SPV

"Irish," a distant voice called, probably not for the first time. What woke me was the fit of coughing that followed.

"What?" I turned to look at her.

"Get a," cough, cough, "Doctor," she instructed. That caught my attention. Bass had asked for a lot of things during our quarantine, never a doctor. Her hands were on her abdomen and she was breathing in short gasps. I pulled my monitors off to get the attention of the Dr Security Guard, who was barely awake. He snapped up and came running.

"I'm good," I stuck the little pads back on, "Relatively speaking," I rasped. He saw that Bass was in pain and entered as quickly as he could, which was not very quick seeing as he had to go through two securely sealed airtight doors.

"Oh shit," he said after examining her. He ran out of the room and called upstairs. That could only mean it was something outside the domain of the CDC. A minute and a half later the floor started to fill with medical personnel.

APV

"We need you in the basement," Charles burst into my office.

"Oh God," I got up and followed him. This stupid plague was going to be the death of me.

"Izzy has a burst appendix," he briefed me, "We uh can't take her to the OR. And by the time they set up down there it might be too late. I need you to do something," he was breathing heavily. Fuck!

I was trying to think of a plan all through the elevator ride as I listened to Charles giving me the run through of the preparations Crawford was arranging, praying they would have something when I got there. God was busy today.

There were doctors, there was equipment and there was the matter of the protective gear to be worn and the little cubicle that had to close at one side before you opened the other. Isabella was starting to drift out of consciousness.

"Okay," I made a crazy decision, "Get in there and drape," I instructed the anaesthesiologist, "Take vaseline gauze and and a needle, you're using local anaesthetic. We can't get all this crap in there soon enough. Shaughnessy," I moved on as soon as I'd gotten my first soldier armed and in action, "How steady are you?"

"Steady enough," he took the vaseline gauze from the anaesthesiologist and stuck it where he removed his chest tube.

"McNair?" Crawford's eyes jumped out of his skull.

"Don't talk to me," I lifted my hand, watching the anaesthesiologist numb the area. An ambu bag became necessary when she slipped out of consciousness.

"You're letting a child perform crazy MacGuyver surgery on my girlfriend," he hissed.

"So it would help if you were quiet and helped the general surgeon get into that ridiculous attire," I pointed. Charles stood with his hand to his forehead and his eyes closed. He couldn't watch this and I was glad he was silent. I talked Shaughnessy through the surgery with icy fingers around my heart. He was the most talented and hard-working intern in the program but he was just that, an intern.

"She's not stabilising," he panicked just as I was starting to breathe again, "She's bleeding, a lot."

"Suction around the bleed to the source," I wished I'd put on my own stupid suit.

"It's coming from her," gasp, "We need an OB."

Fortunately Crawford had assembled attendings from every speciality and they were ready to go. Shaughnessy had the good sense to put down his tools down before he collapsed.

"For the love of God," I almost cried. The general surgeon finished his job. No one could pick up the skinny kid on the floor because the anaesthesiologist one of the two remaining conscious people was trying to keep the blood inside his patient and the other was pumping her lungs. This was one of the most disastrous surgeries of my career.

"Stop. Pacing," Crawford stuck his hand out in front of Charles.

"Why would she need an OB?" Charles asked me.

"It could be a number of things," I honestly didn't know, "But it appears to be fixable so no one have a stroke, okay kids?"

Two more members of the assembled team went in. After an eternity the surgeons were done and the CDC people went in to clean up the frightening amount of blood, give transfusions, antibiotics etcetera.

"She had an ectopic pregnancy and the fallopian tube ruptured. I stopped the bleeding, evacuated the fetus but I couldn't save the tube," the OB informed us.

"I thought she couldn't have children," Crawford looked to Charles.

"It's a problem with the lining of the uterus," Charles thought out loud, "So I suppose an ectopic pregnancy was not impossible."

"They're going to up her antibiotics, she's been given morphine. Shaughnessy has had his chest tube put back in and he's breathing normally. He did an excellent job on the appi," the general surgeon piped in.

"Thank you," Charles and Crawford said at the same time.

"You need to tell her that you took out her fallopian tube because of a complication from the burst appendix," Charles stunned them into silence.

"Dr Bass we are bound by law," the OB started.

"I don't care," Charles interrupted, "She can't lose another child."

"She was eight weeks along," he argued, "She might wonder where her baby went."

"She doesn't even know she can bear children. I doubt she knew she was pregnant," Charles shook his head, "My wife is not in the best mental state right now. This will destroy her."

"Ex wife," the boyfriend pointed out.

"Shut your mouths and I will do the rest or so help me God I will destroy you and anyone who ever let you stand on their porch in the rain," he glared.

"That's illegal," the general surgeon gasped.

"Making your lives a living hell? No, it just wrong," he said plainly.

"I'm not going to lie to a patient," the OB stood firm.

"You don't have to," Crawford cut in, "All you have to do is walk away."

"You're not seriously going to be a party to this," the general surgeon was shocked.

"Go, both of you just go," I was too tired for this shit, "This, it's unethical but he has more power than one man should and he really will ruin your lives. Save us all the misery and walk away."

They shook their heads and took my advice. "What's the punishment for what we just did?" Crawford wondered out loud.

"Nothing," I answered, "It's all immoral and very wrong but there's no law against ruining someone's life or asking a doctor to withhold the truth. There are grounds for malpractice but there's no jail time for that."

"Why did you marry Kindle?" Crawford asked Charles.

"My life is complicated," he answered.

"You're an idiot," Crawford told him.

"You are not wrong," Charles said in a low, sad tone.

"Sorry to break up this moment," I brought myself to their attention, "But you two need to shower, and shave, and change your clothes, maybe eat. I'm going to sleep but something tells me neither of you will do that."

"Thank you Aaron," Charles touched my shoulder as I passed.

"Thank you," Crawford seconded.

"You're welcome," to kiss my ass for almost ending my life prematurely.

CPV

Isabella was out. She would have been the picture of peace but they were pumping so many fluids into her that she was all puffy. A machine was breathing for her and she was deathly pale. Crawford and I sat in silence watching her. My heart clenched painfully as I thought about the child she'd lost. "I'm sorry for your loss," I said to Crawford.

"Are you?" he asked.

"I am," I answered honestly. He put his face on his knees and I just knew he was crying. I kept silent and as close as I could get to invisible.

"She's miraculous, isn't she?" I watched Isabella. She had been hit with the plague, appendicitis and a miscarriage. I didn't think a body that small could survive all that.

"She is," he sniffed, "And I do love her, you know?"

"Believe me," I told him, "No one knows more about loving Isabella than I do. It will drive you crazy, make you throw out the rule book and it's a hell of a lot of misery sometimes."

"Like today," his hand ran across his cheek, "But I wouldn't trade it."

"Yeah, I know," I got to my feet and touched his shoulder before I left, giving him some privacy.

BPV

Doctors lie. They say things like 'slight pinch', 'you'll experience some discomfort', 'you might feel some pressure'. Every part of me was experiencing discomfort and not in its diluted form. I opened my eyes and was blinded by the harsh light. Mother fuck!

"You have the vocabulary of a drunken sailor on leave," a familiar Irish accent said.

"Turn off the fucking lights," my throat was bone dry, "And get me some water."

When the light was off I could open my eyes and not feel like something was burning into my skull. I drank the water through a straw. The joys of being surrounded by doctors. I sat up. It was my third day without IVs and a tube in my fun bits. The plague was gone, so were my infections, I even had bathroom privileges but I had to use a wheelchair to get everywhere. These conditions weren't necessary but did I mention all the doctors?

"I need a favour," I sat up.

"I'm not killing your nurse or your boyfriend or his mother or your ex husband or his best friend or his girlfriend and I'm not jumping off a bridge," he answered, "Also I'm not getting you coffee, candy, whiskey or a machine gun."

"Take me outside," I sat up.

"Of all the ridiculous things you could ask for," he sighed.

"I'm turning grey," I held up my arm to him. I went without any natural light for two weeks in quarantine then I got cooped up in here with a window I could not open for four weeks, "I need fresh air and I need to use my legs before they get necrotic and fall off."

"Come walk with me," he extended his hand.

"He's seen the light," I jumped up, relatively speaking.

"I just heard you say necrotic instead of fucked up," he explained, "You've been in this hospital too long. Oh and if anyone wants to fire me your boyfriend will stop them or you will leave him."

"Deal," I took his hand and we made our way out of the room. He hid me in the back of the elevator all the way up and we went to the roof. There was a helicopter pad so we would probably be in trouble if a sick person arrived.

"So," he broke the silence, "How serious are you about Crawford?"

"I haven't killed his mother," I was only half joking, "Or slept with my ex."

"Serious then?" he raised his brow.

"Yes," I closed my eyes and looked up. The sun felt wonderful on my face. And thinking about Crawford made me smile. He was annoyingly overprotective and sickeningly romantic but, and touch wood, he made me happy.

"Good to know," he put his arm around me protectively, "Because he's walking around with a three carat rock in his pocket."

"What?" I opened my eyes to see if he was joking. Nope, he does not have that good a poker face. "Is he insane?" I honestly wanted to know, "We've been dating for three minutes."

"How long did you date the chairman?" he asked.

"And look how well that turned out," I found myself yelling, "Our marriage did not have an anniversary."

"Crawford is forty two," Irish said gravely, "You almost died, from three separate things. Life is short and he wants to spend the rest of his with your crazy, troublesome ass."

"I'm so much worse than that," it just came out.

"Nobody cares," he shook his head slowly, "You got me shot with a side of plague, Crawford knows you slept with the chairman that day, we're still here. Dr Bass is married and he won't leave. You deserve to have people in your life who love you. Don't argue, don't make a snarky comment, absorb it."

"You sound like my shrink," I said after an appropriate moment of silence.

"There are worse things to sound like," he shrugged.

"Like your angry boyfriend," Crawford said behind us.

"She... uh..." Shaughnessy scratched his head.

"Is a bully," Crawford filled in, "And she needed air."

"Your exploding useless organ has proved useful," Shaughnessy whispered as he handed my hand over to Crawford. Then smiled and walked away.

"Don't make me go back to bed," I pleaded because he could make me.

"We can stay up here... and talk," he was nervous.

"Okay," I breathed.

"I know there are things I don't know about you," he tucked my hair behind my ear, "And this has been a rough month but I assure you I've thought this through. This isn't how I planned to do this. I many very many changing plans but you are not that girl so there," he took out a ring. It was beautiful. Probably three carats like Irish said, set in platinum, simple, classic. "I want you to think about it. Take as much time as you need."

"Fine," I snatched the thing out of his hand, "I'm sick of living like I'm gonna die," I told him, "I want to make plans and think about my future and all the other crap people do when they plan to be alive in twenty years. It see you in it. Just give me a little time to be sure."

"You can have all the time in the world," he leaned against the railing and pulled me to him so he was supporting most of my weight, "But you've only got ten more minutes on this roof."

"Don't you have to wait till I'm the little woman to start bossing me around?" I leaned into his soft comforting shape.

"I boss people around," he kissed my cheek, "It's what I do."

"I love you," I said into his chest. There was a noticeable silence. "And you can call me Belle. I'm not giving an inch on anything else."

"But I can have a nickname because you love me," he bounced. I swear he did. And I did love Crawford. Not in the way I loved Charles but that was the point. I needed a mild love. I needed to wake up to the weather channel. Hell I needed a guy who would shove a ring in my face as a marriage proposal. So his mother hates me. A lot of people hate me.

"Belle," he took a test drive, "I love you," it was like he was reading my mind. A smile came to my face when I realised I could think about having my mind read and not feel like I was being stabbed. I was growing.