Of course she was part of Valdez’s volunteer response team. She’s given a clipboard and told to help facilitate those that are injured and incoming into the emergency room. Get ‘em in line. Give ‘em the paperwork. Get them to a doctor. Do a quick prelim check if necessary. What happened only a few hours ago is still replaying on the inside of Andy’s mind. There’s bullets, screams, chaos … she’s missed the adrenaline. The young woman sweeps her hair back and reties her ponytail in an attempt to pull herself back together in a similar fashion. There’s a fierce cacophony of sounds in the emergency room and, like a dam, she’s trying to hold them back - keep them from seeping in through the cracks and flooding her lungs. The disposable blue gloves snap back on.
Her own rib is… hurt. But she works around it. The pain is familiar and so is the particular healing process. Andy is no stranger to pushing through this particular pile of shit.
She looks at the person in front of her in the waiting room. She keeps her voice firm, hoping it’s more comfort than callous.
“I’m going to need a name, what you’re in for, and an insurance provider. Let’s start with that.”
