotham, was reassuring. After a complete stranger offered him that small comfort, Clark has strived to make it a priority to pay forward the favour anytime he can.
He finally finds the woman’s wallet and pulls it out of the purse. He flips it open, immediately spotting the driver’s licence in a window insert.
“Chloe Mallard,” Clark reads out loud. God, she was young. Only twenty years old. It was unfair for her to die this young. And it was even more unfair for her son to lose his mother this young.
“Okay, little duck,” Clark says, addressing the child in his arms; it feels wrong to call the child Mr. Mallard , so he settles on the fitting nickname of duck . “I’m going to take care of you until I can find your family.”
There will be time later for Clark to look through the purse to possibly find the boy's real name and any information about him. But at least for now, when he arrives at Gotham General Hospital, he will be able to give the staff a last name. Hopefully, the boy won't be alone for too long.
Clark repositions himself so he can lay the boy down on his lap. He keeps his left hand firmly on the boy's chest, making sure he doesn’t roll off as the ambulance weaves through traffic.
With his right hand, Clark reaches into his to-go medical bag, knowing exactly where the gauze is kept. With only one hand, Clark can’t risk searching the wounds on the boy’s body for remaining shards of glass. And in these conditions, it might do more damage if Clark removes them himself. So for now, he settles on bandaging the larger cuts so the boy doesn’t bleed out.
It takes him a while to get the job done. The boy is squirming a lot. But the entire time, Clark continues to whisper soft words of encouragement and reassurance, hoping to calm him down.
They must be getting closer to downtown Gotham because the sirens are now on and the ambulance has to make a couple of stops as unobservant or maybe uncaring drivers block their way. Unfortunately, the loud noise of the sirens seems to be upsetting the child more than distracting him from his panic. The boy's eyes are now firmly shut and his face is all scrunched up in discomfort.
Finally, the ambulance comes to a stop and Clark hears the driver shout through the partition that they’ve arrived.
“I’ll go out first,” the EMT, whose name Clark still hasn’t thought to check for, tells him. Clark nods, knowing that the other patient is in much worse shape than his little duck.
Light streams in, along with a lot more noise as the ER staff rushes to help unload the patient. “What have we got?” a woman, who Clark assumes is the charge nurse, asks as the patient is taken out of the ambulance.
Clark doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation, focusing his attention instead on the boy still lying down on his lap. “Let’s go, little duck,” Clark says as he gently scoops the boy into his arms.
“What do you have?” the charge nurse asks as soon as Clark steps out of the rig.
“Possible concussion, lacerations caused by glass,” Clark lists off.
“Was that the kid’s dad?” the woman asks without looking up from her tablet. She’s typing at lightning speed, probably already paging the pediatric emergency physician on shift.
“No. The mom was DOA,” Clark manages to answer over the lump in his throat, refusing to say the word “dead” in front of the child just yet. “Her name is Chloe Mallard. I have no ID on the kid, but I have her purse.”
That information gets the nurse to briefly look up from her tablet, exchanging a pained look with Clark. She shakes it off in a second, looking behind her to get a nurse’s attention.
“Crystal! I need you to call DCFS and get information on this woman and her child,” she yells out before grabbing the purse from Clark and handing it to the nurse. “Take the kid to Treatment Room 203. Pediatrics will meet you there shortly. Stay with the kid until we contact the mom’s partner or something.”
“Okay,” Clark replies, nodding in understanding. As he starts to follow the signs toward the treatment room in question, the boy’s silent crying stops long enough for him to hiccup out two words.
“Not Mom,” he says before immediately going back to sniffling.
“I know I’m not you’re mom,” Clark answers, feeling his heart break in two. “But I’m going to stay with you until you feel better. Okay, buddy?”
The kid doesn’t reply, but at least he doesn’t protest. Clark counts it as a win given the circumstances.
Clark quickly finds the room the charge nurse assigned him. Exiting the bustling hallways of the emergency department, Clark goes to place the boy down on the examination table. But as soon as Clark lets go, the child reaches out, his chubby little hands trying to grab onto Clark. His distress about the unfamiliar situation and location is obvious.
“It’s okay, little duck. I’m right here,” Clark reassures the boy, making sure to stay in his line of sight. The boy seems to calm down a tad at that, either because he recognizes Clark’s face or because he appreciates not having to stare up at the harsh ER lights anymore. Clark offers his index finger and the boy immediately grabs onto it, clinging on to it with all his might.
“How long was he unconscious for?” a voice suddenly pipes up from behind him. Clark knows it’s impolite to do so, but he doesn’t look up. He’s too worried about the boy to take his eyes off him. The voice sounds official so he trusts that it’s the pediatrician that’s just entered the room.
“No idea. He was semi-alert when I rescued him. But he has a large bump on his head and seems sensitive to loud noises and bright lights,” Clark answers. “I wasn’t able to remove any possible shards of glass that caused his lacerations.
“That’s okay, I’ll handle that,” the man replies. “What’s his name?”
“I only know that his last name is Mallard.”
The doctor hums in understanding, probably having already been briefed about the lack of parental presence. “Hey there, buddy. I’m Doctor Bruce,” the man says, the tone of his voice instantly changing to something more jovial and soft. “I’m going to help make you feel better, is that okay?”
Dr. Bruce? It can’t be.
Clark looks up to look at the pediatrician. He instantly recognizes him.
“Bruce?” Clark hears himself asking, like an idiot. Of course, it’s Bruce! He just introduced himself and Clark’s eyes confirmed the fact. But he just can’t get over the coincidence of Bruce being the pediatrician assigned to this case.
Bruce looks up from the young boy, their eyes locking briefly. Bruce is still for a second, he doesn’t say anything in response to Clark’s exclamation. Finally, Bruce nods before looking back down at the child to continue his examination.
Right, Clark should take a page from Bruce’s book and concentrate. Their priority is the little boy, not their reunion. He takes a step back, giving Bruce room to work. But he keeps his arm outstretched; the boy’s little hand is still clinging to his finger.
Clark watches as Bruce interacts with the boy. Despite having only spent a little bit of time with Bruce, Clark had gotten the impression that Bruce was quiet and reserved. But with the patient, Bruce keeps up a steady stream of chatter. He asks for permission before touching any of the boy’s wounds and he explains what he’s doing and looking for during his examination. The boy never answers verbally, but his attention is solely on Bruce.
Bruce is a big man. He rivals Clark in size and stature, yet he seems so small while working with the child. It’s obvious to Clark that Bruce is deliberately being gentle and slow with all of his movements. Despite the severity of the situation, Clark finds himself smiling in reassurance as he watches Bruce work; his little duck is in the best capable hands.
“I want to take some pictures of your brain,” Bruce says to the boy. His voice is now a little louder though, probably for Clark’s benefit so he can know the next steps. “I want to be sure your head is okay after you hit it.”
“Do you think he’ll need to be sedated for the CT scan?” Clark asks, stepping closer to Bruce. He assumes that’s what Bruce meant when he told the boy he wanted to take pictures of his brain.
“No. We don’t know his allergies or other underlying conditions. He seems calm enough that it should be okay.”
“Maybe I could accompany him?” Clark suggests.
Bruce looks down at the boy's small hands that are still gripping Clark’s large fingers. “Yes. He seems to your find your presence comforting.”
“Thanks.”
Bruce nods and turns his attention back to the boy.
“Before we go take the pictures, I’m going to fix your cuts.”
“Picture?” the boy repeats, talking for the first time in a while.
“Yes,” Bruce confirms. He crouches down so that he’s at eye level with the boy. “You are going to lie down like you’re sleeping. And then a big machine is going to take pictures of your brain.”
The boy is silent once again. Clark isn’t sure the little boy understands what’s going on. Maybe he thinks Bruce is talking about pictures in a book or something he can draw.
“See picture?” the little boy asks, his voice barely a whisper.
“Yes. I can show you the pictures after,” Bruce replies without hesitation. He seems to understand what the boy wants.
Clark finds himself smiling again at the interaction. He remembers how Bruce told him a couple of months ago that he always wanted to be a doctor and Clark can’t help but agree that he chose his profession well. Bruce is good with kids and he clearly cares.
“Okay,” the boy seems to confirm in satisfaction.
“But first, I need to clean your cuts,” Bruce explains, pointing out some of the cuts on the boy's chest and arms. “It might hurt but you will feel better after.”
The boy nods, although he seems a bit less confident.
“I will be back,” Bruce tells him before pointing to Clark. “Clark will stay with you.”
“Yeah, I’m right here, buddy. I’ll hold your hand the hold time and you can squeeze it if you’re scared or in pain,” Clark tells him.
“Okay,” he replies after a couple of seconds. He gives Clark’s finger a tentative, gentle squeeze.
“Yes. Just like that,” Clark praises. “You can squeeze super hard if you want. I promise you won’t hurt me, I’m really strong.”
As soon as the CT scan was done, the young boy Clark rescued was transferred out of the emergency room and into a room on the pediatrics floor. Out of precaution, and until a guardian could be located, the hospital chose to admit him. Clark had offered to stream a movie on the TV mounted to the wall, but as soon as the little boy had settled into bed, he fell asleep.
Now, two hours later, Clark is waiting for the results, watching over the boy. It’s good to see him finally get some rest, he’s going to need it for what’s to come next.
There’s a soft knock on the door to the room before it opens to reveal Bruce. He’s holding a folder in his hands.
“He’s asleep,” Clark whispers, wanting to give the boy a couple more minutes of blissful sleep.
Bruce hums in understanding. “We can talk out here,” Bruce whispers in return, holding the door open for Clark.
Clark hesitates. What if the boy wakes up and panics because he’s alone in the room? If they’re careful, maybe Bruce and Clark’s whispered conversation won’t wake the boy.
“We can keep an eye on him through the window in the door,” Bruce says as if reading Clark’s mind.
He feels his cheek heat up in embarrassment. Is he that obvious? He gets up from the chair and makes his way into the hallway. “Are those the results?” Clark asks, taking care to gently close the door behind him.
Bruce nods. “The scan was normal. I will give him the pictures when he wakes up,” he says.
“Any luck finding his family?”
“His parents are on the way. They were—”
“Parents!” Clark interrupts. “But isn’t his mom...” he trails off in confusion.
“His nanny died on the scene,” Bruce answers. If he was bothered by Clark’s interruption, it doesn’t show on his face. “Ms. Mallard’s family has been notified. And the Drakes should be here shortly to discharge their son.”
Clark lets out a sigh of relief and instantly regrets it. Of course he’s glad that the little boy is not only concussion-free but will be reunited with his parents. But a young woman has still lost her life. Clark feels guilty that he was so quick to brush off Chloe Mallard’s death.
Bruce's gaze is piercing as he watches Clark’s internal battle. Clark feels like he’s being judged; which is justified. He just celebrated a son reuniting with his parents in exchange for another family who’s just lost their child.
Whatever Bruce was searching for on Clark’s face, he’s found. He seems to nod in understanding. “Life isn’t fair. And emotions are complicated,” he says, averting his eyes slightly in embarrassment. “You can mourn and celebrate at the same time.”
“Thanks,” Clark replies. He feels oddly touched but Bruce’s remark. It isn’t the most eloquent or poetic advice Clark has ever received, but he can tell that it comes from Bruce’s heart. It comes from experience. It probably isn’t the first time Bruce has struggled with the same opposing emotions Clark is feeling right now. And it probably won’t be the last.
Bruce nods.
Despite the silence they fall into, it’s comfortable. He’s only spent a handful of minutes with Bruce, most of them moments of chaos, yet Clark can’t help but feel comfortable around him. He gets the feeling that, maybe, Bruce feels the same way as Clark does.
But maybe he’s wrong. It’s not the first time Clark has been misled by his naive and optimistic views of life. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart. At best, he can say with certainty that Bruce doesn’t hate him and tolerates his presence. But, like the last time they saw each other, Clark needs to get out of Bruce’s hair.
“I should probably start making my way back to Metropolis. My captain must be wondering where I am,” Clark announces, distantly wondering how long of a lecture he’s going to get when he returns to the firehouse. He’s been gone for hours by now. “Do you think you can keep—”
“I will,” Bruce interrupts. “I’m on this floor for the rest of my shift. I’ll make sure he isn’t alone when he wakes up.”
“Thank you,” Clark replies, a little dumbfounded. Maybe Clark wasn’t wrong to think that he and Bruce feel the same way; at least when it comes to the safety of the boy.
Bruce nods. “If your captain gives you any trouble, tell him to call the hospital. I’ll vouch for your absence.”
Clark can’t help but smile. “Thank you.” He doubts Perry will reprimand him for leaving the scene and staying with the boy. The lecture will be the brunt of the punishment. Perry is stern, but he isn’t heartless. But Clark appreciates Bruce’s offer nonetheless.
And it isn’t the first time he’s been touched by Bruce’s actions and thoughtfulness. Not only is Clark grateful for everything Bruce has done for his family, but he can’t help but want to spend more time getting to know the shy, yet kindhearted man who saved his father’s life.
It was pure chance that Bruce happened to be at the same baseball game as Clark, and it was a complete coincidence that Bruce was on shift when the ambulance Clark was in was rerouted to Gotham General Hospital. Suddenly, Clark feels an urge to plan their next meeting. He’s tired of leaving it up to fate.
“You know, we really have to stop meeting like this. I don’t think I can handle bumping into you in the middle of another emergency,” Clark finds himself saying. “Why don’t we meet up for coffee instead?”
As soon as the words leave his mouth, Clark cringes internally. God, he is so corny. Lois was right when she once said that he was a sentimental bumpkin from Kansas. She can never know about this.
But that’s something to panic over later. Right now, Bruce is who he’s worried about. Because Bruce’s silence speaks volumes.
Clark has definitely crossed a line. What possessed him to ask Bruce out on a date? Did he really think this was going to become a pattern; them meeting over medical emergencies? The odds are that after today, they’re never going to see each other again. They both live in different cities and work time-consuming jobs. Maybe, by some chance of fate, they’ll meet again on the job. But that’s all that it’ll be; two colleagues busy working to save someone’s life. And now, Clark has gone and jeopardized their good work relationship because he felt like they shared a connection.
Clark needs to salvage this while he can. “I mean, only as—”
“My number hasn’t changed,” Bruce states, talking over Clark.
“What?” he answers stupidly. He’s heard Bruce, but he doesn’t know what else to say.
“I still have the same number, from the last time I texted you,” Bruce replies. He doesn’t sound annoyed to be repeating himself, but his tone is serious. “Text me the next time you’re in Gotham. I still have your mom’s Tupperware and I’d like to give it back.”
“Oh, yeah,” Clark replies, a little dejectedly. It’s not the first time he’s been friendzoned after asking someone out. And it probably won’t be the last. But that’s okay. It’s probably for the best. “I can do that.”
“Good. It’s a long drive from Metropolis, you might as well stay for dinner.”
Wait. What?
“Dinner?” Clark repeats hopefully.
“Otolaryngology is on the 5th floor if you need to get your ears cleaned,” Bruce replies suavely. It surprises Clark, it’s so unlike everything he knows about Bruce. But just because he’s unfamiliar with it doesn’t mean that he hates it.
Bruce isn’t smiling, but there’s a glint of amusement behind his eyes. Clark smiles in response. “Won’t it be cheating if I can visit another doctor?”
Bruce smirks in return. “See you around, Kent,” he replies casually, already walking away.
“See you soon, Bruce,” Clark answers.
God. If Lois saw the dopey smile Clark knows is now on his face, he’d never hear the end of it.