Author's Note: Soooooooo, for y'all that don't hate me now, welcome back! :D Thank you for all the support, and please continue to let me know what you think. The title for this chapter comes from the Linkin Park song of the same name. Remember to R&R, and enjoy!
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Chapter 21 - Leave Out All the Rest
Christine
"We need to pronounce the time of death."
Those words were like a curse - a disaster that no amount of desperate prayer or adamant denial could undo. And once they were brought into existence, my heart seized; the following moments found the world narrowed down almost entirely to the graphic scene in front of me, to the devastation that had so thoroughly overwhelmed that trauma room. I knew that it wasn't possible, yet I still could've sworn that the walls had begun to close in around me, that every last bit of air had been stolen from the hospital. Nothing else seemed to be part of reality any longer beyond those disturbing boundaries; it truly felt to me as if any of the hope that I'd kept in the periphery of my mind had been destroyed altogether. Dr. Moreno's words - even as delicately as he'd attempted to speak them - had carried in their wake a strong sense of finality. And that finality was one that I'd wanted nothing more than to reverse the moment I'd heard it, because the alternative that was presented to me in full force was absolutely unacceptable.
But in spite of sternly reminding myself to be realistic before, I couldn't find the ability to stay anywhere near as rational now. No matter what I was seeing, it just wasn't possible to lose Erik, not after everyone had fought for so long to save him - this couldn't be the conclusion of the act of violence that had taken place that afternoon.
"Wait!" I cried out, acting then in order to stall Dr. Moreno's decision to cease treatment, all while completely forgetting Nadir's explicit direction for me to not interject during this trauma.
Even so, I was instantly aware that raising my voice had caused Dr. Moreno turn some of his attention toward me - enough that he didn't immediately stop working on the patient on the gurney, didn't move from Erik's bloodied form lying prone and motionless there, while the efforts to save him were becoming increasingly more ineffective. It took every last ounce of strength that I still had to urge myself to remain where I stood, keeping far enough away from the cluster of doctors and nurses to prevent myself from being a hindrance to their concentration. And yet, I wouldn't be convinced to stay silent indefinitely, either. By then, I didn't care whatsoever if I was overstepping the strict boundaries in place between doctors and family members; nor did I care if I was only speaking as I was out of pure insanity, perhaps showing itself now as a result of my better judgement effectively becoming a thing of the past, losing myself as soon as Erik's heart had stopped beating. Regardless of it all, I couldn't prevent speaking up, from shouting past the void of resignation that was beginning to paint the expressions of those around me.
"Dr. Durant, please - " Dr. Moreno began, somehow still continuing to keep his tone soft and clear amid the shrieking alarms, regret dominating his features all the while. Regret, and the persistent and undeniable sympathy that I was quickly coming to resent him for, no matter how sincere the origin of that emotion was. But I stubbornly chose to ignore the latter - his sympathy under these circumstances only meant that death was inevitable, and I refused to even distantly acknowledge Erik's death as a possibility. This could not be where his life ended.
So I all but begged, "You have to wait, just give him more time. Please."
"Christine, if we stop now, then - "
" - We're not stopping," Nadir interrupted, earning shocked glances from all in attendance by taking up this argument, seemingly as determined as I was to buy more time, if our doing so could be of any help at all, "Keep going."
"Dr. Khan, he's been down too long."
"I said keep going!"
But although he moved to do as he was told, Dr. Moreno repeated firmly, steadily, "Nadir, this isn't easy for any of us, but he's been down too long. Even if we get a rhythm back, that still might be it for him. Me might not wake up again."
Nadir shook his head, breathless now from pairing his efforts with his obvious fight to maintain his composure, "He's been with us the entire time, we've been working on him the entire time. He's had oxygen, he's - "
" - But what if that's not enough - "
" - We're not stopping."
"Is this even what he would want?"
"Yes. Just give it fifteen more minutes. If nothing works by then, we'll let him go."
And there was a weighty pause then, a beat wherein the balance holding life and death could very easily be tipped in either direction - but thankfully, after only a moment's deliberation, Dr. Moreno agreed to the new terms of Erik's treatment plan with a sharp nod, briefly glancing at me with a measure of reassurance in his eyes before turning immediately back to work. Once the argument between the doctors was resolved, once they had determined a more reasonable course of action to take, everyone else quickly followed suit.
Another five minutes had passed, everyone continuing to work with a calculated and expert precision all the while. But then almost ten more minutes had been lost before we even knew it. Yet with each passing second, with each procedure that was attempted, nothing had changed, no marks signaled that anything the doctors tried had been working - at least not for long enough to make any meaningful difference. By the time they were rapidly nearing their agreed upon fifteen-minute point of surrender, the morale in the room had begun to wane significantly once again - the tension that was surrounding us was almost palpable, suffocating, leaving not a single one of us wanting to voice any further optimism, for fear of only inviting tragedy instead. They had been working to restore Erik's heartbeat for so long - for far longer than they might have under similar conditions, the context occurring now serving as one that no medical professional wanted to see. The truth of the matter was that no one there could be said to be entirely objective; they couldn't just give up and stop trying to save their friend and colleague. But sooner or later, there would simply come a point that enough would be enough. In a few minutes, there would be nothing left of him to save. We all fiercely dreaded the arrival of that instant; it felt so inevitable, and when it came, there would be no way to ignore it.
But finally, finally, there was a sudden and yet unmistakable flash of movement on the screens of the surrounding medical equipment - a blip on one of the monitors, a steady beeping giving way to a frantic and insistent pulsing on another. Though it was faint at first, it was a sure sign of life just the same, appearing as if from nowhere, and one that was growing stronger.
"I've got a rhythm," Nadir said, seeming to be overtaken by his disbelief, but then he repeated a bit more loudly, "Yes! I've got a rhythm. Come on, Erik. Come on...Keep it up."
Breathless and trembling uncontrollably and not wanting to do anything that might even remotely shatter the effects of this incredibly fragile moment, I watched in silence as the initially sluggish movement of Erik's heart slowly regained the strength it needed to recapture a more consistent beat. In spite of everything that had happened to him, he was alive - all at once, he'd come back, had been returned firmly to this side of the veil where he belonged. Against all odds, his heart was beating on its own again. And when I mindfully slowed my racing thoughts, when I just took a deep breath and allowed myself to accept that it could very well continue to do so long enough to get him to surgery, I almost cried out in relief through the blur of tears in my eyes.
His situation remained extremely precarious, though. Unfortunately, any of the victory to be felt had to be tamped right back down again in the next moment, to be put into the appropriate perspective; because Erik was clearly still struggling to maintain an ideal pattern, his physicians and nurses working that much harder to keep him stable. This unexpected development didn't mean that moving forward would guarantee a clear path, nor its success - he still had to survive the transfer out of the ER, had to survive the surgery itself. And those lingering obstacles were terrifying for me to acknowledge. For a moment, I had to remind myself of the clear evidence of this drastic change of his condition, had to remember that the situation had shifted in his favor, and focus only on those details. Otherwise, I didn't believe that I could pull myself through to the next moment, through each to follow until this ordeal was left in the past.
"Alright, let's go," Nadir said quickly when he and Dr. Moreno finished preparing Erik for the transfer. Then, turning back to me, he said, "Go up to surgery, and I'll meet you in the waiting room when I can."
Without further words or instructions, they wheeled Erik's gurney away, the departure leaving the room in a sudden, almost eerie silence; it was as if the sounds from the emergency department were entirely unable to penetrate the walls of this trauma room any longer, not for all of the devastation that had been witnessed there that day. And in turn, I just remained where I'd been standing - frozen and overwhelmed by the gravity of it all once more, I moved only enough to look at everything around me, staring ahead in abject disbelief. There was so much blood on the floor - Erik's blood, too much of it lost to believe that he actually left this room alive. It shone dark under the surgical lights designated for the trauma rooms, a horrific mirror rendered in the sight. Still more blood covering discarded gowns and gloves and medical tools unnerved me badly then, and the tears that I had been trying to hold back again finally fell - so much so that I couldn't focus on anything beyond what I'd seen, that I didn't initially realize the moment when Samantha walked up slowly to my side, gently laying her hand on my shoulder as she did so.
Before I could acknowledge or extend my gratitude for her gesture - before I even knew what was happening to begin with - my knees went weak, and I sank to the floor. But instead of attempting to right myself, I just started crying once again. And in that instant, I was lost to those forceful sobs of mingled relief and fear, lost to the cries that were threatening to choke me as I wrapped my arms protectively around myself, thinking about my baby all the while, thinking of Erik, of the anger I'd felt toward him and how much I still loved him, despite everything else that had happened between us. As I felt myself being swallowed whole by guilt and grief, I heard Samantha whispering words of comfort, as she sat down beside me and took me in her arms. And though I didn't look up, I was almost certain that we cried together. But we didn't speak otherwise, didn't dare to give a voice to the continuing fact that Erik wasn't out of danger yet. We simply remained huddled together, kneeling like that until we were required to leave the room.
From there, we made our way as quickly as possible up to the surgical floor's waiting room. Samantha made sure that I was settled, but she couldn't stay with me as long as either of us would've preferred. And though I understood that she had to return to work through the rest of her shift in the ER - especially under the present circumstances - I felt so terribly alone just the same when she left. Dejected and still trembling, I held my head in my hands and sobbed as I'd done before, and all at once I realized that there was nothing left for me to do now but wait.
~~oOo~~
The sounds of the surgical department were unmistakable to me as I sat among them, the noise effectively creating a strange and somehow too-commonplace din that swirled with the hospital's overall chaos - but in those moments of uncertainty, I recalled that sometimes before today, whenever I'd be called up to this floor from oncology to check in on a patient or to perform some other task for my resident, I'd remember my first time working there after I had started my internship, or my first time making my way around the hospital as a student. I would remember how terrifying and exhilarating my experiences were in equal turns, before I'd eventually come to understand how to learn the practice of medicine without falling apart. And those thoughts alone were usually enough to keep me grounded - they were enough to reassure me that everything I was doing with my life was happening for a reason, that I acted with purpose going forward. Sometimes, when I'd be lost in those memories as I waited near the admit-desk for a chart or a consultation, I would see Erik in the department coming out of a surgery himself, the smile in his eyes clear upon recognizing me, even as the rest of his face would be obscured by his surgical mask; but that never mattered, because everything else was still perfect for us, and we were doing so well together, and that was the only thing of importance that I wanted to consider.
But after the shooting occurred, that singular feeling of contentment had ceased to exist within these walls, the happenings taking place on the surgical service had lost the ability to pull me into the fond memories I'd built since coming to Chicago - instead, they'd abruptly become nothing more than a combination of sound and shrillness that rendered me numb to optimism in contrast. Rather, I could only think about negativity, could only think about Erik's reaction to our baby, our fight, of holding his cold hand when he closed his eyes in the trauma room...As those thoughts took over and inspired yet another bout of tears, time seemed to have all but stood still in that environment, the collective meandering of patients and staff no longer serving as a frame of reference of temporality. If a nurse had moved away from their station, if a surgeon passed me on their way to speak with a member of one of the waiting families nearby, that movement was nothing to me - none of what they did or said could possibly convince the hands on the clock begin to move again, and therefore, they were meaningless.
Nervously tapping my foot against the faded carpet, and fidgeting with the emerald at my throat, I could only distantly acknowledge how agitated I was by the radio silence I was receiving from Erik's surgical team. And although I sincerely tried, I just couldn't find it in myself to bring about any sense of relative peace on my own. Maybe it was fortunate, then, that Nadir finally arrived after a substantial time away, now essentially proving to be the one person that could effectively pull me out of my miserable worrying - even if that was only a temporary relief.
"Any word?" he asked when I stood to meet him.
We embraced a moment - a comfort to the both of us - before I pulled away and shook my head, "Nothing yet," then, as we sat down together, I asked, "How bad is it downstairs?"
He shrugged, the tension he carried still quite clear in his body and his tone when he responded, "Mostly settled down. I'm sorry it took me so long to get back up here, I had to finish getting everything under control, then give a press statement," he said, and when I looked at him in surprise by that piece of information, he explained resignedly, "Emergency services is my department, I had to give a statement to the reporters. So did the cops. Hospital admins are handling public relations in the future, though. Which is probably why the TVs are off in all the waiting rooms."
"Were you able to find out exactly what happened?"
He hesitated, "Maybe we should wait on the details," then, he leveled a knowing glance at me when I made an attempt to protest, "I'm worried about how much stress you're under."
"Erik told you about the baby."
"Right."
"I'm sorry, I wasn't going to keep it from you and Sahra, but I had to tell Erik first - "
" - I'm not offended. But I'm still worried about the stress affecting your baby right now."
I sighed, attempting to rein in my misplaced frustration; this was my friend, and his heart was in the right place. I would do well to remember that. So I feigned calmness with the idea that doing so would bring it naturally in time, "Nadir, please. Not knowing what happened isn't helping me. Anyway, I need something to focus on besides waiting for the surgeon to come back in."
He paused, appearing to weigh his words before he spoke, his voice even, "Alright. First, I want you to know that the men that did this have been arrested, you don't have to worry about them. That's all I know. But this started when we had a drug-seeker come in earlier, and he had to be turned away without getting what he wanted. You saw how backed up the ER had been, we were just too busy to humor his sob-story, so instead of trying at another hospital, he came back here with a buddy to retaliate."
"They targeted people?"
"That's not clear yet, last I heard. I didn't see the first shots fired, but based on what I saw afterward, I know they weren't exactly discriminating," he added bitterly.
"Jesus," I shuddered, "How'd they get through security, though?"
"By force," Nadir responded, once again sparing no small amount of anger toward the gunmen, and not needing to explain that point to me any further. Frankly, I didn't want him to. He was silent again for a moment before murmuring, "Erik was outside when it all started, I saw him leave," he said despairingly, then sighed and hung his head in his hands, seeming too exhausted to actually weep as he continued, "He should've just stayed outside."
For my part, I could just barely suppress the sob rising from my chest at the idea that Erik could have been spared from all of this nightmare, and even though I knew there would be no real answer in these moments - not unless or until we could speak to Erik himself - I asked helplessly, "Then why did he come back in?"
Nadir gave another shrug, but then he added suddenly - determinedly, "That doesn't matter now. He's going to make it."
"He almost died."
"That's not going to happen," he insisted, "Not after everything he's been through. He can't give up now, I won't let that happen."
"Nadir, his heart - "
"It started beating again. That means something."
"I hope you're right. I can't - "
But before I could finish that thought, someone walked into the waiting room in a rush. As such, it took me a moment to realize exactly who I was seeing, when Raoul approached the small grouping of chairs where Nadir and I sat. And from the sense of purpose I noted in his gait, I knew immediately that he was coming over to talk - to ask questions. Even so, I no longer had any substantial reasons to be concerned about his motivation for wanting to speak with me now, at least not nearly to the same extent that I had in the past. The truce that he and I had arrived at several months ago was still firmly in place, and though we didn't spend as much time together as we had after our breakup and the year or so that followed, our interactions had regained more of their familiar quality. I was grateful for that - because from the start of each conflict in the past, I'd hated the idea of losing his presence in my life, even if that presence wasn't what he wanted it to be. But regardless, the fact that we'd found even the smallest form of reconciliation wasn't something to be ignored, and once again I'd begun to feel more ready to engage with him as his friend, rather than as a wary figure from the past.
Yet seeing him when I did then, it quickly became apparent to me that I wasn't in any emotional state to be able to be on the receiving end of that friendship - if anything was different, perhaps I might have needed some of that measure of kindness returned. Now, having anyone there that didn't already exist within Erik's immediate circle felt wrong - almost distasteful.
Ignorant of my thoughts, Raoul was standing before me in the next instant, pulling me to stand again as he hugged me and asked, "Christine, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, but - "
" - Why're you here? Who's hurt?"
"It's Erik. He was shot."
Raoul was obviously taken aback by that information, though his reaction didn't surprise me at all. He wasn't in a position to have been given details about his superiors in a situation like this - he wouldn't have had any idea of who was hurt and who wasn't if the specifics didn't affect him directly. Even so, he seemed distressed by the news, helplessly reaching up to run a hand through his hair as he murmured, "Oh my God. Christine, I'm sorry. He's still in surgery, right?" he asked, and at my affirmative nod, added with genuine concern, "How is he?"
"No news yet," Nadir responded as he appeared at my side, and I was grateful for his tactful intervention then - because while I honestly appreciated Raoul's presence, having this conversation with anyone again was becoming more difficult, and I just wanted to step away.
"Dr. Khan," Raoul began, "If there's anything I can do - "
" - Thank you, Dr. Chaney," Nadir said softly, even as his dismissal was clear just the same, "For now, just go back to your resident and see if you can help anyone out downstairs."
And to my relief - although I felt guilty to admit as much, even to myself - Raoul offered Nadir a respectful nod, then gave me one more comforting embrace before turning and leaving the department. It was endearing to think that he'd likely gone off to do as he was told, because in spite of the deep animosity that he and Erik still shared - though they both had the good sense to act within reason and grudgingly agree not antagonize each other while having to work in the same department - it seemed that Raoul could never be cruel enough to make trouble when the person he disliked so intensely was suffering. Neither man was willing to start building bridges, but the method of approaching one another with caution - both on a personal and professional basis - had thus far served them well. But still, that was only a small comfort to me now, all things considered.
"He doesn't know about the baby," I murmured once I was sure we were alone again, returning to my seat and crossing my arms tightly.
"Doesn't he?" Nadir responded as he joined me, appearing genuinely surprised, "I'd assumed you would've told him by now. I know you two were close. Shared history and all that."
I laughed humorlessly, "It's because of our history that I don't know how to tell him about this yet. He won't want to know about me having a baby with someone else."
"That seems a bit possessive," he observed, his voice uneasy.
Seeing the misunderstanding, I shook my head, "It's not like that. Erik didn't tell you?"
"He respects your privacy, Christine. If he didn't think that it was his place to share something, then he wouldn't have. Not even to me."
I smiled sadly at that last attempt at levity, before explaining as simply as possible, "I had a miscarriage, a few years back. It was Raoul's."
Nadir looked at me for a time, though his gaze was somewhat far off, before he spoke again, "He argued with Erik once...it was over a year ago, but I think that's what it was about."
Knowing the argument he was remembering then, I nodded, "It was. Erik and I fought about it that day, too."
"When did you find out?" he asked after a span of silence - graciously moving past the subject of my past with Raoul - and I knew immediately that he was referring to the baby that Erik and I had conceived.
"Only a couple of weeks ago."
"That's why you and Erik were fighting today," he said thoughtfully, having no true reason to question me in order to confirm that conclusion for himself. He knew us both well enough by then to be able to bypass that necessity; in a way, I was grateful not to have to explain further.
Still, rather than speaking toward that gratitude, or even repeating what had already been said, I only looked away, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes as I cried, "He doesn't want this."
"He's just afraid. If his mind was made up that he didn't want to be a part of your life, then he wouldn't have asked for you today. He wouldn't put you through this if he still meant to walk out."
"You don't know that."
"I do, because I know him."
Furiously wiping my eyes, I scoffed at his words, angry once again at the world and what I'd decided was my own stupid inability to maintain my composure with every obstacle the world threw at me, "At this point, I don't even care if he abandons us now. It doesn't matter anymore, I just want him to live through this."
"He will. And he'll come around. He's just...freaked out right now, I think."
I shook my head, still crying miserably in spite of my efforts to stop, entirely unwilling to broach that subject any longer than we already had, but still finding myself unable to keep from admitting instead, "The last thing I said to him before the shooting was that I didn't care if I never saw him again. Those exact words, that I didn't care. Then this happens."
He took my hand tightly in his - such a fatherly gesture that made my heart ache in turn - as he said emphatically, "You didn't know that any of this was going to happen. None of us did."
"He felt so bad," I whispered tearfully, lost now, as if I hadn't heard him speak words of reassurance at all, "I saw it in his eyes, Nadir. He felt so guilty about our fight, about the baby. He was so afraid, and he thought I hated him. I don't want that to be our last real conversation."
"It won't be."
"Nadir - "
"It won't be, Christine. I told him that he could make amends with you in recovery, and I'm telling you that now. Bar none."
And I couldn't respond to that any more than I could respond to Erik's abandonment, to so much of the past coming back and ready to fight for dominance - I didn't know how to respond to any of this anymore. Rather, we just fell into silence once again.
Time passed with slightly more consistency after that discussion, although I couldn't say how much time had actually gone by. Even though I knew the approximate duration of the kind of surgery that Erik was undergoing, those key details didn't matter; the moments just seemed to blur into one another either way, heedless of reality, every last one proving to be so incredibly frightening and confusing and surreal. I hated it, hated what had happened that day, hated every instant of anger and confusion that had brought us down so low. With each passing second, my dread increased, and I had absolutely no idea how to combat that dread beyond simply waiting it out. After a time, I laid a hand over my stomach, drawing as much strength as I could from the little life there below my heart. And I prayed that this small glimpse of a family would be enough to bring Erik back to us - that even if he hated me for what I said to him when we'd exchanged our fear and our anger in the heat of that argument, that he could somehow accept what he'd helped to create, and draw from the reassurance that I sought then. If he survived, I swore to myself that I would find a way to forgive him and move forward - but his survival was paramount to all of that. Everything else could wait, everything else could be left aside while he fought for his life.
Suddenly, the chief of the department - upon determining herself charged directly with Erik's care - walked into the room, startling me away from my thoughts. Nadir and I both stood up quickly once she'd made her presence known, a distinctly nervous anticipation punctuating our every move. All the while, I dreaded that I might see regret in the surgeon's eyes, just as I had in Dr. Moreno's - I was terrified that I might now see Dr. Reyes betray those telltale signs that she was gently preparing us for the worst. Doctor's cannot hide that kind of primal reaction in themselves. They learn to control it over the years they spend in their work, but the instinct for sympathy never fades away from a person entirely - even Erik once admitted to being unable to school his own features entirely when having to break the life-altering news to a family that a patient they loved had died. Yet even so, I wanted to convince myself that I wouldn't see it now - because if I didn't feel that I had to be brave then, I would just as soon have looked away altogether, would run away and pretend that none of this was happening. But I couldn't do either - I had to face this, no matter what the outcome would prove to be. There was nowhere to hide anymore.
So I met Dr. Reyes' eyes, carefully searched their familiarity with unmasked fear for that sympathetic expression - for the indication of exactly how Erik's fate had been sealed that day.
