AN: From this chapter on, the story starts to ramp up. Thanks for sticking with me! Happy Reading, my lovelies! :)
This Chapter is rated M for super bad language, sorry but it's necessary and hey we get to see THE ROCKET VS. Weasel showdown so it should be worth it! And no, the story doesn't end here, and fear not, Robert and Elizabeth will be doing some "talking" in the next chapter, and Lucy and Carter will be finalizing wedding plans. Happy reading :)
Robert Romano struggled to open the bag of chocolate chips, furrowing his eye brows and pouting as he pulled with all his might but the bag remained closed. He tried again, creasing his forehead.
A gray towel was slung over his shoulder and he stood in his second favorite room in a black shirt and a pair of boxers, shaking his head at the stubborn bag, and then he scolded himself for trying to humanize the plastic. Force of habit, he'd tried to reckon with himself, wishing he could anesthetize this one so he could perform surgery on it. His eyes caught a pair of scissors resting in his knife block and he snorted at his own lapse of cognizance.
Gretel sneezed as she trotted into the space. Robert's pager beeped three times and his beloved canine rubbed against his legs before laying under the kitchen. She shook away the buzzing in her nose.
"Bless you, my dear Gretel." Robert looked at her, making sure she was okay. He would never admit it to anyone, not even Elizabeth, but he'd been terrified when he discovered the insulinoma on Gretel's pancreas, and almost lost her during surgery, but she pulled through alright, just as stubborn as her owner. Lizzie snapped at him and then he had made an ass of himself in front of her mother, but all was soon forgiven because a more important issue had creeped upon them that night.
He pushed away the horrifying memory as the message flashed and he glanced at it over his shoulder, trying to pick up the square box while fiddling with the laughing object in his hands, and it seemed to taunt him.
Know it's your day off. Sorry to bother you, but it's urgent.
He knew who'd called from the number, and he sighed. Well, so much for their plans. Lizzie was going to kill him after he attended to his incompetent staff, but then he remembered that Donald Anspaugh could not be included in that assessment. The place must be going to hell if the older man was disturbing him on his much earned day of relaxation.
Sure as the Chief of Staff he finalized the schedule, but he couldn't necessarily just give her the same time off as him all the time. Even though County knew, he couldn't break the rules just because the Associate Chief of Surgery and his best friend had moved in with him. She'd managed to get the time off—it took some serious begging and shift-swapping with her friends—but for the next 36 hours they weren't to be disturbed.
Robin Hood picked a hell of a time to appear, tights and all as he stole away their time together. She'd have to wait, and Robert knew he might as well kiss his ass goodbye because Elizabeth would surely pound him to a pulp after he returned home.
Distracted in his rage and the image playing behind his eyes, he chuckled. The bag exploded, the force of Robert's ripping causing the seal to surrender. Chocolate chips flew everywhere, and he snorted as he threw down the empty bag. Figures. This day was turning out to be shitty and it'd just started, why he should be able to satisfy his craving and have some cookies.
Gretel's head peaked up at the sound, seeing a chocolate chip flying across the room from her and she sprinted after it. Robert saw her fur rustle out of the corner of his eye, and he tried to beat her to the sweet morsel.
"No, Gretel. I need my sweet fix if I'm to survive what will most definitely be a day from hell." He stuck his foot out at her, covering the small object with his foot, but she nosed it away from him and took it in her mouth.
"Oh, you. You're so mean. And here I was thinking you were on my side." He laughed, playing with her as he made the retrieval of the phantom chocolate chip into a game. "Bad dog. You can't have that. Drop it, now." Robert's pleas feel on deaf ears as she gnawed on it, her tail wagging excitedly, wondering if her heart-of –stone friend would cave like always and let her have it. He squatted down and grabbed her by the chin. "Gretel, put it down." The tone of his voice was serious now, and she obeyed her master and dropped it at his feet as if it were a present and gave a small harrumph as she looked at the floor.
He couldn't stay mad at her for long and he affectionately rubbed her neck. "Good girl. No more insulinomas for you. Let's not relive that day."
He stood up and headed towards his pantry, collecting a broom and began to clean up the mess. After it'd been sorted out, he grabbed the second bag from the pantry that he'd picked up from his early afternoon grocery run yesterday. Robert Romano would have his cookies, if it killed him, and he bite his lip, wondering if his love would take his "peace-offering" and spare his life, but he figured she'd take the cookie and then smile at him before bashing in his skull. Ahh, his wonderful Elizabeth. When had he gone from his own person to thinking about someone else's feelings? Two years ago, on that rainy day in London when she smiled at him and his eternal sunshine had been born, and ever since that moment, he did everything he could to see it for as long as he lived.
His pager beeped again, and he sighed, throwing down the bag. "Alright, alright, your Slave of Duty shall arrive soon," he told the pager as he gave Gretel once last look and walked out of the room to change into his scrubs.
Robert stood in the doorway of his room, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she dreamed. He fought the pull of her heart, and his heart was breaking at the thought of leaving her. Her hair framed her angelic face and Elizabeth took up both sides of the bed, laying in the middle, safe under a mountain of sheets.
He moved quietly, careful not to disturb her as he changed into his scrubs and sneakers. Dressed and ready, he retrieved his black coat and put it on, unable to leave just yet.
Robert walked over to the bed and placed a kiss on her forehead, but she never stirred. He giggled silently, jealous of her ability to sleep through everything, when he slept like a bird. But it was also one of the things he loved most about her—the way she was at peace when she slept, the way she would curl up next to him in the middle of the night without realizing it and wrap him in a death-grip. And only then would he be able to let all the tension and stress fall away and tumble into dream-land with her.
After lingering foe a few minutes, he pushed himself into "professional mode" and headed down the hall, and out the door, which he closed behind him and locked almost robotically as he headed for his Jag.
—
He ripped off the yellow blood-soaked gown as he stormed through the door of Trauma 2 into the hall where he discarded it into the hazardous waste bin along with his gloves.
Robert Romano stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the chaos around him. His blue surgical gown had been spared for now, and he rubbed his head, recounting the five surgeries he'd already done, and he'd only been at County for about five hours. The next customer was being patched up by Anspaugh, and he wondered when the carnage would end.
Kerry Weaver ducked down the hall with another gunshot victim, Kovac trailing after her, and they were arguing about patient care, but Robert knew it was no use. He could tell by the monitor and the patient's vitals that he was DOA. Poor Bastard.
Lewis and Chen were trying to calm down a screaming man who was waiting on an OR and begging for more morphine. His Tibia hung out of busted skin, and Robert went through the calculations in his head, trying to determine how long they had until he would lose his leg. And he probably would if anyone operated other than himself, Elizabeth, Donald, or even Peter. Elizabeth was off the table because she was at home, and Donald was trying to salvage some poor soul's liver and kidney. Peter was in the middle of a Whipple, so it's be at least 6 hours before he could see him.
Robert walked down the hall towards the Admit Desk, where the scene in front of him was no better.
Minor injuries spilled out of Chairs, charts were stacked almost to the ceiling. The phones rang and rang. The desk clerks were no where to be found.
"Where the hell is Jerry or Frank or Randi or Amira?" Robert boomed, smack-dab in the middle of the largest cluster fuck he'd ever experienced.
"Jerry's shift ended at 7, Frank's on vacation this week, Randi doesn't come in until 1, and Amira is on a break." Chuny replied as she ran past him, trying to corral a patient onto a gurney who had a pretty nasty head lac.
"That's just fucking wonderful. Must I do everything around here?"
"Maybe not everything." A voice came from behind him, and Robert fought not to scream at the top of his lungs. He knew the voice just by the high-pitched nasal quality.
Robert turned on his heels, keeping his face as neutral as possible. "What part of you don't work here, anymore, Edson, did you not understand?"
"I do work here. I'm a desk clerk now."
"The hell you are."
"If you don't believe me, call HR."
"Who the hell hired you because I didn't?"
"All hiring is done by a third-party service and then HR does interviews. Pretty neat, huh? Seems like I do still have some clout here after all," Dale Edson smiled, proud of himself. Rocket Romano trembled with anger, and he knew he'd outsmarted the Rocket.
"Look you ass-wipe, I don't have time to bash your skull in right now. So do your job, if you can even manage that. I know it's a stretch for you. Stay the hell out of my face." Robert ordered him as he shook his head and searched for the phone under a stack of charts.
Chatter sprung up, reaching a level that made his head pound. Sometimes, he really hated his job. His thoughts turned to Elizabeth, and what she was doing without him. He picked up the phone and dialed, snorting as he saw Dave Malucci and John Carter run past out of the corner of his eye, Malucci's hands shoved deep into the open chest of a woman. Carter barked out orders as they attempted to maneuver through the crowded hallway.
One hand on his hip, he held the phone with his ear as a chart was shoved into his hand.
"Dr. Romano, Rape Exam for a patient in Curtain 2," Lily told him with her hands full of blood.
"I'm a little busy. Get a nurse to do it."
"We're all in Traumas. It's a little hard to be in two places at once."
"Where's Dr. Finch?"
"It's her day off."
"I don't care, get her here and anyone else that has the day off."
"I'm not a desk clerk," she ran past the desk into the open door of Trauma 1 where Kerry and Luka had gone in but hadn't come out yet.
"Must I do everything around here?" he grumbled to himself as he held the chart. When he heard the voice on the other side of the line he began. "David, it's Robert. Listen, I need a favor."
After the phone call was made, he shoved a piece of paper in Edsons's face and took off down the hall, making his way through the crowd, before catching the murderous look in his eyes, because he was sure he'd kill The Weasel, but he'd just have to wait.
He stormed through the door of Trauma 1.
"Kerry, what are you doing?"
"My job, Robert. What are you doing?"
"I'm doing mine. You know you should have called it thirty minutes ago. He never had a chance, he was DOA."
"We got him back with Epi and transfusions."
"We're not wasting what little blood we have on a vegetable."
"His pupils are equal and reactive." Kerry argued, holding the internal paddles.
"That was just a reaction to the Epi, but he's gone. Time of death 9:30 AM." Kovac agreed with Robert, pronouncing the patient as he flung off his gloves and headed for the door, knowing there were other patients. The nurses turned off the machines, and Malik headed to get the death kit.
Kerry just stood there in shock. Robert nodded at Kovac and held open the door as the tall man stepped through, and he followed. Robert took a step towards Admit when the Ambulance Bay doors flung open and he was almost knocked over by a flying gurney.
"35-year-old female. GSW to the upper back. Bp 50/30, shallows resps, brief LOC in the field. I gave her two large bore IV's on route, and she's hypotensive." EMT Doris Pickman shouted as she waited for a doctor.
Mark Greene met her halfway down the hallway, listening to her chest with his stethoscope. "Ma'am, can you tell me your name?"
"Laura Shayatovich."
"Do you know who shot you?" Mark asked as he saw Abby and signaled her over, and they moved the gurney down the hallway.
"It was Derek Fossen. He was looking for Ben, but I told him I didn't know where he was." She wheezed out as the pain grew worse and worse. She turned her head to look around the room. "Where's my son?"
"He's right behind us. Don't worry, we're gonna take good care of him." Abby told her. Laura coughed, sending bright red liquid to her chin.
"Roll her." Mark ordered, and he and Abby rolled her just in time. A large pool of blood exploded from her mouth.
"Oh God. That looks like at least 2 liters." Abby said horrified as she jumped slightly, narrowly avoiding the spray.
"Could be her aorta or esophageal Fistula. Bag her, we're gonna need all the O-neg we got. Let's get her into Trauma 2." They raced into the room, and Robert sighed, following them.
—
"Fossen. Derek Fossen. F-o-s-s-e-n." Mark told the police officer as he held the intubation kit.
"Hematoma was contained until it blew through the esophagus." Robert observed in his goggles and blue gown as he looked the patient over.
"You got an address?" the cop asked as he wrote down what Mark told him on his notepad.
"He lives next door to her." Mark intubated the patient.
"Can't get a pressure." Abby told Robert as she read the machine.
"Ten blade. Squeeze in two units of O-neg." Robert pursed his lips as a nurse handed over the scalpel and Abby hung the blood and bagged the patient once Mark finished his intubation.
"We put his son into protective custody. His name is Ben."
"Lost the pulse." Abby heard the warning from the monitor.
"Alright. Rib spreader. Open up a thoracotomy tray."
"Abby get the rapid infuser." Mark told her, and she headed into Trauma one where Malik was finishing up.
"You need this?"
He shook his head no and she began to wheel it into the other room when she heard his voice and then she heard the monitor sped up.
"Another satinsky." Robert ordered as he held out his bloodied hand. A nurse placed the clamp in his hand as Abby bagged the patient and Mark held the suction device.
"Unit number 8 is up." Abby told the surgeon.
"Heart's not filling, clamp the aorta." Greene told the surgeon a little annoyed that he hadn't already done it.
"Greene, the injury is high and posterior. You want me to clamp the arch?" he threw a soaked lap pad on the patient's leg and moved to get a better look at her open chest.
Blood covered everything, and Rocket tried to stick another patch on the leak as Mark kept suctioning, but blood kept obscuring the field. A clamp stuck out of Laura's chest, and Abby looked up at the two men she admired. It was bad, she told herself, if they couldn't fix it. Her entire chest was drenched, and a pile of lap pads sat on the open surgical tray, covered in so much blood they were now permanently stained red.
"Let's try an arterial line."
"Oh, that'll help." Robert replied sarcastically, growing frustrated.
"Can't you get your finger in the hole?"
"If I could see it."
"More light."
Abby moved the light closer.
"Let's call for FFP and platelets."
"Alright, forget it. Forget it." Robert threw down the clamp and raised his shoulders, his back straighter than an arrow. "I can't close this defect." He took off his left glove, while Mark looked at the monitor.
"Another amp of Epi."
He removed his right glove and tried to hide the emotion in his voice. "She blew out her thoracic aorta and exsanguinated in seconds, we are not going to get her back." He threw down his gloves in anger and defeat.
Mark looked horrified but refused to give up. "Let's try bypass."
"It's too late for that, call it." Robert scratched the back of his head and a nurse offered him a towel and he snatched it out of her hand. Blood spotted the sleeves of his gown, and Mark slammed down the instruments he was holding and looked at the clock while Robert looked at the towel and put on his poker face.
"Time of death: 11:40."
"0 for 2 and it's not even lunch," Robert replied, taking the chart and practically running out of the room.
—
Robert threw his stethoscope onto his locker and slammed it shut. Fat good his skills did him, he fumed. The woman Fossen had murdered over a car, the braindead man Kovac had pronounced, Laura Shayatovich who he'd worked on but couldn't save.
So this is what it felt like to loose a patient, he mused as he put on a clean pair of scrubs. Fossen didn't deserve to live and if he had to operate on him, he wouldn't. So what if he violated the Hippocratic Oath—he's had his fingers crossed anyways.
Taking a deep breath, he clenched his hands into fists, about to punch the cold metal before reminding himself that the last thing he needed right now was a broken hand. he returned his arms at his side, when something caught in his brain and he opened his locker again.
Tacked to the door was a picture of the two of them the day they'd done the Fem-pop-bypass in 2 hrs, 20 minutes, and the day he wanted to by Lizzie a well-deserved five egg omelet. It'd been the day of Scot Anspaugh's funeral and also the day of Peter's MM, and the day David Morgenstern resigned.
They smiled as they leaned over the desk and Robert stared at her, and she pretended she hadn't seen him do it.
It was his favorite picture of the pair of them, and he ran a finger over her cheek, smiling as he bit his lip, wishing she was here with him to make this hell more bearable, but also thankful she was safe in his house, shielded away from the evils of the world.
—
Back in the ER, Robert stepped off the elevator and walked towards the Suture Room when he saw the other Red-headed surgeon in with Malucci and Carter, up to his elbows in blood and intestines but the older doctor taught the younger ones with joy.
Robert stopped in the doorway for a few seconds, listening.
"So, Dr. Malucci, how are your suturing skills?"
"Quicker than a pin drop. Blink and you'll miss it." he chuckled as he moved closer to the table.
" Why we do a Whipple, Dr. Carter?"
"To remove the head of the pancreas, the first part of the small intestine, the gallbladder and the common bile duct. Then we anastomise."
"Very good. I see Peter's teaching paid off."
Morgenstern motioned for Malucci to hand him a clamp and he did.
Satisfied, Robert turned and took a step when David looked up.
"Ahh, Robert, there you are. I was wondering what you needed me for?"
"Sorry to drag you away from Northwestern but it seems we're short a surgeon and we still have eight criticals."
"No problem. I was just showing these two how to do a Whipple while we wait for the OR. You never know when you might see one in the ER."
Robert laughed. "Always a pleasure. Need me to scrub in?"
"We're good here, Robert, but i'm sure someone needs you somewhere."
"Of course. If you'll excuse me, i have a patient."
—
Robert grabbed the chart he'd stuck in the rack at the Admit Desk earlier when the Trauma had come in. The Board was still cluttered with patients and the guy with the Compound Tib-Fib Fracture had gone up. Dorset and Lucy had that one.
A rape exam was not something he wanted to do, but he was the boss, and he had promised Jarvick he'd take the patient even if he'd never uttered the words out loud. And Rocket Romano never broke his promises.
He gulped, and his eyes bugged out of his head at the name on the chart. A man. He wanted to back out, but he closed the chart, and stuck a hand in his lab coat, taking a few steps when he heard it.
Dale Edson sat at the desk, typing away, as he snickered at Robert's predicament.
"You've got a hell of a problem there, Dr. Romano."
"I keep my promises. Shut up, you gnat, and get back to work." Robert headed to Curtain 2.
"Good luck with that," He called after him, and when he saw him disappear, Edson mumbled under his breath, "Self-righteous prick."
—
Robert discarded gloves and stood up. Chuny capped the swabs.
"So, it's AIDS, right?" Michael Williams questioned, looking at his lap.
"We'll know after the tests."
"If you had to guess." he wanted to know now.
"Probably." Robert looked at the man handcuffed to the bed, but didn't see a prisoner, he just saw a man who'd endured horrible things, and been forced to things no persons should ever be forced to do. Robert knew what that was like, and Michael held out his hand.
"Thank you for being straight with me." Robert shook his hand.
"Let's wait and see, okay?"
Michael nodded, and Chuny glanced at Robert, but kept quiet and he held the door open for her.
"You want the Triple Cocktail?" she wondered as they made to go their separate ways.
"Couldn't hurt. Hey, thanks, for not asking questions back there."
"It's my job to help the patients and the doctors, not to ask questions."
Robert nodded and shivered when she was out of his line of sight. That was weird.
—
"How'd it go?" Dale mocked him in a sweet voice which sickened the surgeon.
"Do i have any messages?"
"Anspaugh wants you to call him. Weaver wants to talk to you about Legaspi, and your new best friend wants to invite you to dinner." The Weasel snickered as he crumpled the paper and threw it at the man he despised.
"Well then I'll invite him for drinks instead of you." Robert snarked as he turned up his face in disgust at the Weasel.
Mark leaned back in the empty chair. He took off his glasses and wiped the day from them. Haleh ran past the desk, balancing a few charts and a couple of blood samples. She knocked over a stack of charts, sending them to the floor, but Robert didn't care. Chen and Yosh sprinted out to the Ambulance Bay in yellow Trauma gowns to meet the incoming Ambulances. There were still victims of Fossen's and he hadn't been brought in yet.
Kovac approached the desk in a zombie like trance, and he erased a name off the board with a heavy face. Another one lost to the crazed gunman.
Robert watched him with tight shoulders, his hands on his hips. The man Dorset and Lucy worked on would end up losing his leg. It'd been more than 6 hours, far past the point of saving, but he knew that Lucy would insist ion trying to salvage it, anyways. And that's what separated her from a mediocre doctor and an excellent one.
Dale muttered something under his breath about Elizabeth, and the gold-stethoscoped man clenched his teeth together to keep from doing something he'd regret. Rocket's fuse was growing shorter with each passing second, and he so wanted to take his nemesis out back and show him who the superior of the two was.
Chicago PD worked as hard as they could, but they hadn't located Fossen, yet. They'd put out an APB for the stolen car and discovered that he was using a semi-automatic weapon—probably a 9mm with about 16 rounds, Robert inferred. He'd seen enough GSW's to know that this guy wouldn't be stopped unless he went down in a blaze of gun fire.
Carter saw Morgenstern off to the elevator, and then went in search of Abby. Lewis was working in triage with Jeanine.
His eyes wandered, and Lewis felt something on her back and looked up to see him staring at her, and she saw what he thought he'd hidden well. She gave him a silent nod, and then asked Jeanine if she was good, and when the PA nodded, she approached the Chief.
"We've got 6 more criticals. All OR's are full, but they're cleaning 2 now. Anspaugh should be down any minute to get another one. Peter's Whipple Expired in SICU. And we only have two units of O-neg left."
Robert sighed, wracking his brain for a solution. "Okay, Lewis, I need you with me. You're the only level-headed on down here when shit hits the fan and right now it's a large pile and smells very bad."
Susan laughed weakly as she stuck her stethoscope in her pocket and placed the chart in the wrack.
"Carter's O-negative. We could see if he wants to donate."
"Good. Let's round up all other Staff with the same blood type. We can substitute with Plasma and platelets. Fluid resuscitate as many as we can, I'll page Benton." Robert picked up the phone and dialed.
"What if they need surgery?"
"I guess the two of us are going to have to do it down here. We can't divert because all area hospitals are too far." Finished he set the phone down, and his pager vibrated.
Lewis was about to speak when she was interrupted by wailing sirens and pounding gurneys hitting the doors.
"Eight-year-old in full arrest. No pulse on route." Cleo said as she banged through the doors, panting from running four miles to work, and Malik joined them as Mark greeted them with nothing left.
"PEA. Let's get her into trauma 1." Mark shared a look with Susan as they took off down the hall.
Chen and Yosh stopped right behind them in the hall as blood spurted all over her face.
"Ahh, where the hell's Weaver?" she wondered as she changed her gloves and tried to listen to the patient's chest. "Massive shift on the left with flail. Yosh, chest tube, and put some pressure on that." She motioned to the bleeding chest wound that seemed as big as a cannon.
"I can't bag her, push meds, and stop the bleeding all at once."
Lewis and Romano headed over to assist.
"Lewis you run this one."
"Okay, we can't move her, or she'll arrest. Yosh, go get Carter. Doris, stay here and bag here." Yosh took off to find him, Doris nodded and bagged the patient. "Chen, you're with Dr. Romano, you make the best cuts out of all of us." She nodded, and he passed her a chest tube kit, and she inserted it.
"Seriously, though, where is Kerry?" he asked as he searched for a thoracotomy tray but couldn't find one on the cart of supplies.
"Something about Risk Management," Chen replied as she rechecked the breathing. "Good breath sounds bilaterally."
"Anybody know where we keep more kits?"
"Do you need this one?" Malucci asked as he stopped next to the surgeon and passed it to him. Malucci said something about an aortic fistula, but the young doctor liked to talk out both sides of his mouth, often trying to make himself look good using big jargon. He wouldn't know one if it bit him on the nose, and he'd never see one in the ER. That kind of case was for the big-boys. Robert nodded his thanks, and the raven-haired doctor thumped down the hall towards Curtain Area one.
They worked on the patient. Yosh returned with Carter, Abby in tow, and he sat him down, rolled up his sleeve and stuck the needle in his arm. Abby asked him if he was good, and Carter ordered her to help Malucci, and she clumsily took off after him. Several of the people waiting in Chairs covered their mouths, or looked away, but some watched the three doctors in the hallway as the feverishly tried to save the man's life.
Robert opened the chest and identified the bleeder. Chen passed him a needle and he did what he did best—sowed to perfection and checked for leaks.
The sound floated from Trauma 1 into the hallway, and the three doctors froze.
Derek Fossen claimed another life, and Mark slumped through the doors and looked sick. They pushed away the sadness and continued to work. Lewis checked the vitals and hung the blood.
"Let's get him upstairs." They moved towards the elevator where Anspaugh and a surprise face greeted them.
"Robert, what the hell happened?"
"Some crazed gunman opened fire on a foster care system. Looking for his son or something. Mesenteric rupture for you. We were able to stabilize him."
"I'll grab Peter on this one. Elizabeth, thanks for coming in."
"Of course. You need all the hands you can get." She replied to her colleague as if coming in on her day off were common practice.
"Lizzie? What are you doing here?"
"You can't operate on all these people at once, Robert. Even you're not that good."
"I'm hurt, truly."
"You'll live." She stepped off the elevator as they made the exchange, and when the doors closed, the four staff members enjoyed the quasi-moment of peace, relishing in it for a brief second before life came crashing back into them.
"Do you need me?"
"I think Malucci said something about an Aortic Fistula."
"Alright. Page me if you need me." Elizabeth slung her stethoscope around her neck and headed towards the hallway, Chen deciding to walk with her, and the two made conversation. Lewis and Doris stalked off to the Lounge for coffee.
Robert lingered, unable to move. The elevator to his left opened, and off stepped Kerry Weaver, looking the way she always did.
"Robert, there you are. There's something I need to speak with you about."
"If it's about this Legaspi thing, it'll have to wait. I'm a little busy down here."
Kerry's movement jarred his idle legs into motion and they bickered all the way down the hallway.
"You're going to fire her, just like that, because she wouldn't answer your page?"
"I haven't fired her, yet. It's going to committee next week, and they'll determine her fate. It's out of my hands. Besides, there's plenty of documentation to warrant her termination."
"She's a good doctor."
"I have no doubt about that. Look if you're so damned concerned about it, file an affidavit and give it to the committee but right now I'm a little busy patching up the barrage of gunshots you keep accepting."
"Are we supposed to let them bleed out in the street?"
"No, but you could be down here helping instead of talking to Risk Management."
"I only did it because they couldn't get you." They stopped, and Kerry gave him an evil look, wanting his job but she'd never say that out loud of course.
"Dr. Weaver—" Haleh tried to get her attention as she ran up to the desk, but Kerry dismissed her and continued to annoy Robert about Legaspi.
Haleh's voice rose as she tried again. "It's Adele. That maniac shot her at her house."
Kerry almost dropped her crutch. Robert's face turned to shock.
"What?" Kerry exclaimed, pursing her lips at Robert's earlier comment about there being no risk to County.
"The social worker?" Robert questioned as Haleh turned on her heels and took off to Trauma 2, Kerry crutching along as fast as she could, Robert running after the pair, hoping to god he wouldn't be reliving the night they'd almost lost Lucy.
—
Mark, Kerry, and Robert worked on Adele, who looked a lot better than the rest of Fossen's victims. They did test after test, Robert pressed on her belly, and Adele began to cry when she realized she couldn't feel her legs. Kerry helped Robert roll her, so he could identify the wound, and Mark asked her to identify the place she could feel sensation as he ran the circular device up her leg to her hip where she twitched.
"Am I Paralyzed?"
"There's a little bit of swelling around your spinal cord where the bullet went in, it's probably temporary." Kerry reassured her, but in her head, knew that most likely, Adele would never walk again.
"How did he find me?"
"What do you mean?" Mark asked as he continued to make sure she was comfortable.
"I only saw him at the hospital."
Robert slammed down the chart he'd just signed. "You can find anything on the damned internet. Let's get her upstairs."
They prepped the gurney to be moved, Haleh grabbed the drug box and Mark and Kerry started to move.
"Who's gonna do the surgery?" Kerry asked the Chief.
"I guess I've got the honors. Don't worry, Adele, you're in good hands."
"I'm not worried, Robert. I've seen your work." She joked, looking between Kerry and him, trying to find the hidden truth in their faces, but she couldn't find anything. Adele tried to be upbeat, but she knew the odds.
Suddenly, the door swung open next to them, and Abby staggered out looking terrified.
"Dr. Romano, we need you, now, Malucci's patient is in trouble."
"Where's Corday?"
"She thought he had gastroenteritis. She's with Chen and Lewis in Exam 3 looking at a possible splenic laceration."
"She gave up an aortic fistula for a spleen?" Robert's voice quivered with anger. He needed her, and she was off playing doctor on a patient that could wait. Was she still in a sleep induced coma or was she ignoring him? Robert snapped out of his thoughts, remembering he had two patients now. "Take her up. Peter's free, I'll try to get to her as soon as I can, give her 500mg of Solumedrol." He ordered his colleagues and they did what he asked, racing to get their friend up to surgery.
—
Abby held the door open, and Robert stormed through it, and she helped him gown and glove. Malucci looked utterly sick, his white-gloved hands covered in blood, his hands tuck deep in the patient's open torso.
"Dr. Malucci, what are you doing?"
"I had to crack this guy's chest after he arrested. Pressure's stable and I think I stopped the bleeding."
"Let's see how much damage you've wrought. Suction. Who clamped the proximal section of the abdominal aorta?"
Malucci and Abby shared a look, unsure if they wanted to answer the Chief's loaded question, and Robert looked at the pair expectantly as he waited for one of rather to pluck up the courage to respond.
"I did." Malucci replied confidently as he sutured the defect. "That's the common procedure until an aortic graft can be performed."
"Well, there may be a doctor in you after all." Robert chuckled and nodded his approval as he focused on the patient.
"You want me to get Corday?"
"No. If she can't diagnose one of these she sure as hell can't fix it." He spat, and Abby squirmed at the ire in his voice, handing him another clamp, and a lap pad.
"What is the main symptom of one of these, Lockhart?"
The student tried to recall that section in her textbook, and she took a moment before it came back to her, and she answered him. "There's always upper GI bleeding."
"You get a gold star on your homework. Let's get him up to surgery, you two are with me."
"Seriously?" Malucci couldn't believe his ears, and he wiped his shoulder as if he were the greatest ever. Abby rolled her eyes and grabbed the portable pulse OX machine.
"Alright, Maluccci, don't get ahead of yourself. After you've diagnosed at least a hundred of these, then maybe." Robert grabbed the head of the gurney, leading them towards the elevators.
"But they're pretty rare," Lockhart chimed in, laughing at Robert's joke, but Dave didn't see the humor in it. He still had a long way to go.
"Wow, another gold star for you, Lockhart." Robert complimented her as the elevator dinged open, and they loaded in. Dave mashed the button for the fourth floor, and an uncomfortable silence slipped over the group.
—
"Robert, do you need help?"
"No, I'm almost finished." He said quickly, almost cutting her off.
"I'd like to assist."
Robert ignored her and pulled the silk through the loop, completing the knot. His assistant handed him some Mayo scissors, and Abby patted the wound with a sponge stick while Dave pulled his vicryl through his knots, and then waited as Robert snipped off the excess. He hadn't once looked up to acknowledge the woman who would never back down from doing a surgery. The air was thick with taut tension, and the two surgeons battled to see who would cut the string first.
"And I'd like an Associate Chief who can properly diagnose an Aortic fistula instead of playing remedial medicine on a splenic laceration that any moron with half a brain could diagnose and treat with their eyes closed." Robert took the bait, roaring at her as he picked up an army-navy and retracted the left lobe of the liver.
"I'm sorry you feel that way. My patient ended up needing a splenectomy." Elizabeth ignored the stinging of his words as she took one step forward, then thought better of it, and stepped back again.
"And this poor bastard is gonna need bypass followed by another 6 months of follow up, provided he doesn't stroke out on us. Sorry, maybe cardiothoracic isn't exciting enough for you. I can find you another specialty. Maybe in podiatry where you have to do absolutely no work at all."
"I don't know what's got your bollocks in twist, but you need to release the vice-grip that's turned you into a complete knob." She raged, her accent thick and pointed.
"I needed you with me, but you couldn't be bothered. I hope gossip hour with Chen was worth it." He spat, trying not to laugh at her creative insult, but he refused to give up. Rocket Romano was not one of those "push-over" men she dated, and he wasn't afraid to give it right back to her.
"Robert, look I know you've had a bad day, but don't you dare take it out on me."
"A bad day? A bad day? Losing a fortune in the stock market or having some idiot from Radiology back into my Jag is a bad day. This is the biggest clusterfuck in the history of clusterfucks, and my second in command wants to sit on her pretty little hands while people are dying all around us. Let's give you a moment—oh wait, these poor people don't have that if you're sleeping on the job. I'd expect this kind of behavior from Dorset or Edson, maybe even Morris, but not you."
"Oh, well sorry, if I didn't want to spend my day off at this bloody place which you seem to care about more than me." That was it. Something broke inside her, and she quaked like a volcano, wanting to sting him worse than he'd ever done to her, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.
"You take that back right now. I didn't have a choice, Elizabeth. I didn't ask you to come in. You can go."
Elizabeth snorted out her annoyance, appalled by his insinuation that she would leave just because the Chief of Staff asked her to. Last time she checked, she was still her own person. And no one would tell her what to do, especially not Rocket Romano. "No! I'm not going."
"Fine, then go see if Peter needs help, or Dorset or anybody else. Get out of my face before we both say something we regret."
"You're such a prick, Robert Romano, you know that?"
"Oh boo-hoo. Is that supposed to hurt my feelings? Oh wait, I'd have to have some of those. You don't want to know what I think of you right now." He growled, and she ripped off her surgical mask, banging through the door of OR 1, and discarding it into the hazardous waste bin, along with her heart.
Elizabeth sniffled, angrily wiping away a few tears that formed in her eyes. When had it all gone so wrong? Robert had never made her cry, not even when they'd first met, and he had been vile and gruff to her back in the ole boy's club. Her heart broke into a thousand pieces, and she wanted to slump onto the floor and never get up, but she wouldn't give him that satisfaction. She had a job to do, and damnit, she would do it to the best of her ability.
Their relationship was always "delicate," teetering on should or shouldn't they since the beginning, and then they had, and it was wonderful and more than Elizabeth ever dreamed of. But it was also messy, sharp, jagged, and a raging inferno when it was bad. And right now, it was very bad, and no amount of water could put out the flames.
Robert watched her go with heavy heart and sick stomach. He knew by her posture that she was crying but trying to hide it. His eyes were a glossy black-brown, seeing the woman he loved more than anything walking down the hallway with a defeated soul. He hated himself instantly for making her cry. He was no better than any of those pompous assholes she'd been with England. What a right bastard he was. Why did it have to be a Tuesday?
Well, now their plans were really shot to hell, and he threw down a pair of scissors, covered with blood. His heart was breaking, and he couldn't stop it. The woman he'd loved for so long, and had finally gotten after a long struggle, was gone again because of his own stupidity, his own selfish desires, his own need for blowing off steam. He knew she wouldn't speak to him for a few days, if ever after this, and he wondered how long it would take her to pack. Would his house be dark and lonely when he arrived? Would he ever be whole again, if she left him? No. Not at all.
—
The patient had been saved and was being attended to in SICU by Kit. So far, no one else had died. Adele was also recovering, and it was too early to tell if her paralysis would be permanent, Elizabeth's splenic lac had lost a lot of blood, but otherwise pulled through, they hadn't been able to save the man's leg, even though Lucy tried with all her might.
Laura's son, Ted, hadn't a mark on him because of his motherless' selfless act of wrapping herself around him to shield him from the gunfire. Maybe there was supposed to be some peace in that, but the only peace that County would find would be Fossen dead.
Morgenstern and Anspaugh drank a cup of coffee and wiped the sleep from their eyes, the events of the day finally catching up to them. The last Ambulance wailed to a stop and Mark and Luka headed to see if they had another casualty.
Everything was seemingly fine, so why did Rocket Romano feel so damned small? A whole man had gone upstairs on the elevator, but only half of one stood on the outer side of the desk, trying to keep busy in order to ignore the stabbing in his chest. The mountain of charts was smaller than before, Chairs only had a few more customers. Kerry interrupted her two colleagues break in order to speak with them, but their voices came out muffled in Robert's head.
"Hey, Dr. Romano, did you ever see that movie? "You know the one with the homosexual lead who falls in love with a character who's homophobic? What was it called? Oh, yeah. I was A Teenage Fag-Hag." Edson held his sides as he laughed.
No one else thought it was funny. Lucy slapped him on the back of the head, giving him a murderous look as Abby chewed her fingernails down to the nailbeds. Malucci gave him a "seriously, did you just say that look," while Carter stumbled out of the lounge sipping a juice box and shoving a cracker in his mouth.
Robert couldn't contain his anger any longer as something broke inside him and clanged around as it ricocheted all the way to his toes. He jumped over the desk, grabbing The Weasel by the collar as he snarled.
"Listen here, you pathetic excuse for a human being, when you first started here, I disliked you because of your horrible attitude and your level of narcissism."
"The same could be said for you, Romano."
"That's Dr. Romano to you, a title which I earned because of my hard-work and dedication, unlike you who considered yourself a surgical god after the two years of ass-wiping you called Residency." He flung Edson away from him as if he was a parasite, contempt mixed with utter disgust painting his face.
"Who did you pay to get the Chief's job because we all sure as hell know you didn't get it based on your leadership skills. How many times did you have to blow Anspaugh before he surrendered it to you?"
"I didn't have to blow anyone for this job, but if I had, it'd still be a hell of a lot better job than you'd ever do. Being liked and respected are two complexly different things, neither of which ever applied to you. How's Amanda from HR?"
"She's better than fine," he raised his eyebrows, dropping his voice an octave in what he thought was a seductive tone, but made Robert want to pound the little snot even more.
"See, I figured you might say that. As Chief, I'm responsible for my employees at all times, and it wouldn't look very good on me if I didn't keep records, now would it?" Robert stalked to the computer, and pulled a file from under it which he had brought down earlier in the day. He ripped it open, and threw the pictures of Dale doing things to and with women that he shouldn't be doing.
"Were did you get these?"
"A wonderful little department called security. You see, while you've been concerned with fucking everything that moves, I've been having too much fun protecting my assets. Now if you spent as much time studying as you did with the female staff, you'd be a hell of a surgeon, but I wouldn't trust you with a gluteal abbess, much less a dumpster full of trash." Robert removed his Rocket scrub cap, shoving it in his pocket, not caring that the entire department was watching him. Well, good. Let them watch me pound the brain matter right out of his puny little skull.
"Well, Rocket, isn't this the pot calling the kettle black? We all know your history with the female staff, don't we ladies?" He looked around for an ally, sure he'd won, but no one was in his corner.
"I was exonerated, and besides it was one complaint by one doctor who doesn't play for my team. Hey, that's fine with me, just don't display it here. This a workplace, not a parade."
"What did you do to Maggie Doyle, huh? Grab her ass?"
"Did you not hear what I said you loony tune? I didn't do anything to Maggie or anyone else here. Maggie's time with us was up, and when I didn't give what she wanted, she decided to leave. That's not my problem."
"What could she possibly want from a man like you?"
"Chief Resident. And when her attempts at blackmail failed, she high-tailed it back to South Side. Besides, I didn't let her go, someone else in this room did." Robert glared at Kerry Weaver, who watched their exchange, and tried to hide behind Morgenstern.
"Is that why Lizzie was crying earlier today? Because you wouldn't give her what she wants?"
"You watch your damned mouth, Edson." He took a step closer to the taller surgeon, clenching his fists as he snatched the file of dirt he had on him back and place it where he couldn't reach it.
"Why else would she want someone like you? She's just making the rounds, and you're her next plaything, and she'll discard you when she's done with you." Dale snorted, crossing his arms proudly at his attempt to get under his former teacher's skin.
"When Residents arrive here, we size you up. We have great hopes for you, we want you to succeed, but gradually, over time, and through interactions we form opinions. Do you want to know the staff's opinion of you? You're lazy, sloppy, and your carless attitude towards your responsibilities as a physician endangered patients' lives as witnessed every time you stepped foot into an OR. Your suturing skills were abysmal, surpassed by, and I can't even believe I'm saying this, David Malucci who can make better incisions with his eyes closed. None of us ever thought you were much of a doctor.
"Lizzie told me the same thing."
"You'll address her as Dr. Corday, or Elizabeth, do you hear me? Show a little respect, she's earned it. I don't even know why wasted my time teaching you. At one time, I saw something in you that resembled potential, but then you pissed it away. You ended your own career, you moronic pain in both sides of my ass."
"I can think of another word for her." Dale raised his eyebrows, implying what Robert had heard him mumbled under his breath earlier.
Robert Romano wasn't exactly a saint, but he'd been taught to respect women, and The Weasel had just crossed the point of no return.
He uttered the most unforgivable word in the English Language—so utterly repulsive, Robert refused to let it cross his brain for more than a nanoseconds.
Robert lunged, slamming his fist into Edson's jaw, screaming words at him like "motherfucker," and "putrid slime bag" as he lost control.
Edson returned a few blows of his own, trying to move as Robert laid on top of him on the floor, punching his lights out. Robert dogged and weaved Edson's fist with ease, only stopping to admire his handwork.
A line of blood trickled from the right side of his lip, and the victim waited to make his move, finding he perfect opening when the other man was distracted. His fist connected with Robert's right eye, and he went flying into the other side of the desk. Stunned, he collected himself as he sought the Weasel again.
A whole bunch of arms pulled the pair apart. Robert snarled as Anspaugh and Malucci held him back, and Dale played shocked and on the verge of tears as Carter and Morgenstern restrained him.
"You have five seconds to pack your shit and leave." Robert ordered him, refusing to back down, even though he couldn't move.
"You can't fire me." Dale told him, wanting another go at him, but Carter managed to hold onto him even though he was a few inches shorter.
"I just did."
"I hope you have a good lawyer because you'll be hearing from him." He threatened, the other part of his plan forming in his head as he stared down the man he hated more than anyone else.
"Edson that's enough." Asnpaugh shouted at the enraged man and the entire room feel silent. "Carter, see to it that he goes without incident."
"Robert, I think you'd better take a walk. Now." Anpsaugh's eyes held no forgiveness, just disappointment and hurt. And that pained Robert more than Edson's fist did.
Robert nodded, and held his right eye as he left County General, hoping he hadn't committed career suicide, but if he had, fuck it, because with her gone, none of it mattered anymore. All he wanted he'd lost there, so why would he want to stay?
In all the commotion, he hadn't noticed that Mark and Luka had returned, stuck in trauma one with a flailing Fossen, and he saw out of the corner of his eye as he reached the door, Mark take Fossen on the elevator alone. The pair exchanged a look, and the doors closed. So what if Rocket Romano had knowingly signed his death warrant. The way he was feeling, he was judge, jury, and now executioner. The game was over. Derek Fossen would not survive the ride, and he couldn't care less as he gave one last look around the place he'd loved for almost twenty years, and stepped into the pouring Chicago rain.