There's no man in town as admired as you. You're everyone's favorite guy...
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"Okay. Maybe you have a point there. But if zombies suddenly attacked tomorrow, I would totally choose Hemsworth over Evans."
"And I'm saying, if dinosaurs suddenly escaped Isla Nublar and were roaming around down town Manhattan, Chris Pratt would be your man."
Morgan O'Hara gave a slight shake of her head as she rolled her eyes. "No way," the blonde snorted in disagreement. "I mean c'mon! Chris Hemsworth is Thor! I think he can handle a couple of prehistoric lizards."
"They're dinosaurs, Mo. Not lizards."
"Whatever," she chided. "If anything, they're glorified toads."
With a frown and dark furrowed brows, her partner Tom turned to give her a look. "How in the world do you figure that?" He challenged.
"It was back in the first movie," she began. "Don't you remember? During the short animation at the beginning of the tour, it explained that the scientists had to use frog DNA to help fill in the gaps in the sequencing code."
As an awkward silence overtook the front end of the ambulance, Morgan glanced over at Tom. "What?"
"Nothing," he laughed.
"No. C'mon," Morgan urged, her lips twiching ever so slightly. "Tell me."
With a large grin, Tom released one hand from the steering wheel before playfully shoving her. "I just never realized how big of a nerd you actually were," he teased.
"Me?" Morgan pointed to herself with a small squeal. "Last time I checked, I wasn't the one walking around the EMS Christmas Party referring to myself as Star Lord."
"Alright. You got me there," he chuckled. "But can we all just agree, I'm definitely the better Tom to have around."
"Oh brother," Morgan laughed. "Here we go."
"I mean it though," Tom continued in all seriousness. "Name three Tom's that would be better than me in a crisis."
Without a moments hesitation Morgan responded. "Hardy, Welling, Hiddleston."
"Wow," Tom looked dejected as he glanced over at the blonde paramedic. "You've really put some thought into this--"
"Stop the car!"
All of a sudden, Morgan gripped Tom's forearm before pointing towards the roof of St. Patrick's Cathedral.
"My god," she breathed. "There's somebody up there!"
As quickly as she could, Morgan clicked the safety release on her seat belt before throwing open the passenger door to the ambulance.
"Call it in!" She hollered back as she hopped out, barely waiting for the vehicle to come to a complete stop. "And make sure you tell dispatch we have a possible 25-Bravo-4 in progress."
As Morgan ran into the old catholic church, something inside of her snapped. She had heard other's describe it before as the same kind of adrenaline that propelled firefighters to rush into a burning building, but never once had she actually experienced it herself.
With no idea how long the jumper could possibly hold on, she rushed past the velvet ropes without a single regard for the 'no trespassing' signs attached to them. As she pushed herself to run faster, Morgan vowed that as long as she lived and breathed, there would be no death on her watch. Not tonight, anyways.
"Just hold on there!" She called as she rushed over to the ledge. "I've got you!"
Leaning down as far as she could, Morgan stretched out her arms.
"C'mon, take my hand!" She yelled, making sure her knees were securely braced against the roof for leverage. "I promise I won't let you fall!"
Morgan bit down on the inside of her cheek with a slight gasp, as the large man grabbed hold of her hands. There was a brief moment of panic, when his grip began slipping from hers-- but for all she was worth, Morgan heaved and pulled. She was sure her shoulders would dislocate, the muscles in her biceps screaming as they were nearly torn apart, but she wouldn't let go. She couldn't let go.
With a sigh of relief, Morgan toppled backwards against the roof-- the man she had been struggling to save landing on top of her with a grunt.
"You're safe now." Morgan whispered as her arms encircled the larger man.
Lifting his head, the gorgeous stranger studied Morgan with an intense curiosity. As his luscious lips hovered mere centimeters above her, Morgan could feel a blazing heat creep into her cheeks. If she didn't get herself out from underneath this man soon, Morgan was sure she would have to stop by the confessional on her way out.
With his full weight bearing down on top of her, Morgan wiggled uncomfortably underneath him. The man seemed to snap back to reality as he quickly rolled off her. Rough, strong hands clasped her petite arms, and a moment later, Morgan found herself standing next to the man.
"Thank you," he mumbled at her.
"You're welcome."
As he offered a weak smile, Morgan could feel the Earth shift underneath her. What could have possessed such a handsome man to end his life, she wondered.
"What were you doing up here?" Her forehead crinkled together as she looked up at him.
The man awkwardly cleared his throat before answering. "There was this woman," he began. "And she-- she took my money."
"So you chased her up here, instead of calling the cops?"
The man gave her a sheepish shrug. "It was all the money I had," he explained. "She was old, I thought I could catch her. I didn't know what else to do."
With a nod in understanding, Morgan placed a hand on his shoulder. She couldn't really blame the guy for trying. After all, the typical response time of the NYPD was forty-two minutes.
"Maybe next time, you could try calling the cops," she suggested. "But whatever you decide to do, please, stay off the roof."
"You have no idea," the man muttered.
As Morgan lead the man back over to the stair well, she gave his odd attire a curious glance. It wasn't every day that she saw a man dressed in a white frilly shirt with a red leather duster, but it suited him. The well tailored outfit, though by now soaking wet, clung to the contours of a well-defined and chiseled body.
Judas Priest, Morgan snorted in her head. If she didn't get a chance to admit her transgressions, she should at least drop a few coins in the penance box for good luck. She had a feeling when she was done with her evaluation of the man, she would be asking for forgiveness from all seven of the sacraments.
"Thank god you got him, O'Hara!"
"And where the hell were you?" Morgan glared at Tom as she walked over to the back end of the ambulance. Gesturing for the man to take a seat, Morgan placed a hand on her hip as she spun around to face her partner. "I really could have used your help up there," she pointed to the church tower.
"I-- I," Tom paused as he had some sort of internal debate with himself. "Ok, so there was this really, hot chick, Mo."
"Oh my god," she rolled her eyes in disgust.
This wasn't even the first time he had done this to her. "Whatever," she huffed. "Just let dispatch know it was a false alarm. We're all good here."
"So he's--"
"Fine." Morgan cut Tom off before he could say the words jumper or suicide out loud.
As Tom headed towards the front of the vehicle, Morgan placed a thin, blue blanket around the man's broad shoulders.
"I just have a few questions for you," she told him, "and then you can go."
The man gave her a stiff nod before beginning her assessment.
"Can you squeeze my hands?" she asked, holding them out in front of her.
As he took hold of them, she noticed how warm and strong they were. Definitely the hands of a hard working man, she mused. She wondered what he did for a living to have made them so calloused.
Next, she ran a light back and forth across his eyes. "How 'bout your age?" She said. "And while your at it, why don't you tell me your address and phone number."
At the crestfallen look on his face, Morgan paused.
"This is-- actually, my first day here." The man hesitantly looked up at her as he spoke. "No address," he shook his head, "No phone number."
"That's why you chased down that woman," she gasped in realization. "Oh wow," she took a step back in a daze. "I'm really sorry. Is there anyone you can call?" She asked.
The man gave her a confused look. "I-- I don't think they would hear me."
"No family members?" she encouraged. "Or a wife?"
"No." He glanced shamefully down at his feet. "There's no one."
As Morgan gazed at the large man sitting on the edge of her ambulance, her heart broke for him. From what she had witnessed, he'd had a rough first day in the city of New York and if his story measured up, he would have no where to go.
"The name's Morgan," she extended her hand for him to shake. "Morgan O'Hara. And you can definitely stay with me for the night."
"What?" Tom practically screeched as he re-emerged from nowhere. "I really don't think that's a good idea," he frowned. "Besides, you don't even know his name."
"It's Gaston," the large man suddenly interjected. "Gaston LeGume."
"You mean like the big guy from the 'Beauty and the Beast'?"
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Gaston answered him.
"You know," Tom urged as he broke into song. "No one's slick as Gaston, no one's quick as Gaston. No one's neck's as incredibly--"
"The villager's song," Gaston muttered as he narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "So you've heard of me?"
"Oh my god, see?" Tom cried out as he turned on Morgan. "He's crazy-- delusional," Tom insisted. "Or at the very least he's suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder."
"All right," Morgan interrupted, her voice growing more irritated as she spoke. "I haven't seen any other symptoms of BPD, and like it or not, I'm a big girl," she spoke decidedly. "I make my own decisions here, and the shelters will be extremely over crowded because of the storm. So unless you can think of a better idea--"
As she trailed off, Tom ran his hands through his hair in frustration.
"Fine! But just know that I'm on to you," he snorted.
As he shuffled around Morgan, he jabbed a threatening finger in Gaston's face. "You probably think your God's gift to women-- everyone's favorite guy-- but if you so much as harm one hair on her head--"
"I can assure you, I'm a proper gentleman," Gaston sneered.
"Aren't we all," Tom mocked.
As he quickly walked away, leaving Morgan to stand there alone with Gaston, she wondered what the hell had gotten into her partner. With a shrug, she turned back to her patient, reaching to grab another blanket from behind him.
"Thank you."
Morgan looked down at Gaston as his strong fingers curled around her wrist.
"For what?" She smiled at him.
"For being kind," he answered. "When no one else in this world has been."
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Good evening Messieurs and Mesdemoiselles! I just wanted to thank you so much for reading 'Gaston'. Don't forget to vote, comment or follow if you enjoyed! ~Rose