Author's Note: This chapter contains some dialogue that was lifted directly from the show. I take no credit for such dialogue - all credit for any lines featured on the show goes to ABC/Disney/Shonda Rhimes. It's their world, I just like to play in it.
As if Michael Perkins being diagnosed with the measles wasn't bad enough, the realization that he and his family had been down at Pacific Wellcare had to be piled on top of it. Cooper wasn't the least bit surprised that all eyes landed on him when it became apparent someone needed to tell Charlotte, but truth be told he'd have volunteered. He needs to talk to her — now. She's been exposed to the measles. She, and the baby she's carrying — his baby — have been exposed to a deadly disease, and he wants to just assume she's been vaccinated, but who the hell knows, and if she hasn't… He doesn't want to think about that, so he hauls his butt downstairs as fast as he can, and walks straight up to the kid behind the reception desk.
"Hi, I need to speak w/ Dr. King," he tells him, before adding, "It's important."
Another doctor appears - a guy, who looks vaguely familiar. Cooper's distracted, can't place him, but thankfully he doesn't even have to try, because the guy says to him, "You're Dr. Freedman, right? I'm Sheldon. Sheldon Wallace."
"Violet's friend?" Cooper asks, making the connection.
"Right," Sheldon answers, before rambling ahead, "Well, I mean, I hope so. I'd like that, uh… How is she?"
Cooper really doesn't have time for chitchat.
"Exposed to the measles," he answers, and then he sees Charlotte, finally, walking up to the desk.
"Exposed to the measles?" she repeats.
"A kid in our practice has the measles," Cooper explains. "Which is why I'm here."
Charlotte arches a brow. "This concerns me how?"
"Well, you have this wonderful coffee bar that you advertise so prominently, and a lot of our patients wander by on their way upstairs."
Sheldon makes some comment about the coffee, but Cooper isn't paying attention. He's watching the reality of the situation register on Charlotte's face, and she is none too pleased.
"You've exposed my entire practice to the measles?" It's more of a disbelieving statement than a question.
"Technically, you have," he points out. "If you weren't flaunting that coffee everywhere, they'd never have been here." But that's not the point, so he lowers his voice and asks her, "Can I see you for a minute?" He glances between Sheldon and the receptionist. "In private."
She's glaring at him — no doubt unappreciative of him putting the blame for the coffee on her — but she nods and turns to the receptionist, telling him, "Lock the place down, and pull all the patient files from this mornin'. We're gonna have to check vaccination records for everyone, and figure out the scope of the exposure, ASAP."
"Yes, Dr. King," the kid answers, turning immediately to do as he's asked.
Charlotte beckons Cooper toward her office with a jerk of her head, then starts walking without paying any attention to whether or not he's following. He is, of course — hot on her heels, and shutting the office door behind them as soon as they're inside.
"Please tell me you've been vaccinated," he says once they're alone.
Her expression softens just a little, but not enough for him to think she's not pissed off about this whole situation. "When I was little, yeah," she assures. "I'm fine. And you people need to get your owned damned coffee."
"If we weren't fighting you for all our patients, maybe we could afford to," he challenges, and Charlotte rolls her eyes.
"Afraid of a little friendly competition?"
"No, we're more afraid of you poaching all our referrals, and — you know what? This doesn't matter right now," he says, frustrated that this is turning into a fight. "I've got a sick kid upstairs I need to take care of. I just wanted to let you know that your practice is at risk, and make sure you're okay."
"Well, I'm fine," she tells him, arms crossed. "Aside from the mountain of a headache this is gonna cause me — so why don't you go back upstairs so I can get started on it?"
"Fine," he tells her.
"Fine," she answers back.
Between the diagnosis, Mrs. Perkins' refusal to vaccinate, and Charlotte's bad attitude, Cooper is in a hell of a mood by the time he gets back upstairs.
.::.
Hours later, Michael Perkins is dead. His mother is sitting in a hospital chair next to Cooper, and Charlotte listens as the woman talks about her son. Listens to her grief, her shock, and her own heart squeezes with emotion. Is this what she's in for as a mother? This kind of desperate, emotional annihilation? She hopes — no, she prays, she makes an intentional point to clear her mind for a moment and actually pray to God — that she never has to feel this way about her own child.
She watches as the older woman gets up, makes her way to the sons that are still with her, and clings, and cries. Cooper's still sitting there, looking half as devastated as his patient's mother — but that doesn't surprise her. She's never met a doctor with more of a sense of personal responsibility for his patients than Cooper. It's one of the reasons she loves him so damned much.
And because she loves him, she can't just sit and watch him suffer alone, so she takes the few steps to close the space between them and sits in the open chair. She wants to say the right thing, something that will make this better, but a kid is dead, and there's really nothing that can make that better for anyone. So she says the only thing she can think of: "You did everything you could."
He looks at her for a few minutes, then finally says, "That kid didn't have to die. If she had just—" He breaks off, takes a deep breath and says, "I keep thinking 'what if that was our kid?' What if our kid got that sick, and…" he trails off, shakes his head.
"I know," she says, giving in to the urge to reach over and squeeze his hand. "Me too."
He squeezes in return, and doesn't let go. His gaze moves back over to the Perkins boys and their mom, and Charlotte can damned near feel the weight of grief suckin' all the air out of the place.
"Come over tonight," she says, without thinking.
He looks at her again. "What?"
This wasn't what she had planned — there's no way she's gettin' out early tonight, and their relationship is still in such a grey area right now, but… There's somethin' about losin' the young ones that makes her feel raw, and unsteady, and she knows he feels it, too. So she goes with it. "I have a load of paperwork to finish up here, but why don't you come over later? I could use the company after today, and I'm sure you could, too."
He looks at her for a second, and she can tell that he wants to, but what he says is, "If I come over, we'll do something stupid."
"First of all, it wouldn't be stupid," she argues quietly, before adding, "And second, I'm still walkin' around in a constant state of low-grade nausea, which doesn't really lend itself to feelin' all sexy. And by the time I get home, I'll be so exhausted that all I'll want is a shower, some dinner, and maybe a DVD or somethin'. Possibly a foot rub," she teases, wondering if she can coax a smile out of him.
He smirks a little, just a shadow of amusement flickering across his face.
"Plus, I have this crazy idea that I'd like somethin' more than toast and applesauce for dinner, and I can't cook a damned thing," she admits. "I know things have been strained between us lately, but… it'd be nice. You comin' over. That's all."
She's won him over, she can tell, even before he nods and says, "Yeah, okay. That'd be nice."
"I'll call you when I'm done here," she tells him, and he nods.
The conversation seems to be done, but he's still holding her hand, and she can't bear to separate them any sooner than she has to. Plus, she can still see the hurt, the frustration, the disappointment hangin' around his neck. So she lets her other hand settle on top of their joined ones, and stays with him. They sit there in silence for a while longer, until her pager goes off and she gets pulled away.