Yay! Another story!
This is technically a continuation of A.L.L, but you don't absolutely need to read it, although it might help in some parts. Just know that Chris had Acute Lymoblastic Leukemia (ALL) at the age of sixteen, and then after beating it, he decided to become a doctor.
***I don't own Charmed. Nor am I a doctor, so if any information is wrong, I'm sorry but I'm doing the best I can.***
So, yeah, enjoy!
-Chapter One-
Chris smirked as he sipped his cardboard cup of coffee as he overlooked yesterday's sports section. It was currently three in the morning and the young man had just finally found the time to sit down, have a cup of joe and relax. His feet were up on the desk and his sleeves were rolled up.
"This isn't a beach Doctor,"
Chuckling, Chris smiled at the Head Nurse, "But Grace, you don't want me to suffer now do you? I've been on my feet since the beginning of my shift, have mercy."
Grace snorted, her dark brown eyes narrowing, "Down Doctor, before I swat them off." She threatened
"Hope you don't treat your patients like that," Chris remarked jokingly.
"Only to you Chris," the middle-aged woman responded with a smirk.
"Aw, Gracie thinks I'm special," cooed Chris.
"Yeah, in the mind," snorted another voice from behind him.
Swirling around, Chris glared at a young woman, "Quiet Bee, no one was talking to you,"
Bianca gasped, her hand on her heart, "Grace, do you hear how he speaks to me, why on Earth do I bother dealing with you?"
Grace rolled her eyes before lowering her silver framed glasses, the frames hanging from a jeweled necklace, "You two are adults, start acting like them, hm?"
"I'm only 28, much too young to be mature," Chris retorted.
"Says the guy with the Phd," snorted Bianca, "Which reminds me, Mr. Robertson is wondering if he can get another dose of morphine."
"He's already maxed," Chris responded, "He'll be in surgery within thirty minutes, then he's their problem."
"Thank heavens," Bianca sighed, "I'm getting tired of him asking for a sponge bath."
"What does he think this is? A five-star hotel?" Grace snapped, "I think he needs a reality check. This is the emergency room, not a spa."
Chris laughed, "Tell us how you really feel Grace."
Grace gritted her teeth at the young doctor but was torn from responding when a scratchy voice called for someone to pick up. Turning towards the transmitter, Grace picked up the headphones and held one to one of her ears, "Yes, this is Memorial Hospital."
"GSW to the chest," replied the scratchy voice, "Age 24, female, pulse 100 bpm, B.P 140/60."
Grace nodded and scribbled the information onto a chart, "E.T.A?"
"3 minutes."
Chris sighed and stood, "There goes my break. Bee, go get Trauma 1 ready. Grace, come with me to the ambulance."
Standing, Chris grabbed his stethoscope and looped it around his neck before trotting out towards the ambulance bay, Grace behind trailing shortly behind him. The two of them could hear the sirens of the ambulance once they got outside. Glancing up, Chris sighed as his glasses fogged up slightly "Knew I should've worn my contacts."
Grace smiled as she and Chris pulled on a pair of latex gloves, "I thought you would've learned by now."
"I'm stubborn, what can I say?"
Grace rolled her eyes but the small area was filled with flashing lights as the ambulance rolled in. Instantly, Chris strolled up to the vehicle and opened the door. Reaching up, he helped the paramedic bring down the gurney. A young woman laid strapped to the backboard, her navy blue police uniform stained dark from the gunshot wound in her chest. Chris pressed two fingers to the side of her neck, mentally counting as the paramedic ranted off vitals to Grace. Turning, Chris blinked when he saw his brother – also an officer – sitting in the ambulance.
I'm fine, came the telepathic answer, She's a newbie, she was learning under Mark.
Chris sighed, but nodded. I'll take care of her. "Let's get her to Trauma 1."
He, along with Grace and the paramedic, wheeled the wounded officer to the room. Chris knew Wyatt was following, but ignored it. Wyatt was the cop, his job was done. Chris was the doctor, his was just beginning. Sighing, Chris stood on the left side of the hospital bed, Grace and Bianca on the other side. "On the count of three," He instructed, "One. Two. Three!" in one clean motion, they moved her from the gurney to the bed.
"Cut off the shirt and take off the Kevlar," Chris ordered, "Get me some O neg." Bianca nodded and rushed out of the room while Grace took care of the clothing and the bulletproof vest.
Chris bent over and took out his flashlight pen, flashing it, he watched the pupils dilate before moving onto the other one. Quickly putting it back into his lab coat, he glanced at the wound. "Get me some saline," he said, holding his hand.
Getting a small squeeze bottle, he squeezed the liquid onto it, cleaning some of the blood away. It was a clean hole, it bleeding profusely. "We need to turn her, we need to see if there's an exit wound," Chris muttered, "Grace, put pressure on the wound, she's losing too much blood."
The head nurse nodded, and pressed her hands onto the wound with gauze as Chris gently eased the woman up to her side. "No exit wound," Chris stated, "We need to stabilize her then send her up to surgery,"
Using his shoulder, he pressed the small earpiece in his right ear. "328," he stated, "Squeeze the O neg, she's losing too much blood."
Bianca nodded and squeezed the plastic bag, forcing the blood to enter the wounded cop faster. "Yes?" a static voice echoed in Chris's ear.
"We have a GSW, woman, condition red," Chris stated, "blood pressure dropping, please tell me you have a room open Alan,"
"We can have one open in ten minutes, think you can handle that?" The surgeon responded.
"Make it five," Chris gritted his teeth, applying more pressure to the wound, "Keep the O neg coming. She's roughly 5'6, about 140 pounds. Bullet still in the body, and if you don't hurry your ass up I might have to take it out and suture her up myself."
"Calm down Halliwell, we're cleaning as fast as we can."
"Yeah, well, I have a woman bleeding out underneath my hands, so I suggest you hurry up," snapped Chris.
Suddenly, a loud beep echoed throughout the room. "Shit," swore Chris, as he fisted his hands together and started CPR, "In case you can't hear, her heart stopped, so hurry your little surgical asses up and clean that room up 'cause we're on our way up."
"The room's not ready Halliwell! She won't be any better off in the hallway!" shouted Alan.
"Then what use are you!" Chris shouted back before using his shoulder to hang up, "That's it. Grace, get me forceps and sutures. If the surgeon won't come down here and do his job, I'll do it."
Grace chuckled, "Alan's gonna get pissed"
"He can take my right foot and shove it" snapped Chris, "Shit, we're gonna need the crash cart."
Grace quickly wheeled over the small white cart. "Charge to 350," Chris ordered, continuing pushing his fisted hands into the woman's sternum.
"Ready," Grace said.
Twisting, Chris grabbed the pedals as Bianca put on two rubber rectangles onto the woman's chest to protect the skin. "Clear!" shout Chris, pressing the buttons on the pedals, sending a shock throughout the body.
"Resuming CPR," Bianca stated as the line continued to go flat.
"400,"
"Ready."
"Clear!"
Shock.
Beep. Beep.
Chris let out a breath of relief, "Okay, where's the kit?"
"Over here," Bianca stated, wheeling over a small silver tray filled with numerous instruments.
Chris sighed. Using a scalpel, he slit the skin to open the wound wider so he could get a clear look into the wound. Buried deeply within muscle, Chris could see the end of a bullet. "Found it," he said, putting the scalpel aside, he picked up the forceps and gently eased into the wound. Grasping the butt end of the projectile, Chris eased it out. "Make sure you have blood ready, I don't know if this is gonna gush or not,"
"Bullet out," Chris said, putting the 9mm bullet onto the tray.
Hearing a dull ring in his ear, Chris pressed the earpiece with his shoulder, "Busy right now."
"What the hell did you do Halliwell?"
"Just save a patient's life," snapped Chris, "Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to suture her up so then I can send her up to you so you can clean it up in there,"
"Damn it Halliwell,"
Chris glanced over his shoulder when he saw Alan, his long, black hair tried in a haphazard ponytail and his coal eyes glaring at him, "About time you got here."
"You know you're not a surgeon Halliwell!"
"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have to act like one if you actually got your ass out of your head and did your job," growled Chris and he lightly sutured up the wound, "There, you can take her up now. Oh, and your welcome, asshole."
Chris pushed by the guy, peeling off his gloves as he did. He walked towards a small group of police officers within the triage center, throwing the bloody gloves on the way. He smiled when all six heads snapped up when the double door slapped shut. "She's gonna be fine," Chris answered, holding a hand up, "She's heading up to surgery right now to repair the muscle, but the bullet it out and she should be fine."
Mark let out a deep breath, "Thanks Chris,"
Chris smiled at the half-manicore man, "No problem bro, it's my job. Which, come on, I'll fix up that gash on your temple."
Mark smiled sheepishly and stood and followed Chris to the small area, six beds lining a L-section of the room for everyday small 'emergencies'. "Sit," Chris ordered as he pulled on a pair of gloves, "So, need to vent?"
"It was just a basic stop," Mark sighed, "One moment the guy taking the speeding ticket, the next, Alyssa has a gunshot wound to the chest."
"How was Wy there?" Chris inquired, lightly pressing a piece of damp gauze to the gash.
"He was our backup,"
Chris nodded, "How long has she been on the force?"
"A few weeks"
"Hm," Chris hummed
Mark glanced up at his puesdo-brother, "You okay?"
Chris smirked, "You're the patient, I'm supposed to ask that."
Rolling his eyes, Mark looked at the slightly younger man, "Answer the question Chris or I'll sick your actual brother on you."
"I'm fine Mark, a bit tired, but that could be because I've been here since noon,"
"A double?"
"Liz called in sick, so I got called in," Chris answered as he applied a dry piece of gauze to the gash, "With that stupid pandemic scare, everyone is coming in for the slightest thing."
Mark sighed, "You know it's gonna hit eventually,"
"Yes, I am the doctor," Chris snorted, "I know all about the little disease."
"You would've been safer as an oncologist," muttered Mark.
"You sound like Wy and Mom," Chris sighed, "It was too boring and depressing. Kept reminding me that I had cancer at one point, I moved on, and come on, with my life, I just thrive in stressful situations."
Mark snorted, "Just don't kill yourself Firestarter,"
Chris grinned, "You too. You're the one out there. I don't have to wear a bulletproof vest to work"
Mark stuck his tongue out at the smirking brunette. Chris rolled his eyes and smacked the back of the half-manicore's head, the dark brunet wincing. "Go home, rest. Come back in the morning and I'm sure you'll be able to see Alyssa."
Mark nodded, "What time do you get off?"
"Six"
"Then go home and get some sleep yourself."
"Yeah, yeah. Go, I banish you from my hospital."
Sighing, Chris leaned against his locker. It was eight in the morning, a car accident delaying his departure. Opening it, he let out a deep breath when he saw a simple envelope sitting on the top shelf of the locker. Reaching up, he opened it and quickly read over the numbers. Crumbling the paper, he let his head smack into the locker.
A small green post-it note filter to the titled floor. Written on it, were four words:
I'm sorry. It's back.