A/N – This is a companion piece to the third installment of my story "Crunching Numbers" – Finch's POV. Sorry for my absence – as it turns out, full time work really cuts into the time and energy that used to be spent on fanfic.

oO0Oo
The Best Surgeon in Najaf
by PapayaK
oO0Oo

My name is Farouk Madani. I was the best surgeon in Najaf. That is true.

All I ever wanted to do was bring my family to America. My wife and I discussed the possibilities of escape for many hours. We could not bear the thought of raising our small children in Iraq during the war– or of watching our parents age here. I wanted to send them all away – illegally if necessary, but Amira would not hear of it. She could not stand the thought of me being left behind in prison.

Finally we decided that, with my skills, I had the best chance of going – legally – to America and earning – again, legally – enough money to bring them all out of Iraq.

But that's not what happened. I did not fully understand the obstacles I would face; or how difficult it would be just to get a license, much less a job as a surgeon.

So I got a job as a coroner – thinking I would earn money, make connections, show that I had the skills to be a great surgeon. Soon I would have enough money to get the license and hospitals would line up to hire me.

I was naïve.

I barely made enough to pay my rent, and I still had to support my family in Najaf.

I had come to the point where – in spite of Amira's (and, I admit, my own) feelings about criminal activity - I was prepared to turn to illegal gains. I had access to chemicals – to certain drugs. I would sell only enough to reach my goals and then stop. I would carry the burden of my actions to my grave. Amira would never have to know.

Actually I had planned on beginning my life as a criminal that night – that eventful night that changed the course of my life. But it was a busy night. Two bodies came in. One that was at the center of a police investigation and, of course, they wanted autopsy results 'yesterday.' I didn't have time to even think about my decent into the criminal world.

Finally I had everything finished and cleaned up. I was just entering my last notes into the file… And then they arrived.

I didn't recognize the man pushing the stretcher, but that didn't surprise me. Transporting the dead is not exactly a sought after job. There's a lot of turnover. What did surprise me was his next action: He yanked off the sheet revealing a badly injured man – a living person. Then he told me exactly who I was, and offered me a choice: I could have the thing I most wanted in the world – the thing I had been living for – thinking about every moment… If only I would do one thing – two things, really: save this man's life… and not ask questions.

It was, in the end, not a difficult question for me to answer, and I think, somehow, he knew that. I think he knew what I would say. I think he knew that I had performed surgery with scant tools and in less than ideal situations more times than I cared to think about. Often on patients whose backgrounds and circumstances were none of my business. And I think he knew – somehow - that all I really wanted to do was save lives.

I immediately got to work. He turned and left.

My patient was slightly conscious. Something I would have to work on before I started piecing him back together, but he surprised me by managing to focus on me and then he shocked me by speaking to me - in Arabic. If he did that with the intention of putting me slightly more at my ease, it worked. He thanked me for trying to save his life and then asked me to watch out for his friend. He started to say something about it being dangerous, but then the other man returned. He brought with him a case of various items that were not standard issue in morgues, but would aid me greatly in my work.

I nodded my appreciation and saw that he really did not want to be there. People who cannot stand the sight of blood have always been a bit of a curiosity for me. But I could see that this man was determined to do whatever was necessary to save his friend's life, so I handed him the bottle of chloroform and a cloth. It was definitely not the best way to anesthetize a patient, but it was a sight better than giving him a piece of leather on which to bite down.

"How much?" he asked in a timid voice.

I shrugged and continued cutting away clothing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him pour the liquid carefully onto the cloth and then lay it gently over his friend's nose and mouth. The injured man looked up at him and breathed until his eyes slid shut.

Inwardly, I relaxed a bit. With the level of trust I had just witnessed between these two men, I had a hard time envisioning them as ruthless criminals who would kill me to ensure my silence.

After that I stopped thinking about the people and focused on the wounds.

oO0Oo
end
oO0Oo

reviews are awesome – reviewers even better!