The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
-Robert Frost,
from "Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening"
Luka was showing off some more pictures from his trip in the lounge,
passing them around to Chuny and Dave. Kerry,
who was buzzing around in the lounge, didn't look; he'd already showed
them to her earlier... over croissants and her
special shakes, at the breakfast table. "This is my brother, Nik, and
his wife Vesna, and their three daughters. Oh - and
an old friend, Pavle Zakorevic and his wife and their son."
"Hey, you have some good-lookin' women in Croatia," Dave said
approvingly, pointing at Vesna and Lin. "Maybe I
should save up, and take my next vacation there." Luka nodded solemnly,
and Chuny informed Dave that he was un
lechon! Dave mockingly blew her a kiss, and she swatted him. Luka
ignored their antics.
"It's a beautiful country. Some places, you can barely tell that
there was ever a war. Thank you," he said, as Kerry
casually handed him a cup of coffee.
"Hey, where's mine, Chief?" Dave teased, unsurprised by the glare he
got in return. He was starting to suspect that
those two had something going - heck, hadn't he thought, back in
February, that they'd be good together? Chuny just
noted it with an interested smile, then looked at her watch.
"Ooh, hey, I gotta get back out there," she remarked a little too
loudly, handed back the pictures she'd been looking at,
then stood up and left the lounge. Kerry glared at Dave.
"Aren't you on in about two minutes, Dr Malucci?"
"Sure thing, Chief!" He rocketed to his feet, and hurried out of the lounge, grinning at her grouchy tone of voice.
"And how about you, Dr Kovac? Aren't you on in...
about a minute and a half, now?" Her words were harsh, but
her tone was warm and teasing this time, and he winked at her.
"Yep!" He shoved the photographs back into the envelope, and
wrinkled his nose as he headed for his locker to put
them away. "Another day of the custodians' strike, huh?"
"Yeah. Afraid so." He muttered something that she couldn't quite
make out, but the disgusted tone came through loud
and clear. "At this rate, the nurses will decide to walk
out because of conditions, and then we'll really be
screwed."
"Yeah. Still, it makes you think, doesn't it? We're all
slobs around here - trauma's over, throw your bloody gloves on
the floor, and Housekeeping will pick it up." He shrugged. "I've paid
my bills a few times by pushing a mop or a broom,
cleaning up after other people's messes, and even I don't think much
about making messes around here, sorry to say."
"What do you suggest?"
"Well, I'm not suggesting sending everybody out with a mop and
bucket - although it might not be a bad idea to make people
think about their messes - but it would be good if people were a little
more accurate about aiming for the trashcan, for one
thing." He mimed the "slingshot" maneuver that some of the doctors
liked to use with their soiled gloves. "Just a thought."
"Mm-hm. Kiss me," she ordered, and he cheerfully obliged with a
quick peck on the lips, then patted her on the rear and went
to open the lounge door, following her out.
* * *
"We've got new third-year students starting today," Kerry said, as
they made their way through the wreckage that the construction
crew hadn't bothered to clear up before leaving. Luka ducked under a
panel that was hanging down from the ceiling. He'd smacked
his head on it a little earlier, on his way in, and absently rubbed at
the spot. "Five of them, I think the med school said. Maybe six."
Luka snickered.
"Malucci'll like that, having a new scut-kitten." Kerry turned and stared at him.
"Don't you mean 'scut-puppy'?"
"Uh? Yeah, I guess so. I knew it was some kind of baby
animal. Scut-piglet? Mmm... scut-duckling? Scut-squab?" He was having
fun now, and Kerry laughed. Luka spotted Mark, who was on his way in.
"Hey, Mark. How'd your vacation go?" Kerry had relieved
Nick a few hours ago; she'd specifically requested Dr Dennison to fill
in during Mark's absence: partly because the man was extremely
competent and easy to work with, and partly - Kerry had to admit -
because she'd gotten to like the guy, and wanted him and Luka to get
along (she'd noticed Luka sizing him up, although Luka had later denied
being jealous). The two men had circled each other briefly and
warily, then quickly accepted each other's presence and fallen into a
smooth working relationship.
"Pretty good, thanks."
"Yeah? Where's you go?" Mark grinned, remembering the great time he'd had.
"Elizabeth and I went camping in the Wisconsin Dells - we had loads
of fun." Camping wasn't really Luka's idea of fun -
"roughing it"? Been there, done that. He much preferred the idea of a
luxury, full-service hotel, with all the amenities: maid service,
laundry, room service, cable TV with all kinds of channels, a mini-bar
right there in the room....
"Mm. Good." Now that Mark had returned, Luka could bring in - and
give him - the present he'd brought back from Croatia: a Vucedol
dove, the same as he'd bought for Abby and Carter. He'd already given
Abby hers, during a quiet moment when she hadn't been swamped,
or coping with the latest vile body fluid on her scrubs (if he
remembered correctly, she was beginning her fourth year of medical
school
today - he thought he remembered that she'd said she had her surgical
rotation first), and would be giving Carter his dove later... perhaps
this evening. He wasn't sure why he'd picked the dove for Mark, but it
had just felt right.
"What's all this mess - did the ER blow up again?" Mark was taking
in the state of the place for the first time: bags of garbage were piled
up in the hallway ("adding that warm and homey 'something-special' to
the place," Dave had cracked), the admit area had been completely
changed around (or rather, it was in the process of being changed), and
there was a... whiff of something in the air - it wasn't
quite the
garbage, and it wasn't quite hospital smell, and it really wasn't
anything that Mark could specifically identify. Smelled a little like
the way
Dave's coffee tasted, in fact.
"Custodial staff is on strike," Frank informed him bluntly. "Last
couple of days. And this," he indicated the torn-apart
surroundings, "is
the remodeling that was in progress. 'Cept now the
construction workers won't cross the picket lines."
"Remodeling?" Mark stared at Kerry, who returned the stare; he looked away first, much to his annoyance.
"The finished design allows for a safer environment," she calmly replied. "There's just one problem--"
"Yeah," Frank grouched. "It's so safe that I've already scratched myself twice on a nail!" Kerry gave him the Stare of Death.
"So make sure your tetanus is up to date!" she snapped at him, then
turned back to Mark. "Plus, Housekeeping won't clean any of
the sheets or towels, so I've had to reassign some nurses - who I can't
really spare - to go run the washing machines." Mark sighed.
"Great."
Dave strolled through the area, and dropped off a chart. "You know
what this place needs? Hey, Dr Greene." Nobody really seemed
to care what Dave thought the place needed, but he told them anyway. "A
red VW microbus, with shovels and rakes and implements
of destruction, that's what. And then a cliff--" Dave
cut off abruptly, when he realized that Dr Kovac and Dr Weaver were both
giving him the Stare of Death, and decided that he probably didn't want
to be mentioning cliffs or implements of destruction around either
of them, right now. "Okay," he said meekly, reached for a new chart,
and slunk away.
Mark watched Dave leave. "I should've asked for another week off,"
he groaned. All he wanted to do right now was turn around and
go home to his nice clean apartment, where the only dirty
stuff was what he or Elizabeth had personally used. Where the only thing
dirty about the linens was the drool on his pillowcase, and where the
most disgusting thing in the laundry was his underwear. Ooh... and
he should probably pick up some dishwashing detergent on his way home.
"Uh, maybe I shouldn't ask this, but... where's the board?"
"Well, that's that problem I mentioned...."
* * *
"Dr Weaver... Dr Weaver, one of the toilets in the men's room is
plugged up!" She glanced up at Malik, who had made a beeline for
her as she was heading out of the bathroom.
"So unplug it!"
"Uh... but we don't have a plunger, and the maintenance closet is locked."
"Then show some initiative, and get it open!" She
turned around, and noticed that a gurney with a body was still
in the hallway.
"Dr Malucci, why is Mr Hunter still out here?" He paused as he was
wheeling a pregnant woman in the direction of the elevator, to
take her up to OB.
"Transpo has a sympathy sick-out going in support of the janitors -
half their people are out 'sick', and they're backed up the wazoo."
He pointed at Mrs Horacek, in mute explanation of his uncharacteristic
performance of chauffeur duties.
"So take him down to the morgue yourself: he was your
patient, after all." Dave grumbled, and reluctantly agreed to come back
for
Mr Hunter, just as soon as he'd delivered - so to speak - Mrs Horacek.
"They should just pay these guys more, Chief! This sucks." She snorted at him.
"I'll be sure to recommend you for the negotiation committee," she told him sourly. He laughed, and paused again.
"Hey, Dr Dennison isn't coming back any time soon, is he?"
"Nobody's scheduled to go on vacation for a while. Dr LaVelle may be
going out of town for Thanksgiving weekend, but I doubt that'll
be long enough for us to need an extra person. Why?" Dave shook his
head.
"Uh, no reason. Just, he was gonna lend me some tapes." He went back
to pushing the chair toward the elevator, and Kerry stared
after him. Malucci was making bootleg tapes? She forgot her speculation
as she noticed what a guy in a wheelchair was doing, right
out there in the hallway.
"Oh, my god," she muttered. At least this one wasn't asking her if
it wasn't the prettiest thing she'd ever seen... they just weren't all
that pretty to her, unless it was one that happened to belong to a man
of hers. And even then, her interest in it lay more in what it
did, rather than how it looked.
Although... she did have to admit to a certain aesthetic
fondness for the sight of Luka, completely
naked, sprawled on his back and asleep after--
Her train of thought was completely derailed by an outraged yell
from behind her, as a large, naked man burst out of Exam 4, clutching a
syringe, with Cleo in hot pursuit. If it had been a straight course,
Cleo would have caught him immediately, but he was leading her on a
merry chase around the area... dodging and circling around mounds of
garbage and carts.
"Cleo? I thought I told you to put him in restraints!" The young
resident, startled by Kerry's exclamation, skidded on a piece of paper
on
the floor, and barely caught herself.
"I did! Don't ask me how he got loose!"
The man feinted to the right, and then streaked off toward the admit
area. "Come back
here, Mr Collins!"
"I said, no needles!" he yelled back, and darted past a startled
Kim, who'd just got off the elevator, and continued on. Cleo paused
slightly, to apologize quickly and breathlessly, and went after him.
Kim stared after them, and went to the admit desk, where Kerry
was going through some papers.
"That wouldn't be the case I was called down to consult on, would
it?" Kerry sighed, as Kim jerked her thumb in the general direction
that Cleo and Mr Collins had gone.
"Afraid so, Kim. It's been crazy down here."
"Well, crazy is what I do. And... apparently what you're doing down here,
too," she added, as she looked around at the chaos. "The
strike isn't quite as noticeable up in Psych, of course, although we do
have our share of messes. You want me to get some Haldol ready,
for when the Running Man comes back this way?"
"If you don't mind - unless you feel comfortable with the idea of
getting tranquilizer darts, and one of those special rifles." Kim
snickered.
"No, I don't think so. I'd feel too much like Jim, on 'Wild
Kingdom'." Kerry giggled, as Kim continued, in her best imitation of a
documentary narrator: "Kim's going to go wrestle the giant gorilla,
bare-handed, while we watch from a safe distance in the
underground concrete bunke--" The two women watched, wide-eyed, as
Malik calmly strolled by, in the direction of the maintenance
closet, with a fire axe slung over his shoulder, then exchanged a
silent, astounded look.
"Malik?" Kerry called after him, but he didn't say a word... just
kept walking. "Excuse me. Malik!" She crutched rapidly after him -
sure, she'd told him to show initiative, and get the closet open, but
she was pretty sure that the custodial staff weren't going to be
very happy about a hacked-open closet door.
* * *
As Mark passed out orientation packets to the new students, Dave
glanced over in his direction and raised his eyebrows at what
Dr Greene's other hand was doing. Ewwww.... He sidled
over to him, and pulled him aside slightly. "Uh, Dr Greene? Somethin'
wrong with the Australian Boys?" He failed to grasp what Dave was
getting at, so Dave elaborated: "You're, uh, scratchin' Down
Under. I gotta say, that doesn't make for a good first impression,
Boss." Dr Greene looked surprised and horrified - Dave couldn't
understand why. Well... he could understand why Dr Greene was horrified,
but it shouldn't be too surprising: even Stevie Wonder
could've seen the guy giving his nuts a workout.
"Dr Malucci, how about you take over giving these students the tour of the place? I, uh, have to go deal with something."
"Me? Oh, come on, Dr Greene! I did it last time!" Dr Greene turned around and glared at him.
"Then you'll be well-prepared to do it again." He walked away
quickly, nearly going insane with the desire to start scratching again,
and almost bumped into Elizabeth, who was, oddly enough, wearing gloves.
"Mark. I was hoping to find you. Uh... there seems to be a little problem...."
* * *
This was the part of the job that he hated the most, Luka thought,
as he headed out of the room to give Mr Bristow the bad news. The
man had brought his wife in, about 15 minutes ago, and while Luka was
pretty sure that the woman had already been dead when her
husband brought her in (possibly even dead before she hit the floor),
he'd worked on the woman anyway... just in case: he'd
heard
of - he'd seen - stranger things happening, but not this
time. "Mr Bristow..." he began, and the man's hopeful face fell.
"She's dead, isn't she? Amelia's gone."
"I'm sorry. We used all our capabilities, but--"
"Oh, oh, God. I should've waited for an ambulance to arrive! I tried
to get her here as quick as I could!" Luka put a comforting hand
on the man's shoulder.
"Mr Bristow, I don't think it would have mattered how quickly you
got her here - based on her condition, she still would have died
if she'd already been here when she collapsed."
He happened to spot Kim emerging from an exam room, where she'd just
finished with Mr Collins: she'd doped him up with Haldol,
and had him in several different layers of restraints - between the
drugs and the restraints, he wouldn't be going anywhere
until she
could finally get Transpo to take him upstairs for admission (or at
least get Dr Mueller to come down and help her move him). "Please
wait here, Mr Bristow," Luka told the man, and hurried to intercept
her. "Hi, Kim. Do you have a minute? I have a man whose wife has
just died - I was wondering if you had time to have a word with him?"
"Well, I was going to head back upstairs, but sure."
"Thanks." He led her back to where he'd left Mr Bristow. "Mr
Bristow, this is Dr Legaspi. I'd like for you to speak with her for a
little while, please - I'm worried that you may be feeling some undue
guilt over your wife's death." He knew that his own feelings of
guilt had once nearly caused him to take his own life, and had
contributed to his nightmares (which had been made even worse by his
inability to remember them) - he also knew that he'd been very lucky:
he could have found himself with a girlfriend who was either too
clueless or too callous to recognize that he needed help; he would
always be grateful to Kerry for that push she'd given him.
* * *
"How can you not know what poison ivy looks like? Haven't you ever
heard the saying 'leaves of three, let it be'? And you went and
made a bouquet out of poison ivy leaves?!?" Mark peeked
into Exam 3, and saw that it was empty. "In here." Elizabeth followed
him, grumbling.
"I was bored, and they were pretty! You'd gone off skinny-dipping, and--"
"You could have come in with me," he wheedled, hoping he didn't sound as much like a dork as he suspected he did.
"Mark, the water was freezing! I don't know how you
were able to stand it as long as you did!" She sighed. "So is it
poison ivy?" He was peering down the front of his scrub pants, using a
penlight to illuminate the view, and she thought he
looked a bit of a prat, doing so. He was marvellously sweet, and
lovely, and kind, but he still looked like a prat.
"Yep. It's poison ivy. Distinctive rash."
"Oh. I'm really very sorry about this - I'd never seen
poison ivy before. We just don't have it in England! Uhm,
will you
be wanting cortisone lotion or a cortisone shot?"
"Let's be safe, and do both," he grouched. "And hurry - this itches!"
Haleh walked in just as Elizabeth was giving Mark the cortisone shot
in one pasty white buttock, and immediately turned
around - ostensibly to give the two of them privacy, but really to hide
her smirk. She bit her lip, hard, to try to hold back the
snicker as she spoke. "Dr Greene, 47's on the way in with a casualty
from a high school football game, ETA's about five
minutes. Kid got tackled in the chest - his mom's following the
ambulance." She quickly escaped, and Mark and Elizabeth
heard Haleh laughing hysterically the moment the door swung shut behind
her; Elizabeth frowned at the hurt expression on
Mark's face.
"I think you have a very nice bottom, Mark," she
assured him quietly. When he'd pulled up and fastened his pants, though,
she playfully slapped him on the rear and giggled at his offended look.
* * *
Doris pushed the gurney with its passenger toward the doors, and
rattled off the bullet. "Michael Palmieri, 17 year old male
with blunt trauma to the chest. Complains of discomfort in his abdomen
and chest, and reports trouble breathing. Pulse is 52,
BP 90/60 . We left the helmet on because we didn't want to remove it
until his neck was cleared."
"Good plan, Doris." With help from some of the nurses, and a couple
of the other doctors, Mike was quickly transferred to a
bed in Trauma 2, and Doris quickly retrieved her backboard and - after
Mark had cleared the boy's neck - her c-collar. She
bid them all a fond adieu, and headed for the door; she wondered why Dr
Greene was walking like that, but decided that it was
none of her business.
* * *
Another ambulance pulled up and disgorged another patient as Mark
was talking to Mrs Palmieri about her son's condition - the
one-two combination of the cream and the shot had finally taken effect,
and he was feeling much more comfortable. Dave had
promptly claimed the new patient, and was getting the bullet from
Zadro.
"Victor Davis, 18 year old male with an open tibial fracture." He
didn't need to specify that the injury had occurred at a football
game, since Victor, like Mike, was still wearing his uniform (albeit a
different one); Dave winced a little at the bone sticking out
of Victor's shin - it was an exciting injury, sure, but also a little
unnerving to see. "Pulse is 120, BP's 150/92. Gave him ten of
morphine."
"Okay, can we get somebody down from Ortho or Surgery down to look
at this leg?" Dave asked one of the nurses. "Hey, ma'am,
you'll have to--" Mrs Palmieri had approached while he was checking
Victor.
"Fifty-five... that's the son of a bitch who hurt Mike!"
"It was a clean hit! The ref allowed it!" Victor felt only mild
discomfort from his leg, thanks to the shot that paramedic had given
him, but the woman screaming at him was giving him a headache.
"My son is injured because of you!"
"Yeah? And what do you call this?" He pointed to the bone jutting out of his shin, and she laughed harshly.
"No less than you deserve, you little thug!"
"Okay, can you just please back off, ma'am?" Dave stretched out an arm in front of Mrs Palmieri.
"Anything happens to him, you little bastard...." she warned Victor, but backed off when Dave gave her a warning glare.
"You're gonna be okay, Victor," Dave assured him quietly.
* * *
"Who are all these people?"
"Friends of Mike Palmieri's, here to wait for word on how he's doing."
"Good god, doesn't anybody ever use the phone anymore? And do I dare ask who all those people are?"
"Friends of Victor Davis, if I'm not mistaken."
"This is a disaster just waiting to happen!"
* * *
The MICN beeped, and Haleh leaped to answer it. "What? You what?"
she protested, in response to what was coming
in over the radio. "Oh, come on! Can't you divert some--
okay. All right! All right!"
"What's going on, Haleh?" Mark had emerged from the trauma room to
fill Mrs Palmieri in on Mike's condition, and his attention
was drawn by Haleh's exclamation.
"Riot at that football game where those kids were injured!" She
gestured in the general direction of the trauma room where Mike
was waiting and Victor, who had finally been moved to a room. "Bunch of
people have been injured, and they're bringing most of
them here!"
"Couldn't they divert some of them? We're a little crowded already."
"I tried telling them that." She sounded offended that he would even have needed to ask, and he shook his head.
"We'll have to get some of these people out of here. Excuse me,
everybody!" Mark raised his voice, in a vain attempt to be heard
over the background noise of so many people carrying on conversations.
Kerry silently crutched by and slapped a bullhorn into his
hand, en route to dealing with another patient. He could see that her
leg seemed to be bothering her again, judging from the way her
face was tense and pale... and, of course, that her leg looked like it
was starting to lock up on her. He turned on the bullhorn, and the
resulting feedback that shrieked out of it for a moment got everybody's
attention. "Excuse me," he said. "We need for everybody who
is not currently a patient or a relative of a patient to please
leave. We need the room for a lot of patients who will be
arriving
very soon." None of them appeared to be in any hurry to leave, and Mark
sighed. Frank looked at him with a mixture of pity and
irritation.
"That's not the way to do it, Dr Greene. Here, gimme that thing." He
snatched the bullhorn away from Mark. "Listen up, everybody.
You got five minutes to clear outa here, and then we're callin' the
cops. You're loitering, and causing a nuisance, so get the hell outa
here!"
"Frank!" Mark protested the man's tone, choice of wording, and...
well... manner of getting the point across. Dave drifted through, in
search of a new pen - his pen had died, in the process of writing on
Victor's chart.
"Yeah. 'Nam's over, man," he observed calmly, and swiped a couple of
pens from the holder (a freebie from Novell Pharmaceuticals)
on the counter.
* * *
"Here they come." The ambulances started rolling in, and the injured
were whisked inside as the bullets flew like... well... bullets.
Some of the people called to each other as they recognized faces - some
of the greetings were friendlier than others.
Some of the gurneys were taken immediately to rooms (Curtain Area 3
was completely unavailable, though, since there were a lot
of bags of garbage and such that had had to be stored in there), but
some of the other patients had to wait in the hallway. There were
even a few of the more minor cases that had to be stashed near the
waiting area... far from being the ideal situation, but it had turned
out that Mercy, the closest nearby hospital, was in even worse shape: a
water main had gone out, and they were both flooded and
without running water.
* * *
"Mrs Palmieri?" Mark, who'd gingerly threaded his way through the
crowd of people, gently shook the sleeping woman's shoulder.
She awoke with a little start, and stared blearily at him before she
sat up suddenly. It was a mark of respect for their injured
compatriot, that the students had left the row of seats clear for her
to lie down and get some rest. Besides, they were all too wound
up to even think about sitting down. Most of the kids had
gone home after Frank's belligerent announcement, and a few more had
split after the ambulances had brought in all those people, but it was
still pretty crowded after the recent large influx of patients.
"What's going on? Where's Mike? How's he doing?" A girl nearby who'd
been talking to her boyfriend silently touched his shoulder
as a signal to be quiet for a moment, and shamelessly eavesdropped.
"He has some bleeding around his heart from the blunt trauma, and
it's keeping his heart from beating normally. We're going to need
to go in with a needle and drain the excess, to relieve the pressure.
It's a very simple procedure." He held out a clipboard with a
consent form on it, and Mrs Palmieri took it and scribbled a signature
on the proper line.
Mark returned to the trauma room, to perform the procedure on Mike.
* * *
The rumor swept through the crowd - Mike was dying! Mike was already
dead! The guy on the other side had had an ice pick
concealed in his uniform, and used it on Mike, purple monkey
dishwasher! - and tempers that were already up hit boiling point,
as one of the football players invaded the room where Dave had put
Victor and was working on him, and attacked the boy as Dave
tried to protect him. It went downhill from there - the ER suddenly
exploded in flying chairs, fists... people. Malik ducked,
as one
of the football players plucked a cheerleader for the rival team off
one of their own cheerleaders, and chucked her across the room.
"Man!" he said to the room in general, "Whose bright idea was it to
ship both sides to the same hospital?!" The cheerleader
shrieked,
and landed - heavily - on the gurney where their side's mascot was
mostly passed out (from a little too much liquid cheer, rather than
from actual injuries sustained during rioting); he opened one bleary
eye and saw that he'd been landed on by the girl of his dreams (or
at least the dreams that were of the wet variety).
"Mnnnrrgghhh," he said delightedly, then turned his head and was
extremely and noisily ill all over the gurney. She leaped off him with
a little ew! and promptly hurried outside to catch the
bus home. Screw waiting to see how Mike did, screw waiting to get her
cuts and
bruises seen to by doctors, and definitely screw doing
that waiting with about five zillion people. For once, she was glad her
mom
nagged at her to carry bus fare wherever she went. ("You can't always
depend on one of those loser friends of yours to give you a ride,"
Mrs Lange always told her daughter.)
* * *
Abby was not exactly having the time of her life, with her surgery
rotation only about seven hours underway: Dr Benton had already
chewed her out several times, for what even she acknowledged - in
hindsight - were stupid mistakes. She wished Dr Carter were
back already - she'd heard that he had been Dr Benton's student, and
had learned a lot from the man... and maybe if she could talk to
John (assuming that he was going to want to talk to her,
after what he'd seemed to consider her betrayal, back in May) he
could...
oh... maybe give her some advice on how to survive Dr Benton. All she'd
had the opportunity to learn so far, though, was that she didn't
think surgery was going to be the right specialty for her. She didn't
really know, yet, what was going to be her specialty, but
so far
surgery wasn't it!
Dr Benton had finally sent her down to help cover the ER,
babysitting a handful of 3rd-years who'd started today (oh, she had
to be
getting old; they all looked like little kids!), and now they were all
being kept very, very busy.
The very worst part of it was that the janitors were on strike (with
about half of Transpo out "sick"), so the entire hospital was already
a disaster area and the nurses were being worked pretty hard. Abby
reckoned that with what the hospital was having to pay the nurses
in overtime, they could just give the janitors that raise
and be done with it, but she supposed it was some kind of stupid
principle that
admin was trying to hang onto.
Once again, she gave silent thanks that she'd kept on top of her
tuition situation from the get-go: there was no way Richard could have
taken her loan money and spent it on his stock speculations, or at the
track, or even another one of those goddamn whores of his
that
he'd thought he'd cleverly managed to conceal from her for so long -
there wasn't any way that she'd have to put med school on hold, and
go back to full-time nursing (which certainly had its own rewards, but
Abby liked the idea of being the one giving the orders,
rather
than scuttling around near the bottom of the food chain, carrying them
out).
First mistake, "Dick-Head", she thought bitterly, as she ordered
pre-op labs for one of the wounded cheerleaders, was giving that
whore your home phone number. And hadn't that been a
wonderful surprise for the two of them. Oh, it hadn't been a Movie of
the
Week moment, with the girlfriend and wife teaming up to get revenge on
the man, but it had made some things crystal clear for
Abby... the first, and most important, being that one of the biggest
mistakes she'd ever made had been marrying Richard Lockhart
just to get out of her mother's house.
She'd only been sober for about a year at that point, and after she
got off the phone she'd been so close to putting on her
sneakers
and walking down to the Lucky Liquor that was just six blocks away...
fortunately, the telephone had been closer and Marian had
been home. A few weeks later, she'd taken the MCATs and then applied
for med school.
* * *
Luka sighed, and glanced up at the clock. "Time of death, 1947. Good
effort, everybody." He'd been supervising Jing-Mei on this one;
she seemed a little off today - she'd done absolutely nothing wrong on
the trauma, the patient's injuries had simply been too severe - but
she hadn't offered an explanation, and he hadn't wanted to pry. "You've
got the death kit, Lydia?" He snapped off his gloves and made
sure they landed in the trash bin, then washed his hands quickly - the
wadded paper towel soon joined the used gloves in the bin.
"Sure thing, Dr Kovac." She began going through the steps of the
procedure, and Jing-Mei collected, noted, and discarded the sharps
that had been used.
He paused, just as he was about to leave the room, and turned
around, half in and half out of the doorway. He had just opened his
mouth
to say something, but quickly forgot what he'd been about to say.
"Dr Kovac! Look out!" Jing-Mei's warning came just as a fist-fight
swept in their direction and crashed into the half-open door, knocking
Luka over; he grunted as he went down under their weight - damn... he
was really going to feel that in the morning.
Somebody's knee dug into his back, and he groaned. "Get off
me!" he growled, and struggled free of the melee - resisting the urge to
bang their heads together - as he struggled to his feet.
"Dr Kovac! Are you all right?" He bit back a sarcastic reply - how
was he supposed to be, after being knocked over and
squashed
by a couple of brawlers? - and shoved the fight back out of the trauma
room.
"Yeah, I'm fine." He was going to have a few bruises in the morning, but he was okay.
"What do we do now? That's a riot out there!" He shrugged.
"Easy. Run out, grab another patient, run back." At least nobody had
opened fire - not yet, anyway! - which made the process immensely
simpler than it could have been. "I'll go," he said,
although neither Jing-Mei nor Lydia were arguing with that idea, and
dashed out into
the middle of the confusion.
Now... where was Kerry? He didn't doubt that she could protect
herself - she was smart and strong, and fairly quick, after all - but
things
happened. Ah, there she was. Sure enough, she seemed to be doing fine.
He dodged another mobile fight and got hold of the nearest gurney,
then pulled it back into the room with him.
* * *
"Jesus fucking Christ!" Abby shouted, almost reflexively, as she and
the Indian student... uh... Priya tried to separate a pair of rival
cheerleaders who were choking each other - one of them lashed out and
caught Abby squarely in the face with her elbow. "Owww!"
She promptly forgot that she was supposed to be carefully
dealing with the rioters, and applied a chokehold of her own to the
cheerleader
who'd hit her. "Knock it off, you little bitch," she growled, as Priya
tugged at her own cheerleader, watching slightly aghast.
"Are you okay, Abby?"
"Oh, peachy."
* * *
Dave yelped and went down as somebody punched him in the face and
then followed that up with a flung helmet. He muttered,
very softly, "Paging Dr Howard. Dr Fine. Dr Howard," and shook his
head, instinctively curling up into fetal position. The only
problem with that strategy was that he'd done it right in the middle of
some of the worst of the fighting. At least he'd drawn attention
away from Victor long enough for Benton to go in and get the boy safely
out of there. They wouldn't be able to do much for him
upstairs just yet, but at least he'd be a little safer from the
violence.
Kerry waded into the crowd after Dave without hesitation - even
after she was knocked off her feet by a glancing blow, she kept
fighting... warding them away from herself and Dave with her crutch
until he'd had a chance to recover. Still, he was dazed when
he got the two of them back to the relative safety of the admit desk.
"Where the hell is Security?" he grumbled, as they crouched
on the floor. "You okay, Chief?"
"Terrific," she replied, cringing a little at the sound of something
breaking. Maybe it was just as well that they were in the process
of remodelling around here - with luck (hah!) the rioters would
accidentally restrain themselves to destroying what still had to be
demolished in order to finish the planned changes. Something came
flying over the counter, and Dave threw himself over her to
shield her. She nearly protested, but decided that his intentions had
been good - especially when compared to the possible alternative
of being hit by a flying chair.
"Okay, Chief. You feel up to makin' a run for Security? They've been
called, they ain't here yet. At the very least, I wanna get you
outa the line of fire."
"But I'm responsible for the department. I'm not going to leave." Dave sighed.
"Well, I ain't leavin' you here alone." He chanced standing up long
enough to grab one of the telephones off the counter, and pulled
it down to the floor just as another chair sailed overhead and crashed
against a wall somewhere. "Shit!"
"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doin'? Security's been worthless so far,
we're all doin' our best to keep from gettin' killed, never mind
helpin' patients. Hate to say it, but I think it's time to call in the
cops. Unless you got a better idea?" She sighed reluctantly.
"No. Unfortunately, I don't. Here, I'll call."
* * *
Despite the continuing chaos and fighting, they gradually managed to
get patients dealt with - admitted or sent home (although they
had to keep some people downstairs because the appropriate department
didn't have the room). And, there were some people who
chose to leave AMA, rather than stick around in this madness.
Benton and Corday began to survey the condition of the other
surgical patients... including Mike, the young football player whose
thoracotomy - or rather, the rumors surrounding it - had sparked off
the riot. Benton groaned... there was no way he was going
to
get out of here in time to pick up Carter! He'd intended to get done in
time to get a shower and drive out to O'Hare... maybe buy the
kid a good dinner to celebrate his return. Instead, he had a lot of
work to do. Great. He tried to think of what he could
do... oh,
there was that new student he'd gotten stuck with. He didn't really want
another student, but the only alternative would've been for
her to get Edson as a resident. And he wouldn't do that to his worst
enemy - the guy was a decent enough surgeon, but he knew that the
nurses tried to avoid being assigned to his cases whenever possible.
Elizabeth had told him once that even Romano had referred
to
Edson as a "weasel".
"You! Uh... Lockhart!"
* * *
Abby followed Dr Benton as he rushed the gurney in the direction of
the elevators, to get the latest patient up to surgery, and he
suddenly turned and looked straight at her.
"You! Uh... Lockhart!"
"Yes, Dr Benton?" Oh, god, she just knew he was going to yell at her
again... she tried to think of what she might have done this
time, but couldn't.
"I need you to go out to O'Hare and pick up somebody. Think you can manage that?"
"Uh... sure."
"Good. Name's John Carter, he's coming in on the 8:47 flight from
Atlanta." He didn't even wait for her to acknowledge his brusque
order, but raced on ahead with his patient. She checked her watch -
8:12 - and shrugged. Looked like she was going to get to talk to
John a little sooner than she'd expected.
* * *
Abby looked around, unsure at first that she had the right gate, and
then she spotted Carter emerging from the walkway. She took
advantage of the fact that he didn't see her, to get a really good look
at him... he looked awful (although he still looked better
than
he had, the last time she'd seen him). Then again - she
self-consciously fluffed at her hair - that stupid stylist had messed up
her hair.
She'd wanted something "cute and kicky", that wasn't always getting in
her face, but instead it'd come out looking like she'd cut it
herself, with her eyes shut. At least it had grown out a little since
then, although it still looked a little ragged. She just hadn't had the
time - or the patience - to deal with setting up another hair
appointment.
With luck, Carter wouldn't have a problem accepting a ride from her
- if she showed up back at County without him, Dr Benton
would have her head on a platter (he was intimidating
enough that she didn't stop to wonder how he'd know that she hadn't
picked
up Carter, if he wasn't returning to work for a little while longer).
She finally plucked up her nerve, and stepped around the people
she'd been half-hiding behind.
"Dr Carter. Um, hi. Dr Benton sent me to pick you up." She saw his
disbelieving double-take, and smiled shyly. "He would've come
to pick you up himself, but it, uh, got pretty wild all of a sudden.
And, uh, I guess I wasn't much use to him today anyway."
"Oh, you have your surgery rotation now? How's, uh, how's that going?" She recognized an attempt at an olive branch, and accepted it.
"Not really my finest hour, but with any luck I'll get the hang of
it... or at least, I'll get it down enough to pass that rotation." He
nodded
solemnly.
"Well, he's the best. And... you know... don't worry about it. I had a few bad times of my own in surgery."
"Really? Oh-- do we have to go down to Baggage?"
"No, I just have my carryon," he told her, as he brandished the
little suitcase that Kerry had had couriered to him in Atlanta. "And
yeah. Really. I think it was the first time I ever scrubbed in for a
surgery, I managed to contaminate myself: I tapped Dr Benton on
the shoulder. I felt so embarrassed," he laughed awkwardly, almost like
someone relearning that action. "The nurse actually drew
a circle around me on the floor after I re-scrubbed, and I had to just stand
there."
"For the whole operation?" She was appalled by the idea - it sounded
like one of those weird, pointless punishments that Maggie
had liked. Maybe not quite as bad as being forced to sleep in the bed
right next to her, that night (how could anything compare
to that anxious, sleepless night of wondering if she'd live to see the
morning?), but still pretty bad.
"Well, no. Dr Morgenstern - I don't know if you remember him -
started playing geography games. You know, 'name that capital'? I
got... I guess it was an African capital right, and I got to go all the
way up to the table, and hold a retractor." He laughed at the
memory, sounding - just for a moment - like the man Abby had first met,
back at the beginning of February. "But surgery wasn't my
thing after all. I was good at it, but I wasn't cut out for it." They
both let the pun go without comment.
"Oh. I was kinda wondering if you had any ideas on how I can get
through it. I guess the first one is 'don't tap anybody on the
shoulder in surgery'?" Carter laughed and Abby joined him after a
moment's hesitation; he noticed the way her eyes crinkled
when she smiled. Cute.
"Yeah, there's that. But just stay on your toes, keep your eyes and
ears open, and remember that you're training to be a doctor,
not a nurse. Same thing you've already been told lots of times, right?"
Abby smiled ruefully.
"Pretty much."
"Well, there's no magic secret to it. I'll tell you that now.
Especially not with Dr Benton - all you can do is study all you can,
pay attention, and don't take it personally when he gets on your case.
It'll probably be your hardest rotation, but there's a lot
you can learn from him."
"You really like him, don't you?" Carter shot Abby a quick glance.
"Well... I guess. Yeah. I admire him, that's for sure.
He's, uh, I guess Dr Benton is a lot like Kerry, that way: he's hard to
know - and sometimes it's like he's that way on purpose -
but every once in a while he comes up with something surprising.
I mean... if he didn't really care, he wouldn't have
followed me out of the hospital, back in May. Hell, he wouldn't even
have
participated in that intervention." He cleared his throat abruptly, as
if he'd realized he'd said too much, and turned away...
ostensibly to look at a rack of magazines in an airport convenience
store.
Abby smiled. "I know how that can be. My supervisor had a bad rep,
but she was terrific when she made me start going to AA. She
said that either I could go there, or I could... you know... go."
She made a "yer out!" motion with her thumb, and Carter winced.
"Oh, god, and I made that crack about you being an addict. I'm sorry." Abby smirked.
"Yeah, that was a pretty tactless remark. But... you
were right. I am an addict. A drunk. This way," she
directed Carter, as
she led the way to her car.
"So... how long have you... um... well...." Abby smiled at Carter's inability to come right out and ask.
"I've been sober a little over five years. I got myself cleaned up,
and... I tried to put my marriage back together, but my ex didn't
seem to agree that there was anything worth saving." Carter noticed
that her voice became soft and wistful at that. "He sure liked
having me as a shield, though, when one of his whores got too
demanding." Her voice became harsh, and Carter winced. She
noticed his reaction, and laughed softly as she unlocked the doors of
her car and got in. "My divorce became final about a
month ago - I got my condo and my car," she gestured at the red SUV,
"and the rat has to pay for med school. I got a good
lawyer, thank god: the money's all tied up, so it can only
be used for my tuition."
Carter got in his side, grunting slightly with the exertion of
stepping up into the car, and parked his suitcase between his feet as
he reached for his seatbelt. "Boy... remind me never to get you
mad!" She laughed, and started up the ignition.
* * *
She pulled into the lot, and they watched the cop cars heading into
the ambulance bay for a moment; Abby sighed gustily and
pointed at them. "And here I go, back into that. Are you
gonna come in at all, and say hi?" Carter shook his head.
"Nah. I just want to get my car and go home. Maybe get a little nap
- Gamma's throwing a 'welcome back' dinner for me, and it just
wouldn't do for the guest of honor to be absent, or late." He rolled
his eyes.
"Heh. Well, have fun." She opened her door and hopped out - Carter
watched her, admiring her graceful, slim figure. He knew
he wasn't terribly graceful... the boarding schools had
done their best with him, had tried to instill in him the basics,
at least,
of ballet and the other dance classes they offered, with little luck:
he would probably still be knocking over equipment trays when
he was forty years old.
Abby turned, and caught his intent stare. Oh. "C'mon,
Carter," she teased, trying to defuse the moment. Not that she didn't
appreciate the interest - not that she didn't share the
interest - but it was just too soon for him to be looking at getting
involved
in a new relationship. Maybe even too soon for her. And
besides, she was a student - albeit a student who was just a little
older than most 4th year med students. "Just open the door and jump out
- even you can't get hurt with such a short drop."
"I could fall..." he began, deliberately drawing out the phrase. "I could fall and hurt myself."
"Yeah, you could."
"If I did, would you come over and kiss it better?" She smiled coyly up at him.
"Tell you what - you make it down from that car without
hurting yourself, and I'll go over there and kiss you." She couldn't
believe she'd actually spoken that way to a resident, so
forwardly, so flirtatiously, but apparently the words had really made
it out of her mouth - he grinned and quickly descended, reaching up
quickly to grab his suitcase. She smiled and reached up to
lock the doors, then shut her door. John followed suit, and she could
hear him clearing his throat.
"So, uh...?" His inflection rose expectantly, and she sighed.
"All right, all right," she pretended to grumble, and went around to his side, where she gave him a tiny peck on the cheek.
"What? Is that it? What kind of a kiss was that?!?"
"The kind of kiss a student gives a resident," she informed him
almost primly, not quite aware that her lips were trembling
on the brink of a smile.
"Psh! I always gave Dr Benton kisses that were far
more passionate than that," he teased, and her smile
broke free,
with a little giggle.
"Really. Is there something you're not telling me, Dr Carter?"
"Okay, no. I never kissed him." She grinned at him.
"Gotcha!" They shared a laugh, and she glanced back over at the
hospital. "Well, now I definitely have to get back in.
When
can we expect you back?"
"I have a meeting with Dr Weaver and Dr Greene next week, to discuss
the terms of my probation, and then I guess I'll be back
the week after that. I'll probably be really restricted
in what I can and can't do, but at least I still have my job."
"Yeah. I'm glad you're coming back - it'd be a shame for you to have wasted your talent as a doctor."
"Thanks. And you know, you're going to be an excellent doctor, too. You graduate in June?"
"Yeah, assuming that everything stays the same. But you'll see me
back down in the ER - I have another rotation in... March, I
think. And I was working the occasional nursing shift down there over
the summer, like I was in, uh, May." She lowered her
eyes, embarrassed that she'd brought up that day.
"Don't worry about it, Abby," he told her quietly. "You probably
saved my life when you turned me in. Now go on - I gotta get
home, and I reckon Dr Benton is probably wondering where you are."
"Maybe he thinks I got lost on the way back, or chickened out and
went home," she mused. "Well, I'll see you later, then." She
turned away and headed back in, pausing to glance over her shoulder at
him - he waved to her, and headed for his car.
* * *
"Do I look all right?" Kerry had changed her outfit several times
after work, and finally settled on a purple blouse she'd ordered
from a catalog after Kim - down in the ER for a consult - had peeked
over her shoulder and remarked that the color and style
would look good on her. She hadn't forgotten Luka's warning, that Kim
was interested, but she respected Kim's tastes - the woman
almost always looked like she'd taken hours to pick out just the right
clothing, style her hair, and do her makeup... and yet, when
Kerry had diffidently said so, Kim had been surprised.
"You're beautiful," Luka assured her earnestly. "As always." Her
hair was just long enough for her to be able to put it up, the way she'd
sometimes done when she first arrived at County, and she looked
especially elegant with that style. Part of the appeal of it, as far as
Luka was concerned, was the prospect of removing the pins and clips
later. In the meantime, he traced little patterns on her bare neck,
then kissed her on the lips very softly. "Now. Shall we go inside?"
"Might as well." He got out and went around to her side to open the
door, and helped her out of the car... taking a moment to hold her
close before he kissed her. She wound her arms around his waist, and
hugged him; she could hear a tiny, weary sigh rumbling around
in his chest. "Long day for you?" He nodded slowly and offered his
right hand, which she accepted, and they headed inside.
Luka was pleased to see Carter, and not just because he'd brought
Carter's dove along this evening. It was nice to see a friendly,
familiar face here tonight - he was here for Kerry, but he already
didn't care too much for these people... although he did like Millicent.
Carter's parents happened to be in town; they had forgotten that
John was due to return today, but they gamely pretended that they'd
known all along and that they'd come into town just to see him. Carter
didn't buy the act, but pretended that he had; he introduced
Kerry and Luka to his parents, and Kerry could immediately see how
these two people had produced somebody as thoroughly confused
as John.
It was strange, though, that somebody whose mother was as dark as
Eleanor Carter - dark hair, vaguely tawny complexion - would have
developed such an affinity for blondes. Kerry would have expected John
to go for women who were dark-haired, like his mother, and
yet she remembered that Harper, Anna, Roxanne... and even Lucy, very
briefly, had been connected with him in one way or another.
There'd also been a rumor that he had been intimate with that pediatric
surgeon that had come over from Southside. What had the
woman's name been? Right, right... Abby Keaton.
Jack Carter eyed her appreciatively as John introduced them and he
shook her hand; she gave him the Stare of Death, and Luka tightened
his arm around her. They passed him, and could hear him saying to
someone "...John's boss. Stuck-up bitch...." before they moved out of
earshot. Luka glanced back over his shoulder at Jack for a moment.
"Would you like me to hit him for you? I will, if you want."
"I'm sure you would. But he's my brother, remember?"
"Hmph. Cain was Abel's brother, as I recall." He brightened
slightly, though, when he spotted trays circulating with what appeared
to be
champagne. "You don't suppose they also have beer, do you?"
"There's no harm in asking, I suppose. I'll drive us home, so have as much as you want."
"No, I'll be fine by the time we head out." Kerry folded her arms,
and stared up at him, and he relented with a sigh of mock-resignation.
"All right, Chief. Here are the keys." He bent down and
kissed her, then grinned wolfishly at her. "You're sure you don't want
to just
go home, skip dinner?"
"That would be rude," she scolded him, but a little half-smile was playing on her lips - the idea was tempting, she had to admit.
"And you always worry about what other people think?" He gently traced her jawline with his fingertip.
"She's making an effort by inviting us. Go see about your beer." She
touched his cheek, and smiled when he turned his head to kiss
her palm. In the meantime, she slipped the car keys into the pocket of
her jacket; she watched him amble over to one of the waiters
and - judging from his expression - ask something. That question, and
the next few that followed, were met with negative headshakes,
and Luka sighed and returned to Kerry's side, looking thoroughly
disgruntled.
"Champagne all around - good stuff, according to the waiter - and the most exotic beer they have is Heineken."
"So what kind of beer do you like?" He shrugged.
"I can drink the stuff that's available in the US - it's alcohol,
after all - but I won't if I can avoid it. Now, beer made in England--"
He
cut off, noticing her blank look. "And you don't know or care what I'm
talking about," he observed, smiling, but she shook her head.
"No, it's not that. I-- well, no. I've never liked beer. I like the taste of wine, and I like the effect of hard liquor... sometimes."
"Yeah. I've noticed that you don't seem to drink much lately."
"No. In the past, I usually just drank when I was unhappy."
"Like the night I first came by?" She nodded, and leaned against
him; he put his arm around her, and kissed the top of her head. "Can I
have the keys back?"
"Mm-hm. They're in the left pocket of my jacket." He reached in and snagged them, then gently stroked her cheek.
"Tired, beba?"
"A little. I think I'm going to be more than ready to sleep by the time we get back home."
* * *
"Now, you know that I asked you to be here tonight, because John's
returned home from Atlanta after three months. What you
don't know is that I had an additional purpose in mind."
Millicent glanced at Kerry, who'd been uncomfortably aware of the
others staring at the red-headed stranger - and her tall, dark
companion - throughout most of the meal. Excellent food, but nobody
seemed to know what to make of her or her presence at a
family dinner. "I wanted to introduce everybody to a new member of
the family. Actually, she's been a member of the family for a long
time, but has - until recently - been out in the world, practically
on her own."
Kerry really didn't like the sound of that - she enjoyed being
recognized for her professional achievements, but preferred to keep
a low profile personally: she'd been mortified when the
college newspaper had run that column on "plucky little Kerry Weaver,
bravely coping with her disability". ("Brave"? What the hell was so brave
about any of it? What was she supposed to do, sit
in a wheelchair all day, and bitch about her leg?) Monica had teased
her about it for months, though, calling her "Plucky little
Kerry" - that was even how she'd jokingly introduced Kerry to her
latest girlfriend.
"My daughter, who I'd put up for adoption shortly
after her birth, Kerry Weaver." A horrified silence fell over the table
for a
moment, and was immediately broken by the sound of everybody - except
Kerry, Luka and Millicent - talking at once. There was
a startled cough that came from the general direction of Jack's seat,
as something went down the wrong pipe, and Luka
smirked - couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.
There was a loud screech from somebody - sounded like a woman - that
cut off with the sound of someone slithering out of a
chair and falling to the floor. Luka pushed back his chair to go
investigate, but Millicent motioned for him to stay put. "Diane
likes to do this sort of thing every once in a while. As I recall, the
last time she did it was when the stock market hiccuped last
year. She'll be all right."
Luka nodded, and calmly sipped his water, cynically wondering how
much of the upset was because some of these people viewed
Kerry as being a new competitor for a share of the Carter pie. And he
was pretty sure that some of them were viewing him the same
way some of Kerry's neighbors still did: as some kind of foreign
gigolo. Too bad I don't own any Armani, he thought idly, isn't that
supposed to be the sort of thing that gigolos wear?
"I'm glad your mother put you up for adoption," he growled, as they
headed for the car a little later. They'd declined the offer of
dessert, pleading an early shift in the morning in order to beat a
hasty retreat. "I can't stand the idea of you having grown up to be
like those people!"
"She did spring me on them suddenly, though."
"Hmph. That's still no excuse for the way they behaved." He unlocked
and opened her door, and went around to his side. "So Carter
will be back at work in a couple of weeks?" They both fastened their
seat belts, and Luka started the engine.
"Mm-hm. Mark and I will be meeting with him next week, to talk about
the terms of the agreement. Short shifts at first - no traumas,
no handling or prescribing narcotics or benzos - and gradually work
back up to full duty. Also, we're putting him on naltrexone,
random urine tests - you may wind up with monitoring duty at some point
- et cetera, et cetera." She sighed and rubbed at her eyes,
with her hand resting on her forehead. "It'll be almost as hard on us,
as it is on him."
"Yeah. On the other hand, he's lucky to have a job at all,
much less one with temporarily heavy restrictions. Don't worry,
draga...
it's gonna be okay." She reached over and squeezed his thigh.
"I know."
POST-OPERATIVE NOTES: