Chapter 71

October 12, 2020.

The Hangman, Part II.

His voice stopped her in her tracks.

"How is he?"

Cristina turned, finding Owen coming through the ER doors. It had only been moments since she left her significantly less imperiled gunshot victim, Paul, in his observation bed, barely time to breathe. She was trying to come down from the urgency, the intensity, that came with operating on Detective Swartz, but it was impossible in such a hectic environment.

She had spent the little spare brain power she had worrying Owen would be pissed she kicked him out of the OR, but the only thing in his expression was anxiety, fear.

She said, "Resting, for now. We stopped the bleeding and stabilized him, but we'll need to retrieve the bullet from his arm at some point. Probably not for a few days as long as it stays put."

He let out a heavy breath, resettling himself. "Okay. Good. Thanks."

She hated how shaken he was. "I think his odds are good," Cristina added, placing her hand gently on his arm. "I'm sorry I…"

"I get it," Owen said, taking her hand, squeezing it, "I better make myself useful. A bunch of construction workers got in a bar fight downtown and one of them got stabbed."

Cristina said, "Weird time to take a walk."

"He's stable," Owen said. "Callie is already in the OR prepping him."

"Callie…?"

"It's a long story. Complicated case. I might be in there for the rest of the afternoon." He pressed his lips, clearly torn. "Terry's wife is on the way, but she was in Florida. She's trying to get a plane right now. It helps that he's a cop but, until then, he's alone."

"I'll go sit with him for a while," she said.

Owen smiled, squeezed her hand again, and headed out.

Cristina turned, intending to rejoin her GSW, but one of the burly, drunk guys from the barfight was suddenly sliding across the floor.

All hell broke loose.

They were starting up their brawl again. The ER was full of cops who sprung into action, dragging them apart, dogpiling on the big ones to keep them on the ground. Everyone was shouting, throwing stuff, insults and commands. Cristina took shelter in one of the private rooms, watching peacefully through the window as the last dude got tackled to the ground. It was over as quickly as it started. She might have felt guilty for not helping if there weren't a dozen antsy police officers itching for a fight.

She came out, locking eyes with Alex as he strode across the ER floor. He said, "I just sutured that laceration and ruled out surgery – he definitely needs it now. It split open half an inch!"

Four men had been involved in the ER brawl, and in the midst of the chaos, Owen had arrived. He was in his element, doling out orders, and the four guys were handcuffed to beds in record time.

"You okay?" Owen said, pausing beside her.

Cristina nodded, "I'm fine. We're just gonna stitch these morons up and send them away in the paddy wagon. I'll go up and sit with Swartz."

He smiled, "Thanks. See you later."

He was off to deal with his surgery – the fifth brawler. Cristina took stock of the ER, which was rapidly calming down. The staff were used to sudden bouts of chaos. It was the nature of this department. But something felt off.

There was a construction worker lying in a bed that was supposed to be occupied.

She double checked. "Where the hell is my patient?"

Alex looked up. The police sergeant looked up.

Cristina gestured around, not finding her guy, Paul, in the room. "Did anybody see my GSW wander away?"

Nothing.

She groaned. "Great."

XxXxX

He looked a lot different lying there.

Swartz was ashen, pupils busy beneath his eyelids, hands tucked at his sides. A dozen machines monitored every aspect of his health. A bed alarm kept the nurses informed on his every movement – not that he would be moving anytime soon. He was heavily sedated. He would be in a lot of pain when he woke up. Cristina wanted to spare him for as long as possible.

She dragged the chair over and sat beside him, fidgeting with her ID badge. She was never good at talking to unconscious people, but she felt like she should.

"I'm not sure I ever thanked you for saving Derek," she said, finally, drawing on her first encounter with the detective. "You've done a lot for us – a lot for Owen. We're not really great at reciprocating, huh? It's out MO. But you know that."

Cristina heard stories from sedated patients who dreamt of the things said around their bedside. In some abstract way, their minds were clinging to the waking world.

"You don't have to worry. I'm on your case. I'm sort of world renowned."

A tap at the door.

Cristina leaned back, said, "Yeah?"

An officer stuck his head in, "Any change?"

It came every half hour or so, like clockwork. Swartz had a lot of people who cared about him, and this officer was young enough to be his kid.

She said, "No." His muted smile made her add, "But he's tough."

He started to draw away, but before the door was shut, a gunshot rang through the hospital.

Cristina stood straight up, her heart stopping for a split second, adrenaline kicking off. The officer ducked into the door and slammed it shut, locked it, drew his gun. The radio on his chest started buzzing with voices, commands.

"What is it?" Cristina demanded.

The officer was listening silently for a moment, and then he said, "One shooter, neutralized."

"What does that mean? Where was that? Did someone get shot?"

"I don't know," he said, a little helpless.

A heavy knock at the door.

"Officer Brown, respond!"

The young officer said, "Clear in here. I have Detective Swartz and Dr. Yang."

A short, "Stay there," and boots pounding away.