Day Four

Miriam Katz became a doctor because her father was a doctor, and her grandfather and great grandfather; probably going all the way back to the Jewish exodus her father liked to joke. It wasn't something she was forced into; she liked her chosen profession and she liked that helping others was the family business. Her mother was the head administrator of a women's clinic in Seattle and her father was a retired oncologist who now lectured at UWSOM. Her younger brother had bucked the family tradition though, choosing an east coast banking job instead.

Miriam left Washington after high school to go to college in southern California, slowly making her way back north as time went on but never leaving the sunshine state aside from the infrequent holiday visit home to Seattle. After finishing her residency in Sacramento, she turned down a number of offers from high profile private practices and suburban hospitals for a position at Stockton State Prison. Her fiance's family lived in Berkeley and Miriam didn't want to uproot both their lives over something as shallow as a larger paycheck and a fancy office.

She started out as just a general physician but due to the large turnover rate in the prison industry, Miriam was promoted to head medical officer for the entire prison after just a year and half on the job. She was now in charge of overseeing the work of all the other doctors (on the rare occasion there were any currently employed), the psychiatrists, the nurses, custodians and all the encompassing paperwork. It was a workload she hadn't been prepared for, nor was it something she particularly liked but Miriam was good at her job. At least that was what the warden would tell her whenever she went to his office to complain about something and threatening to quit. And so she stayed, for almost four years now making her one of the longest tenured employees of the entire prison.

Working in a prison had its perks; the pay was actually decent and she got a better rate on her malpractice insurance. And she didn't have to worry about maintaining a client base like those in private practice. It wasn't like her patients could drive across town to another physician if they didn't like her bedside manner, an aspect of her care she had often been told needed work. It wasn't as exciting as people thought. Inmates rarely got shivved, through when it did happen the whole week was a shitstorm as sides attempted to settle scores. Miriam spent most of her time treating head colds and ripping out infected ingrown toenails.

Occasionally inmates would come in with broken noses or bruised ribs, obvious signs of an altercation, but they would never admit anything. It was always some accident that occurred while lifting weights or a rough game of basketball. Miriam had long stopped asking follow up questions regarding the blatant lies; the inmates weren't going change their stories and she didn't have the time to waste by trying.

For the most part, the inmates left her alone. Some would harass her for a narcotics prescription, others would beg for more time in the infirmary. In her nearly four years of working at Stockton State, she had never been physically assaulted and she could count on one hand the times she had been verbally accosted by an inmate. She was polite but Miriam also made it known that she wasn't a pushover, to both the inmates and the COs. She didn't get familiar with anyone, something that came easy to her as she was a naturally reserved and private person. If someone asked her a question, she would answer it but she wouldn't engage in conversation.

The one thing she had no real control over was the staring. New inmates stared because they were trying to figure her out, old inmates liked to stare because it had probably been a while since they saw a woman up close, let alone to be touched by one. COs stared because they were waiting for an inmate to act out and harm her. Miriam really couldn't do anything about the inmates staring; if she told them to stop it would be a sign that it made her uncomfortable, a sign of weakness, and she wasn't willing to give them that power over her. Sometimes she could get a CO to quit staring by directing their attention elsewhere.

Today, there was a lot of stating going on. It was just after lunch when she was called down to the sick bay in A wing. Each wing had its own sick bay where inmates were screened and treated; if their aliment needed further treatment or if the sick bay was full they were sent to the infirmary. The lucky ones with an appointment got to skip the sick bay completely and make the walk straight to the infirmary. When Miriam walked in the room she was greeted by six battered inmates and only five beds. Three she recognized and the others she didn't. There were also five COs in the sick bay, not leaving much room for Miriam to work. Based on the officer presence, the look of the inmates and the overall tension in the room it was obvious there had been a bit of a brawl after lunch.

"Officer Pierce," Miriam addressed the tall CO standing by the door. "Take these three to the infirmary. I'm sure Willington would like something to do that isn't inventory." Nurse Willington had been on the job two weeks and was still terrified of everything and everyone in the prison. He needed to get over that if he was going to keep the job, Miriam thought. Pierce nodded his head before he and another CO corralled the three inmates she recognized out of the sick bay and towards the infirmary. With the potential for another fight gone, the additional COs left, taking the tension with them leaving Miriam with the three new inmates and a watchful CO at the door.

With the logistics handled, Miriam set to work, sterilizing her hands and taking a seat on the wheeled stool before turning to the first inmate on the end of the row of beds, an overweight man with thick frizzy hair that was slowly turning grey and a beard to match. His nose was busted and the knuckles on his right hand were bloodied. "What happened to you?" She rarely expected an honest answer; she used it more as a greeting than anything else.

The man shrugged. "Wasn't paying attention. Bumped into a wall."

Miriam raised an eyebrow. "All three of you? Did the wall fight back?" Again, a rhetorical question as she eyed the three new arrivals, all sporting similar injuries. She filled out the necessary paperwork (names, ID numbers and reason for visit) before pulling on a pair of gloves.

She worked in silence, first cleaning the blood off Robert Munson's hand before checking for any broken bones or cuts. Absent any, she was able to move on to his nose. Miriam was in the middle for checking for a concussion, a requirement for any blow to the head or face, when the felt a presence behind her. She was conscious of the four sets of eyes looking at her, but it was the pair boring into her back that bothered her the most. She turned to see the remaining CO standing only a few steps behind her, looking over her shoulder.

"Is there a reason you're hovering over me, Officer?" Miriam asked with a blank face.

"Weaver. Dylan Weaver." The CO responded, not moving. He was a tall, bulky man whose brown uniform looked to be a size too small with how tight it clinged to his body. His blond hair was buzzed short and overall he looked like an actor from a military recruitment ad. Whether he had deliberately ignored her question or not, Miriam wasn't sure but his non-answer annoyed her anyways. She didn't care what his name was.

Not hiding her eye roll, Miriam turned back to her patient. "On a scale of 1 to 10 how's the pain, Mr. Munson?" His nose wasn't broken but she had to put a bandage over the small cut on the bridge nonetheless.

Miriam noticed him flex his hand, testing his bruised knuckles. "Just a two, doc. I'll live."

Pushing with her feet, Miriam rolled the stool over to the locked medicine cabinet, nearly running over the toes of Officer Weaver along the way, and pulled out a bottle of pain pills. "I'm gonna give you a couple ibuprofen, for the eventual headache you're gonna have by the time you leave. Next time, don't walk into a wall."

The room was silent again as she made her final notes in Munson's chart. Until it wasn't. "What's your name?" It was the CO again. She gave him a look of confusion as she walked, stool temporarily forgotten, to the next patient, a Alexander Trager. This time she physically had to move Weaver out of her path. "Eh, I mean, how do I address you?"

Not bothering to stop examining the cuts to the dark haired man's face in front of her, she sighed. She supposed an answer would be potential to all the newcomers in the room. "Doctor Katz," she didn't like people knowing her first name, even if it was printed right there on her ID badge clipped to the front pocket of her white coat. "But most just refer to me as 'doc', or if you forget, 'hey, lady!' usually works too." The ends of Trager's mouth were turned up into a knowing smirk as he looked at her and she was certain the news that none of his cuts needed stitches wasn't the cause.

She hoped her tone was enough to convey her annoyance at his questions but the CO didn't stop. "You married?"

Her eyes instinctive flickered to the thick golden band on her ring finger. "No."

"Engaged?" Miriam didn't answer, only telling Trager that he needed to keep the cuts clean or else there was a slight risk of infection. He nodded, only now his smirk had widen into a full smile at the interrogation she was enduring. She moved on to the last patient, a man named Happy who looked as though he had never been happy in his entire life. Miriam was beginning to feel the same way.

"What's his name?" Weaver asked, his voice again coming from right behind her. She sighed, feeling the weight of four sets of eyes still staring at her. Done with the questions, she decided to ask her own.

"Are you new?" She didn't recognize him, not that she really made a point of become familiar with COs. There were a few she knew by name, the few she actually trusted. But her focus was usually on the inmates and making sure they had adequate healthcare.

Weaver nodded, proud of himself for finally getting her full attention. "Just transferred from Chino."

"Lucky us," Miriam muttered. Happy Lowman's only injuries were a few bloody and bruised knuckles. "I don't know how they did it down in Chino, Officer Weaver. But in here, I don't need a CO looming over my shoulder, watching me work and getting in my way." The pride in his face quickly faded away. Miriam tossed the bloody gauze into the nearby waste bin. "I don't need a babysitter."

She heard Trager try to suppress a laugh but fail. Weaver opened and closed his mouth a few times as he searched for words. "I'm not babysitting you," he insisted.

Miriam walked back over to her stool and sat down at her desk to finish the patients' paperwork. "Sure, you are. You know you're not required to be in here. You're free to leave and go do something useful."

The door to the sickbay opened, saving Weaver from having to respond. It was Officer Pierce again. "Doc, Tully's waiting for you in the infirmary. You want me to tell a nurse to deal with him?"

With a sigh, Miriam shook her head. "No, Tully's liable to stab them with a needle. I'll do it. I'm finished here anyways. You three need anything else?" She stood, collecting the completed paperwork.

"Nah, doc. We're good." Trager said, the same smile still on his face.

"Right," Miriam nodded, giving the three one last look. "Watch out for walls."

Clay Morrow had underestimated the reach of the Russian mafia. They had been inside for less than a week and they had already been jumped. Granted it was nothing more than scuffle on the way back from the mess hall but it was evident that the Russians had pull with a number of men inside. Thanks to Alvarez, they had brown's protection but the risk was always there, especially when there was a target on their backs. It was going to be a long fourteen months.

"You guys alright?" Jax said once Tig, Bobby and Happy returned from sickbay. Bobby was sporting a bruised nose, having ditched the bandage once the doctor had walked out the door, and there were some small cuts on Tig's face but they otherwise look whole. The six of them were now gathered around one of the picnic tables in the brown corner of the yard.

"Never been better, brother." Tig said with a smile. Clay raised an eyebrow at his sergeant's enthusiasm. "The doctor's a hottie," he explained. Tig had tried his best to get a good look at her ass the entire time she was there but her long white coat was always in the way. Still, from the way her grey slacks clung to her legs and thighs, Tig could tell the woman was toned, probably once an athlete in school, and that was often accompanied by a great ass.

Juice, sitting atop the table, perked up at the news. " Really?" He looked to Bobby for a more rational take, fully aware of Trager's more unconventional proclivities.

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, she's cute. But she also looks like she wouldn't think twice about knocking the shit out of you." Munson too had noticed the slender muscular build of her body, one that she tried to hid under modest pants and a black turtle neck that was totally unnecessary in the California sun. Her dark brown hair, partially pulled back out of her face, was long and the tight natural curls seemed to be a nuisance to her. She wore no makeup and wrinkles were starting to form around her eyes which were a brown color similar to her hair. Her face was angular and her nose a bit too big based on conventional beauty standards but it was overall a pleasing facade. But the doctor didn't appear to care, which only seemed to add to her appeal. Apathy could easily be confused with confidence.

"She can knocked the shit out of me anytime." Tig joked, the smile never leaving his face.

"If you don't shut up about the bitch, I'm gonna knock the shit out of you." Happy spoke up, not happy that his already talkative cellmate had found an exciting new subject to yap about. Sure, the broad had a nice face and big tits, though Happy couldn't be certain about the latter based on the sweater she was wearing, but he wasn't one to pine after a woman. Even in prison. The attitude she gave the CO was amusing to watch, but Happy could tell she was the type of woman who would treat any man, or woman for that matter, in the same manner and stuck up bitches weren't his thing.

Clay too was done with the conversation. "Keep it in your spank bank, Tiggy. We need to discuss our Soviet problem."