Neighbor

If you aren't super rich, Brooklyn isn't such a great place to live. That's why it wasn't my idea to rent a crappy one bedroom apartment in the heart of Brooklyn. It was my ex-boyfriend's idea, who is still ironically on my one-year lease but thankfully out of my life.

But I'm so grateful for that terrible idea, and this is the story of why. Let's start at the very beginning.

Day 1

2014

As I flipped through my six patient assignments at 6 AM for the 12-hour shift ahead of me, I smiled at a familiar name. All the RN's on the pediatric unit knew this patient−she had been with us for months, battling leukemia. Allie May.

Since we were short staffed, I tackled my morning patient assessments and med passes. I saved Allie May's medications for last since she had been sleepy during my assessment. Her mother, Lisa, had been asleep at the bedside.

It was around eight when I entered Allie's room for the second time. When I had her as a patient before, weeks ago, she had been awake by eight eating her pancake breakfast and watching SpongeBob. Today, her breakfast tray lay untouched, and her mother's worried gaze joined mine on her daughter's sleeping form.

"How has she been, Lisa?" I asked quietly, seeing the tired rings around her eyes.

"Weaker by the day," Lisa confirmed, propping herself up on her elbow in her narrow cot. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm the only one worried about her."

I took my stethoscope from my neck to take another listen to my young patient's lungs. Vital signs were great, lab levels didn't look too bad, and all the antibiotics seemed to be right. By the numbers, Allie should have been dancing around the room.

"Sweetie, take a deep breath for me," I instructed, placing my stethoscope on her chest after warming it on my hand. Allie obeyed, cracking one chocolate eye open. "Good morning, beautiful," I added, prompting a tiny but present smile.

Lungs were diminished but fine. Pulses were great. Allie was weak bilaterally on hand squeezes and any other movement for that matter. Finished but unsatisfied, I logged into the rolling computer to begin her meds.

"Any changes to her antibiotics?" Lisa asked, eyeing the yellow and clear vials in my hands.

"Not since yesterday. Her cultures came back early this morning and it looks like the docs picked the right medications for the infection," I said with a smile directed at Lisa to indicate that was a good thing. She smiled back, a weak, unfeeling smile. "Have you seen the doctor today? I asked.

"Just Dr. Arango," she said, referring to our pulmonologist. "He said she sounded fine. No infection there."

"I'm going to talk to Dr. Moore about getting physical therapy or something like that to help get her strength up. Her lab work is looking much, much better."

"That's good news," Lisa said with a real smile this time. "You hear that, Allie? Your blood is getting happy again."

A small "Yes, Mama" came from the mountain of pillows and blankets. I couldn't help but smile.

"They brought you pancakes, Allie," I said, setting up her tray on the bedside table. "Are you hungry?"

"Hmm. A little," Allie said thoughtfully.

"Let's sit you up and get some food in your tummy."

The day bustled on just like any other short staffed day. Minutes turned into hours, to-do lists got longer, and the call bells got louder. Specialist after specialist visited Allie's room and came out with a troubled look on their faces. By the time I spoke to Dr. Moore, Allie's attending physician, it was in the afternoon.

"No, I don't think she needs physical therapy. There's nothing wrong with her muscles." The busy doctor seemed annoyed that I had tracked him down at such a busy time.

"I know her labs are looking better, but she's not. She is weak bilaterally like she wasn't before. It's a change," I emphasized.

"I see that, I see that," he said. "The mother tells me every day. I don't know what you want from me, I can't prescribe miracles."

For my afternoon assessments, I visited Allie's room first. Just like every other time I popped in the room that day, Allie was asleep with the TV remote in her hand. Cartoons blasted like white noise in the background. Her lunch tray sat on her table untouched. Lisa was out of the room, supposedly for lunch in the cafeteria. My empty stomach rumbled.

"Sweetie, I'm going to take your blood pressure again," I said, lifting the remote from the girl's cool hand. Frowning, I grasped her limp hand in mine. Then, my fingers shot to the pulse on her neck. I took her by the shoulders and shook, calling out her name. Dread filled me.

"Code 3!" I yelled, yanking the code lever on the wall as hard as I could. Blue flashing lights appeared over the door as I began chest compressions. A woman's voice over the hospital-wide PA announced the code and the room number.

My co-workers were at my side in an instant, hooking up wires and pads and shouting instructions at each other. My charge nurse tapped me on the back to take over compressions. I stepped away gratefully, wiping sweat from my forehead. Allie's brown eyes seemed to stare at me, and then they were replaced Dr. Moore's frowning face.

"Who's the nurse?" he asked, as if he hadn't just spoken with me out in the hall.

"Me," I said, stepping through the crowd of nurses, techs, and doctors. "I just found her unresponsive, no breathing, no pulse. Her last set of vital signs were within normal limits, no new medications were given today. I assume you saw her labs."

"She's in V. fib now," the nurse on the EKG monitor said.

"Continue compressions, shock at 120 joules, and give one milligram epinephrine," Dr. Moore ordered.

I pounced on the crash cart to retrieve the epi and made my way to Allie's IV. I pushed the medication into her vein hard and fast, shouting, "Giving one milligram epi now."

The nurse recording the code on paper echoed, "One milligram epi given!"

The defibrillator whirred up to shock and the nurse on the monitor yelled, "Clear!" Everyone's hands left Allie's body while the machine delivered the shock. I was up next for chest compressions, and my hands planted themselves on Allie's chest immediately after the shock.

Compressions, epinephrine, and electric shocks continued for about forty-five minutes. When Lisa returned from the cafeteria, I pulled her aside to explain what was going on but couldn't find the words. We hugged, both shedding tears that would never heal her dead daughter.

My charge nurse came with me to the cafeteria once I got "lunch" at 5 PM. She asked if I was okay and I said yes, it wasn't my first code. She didn't seem convinced. We finished our usually chatty lunch in relative silence.

Two hours later, my shift was over, but my computer charting had just begun. I hadn't charted my routine assessment or the long note I intended to write about the code. Most of the other day shift nurses stayed to chart as the night shift nurses took over our patients. As nurses do, we chatted as we charted about the day and about Allie.

"She seemed more tired but she also seemed better, you know?"

"Yeah," I said, typing away at my computer. It was already 8 PM. "Her labs were great this morning."

"I heard Dr. Moore say it was probably a PE to the lungs. But she didn't really have clotting issues before…"

One by one, my co-workers left as I made it through my charting checklist one patient at a time. I saved Allie for last, dreading to relive the experience through a narrative note. But the note needed to be written, to show that I did everything I could have done.

9:30 PM.

I returned to the break room to get my purse from my locker, but my locker was empty. I squeezed my eyes shut to remember the last time I used my purse. At lunch. In the cafeteria.

The cafeteria was deserted save for one security guard. My purse was not hanging on the chair where I had sat for lunch. It wasn't anywhere for that matter. "Excuse me," I said to the guard, "Do you have the key for lost-and-found?"

That was a predictable "no."

I pulled out my cell phone to call the hospital operator, who would be the only person who would know where that key was. "I'm sorry, hun. The only person who had that key is the head janitor, and he's gone for the day."

Groaning internally, I called a yellow cab and marched to the front of the hospital. Thank God I had left cash in my scrubs pocket after lunch.

It was 10:30 PM by the time I got dropped off at my apartment. As soon as I punched in my access code, I realized I should have just gotten a hotel room. Of course my house key was in my purse.

I stood in front of my apartment door, mind going blank and immediately filling with thoughts from the day. Why didn't I take the time to get Allie up out of bed? My five other patients weren't as sick as Allie was. She should have gotten all my attention today. Maybe she would still be alive. Maybe her mother wouldn't be planning a funeral right now.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, hot and sticky, and I sank to my knees. Pressing my hands to my face, I let myself go, physically and mentally. My forehead leaned against my locked door as my body trembled with sobs. Minutes passed without care.

"Kate?"

I froze at the voice and my stomach twisted into knots. It was my insomniac neighbor who was often home in the evenings. I halfway turned, blocking my puffy eyes from his view.

"Steve−sorry−I didn't mean to be loud," I sniffled, pulling myself up without facing him.

"No−I was just worried," he said, touching my arm as if to turn me around. I didn't. "Rough day?" he asked with trepidation.

I sighed, long and hard, to put an end to my tears. "You could say that."

"And now you're locked out of your apartment," he guessed.

I laughed without feeling at his deadpan tone. "You could say that."

"Well…" I could tell he was uncomfortable about talking to my back. "My couch happens to be a pull out."

Finally confident that my eyes didn't look like I had poured salt in them, I turned around with a grateful smile. "Sounds amazing."

Steve was a very attractive guy. He had moved in next door after I broke up with my boyfriend, so thankfully he was spared from our ritual midnight arguments. I didn't know what Steve did for a living, but if I had to guess, it would be modeling.

His apartment was neat to an extreme with retro accents here and there. I had been inside once before to use his washer and dryer. He had offered for me to use them after he saw my nightly trips to the downstairs laundry room. Steve's apartment made me feel like a slob in comparison.

"Do you work tomorrow?" Steve asked, bringing my mind back to standing in his minimalist living room. He was standing at the sink in the kitchen, dreamy blue eyes cast in my direction.

"Actually, yes," I said. I had almost forgotten after such a long day.

"Feel free to use the washing machine. Er−I can lend you some clothes to sleep in," he added with an awkward smile, filling a kettle with water. "Tea?" he asked.

"Yes, please," I said, avoiding sitting on the couch in my dirty scrubs. I sat on a metal stool (a bleachable surface) at the island in the kitchen. "You drink tea?"

"Sometimes," he said, "when it's not socially acceptable to drink coffee, like at 11 PM." His charming smile was infectious.

After changing into a giant T-shirt and baggy shorts with a drawstring waist, I sat on the couch with Steve and tea. I suddenly got nervous sitting with a grown man, but it was a comfortable distraction from the pit in my stomach.

"This is going to sound terrible," I warned, enjoying the chamomile scent of my tea, "but I don't know what you do for a living."

"I work in … business," Steve replied with a blinding smile. "Sometimes I have to travel for my work but lately it's been … slow."

"Do you go to work every day? Or do you work from home?"

"Work from home mostly," he said with a slight frown. "What about you? How many days a week do you work?"

"Three," I replied, noticing the subject change. "Although it feels more like six sometimes."

"I'll bet," he said. "Don't you leave around 6 AM?"

"5:45," I said, nodding with a frown.

"So, you just worked an 18-hour day," he pointed out with a hand on his chin.

I sipped my tea. "I sure did."

"Well, I'm sure it's a very fulfilling career," he said, trying to end on a positive.

"Most of the time. These days are just draining, though. I wouldn't say I feel 'fulfilled.'"

He was silent for a moment, as if deciding on what to say. "Your service is invaluable to folks. I'm sure you're making an impact whether you realize it or not."

"Thank you," I said, unsure just how to react. "You sound like my parents," I added, prompting a chuckle.

"I'm sure I do in more ways than one," he said, smiling lazily. I wondered if he knew just how attractive he was. He was dizzying. His smile began to fade and I realized I was literally staring at him. I broke eye contact and focused on the difficult task of sipping tea.

"Well, I better let you get some sleep." He smiled politely as he got up from the couch. I berated myself for creating that awkward moment.

"Thank you, Steve−for everything. I probably would've slept in the laundry room if it wasn't for you." I smiled, hoping he understood how grateful I was.

"No problem at all," he said, flipping off the overhead light. I noticed the vintage lamp on the coffee table for the first time. "Goodnight, Kate."

"Goodnight, Steve."

…

To say I slept like a rock would be an understatement. My alarm blared the Loony Toons theme at 5 AM; I reached to shut it off, wiping the sleep from my eyes. Sitting up, I saw my scrubs placed carefully on the coffee table, dry and unwrinkled. A variety of protein bars was placed on top.

I smiled, and no thought of the previous day entered my mind. Just Steve.

Thank you for reading! This fic has crossed my mind many times since seeing Winter Soldier all those years ago, so I finally decided to write it. Agent 13, Sharon Carter, was undercover as Steve's neighbor "Kate the nurse" in the movie. This is my headcanon of who Kate might have been. Let me know what you think in a review. :) -Scarlet