A/N: Hi everyone. I've never done an ER fic before. I've been reading on the site for a while, though, and I really wanted to do a story about Dr. Morris. So, I created an OC who had the potential of being taken as a joke by fellow County staff and who could relate to the problems Morris has of being considered a serious doctor. I hope you like it.
Update 7/19/09: After a lot of thought, I decided to compile a soundtrack of music that I felt could provide a sort of soundtrack to the story. Most of it was included in a mix that I listened to while writing, and a few friends who read the story with the backing music said that they liked the added dimension. So, I thought I would share it with you. The link is available in my author profile.
Disclaimer: I don't own ER or any of the characters. I did, however, make up Dr. Leslie Thomas.
A slew of reporters had filled the ER waiting room, straining to see the staff milling behind the desk. What had started as a typical first day for a new Attending Physician had quickly spiraled into an all-out media frenzy. Frank was yelling at one after another; Kovac had become annoyed after telling a nosy reporter "No comment" for what felt like the seventieth time that day. Security was on-hand to keep the ER operational and protect legitimate patients from being trampled by the paparazzi-like assault. The place was a mess. One man waiting turned to another. "You think Brian Urlacher's in there?"
As he pushed through the door, flashing his badge, Morris made his way through the crowd, microphones and recorders pushed under his nose and a buzz of questions coming at him from all directions. Normally, Morris would have loved to have been the ER's spokesman for the day, schmoozing with the reporters and smiling for the cameras, but today, he was trying to avoid being noticed, as he'd been almost twenty minutes late. He also had no idea what was going on, but he was glad for the distraction. The redheaded doctor managed to slip past the desk, whisking a chart and slipping on a lab coat successfully under the radar.
Suddenly, the crowd shifted, lights surging to life and journalists pushing their photographers to the front of the pack, hoping for a decent shot. Morris stepped up onto a shelf at the desk, craning to see what they were all buzzing about. Frank didn't look up from the computer. "Damn vultures. They're going to tear Doogie apart." Sam turned from the admit window.
"Doogie? Honestly, Frank." Before Morris could ask, he heard Kovac yelling for everyone to move aside as he cleared the way for a gurney charging through to a trauma room. There was a blinding shower of camera flashes as it passed. Several of the reporters had pushed through to the doors of the newly-occupied trauma room. Frank was already calling for more security, lifting a hand to a straggling reporter busily scribbling notes and firing questions.
"What the hell's going on in here?" Morris asked, powdered sugar falling onto his beard and coating his lips as he stole a quick breakfast from an open donut box on the counter. The inside flap of the lid had a large, bubbly-printed note in purple pen. Thank you for this opportunity. I look forward to working with you all. – Leslie
"Oh, you mean Dr. Thomas?" Abby interjected. "Remember that girl that graduated from Northwestern Medical at 21 a few years back? Daughter of some politician? Well, she finished her residency. Guess what hospital picked her up as an Attending? And she brought treats!" Abby added with fake enthusiasm. Four police officers were pushing the reporters from the ER with much effort, leaving a walkway to the trauma room. Morris couldn't resist; sticking the clipboard under his arm, he briskly approached the swinging doors, peering through the glass.
He located her immediately. A short stranger with an average build in brown slacks and a pink button-down top and lab coat was pulling on glasses and gloves, easing into a trauma gown held for her by a nurse. Leslie's eyebrows were arched, and she wore a serious frown on her face, focusing on the patient before her. Though Kovac was trying to lead the trauma, she seemed to be in her own world, easily navigating the anatomy and tools and watching the series of screens and monitors out of the corner of her eye, a piercing aqua green. She had a knot of dark blonde hair at the base of her neck and a noticeable splatter of freckles on her face, making her seem even younger. He had to admit she was sort of cute. Still amazed, he whispered under his breath, "She can't be more than-"
"26. She's 26," finished a short Asian woman in a smart gray suit next to him. "And incredible. Daughter of Senator Roland Thomas from Des Moines. Finished high school at 15. Through college, medical school, and internship in 7 years. How does it feel to be working with her?" He was aware of a pen being clicked and readied on a notepad. Without a word, Morris turned toward Curtain Three to check out a patient and sign off on some tests that had been ordered. This was going to be a long week.
"That was very good. You did very well in there. Your first trauma at County," Kovac offered, as she watched the surgical team take her patient into the elevator. He'd been a thirty-one-year-old hotdog vendor, downed by a hit and run.
Leslie turned to him, sighing, "Welcome to the circus." Luka frowned, opening his mouth to ask what she was talking about, but she gestured absently to the security keeping the reporters at bay. "Every milestone, they show back up. And every time, my dad is a little more important than last time, so more of them show. But they'll forget about me soon enough, and I'll be just another doctor, I promise. Give me a week or so." Kovac smiled, looking over at her. She was just a kid.
"I don't think you'll be 'just another doctor' for a few years." Leslie winced and pursed her lips.
"Dr. Kovac-"
"Luka," he firmly interjected. She smiled now for the first time since the trauma.
"Luka," she corrected. "It's just a number. I've been through all the same coursework and residency. I'm just like anyone else here, just maybe with a little more time before the gray sets in."
"I know. You wouldn't be here if you weren't competent, or able to handle all this," he added. Leslie gazed out at the reporters snapping pictures from the windows about thirty feet away. She frowned again and shook her head before following Luka toward the desk.
Leslie sipped her coffee in the locker room, a blush to her cheeks as Hope kept firing questions. "So when they say perfect SAT, they mean perfect?" Hope hadn't touched her salad and was staring at the woman no older than herself who was an ER Attending. Leslie nodded sheepishly, obviously not the first time she'd answered these questions. "And you escaped Northwestern with just two B's?!"
"Why don't you tell me about yourself, Hope? Where did you go to school?" she asked, politely trying to direct attention away from herself. Hope simply replied that it was just some little old place and wasn't important, following it with more questions. Morris could have sworn he saw the smallest cringe as Leslie listened to more questions.
"Pathetic, isn't it?" Gates spat as he crossed his arms. "It's all anyone wants to talk about. Some silver spoon trust fund kid skips a few grades and sacrifices a social life to please overbearing parents. She regurgitates some facts and impresses a few grownups, Dad pulls a few strings, and she's a doctor."
"You're talking about it, aren't ya?" scoffed Frank. Gates shot him a look and turned to the board.
"What do we got? Possible cracked ribs. Head lac. Twin boys food poisoning in two. Hmph, why don't we let Doogie check that one out?" he asked. "Maybe break her in a little." Morris turned to the intern in annoyance.
"Because she outranks you," Morris replied flatly. As Gates prepared to reply, Leslie pushed in between them, staring at the board with interest and pretending she hadn't been listening to Gates. "There's a rib fracture in four, if you-" Morris began to offer.
"Thank you… Archie, but I think Tony and I were going to check out that food poisoning in two. Two patients; two doctors. Just in case he needs help. I don't think I'm above a little work in the trenches every once in a while. Besides, a peds case. Kids are the highlight of my day. Being that I just was one," she added with a smile. Gates shot Morris a look and trailed along behind Dr. Thomas.
As the ambulances pulled up, the doctors and nurses prepared for the family waiting inside. SUV rollover. A mom and three kids. The doors swung open, and gurneys emerged. The staff dispersed, but the noise had caught the attention of the ubiquitous press, and they descended again, cameras rolling. Leslie was calling out orders, but her voice was suddenly drowned, as a journalist placed himself between her and the gurney.
"Come on, guys, really. All this fuss over me?" Leslie asked lightly with a smile for the nearest camera, hoping that the people around her would let her work if she just played along. It was no use; more were quickly approaching to completely surround her. "Please, it's my first day. It's just like the first day of residency or med school. Not right now; I'm busy," she pled in frustration. But the crews were determined, and Leslie was watching the gurney move away helplessly. Suddenly, they were being forcefully pushed aside.
"Hey, back off. We need Dr. Thomas inside. Move it! Get outta here!" A hand forcefully yanked her through the doors. Gates had gotten her back into the building while the two ambulance drivers held back the parted crowd. Leslie tried to thank him, but Gates was already tubing his patient.
Leslie Thomas stared up into the night sky, hugging herself to keep warm as a chilly breeze rolled in from the direction of the lake. Unseasonably cold. It didn't necessarily bother her; she'd always liked the cold. The lights of the city gleamed before her, and she suddenly felt very small and insignificant, a feeling that she hadn't felt in a while. The child of a politician and lawyer, she'd been used to the limelight almost since birth. And ever since she'd started school in the second grade, skipping both kindergarten and first, she'd simultaneously been an outsider and the perpetual center of attention. "Long day?" a voice asked from behind her. She didn't turn around, just nodded, pulling the lab coat a little tighter and noticing that it had been spattered with vomit from the twins earlier. "I don't blame you for not getting out of here right away. Those reporters… what a nightmare. But they're gone now. I think they thought you slipped out the back since your shift was technically over-"
"Two hours ago," she finished, glancing over at Archie Morris beside her. He was the only person who hadn't either treated her like she hadn't earned her job or like she was some kind of god. She was so sick of proving herself and defending herself and fielding questions. Archie was the first friendly face, the first person to approach her casually and seemingly without agenda. Though not exceedingly sharp or devastatingly handsome, he would certainly do for company's sake. To Leslie Thomas, former whiz kid and current hotshot doctor, the only thing worse than being hounded was being alone. "Do you drink? Because I do, and I don't know this area well enough to know where I can get a Blue Moon on tap. And if I don't get one tonight, this day will have ended on a real low note." Archie smiled. He happened to know just the place.
"Hey," the bartender said, staring from the stool in front of him to the TV in the corner. "That's you." Leslie glanced up at the screen, watching herself working through the trauma with Luka.
"That's a horrible angle for you," Morris joked beside her. "And whoever's lighting you clearly does not like you much. I mean, that shadow," he added with mock disdain. Leslie grinned and removed the orange wedge from her glass, squeezing it into her beer.
"I give you credit for being here. Right now, I think I'm even sick of me," she said, looking at her new drinking buddy.
"Well, I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not the most popular guy in the ER. I started things here on the wrong foot. I gave people the wrong impression. Well," he said thoughtfully, "maybe at the time it was the right one. Anyway, I think I'm still sort of a joke. It's been worse since things got weird between me and one of the med students," he trailed off, somewhat to himself. Maybe he hadn't meant to say that last part out loud. Leslie quickly recovered the conversation before it could sink into an awkward quiet.
"Hope," Leslie said with a nod. "Yeah, she's a lot. She'll make a great doctor, I bet. Cute girl, but a lot, I'm sure. And no, I didn't pick up on that vibe about you, but I guess I'm not a great judge of people. I was pretty distracted today. Things are weird for me too. I wasn't supposed to be in Chicago. Life just has a funny was of giving you hell when you need it the least, I guess." She got a distant look, swirling her glass absentmindedly.
"Maybe it's none of my business but…" Morris trailed, hoping she would elaborate on 'wasn't supposed to be in Chicago.' Having had two beers and working on a third, Leslie was very open and didn't disappoint with her level sharing of otherwise intimate portions of her personal life.
"Yeah… I was sort of seeing this professor of mine from Northwestern. When he went to another university, I followed and did my residency nearby. I thought we were serious, you know? When I'd started seeing him, I was still in his class, and he said he never did that sort of thing, never dated a student. I trusted him. Stupidly, I trusted him. A few years later, I found out, that I wasn't an exception; he saw several students, and he continued to do so during my residency. I'd been sort of oblivious to it with the long hours I was putting in. Who knows? Maybe I knew all along but was just in denial because everything seems to have this way of working itself out for me. Obnoxiously so, right?" she asked Morris with a derisive laugh. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, regretting asking her to divulge such a personal thing, but she continued, "So, I wanted to get as far away from Gordy as I could. Gordy," she spat. "I should have known that a grown man who went by 'Gordy' probably wasn't the serious relationship type. No offense, Archie," she added, giving him a playful nudge.
"You know, when I saw you today, I thought you seemed so young, but when I talk to you, you just don't seem like 26. I guess I was a lot different at 26." Leslie giggled, rolling her eyes.
"I haven't been 26 for a long time. Not really. Look at the life I lead. I'm just as old- if not older- than you are. Just not according to my birth certificate… or my reflection in the mirror," she added dramatically, before swilling the last of her drink. "Well, to hell with the other people at County; I like you, Morris." The sound of his last name on her lips stung him just a little bit. It was a bit too friendly, too much of a pal sort of thing. He liked to entertain the idea of being more than just a "pal."
"I liked it better when you were calling me Archie," he bravely retorted, drawing a smile from her and a nod. Leslie playfully agreed to calling him by his first name. "You need another one?" he asked, pointing to her glass. Morris knew that she shouldn't, but a part of him wished that she would, simply to draw the night out a little longer. It was the most fun he'd had in a while. She studied the glass for a moment before scooting back from the bar.
"Nah, I'm okay. The discrepancy between my physical and mental age- whatever. But I'm definitely only 120 lbs., and three beers is all I can take before I really make an ass of myself." He looked at her, perched on the bar stool. Her hair was fraying out of the knot it had been in, loose tendrils framing her face. Her porcelain cheeks were pink from the alcohol. The tails of her shirt were wrinkled from being tucked in and now hanging loosely over her pants. She seemed a lot less up-tight and on-stage as she'd been at work; he liked her this way.
"Let me put you in a cab," he offered. She shook her head quickly, saying that she may not have known the city that well, but she knew she only lived a few streets over. "Then let me walk you home," he smiled.
"Fine," she sighed in a sing-songy way, obviously having enjoyed herself at the pub. "But I didn't flirt with you," Leslie reminded him firmly. "And I'm not interested in you," she added, leaning toward him to emphasize her point, though her expression alluded otherwise.
"Oh no," Morris replied somewhat mockingly, thumbing through his wallet for a tip. He turned to see her fumbling unsuccessfully with the sleeves of her jacket. He guided her hand through the sleeve, perhaps letting his hand linger a moment longer than natural on her forearm. "I wouldn't want to compromise my only friend in the ER. You know, I think you're the first girl I've ever met that would rather have a cold one than a fruity, frilly, -tini of some sort." Morris politely held the door for her as she strolled out onto the sidewalk, the streetlight casting a mysterious shadow on her. She'd pulled her hair from the knot and was shaking it loose now.
"Please," she snorted and gave her hair a toss. "If it comes with an umbrella, it's not a real drink," she said, picking up speed and heading in the direction of her building, Morris jogging to catch up. He was aware of the beginning of an ache in his cheeks from smiling so much.
"I like you too, Leslie," he said quietly to himself.