Work Text:
Jon’s Cramp-Curing Code Pink Protocol
Jon
Looked like we had a situation on our hands.
I knew something was wrong as soon as I peeked my head inside the break room door. Which is as much of me as I dared enter into the break room. Much as my colleagues loved me, I’m pretty sure they would boil me in a pot and offer me as a sacrifice to the caffeine gods if I managed to wreck the coffee machine. Again.
I had seen something out of the corner of my eye as Marcy passed my office door, but needed to verify.
Marcy was indeed inside the break room, waiting for the kettle to boil. A mug with a tea bag string dangling over the lip sat ready and waiting.
I took an automatic half-step back in the doorway, even though I was nowhere close enough to short out the electric kettle. I wasn’t about to take any chances, especial in what already looked to be a possibly-volatile situation.
Marcy was braced over the break room bench, her elbows propped on the countertop and her head sunk almost low enough to rest on her forearms. She was leaning so her lower abdomen was pressed against the door of the cupboard beneath the counter.
This did not look good.
Carol and Sharon were down at the precinct handing in recorded evidence, which meant I was the next present in the chain of command. Looked like I would need to handle this personally.
“Marcy, honey,” I said, using my gentlest tone, while making sure my voice carried over the sound of boiling water from five feet away. “Is it…?”
With a visible effort, Marcy raised herself up and turned to face me.
I winced. Yep, it was.
I had glimpsed the bundle of pain sitting in her pelvic area from the back, but it looked so much worse viewed from the front.
But what really stopped me cold was when I raised my gaze up to Marcy’s face. Her eyes were bleary with tears.
Shit.
“Yeah it is…” Marcy murmured, voice weak and raspy, very unlike the jaunty tone with which she answered the phones.
“You took an Advil?” I was pretty sure she had, but asked anyway.
“Two.” She winced and shuffled on the spot, trying to find a comfortable stance when there was no comfort to be had. “Ten minutes ago. Still not kicking in yet.”
Yep, this required immediate intervention.
“You make your tea and sit tight. We’ve got you covered.”
“Thanks.”
Marcy returned to her previous position, not moving despite the kettle clicking off. I couldn’t tell if the pose helped or if the lines of pain were just hidden from my direct view, but I hoped it was the former.
I wished I could pour her tea for her, or go over and give her a comforting hug. But since I could do neither, I would handle the situation another way. We had protocols in place just for this.
Turning away from the door, I faced the rest of the office, took a deep breath, and channelled my boyfriend’s drill sergeant voice best I could.
“CODE PINK!!! Gentlemen, I repeat, Code Pink! This is not a drill! We got a Code Pink, everyone to your stations!”
Donovan was the first to emerge, sprinting out of our shared office while tucking his wallet into his jeans pocket.
“I’ll hit the store,” he said as he thundered past and flew out the door.
A few seconds later, Sho jogged past me, tapping at a tablet which he carefully shielded by half-turning away from me as he drew level.
“I’ll man the desk,” he said, tapping away some more as he darted into Marcy’s usual chair, scanning the bank of phones for missed call notifications.
“I’ll… ask what’s going on?”
Garrett stopped by me as he ended his sentence in a question, looking about as unsure as I’d ever seen him.
Oh yeah, Garrett had been working here less than a month, so he hadn’t been through this before and hadn’t been assigned his duties yet.
“Code… pink, was it? I assume this isn’t the ‘code red’ Jim briefed me on my first day. I made sure to thoroughly read the instructions for that in my induction package. If it were that, we’d be taking cover behind desks with our firearms drawn and waiting for an emergency response team, right?”
I was very glad he hadn’t gotten the two mixed up. “Yeah, Code Pink is entirely different, definitely don’t confuse those. It’s more… an informal minor crisis response? Though it is definitely necessary action to address a genuine emergency.”
I saw Garrett turn serious and his protective instincts snap on. “Explain, please.”
“It’s for… you see the women here, they… when they…”
Well, shit. Looked like I was about to be a gay man explaining feminine bodily functions to a pansexual man, which sounded like a punchline to its own joke.
Figuring this was a conversation Marcy likely wouldn’t appreciate overhearing, I ushered Garrett into my office.
“It’s… when women have their certain ‘time of the month’…”
It took a moment, but thankfully understanding dawned on Garrett’s face before I had to say any more. Phew.
“Ah, you mean ‘shark week’. Yeah, I’ve hung out around Alani and Sammy enough when they were going through ‘that time’ to get what you mean.”
Thank god for that. Bless the Havili family for adopting Garrett as one of their own. It had turned out to be a happy development in so many ways. I had likewise based my formulation for Code Pink on my experience with my mother and sister, so I knew what a useful teaching experience it was.
As expected, Garrett took matters with due significance, asking me seriously: “What are the operational parameters for Code Pink?”
I ticked them off on my fingers. “Donovan is doing a supply run. Sho is taking over Marcy’s tasks so she can relax. Usually Carol and Sharon would be personal liaison, but since they aren’t here, I’m filling in as emotional support officer.”
Garrett pointed at himself. “And what can I do?”
I thought for a moment, then delegated. “Get your car keys, you’re on taxi service. Usually Tyson’s job would be to drive Marcy home, but since he’s out on a case, you can take over that task. And offer to bring her back to pick up her car in the morning. It’s Saturday tomorrow, so it should be fine occupying a space in the parking lot til then.”
Garrett paused in the act of hunting for his keys in his jacket pocket. “Wait, she’s not fit to drive? Just how bad is the pain?”
I grimaced. “She could probably drive, but I’d rather she didn’t just to be safe. Marcy has particularly bad cramps. She has a family history of endometriosis.” I knew all this because we were a tight-knit group, and none of the women I worked with were exactly shy. Sho and I had long been considered ‘one of the girls’, an honor that would likely be extended to Garrett and Donovan soon, if it hadn’t been already. “I’m not a medical psychic so I can’t diagnose it - I don’t really know exactly what to look for - but even on birth control medication that is supposed to help regulate her cycle…” I lowered my voice, just in case anyone was around to overhear. “Marcy was just in enough pain to be on the verge of tears, and that was after she took two Advil.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not supposed to be that bad, is it? Most women don’t have to go through that every month, do they?”
I could hardly speak from experience, so I went to the next best thing. “From what I can tell, it varies. My mom, sister and niece complain a bit each month, but usually just need a hot water bottle, a few Advil and a steady supply of comfort food to get through it. I was down at the precinct one time and caught Captain Livingston working while recovering from a cracked rib she sustained in the line of duty. When I asked her what the hell she was doing at work in that condition, she said she’d had menstrual cramps that were far worse. I had a quick look at her lines and yes, I had previously seen her bulling through pain far worse than her ribs were giving her.”
Garrett winced. “How much worse?”
“If the ribs were a six on a scale to ten, at least an eight.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah.”
“Is there anything else I can do?”
Garrett was standing at rest, arms loose by his sides in a neutral ready stance, but I could see from his lines that on a psychic level he was practically wringing his hands. He was the kind who wanted to offer as much assistance as he could, and very much didn’t like standing by helplessly when he could be doing something to remedy the situation.
“I’m pretty sure there’s a spare heat pack in the supply cupboard. Find it and ask Marcy if she wants it popped in the microwave?”
“I can do that.”
As he loped off down the hallway - it wasn’t the kind of urgent matter that required speed, but the call to action seemed to make Garrett feel better - I returned to my office to make an important phone call.
Five minutes later, Marcy emerged from the break room, clutching a steaming cup of tea.
She had slightly more color in her face now, which I hoped meant that the Advil was finally working.
What I recognized to be Garrett’s resistance band - I'd frequently seen him fishing it out of his gym bag, he used it to do a few reps and stretches during lunch break - was wound round her waist several times and the heat pack tucked into it, leaving her hands free to wrap around her toasty warm mug. Garrett himself was hovering at her elbow, as if he expect her to swoon in a faint at any second and he was ready to catch her.
If anyone tries to tell me that the army turns out ruthless operatives, I will tell them that every man I knew who had served was a big softie underneath. Sure, maybe two wasn’t a big enough sample size to state this as a certain fact. But those two were among the best men I happened to know.
“Thanks, Garrett,” Marcy said, turning to each of us in turn with a small nod. “Thanks, Jon. Thanks, Sho.”
Our IT guy was taking a call. He gave Marcy a thumbs-up before he went back to jotting down a message on a post-it pad. He had to sit up very straight in Marcy’s chair in order to see us over the high EMP-shielded back panel on the desk.
“Are you feeling any better?” I asked. I could see the pain lines were still faintly there, a lot more muted than they had been; but I preferred to ask Marcy instead of stating facts that were of a personal nature. That, and it was more considerate to let her speak for herself.
“Yes, much better. I think the painkillers are finally starting to work. The tea helps, as does the heat pack.”
“That’s good to hear. Garrett is going to drive you home, once you’re ready to go.”
Looking between me, Garrett - who was waving his car keys in the air demonstratively - and Sho - who was scribbling down one last line as he dropped the phone receiver back in its cradle - Marcy said “Oh no, that’s alright, I can get back to work! And I can drive myself home when I finish up. It’s not as bad as-”
“The work day is nearly over,” I pointed out, “and it’s hard to concentrate on anything else when you’re dealing with pain. You might as well take the last few hours off before Friday night officially starts. Besides, I already rang Alani. She’ll be at your place in an hour with freshly-made chicken soup, plus five other containers of tasty things, so you need to be there and in comfy pyjamas when you let her in. Otherwise she will ring Jim up on Monday and curse us heartless men for not taking proper care of you. Knowing you’re comfortably tucked up on the couch at home instead of forcing yourself to push through another hour of work will be a weight off all our minds, and will save us from Alani’s scolding. We’ve got things under control here, so there’s no reason to worry or feel guilty. We just want you feeling better as soon as possible.”
Marcy looked almost teary again. I checked her quickly for pain, but it looked like she was more overwhelmed by everyone fussing over her, plus affected by a heady dose of hormones.
I was very glad I had created Code Pink, after seeing first-hand how much the women in the office had struggled in the past. Realizing I was the only one who could see the toll it was taking for the three of them to act like nothing was wrong when they were achy and irritable, I put a quiet word in Jim’s ear. He had been surprised, but quickly got on board with my suggestions. Maybe once I gave him feedback on how well the Code Pink protocols worked, he might consider writing them into the official business guidelines. Every company should make as many provisions for their female staff as possible, if it genuinely made life easier for them once a month.
“Thanks then, everyone,” Marcy said, sighing in defeat but looking genuinely relieved. “If Sho doesn’t mind filling in for me and Garrett is willing to drive me home, I guess I’ll have an early weekend.”
“I’m perfectly okay with it,” Sho answered, leaning half-out of the chair to stick his post-it message to the notice board; likely it was something that could wait until Monday. “Almost time to shut up shop anyway.”
"And your chariot awaits you Milady," Garrett said in an accent vaguely reminiscent of Monty Python's Holy Grail, brandishing his car keys again as he bent in a low bow.
“Just wait a bit before you head off,” I warned Marcy. “Donovan will be back any minute with-”
As if speaking of him had summoned him, he came through the back door, shopping bags in hand. Considering the nearest grocery store that stocked everything we needed was five blocks away and he’d gone on foot - trying to park the Humvee would have taken double the time - he had been pretty quick, and though he was slightly breathless from the rush, he hadn’t even broken a sweat.
Those impressive muscles had many practical uses.
“Here you go, Marcy,” he said, striding over and handing her one of the bags. “One monthly care package, on the house.”
Marcy peeked inside the bag and squealed with happiness, her aura turning her into a human pumpkin as the color of anticipation flooded her lines. “Thanks, Donovan!" She lifted up on her toes to peck him on the cheek, giving him flushed cheeks where the dash to the store had failed. "This is exactly what I need!”
Seeing that Garrett was eying the bag curiously, I explained, “Contents of a standard monthly care package: one pack of super sanitary pads with wings, one pack of extra-long overnight pads with wings, one box of Advil, one bottle of iron supplements, one bottle of organic orange juice - apparently vitamin C helps lessen the severity of cramps - and two blocks of the very best chocolate.”
Judging by the way Marcy was currently holding up a Hershey's block and looked like she seriously considered ripping it open immediately, this was what had made her squeal. Which I honestly didn’t blame her for.
“I got back-up supplies,” Donovan said, coming over with the second bag.
“Excellent job, honey. If you’ve got the bill, Jim will reimburse you.”
“Sure, I’ll leave the receipt on his desk now so I don’t forget it by Monday. I’ll just go put the juice in the fridge first. Here, Wilson, make yourself useful and put the rest of these things away in the supply closet.”
“What do I look like, your personal butler?”
Donovan hip-checked Garrett - meaning he nudged Garrett in the upper-arm with his hip - and continued on to the break room.
Garrett, meanwhile, rummaged around in the bag and pulled out four more Hershey's blocks. “Hey, these are extras, right? Are they for us?”
“Nope.” I couldn’t help chuckling as his face fell. This was one thing Garrett likely didn’t know, having only ever worked in a male-dominated environment with few female co-workers. “A strange phenomenon happens when several women work in an office together as a tight-knit group: their cycles tend to sync up. Sharon and Carol will likely be needing that come Monday.”
Garrett grumbled a bit, but replaced the candy bars in the bag. “When do we get chocolate bought for us, then?”
“That’s the privilege that comes with being male, Wilson. You get to buy your own chocolate.”