A/N: Real quick, although I said I would have a Sidney-centric fic up next, this is the first thing I've worked on since hitting a block a few days ago. I will have the Sidney-centric fic up soon as well as a Christmas themed fic, but for now please enjoy this little one shot of mine. (:
Francine Barnes, age forty-six. She was a special education teacher at the local high school. She had no husband to speak of, but she did have three handsome sons. The oldest was twenty, the middle sixteen, and the youngest only nine. When her children visited they'd sing her favorite songs and tell stories, both new and old, about the most heartwarming things. They never failed to bring a smile to her face and to the faces of the nurses and doctors of Caduceus. But eventually those smiles faded as did Francine's health, the GUILT overtaking her body and destroying her from within. Tonight only one thread connected her to the living world, the same thread that kept her alive for the past two weeks, and tonight that one thread would be cut.
He'd decided she had held on long enough. With her smile forever gone and consciousness continually robbed from her by the sedatives the other doctors injected into her, keeping her alive was a crime against humanity. Every breath she took was synthetic, forced upon her by a machine. Her existence sickened him to his very core, making it difficult to not wretch all over the floor.
He wondered: Will everyone suffer her fate? The answer seemed to be a yes. Countless people died everyday because of GUILT, and why? Because people were sick, sick creatures. They caused this. They hurt people. And he would stop the hurt, one incurable patient at a time.
The needle penetrated her flesh with ease and the syringe's contents quickly entered her system. It was a large dose of cyanide, more than enough to kill. Once that part was over he flipped off the ventilator and heart monitor. Now no one could hear the annoying 'beeeeeeeeep' of the heart monitor and come rushing in, and now the ventilator couldn't force air in and out of Francine's lungs after she passed.
"I'm sorry," he said and left. He shut the door behind him and made his way down the empty hall, calmly capping the syringe and slipping it into the inner pocket of his coat. It wasn't until he had shed his gloves and tucked them in the waistband of his pants that he looked back to Francine's room. He could have stood there and stared for hours, thinking about what he'd just done and how it could have been prevented, but then someone would see him. So instead of standing there he nodded once to Francine before turning to his right and making his way down another hall, the Death Doctor escaping undetected once again.
Three boys were huddled together, the younger two kept close by the arms of their older brother, tears streaming down their faces. Dr. Clarks stood before them with a heavy heart as he apologized for the death of their mother, telling them, "I'm so sorry, but she was already so ill—the GUILT inside her was too advanced. That doesn't excuse what happened, but now she can't suffer anymore, please try to think of it that way…"
A few doctors and several nurses watched from a distance. One of the doctors, Tyler Chase, looked on with the most sympathy out of all of them.
"Those poor children," a nurse to his left said. "Having to live without a mother; I can't imagine what they're going through."
"Hell, the youngest might not even understand that his mother's dead," said someone else, this time a little off to Tyler's right. "I don't envy Dr. Clarks right now."
"No one in their right mind does!"
"Hey, I heard that the patient was killed with cyanide… So I guess that means it's true, there is a 'Death Doctor' going around."
"Whoever it is, I can't wait until they're behind bars. Who could kill their own patients? Or someone else's, assuming Dr. Clarks isn't the Death Doctor."
"Will you guys stop acting like you're in high school and we're talking about the big bad bully?" Tyler asked. "Because unlike saying that Dr. Clarks is stealing your lunch money, throwing around the thought that he, of all people, is the Death Doctor could get him sent to prison. So shut the fuck up, got it? It's not him and we know it."
Everyone's eyes were drawn to Tyler, who met each and every gaze with a challenging look, daring them to speak against him. When no one did he nodded. "Good."
Tyler turned his back to everyone and walked in the opposite direction of Dr. Clarks and the deceased patient's family. As he walked away he heard some people saying things about him, wondering why he was so defensive about Dr. Clarks—some said it was out of respect, and that Dr. Clarks was a good guy, while others said it was still strange. Whatever; Tyler knew it wasn't Dr. Clarks. It could never be him; he was a kind family man who valued life.
It wasn't until he entered the break room that the thought entered his mind: Will I be 'that poor guy' someday, too?
Yes. He would. But when that time came he wouldn't be selfish like everyone else was. She wouldn't suffer a drawn out, painful death because he wouldn't let her go. It would be quick and painless—for the both of them.