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31_days2012-06-28 11:53 pm
insaneladybug.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-06-28 11:53 pm
[June 28th] [Perry Mason] Lux Aeterna, 28
Title: Lux Aeterna, scene 28
Day/Theme: June 28th - Hands like clouds
Series: Perry Mason
Character/Pairing: Della Street, Lieutenant Drumm, Perry Mason
Rating: T/PG-13
Takes place following the climax, probably before the last part of #27 but possibly after. Prompt was used a bit abstractedly but was definitely inspiration.
By Lucky_Ladybug
It seemed that they had been waiting ages for the ambulances and helicopters to arrive. They had been able to place the call via Hamilton’s satellite phone, which he had left in the car during the battle with Florence and hence, was still in pristine working condition. But meanwhile, there were so many who were hurt to varying degrees. There was nothing to do but attempt to treat them in whatever way possible while they waited.
Della and Mignon, as well as everyone else who was not badly hurt, made the rounds as they attempted to find and nurse each person in need of care. It was heart-wrenching work. All the horrific wounds and the blood and gore were not sights for the faint of stomach. Just in the last few minutes, the caregivers had witnessed many things about the human body they had not even thought possible.
But even worse were the blows dealt to the faint of heart. The repeated sight of one person who had survived while mourning over a lost loved one was enough to make Della’s heart crumble into tiny pieces over and over. She never wanted to be such a first-hand witness to war ever again.
It was she who at last went to Lieutenant Drumm. She had not seen him since his bone-chilling fall from the caving floor of Florence’s tower. Now he was sitting on a tree stump, blankly gazing at the destruction and devastation all around them. The painful wound in his forehead had not been cleaned and treated yet; he had waited until the most serious injuries were dealt with. But from the look in his eyes now, Della was not sure she could say that his injuries were not serious. Not physical, perhaps, but far deeper.
It chilled her to see him like this. Steve had always been so in control of his emotions, save for the time when a policeman had been brutally slain and his anger and outrage had spilled over. Della supposed she had thought that he would be able to handle this situation with the cool poise for which he was most noted. Instead, he looked about as haunted, or maybe even moreso, than Della herself.
“Steve?” She got right in front of him, the worry strong in her eyes and voice. “Steve, please say something. Are you alright?”
He started, as if her voice was dragging him back to the present from somewhere far away. “Oh. . . . Yes, Della, yes, of course. I’m fine.”
“That cut looks nasty,” Della said. She held up one of the severely depleted first-aid kits that she and the others had been struggling to use. “Here, let me take care of it.”
“I can do it,” Steve answered instantly. “Aren’t there still others that need your help more?”
Della shook her head. “Mignon and the others are making a final check,” she said. “And I’m seeing that you need help right now. If you try to bind up your wound yourself, without a mirror you’ll do a sloppy job. And we can’t have that.”
Steve sighed but nodded. “Alright,” he conceded. “I just don’t want you to spend too much time on me.”
“It’s fine, Steve.” Della pulled out one of the last antiseptic wipes and began to tend to the injury.
Steve barely flinched. He watched her work, still focused on the current events. But she could see that what was bothering him was right there in his eyes too, behind the present alertness.
Della wracked her mind for a conversation topic. Certainly they could not stay here like this, not speaking.
“. . . Steve, you were one of the first of us to fall,” she said at last. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yes, I’m alright,” Steve growled. But instantly the tone was gone and he looked guilty. “I’m sorry, Della. I didn’t mean . . .” He looked weary. “All of this is so hard to take in. But you’d think I’d be used to it by now.”
“What?” Della began applying the gauze. “Defeating a megalomaniacal dark queen?” She tried to put a lighter tone in her voice, despite not feeling humorous in the least.
“Death.” Steve’s response was short and matter-of-fact. Della swallowed hard. “I’ve seen it so much. Every day, almost, since I joined Homicide Division. But Lieutenant Tragg’s right—it doesn’t get easier. And a scene like this . . .” He gestured at the horror and heartbreak. “I’ve never seen anything like this. There’s so much death in one place, all because of one woman’s selfishness and greed.” He started to clench a fist. “It makes me want to hate.”
Della blinked back the threatening tears at the edges of her eyes. “That’s how Perry’s felt too,” she said. “That’s probably why he . . . couldn’t take it any longer.”
“Probably. I don’t blame him in the least.” Steve looked to her. “But I’m sorry for what it’s done to you. You’ve been shaken by this as much as any of the rest of us. Maybe more; you’ve never seen anything like this either.”
Della was a bit surprised by the sudden empathy. Still, she supposed, she shouldn’t be. Steve had often shared the table with them and had been very friendly and kind. But she had certainly not expected empathy when he was so shaken and traumatized right now.
“No, I haven’t,” she said at last. Finished with the bandage she leaned back, replacing the scant items back in the bloodstained case. “It’s horrible. But I think what bothers me the most was what happened back in the tower, with Perry. I can’t bear to see him in so much pain.”
“Have you told him?” Steve asked.
Della averted her gaze. “I didn’t say as much as I wanted to,” she said. “He’s upset enough. I don’t want to add to it.”
“He should know how it made you feel.” Steve started to ease himself off the stump. “I was worried for him myself, to be honest. Especially in light of how he brought me back to my senses when I tipped off the deep end. Right now I do want to hate,” he continued, “but I’m forcing self-control.”
Della looked at him for a long moment. Somehow it felt like she was seeing him in a new light. Perhaps Perry had known, perhaps not, but Della felt as though she had just had an epiphany.
“That’s what you always try to do, isn’t it?” she said, her voice hushed.
Steve regarded her in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Forcing self-control. That’s why you’re the way you are on the job.” Della stepped back, deep in contemplation. “You don’t want to break, to snap. So you think coming off as hardboiled is the ideal solution.” Her voice lowered further. “And maybe it is, until something happens that pushes you over the edge.”
“. . . Are we still just talking about me?” Steve sounded uncomfortable now, but whether or not it was because Della had struck a nerve was unclear.
Della paused. “Perry isn’t hardboiled,” she said, “but he can be intense. And he usually does manage to lock away a lot of how he’s really feeling. I guess I do that too. I suppose most people do, to some extent.” She stared into the distance. “But that makes it so much worse when we can’t take it anymore.”
“Della . . .” Steve came up behind her. “Talk to Perry. It’ll be better for both of you if you get it all out. When it builds until it breaks, that’s when you get things like me being driven by hate. Or Perry trying to stop Florence all on his own.”
Della turned to face him. “You’re right, Steve,” she acknowledged. “I know I should talk to him.”
“It’ll be alright,” Steve encouraged.
Della gave him a bit of a half-smile. “It’s strange, how I came over here to help you and you’ve turned the tables so you’re helping me.”
“Well.” Steve looked at her. “I didn’t like seeing you looking so stricken. And I started wondering—if you were helping me and all of these other injured people, who was helping you?”
Della bit her lip. At the moment, that was a very good question. And she was warmed that Steve had considered it.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He nodded. “It looks like Perry may have started to put some things together too,” he observed, glancing over Della’s shoulder with a wry smile.
Della spun around in surprise. Indeed, Perry was coming over to them, completely sober and serious. “Della?” he called. “I need to talk with you.”
A smile began to creep over Della’s features. “Yes, you do,” she said. “And I need to talk with you.”
Steve looked pleased. Noticing him, Perry said, “Steve, I didn’t see you there at first. Are you alright?”
“Yes,” he said, and though he was still aching, he said it with more sincerity than he had upon Della’s initial arrival. “I’m fine. Della showed me another of her talents—acting as a nurse. You’d think she was one, with her skilled hands.”
“Della can do whatever she puts her mind to,” Perry said, finally smiling a bit. “Will you excuse us, Steve?”
“Of course.” Now Steve stepped back.
Della smiled at him. “We’ll see you later.”
“Take all the time you need,” Steve said.
Day/Theme: June 28th - Hands like clouds
Series: Perry Mason
Character/Pairing: Della Street, Lieutenant Drumm, Perry Mason
Rating: T/PG-13
Takes place following the climax, probably before the last part of #27 but possibly after. Prompt was used a bit abstractedly but was definitely inspiration.
It seemed that they had been waiting ages for the ambulances and helicopters to arrive. They had been able to place the call via Hamilton’s satellite phone, which he had left in the car during the battle with Florence and hence, was still in pristine working condition. But meanwhile, there were so many who were hurt to varying degrees. There was nothing to do but attempt to treat them in whatever way possible while they waited.
Della and Mignon, as well as everyone else who was not badly hurt, made the rounds as they attempted to find and nurse each person in need of care. It was heart-wrenching work. All the horrific wounds and the blood and gore were not sights for the faint of stomach. Just in the last few minutes, the caregivers had witnessed many things about the human body they had not even thought possible.
But even worse were the blows dealt to the faint of heart. The repeated sight of one person who had survived while mourning over a lost loved one was enough to make Della’s heart crumble into tiny pieces over and over. She never wanted to be such a first-hand witness to war ever again.
It was she who at last went to Lieutenant Drumm. She had not seen him since his bone-chilling fall from the caving floor of Florence’s tower. Now he was sitting on a tree stump, blankly gazing at the destruction and devastation all around them. The painful wound in his forehead had not been cleaned and treated yet; he had waited until the most serious injuries were dealt with. But from the look in his eyes now, Della was not sure she could say that his injuries were not serious. Not physical, perhaps, but far deeper.
It chilled her to see him like this. Steve had always been so in control of his emotions, save for the time when a policeman had been brutally slain and his anger and outrage had spilled over. Della supposed she had thought that he would be able to handle this situation with the cool poise for which he was most noted. Instead, he looked about as haunted, or maybe even moreso, than Della herself.
“Steve?” She got right in front of him, the worry strong in her eyes and voice. “Steve, please say something. Are you alright?”
He started, as if her voice was dragging him back to the present from somewhere far away. “Oh. . . . Yes, Della, yes, of course. I’m fine.”
“That cut looks nasty,” Della said. She held up one of the severely depleted first-aid kits that she and the others had been struggling to use. “Here, let me take care of it.”
“I can do it,” Steve answered instantly. “Aren’t there still others that need your help more?”
Della shook her head. “Mignon and the others are making a final check,” she said. “And I’m seeing that you need help right now. If you try to bind up your wound yourself, without a mirror you’ll do a sloppy job. And we can’t have that.”
Steve sighed but nodded. “Alright,” he conceded. “I just don’t want you to spend too much time on me.”
“It’s fine, Steve.” Della pulled out one of the last antiseptic wipes and began to tend to the injury.
Steve barely flinched. He watched her work, still focused on the current events. But she could see that what was bothering him was right there in his eyes too, behind the present alertness.
Della wracked her mind for a conversation topic. Certainly they could not stay here like this, not speaking.
“. . . Steve, you were one of the first of us to fall,” she said at last. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yes, I’m alright,” Steve growled. But instantly the tone was gone and he looked guilty. “I’m sorry, Della. I didn’t mean . . .” He looked weary. “All of this is so hard to take in. But you’d think I’d be used to it by now.”
“What?” Della began applying the gauze. “Defeating a megalomaniacal dark queen?” She tried to put a lighter tone in her voice, despite not feeling humorous in the least.
“Death.” Steve’s response was short and matter-of-fact. Della swallowed hard. “I’ve seen it so much. Every day, almost, since I joined Homicide Division. But Lieutenant Tragg’s right—it doesn’t get easier. And a scene like this . . .” He gestured at the horror and heartbreak. “I’ve never seen anything like this. There’s so much death in one place, all because of one woman’s selfishness and greed.” He started to clench a fist. “It makes me want to hate.”
Della blinked back the threatening tears at the edges of her eyes. “That’s how Perry’s felt too,” she said. “That’s probably why he . . . couldn’t take it any longer.”
“Probably. I don’t blame him in the least.” Steve looked to her. “But I’m sorry for what it’s done to you. You’ve been shaken by this as much as any of the rest of us. Maybe more; you’ve never seen anything like this either.”
Della was a bit surprised by the sudden empathy. Still, she supposed, she shouldn’t be. Steve had often shared the table with them and had been very friendly and kind. But she had certainly not expected empathy when he was so shaken and traumatized right now.
“No, I haven’t,” she said at last. Finished with the bandage she leaned back, replacing the scant items back in the bloodstained case. “It’s horrible. But I think what bothers me the most was what happened back in the tower, with Perry. I can’t bear to see him in so much pain.”
“Have you told him?” Steve asked.
Della averted her gaze. “I didn’t say as much as I wanted to,” she said. “He’s upset enough. I don’t want to add to it.”
“He should know how it made you feel.” Steve started to ease himself off the stump. “I was worried for him myself, to be honest. Especially in light of how he brought me back to my senses when I tipped off the deep end. Right now I do want to hate,” he continued, “but I’m forcing self-control.”
Della looked at him for a long moment. Somehow it felt like she was seeing him in a new light. Perhaps Perry had known, perhaps not, but Della felt as though she had just had an epiphany.
“That’s what you always try to do, isn’t it?” she said, her voice hushed.
Steve regarded her in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Forcing self-control. That’s why you’re the way you are on the job.” Della stepped back, deep in contemplation. “You don’t want to break, to snap. So you think coming off as hardboiled is the ideal solution.” Her voice lowered further. “And maybe it is, until something happens that pushes you over the edge.”
“. . . Are we still just talking about me?” Steve sounded uncomfortable now, but whether or not it was because Della had struck a nerve was unclear.
Della paused. “Perry isn’t hardboiled,” she said, “but he can be intense. And he usually does manage to lock away a lot of how he’s really feeling. I guess I do that too. I suppose most people do, to some extent.” She stared into the distance. “But that makes it so much worse when we can’t take it anymore.”
“Della . . .” Steve came up behind her. “Talk to Perry. It’ll be better for both of you if you get it all out. When it builds until it breaks, that’s when you get things like me being driven by hate. Or Perry trying to stop Florence all on his own.”
Della turned to face him. “You’re right, Steve,” she acknowledged. “I know I should talk to him.”
“It’ll be alright,” Steve encouraged.
Della gave him a bit of a half-smile. “It’s strange, how I came over here to help you and you’ve turned the tables so you’re helping me.”
“Well.” Steve looked at her. “I didn’t like seeing you looking so stricken. And I started wondering—if you were helping me and all of these other injured people, who was helping you?”
Della bit her lip. At the moment, that was a very good question. And she was warmed that Steve had considered it.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He nodded. “It looks like Perry may have started to put some things together too,” he observed, glancing over Della’s shoulder with a wry smile.
Della spun around in surprise. Indeed, Perry was coming over to them, completely sober and serious. “Della?” he called. “I need to talk with you.”
A smile began to creep over Della’s features. “Yes, you do,” she said. “And I need to talk with you.”
Steve looked pleased. Noticing him, Perry said, “Steve, I didn’t see you there at first. Are you alright?”
“Yes,” he said, and though he was still aching, he said it with more sincerity than he had upon Della’s initial arrival. “I’m fine. Della showed me another of her talents—acting as a nurse. You’d think she was one, with her skilled hands.”
“Della can do whatever she puts her mind to,” Perry said, finally smiling a bit. “Will you excuse us, Steve?”
“Of course.” Now Steve stepped back.
Della smiled at him. “We’ll see you later.”
“Take all the time you need,” Steve said.