The music was too loud--Malik and Jerry's fault, no doubt--the desk was a mess and several doctors, two of whom Kerry didn't recognize, had passed out on a nearby gurney. Frank, his mouth coated in white powder, was shouting over the din, a phone reciever in each fat hand. Kerry watched the scene, feeling the energy drain out of her. Great way to start a shift.
Frank was yelling into his receivers.
"ER... Hello. Hello?"
"One at a time, Frank," Kerry berrated him, slapping her briefcase down on the admit desk, "and turn that down!" Jerry reached for the radio knob, giving Kerry a dark look that he thought she didn't catch. Waving it off inwardly, Kerry crutched to the lounge, pushing through the door with a heavy sigh.
"Dr. Weaver," Takata burst in, coming up behind her, "We've got a trauma coming in. Multiple MVA, possible DOS..." Kerry followed behind him, marveling, for a moment, at his deft steps. He wove in and out of the crowd, his back straight and purposeful, gliding along effortlessly. Kerry thought, if fleetingly, that he must be an excellent dancer. But there wasn't much dancing to be done; she was soon elbow-deep in bright red blood, the front of her trauma smock streaked, her hands slippery on the rib spreader. She heard her own voice, heard it barking orders, and let it slip away from her, let herself watch and listen as though she was quite far away. She stopped, pulling off her gloves, only when the surgeons rushed in, dragging the gurney away from her and her team to head for the OR. Looking at the clock, she realized they'd been at it for over an hour, pumping and cracking and squeezing, poking and prodding and fussing. She walked back into the lounge, finishing what she'd started, pausing to remove her jacket and scarf. The scarf gave a little twitch as she put it to rest in her locker, quirking at her like a small snake. She smiled, touching the fronds of dangling fringe, remembering the wildlife she missed. Africa. She hadn't gone back since Kim had left--she'd been avoiding it, almost associating her homeland with loss. She'd told herself that she hadn't needed to go, was busy setting up house with Sandy and... But it was all done, all done, and now she could... Looking at the drab interior of the lounge, she wondered why she didn't, why she didn't want to take off and go but preferred to be sweetly reminded of it all, tickled by the sight of her scarf as a snake. The feeling didn't leave, which was odd, for Kerry's moments of dreamery were fleeting, especially when bogged down with work. But something, something kept them going... Kept her mind filled with an extra bit of gossamer, an inkling of impractical thought. This lasted all through her shift, which buzzed by in a blur of routine familiarity. She trundled into Doc's as the sun was just rising, stamping through the piles of snow that had magically accumulated whist she saved lives indoors. Settling herself into an empty booth, she paged through the menu she knew by heart, not bothering to take her gloves off. She'd just ordered a Belgian waffle when a small voice cut through the clatter and bang of the morning kitchen.
"Mom! Mom, over there! Do you see? It's the doctor!" At first, Kerry didn't look up--most of the patrons at Doc's were, in fact, doctors and the voice in question could have been referring to any of them--but when the sound of urgent feet drew closer to where she sat she was compelled to raise her head. The little freckled boy. What had his name been? Something odd, Kerry remembered, the name of a city. Had it been Chicago? She nearly laughed aloud; a little boy in Illinois named Chicago. But that, she was fairly certain, hadn't been his name.
"Hello," she said, trying not to appear startled.
"Hi, doc," the boy said, his mother coming up beside him.
"Sorry," she offered, looking sheepishly at Kerry, "I--"
"It's no problem," said Kerry, trying desperately to place the woman standing in front of her, "don't worry about it."
"Lynn," the woman said, "Lynn Murray. Dislocated shoulder?" In an instant, it came back to her.
"That's right," she said, "I--I'm sorry, there are... There are a lot of patients..." She could feel herself stumbling, wishing she could recant her words. A faux pas, but not the sort she usually made. Smooth talking, especially with strangers, was something that came with the territory of being an ER physician; in fact, it was more than half the battle. This time, however, Kerry had choked on her own foot.
"ER... Hello. Hello?"
"One at a time, Frank," Kerry berrated him, slapping her briefcase down on the admit desk, "and turn that down!" Jerry reached for the radio knob, giving Kerry a dark look that he thought she didn't catch. Waving it off inwardly, Kerry crutched to the lounge, pushing through the door with a heavy sigh.
"Dr. Weaver," Takata burst in, coming up behind her, "We've got a trauma coming in. Multiple MVA, possible DOS..." Kerry followed behind him, marveling, for a moment, at his deft steps. He wove in and out of the crowd, his back straight and purposeful, gliding along effortlessly. Kerry thought, if fleetingly, that he must be an excellent dancer. But there wasn't much dancing to be done; she was soon elbow-deep in bright red blood, the front of her trauma smock streaked, her hands slippery on the rib spreader. She heard her own voice, heard it barking orders, and let it slip away from her, let herself watch and listen as though she was quite far away. She stopped, pulling off her gloves, only when the surgeons rushed in, dragging the gurney away from her and her team to head for the OR. Looking at the clock, she realized they'd been at it for over an hour, pumping and cracking and squeezing, poking and prodding and fussing. She walked back into the lounge, finishing what she'd started, pausing to remove her jacket and scarf. The scarf gave a little twitch as she put it to rest in her locker, quirking at her like a small snake. She smiled, touching the fronds of dangling fringe, remembering the wildlife she missed. Africa. She hadn't gone back since Kim had left--she'd been avoiding it, almost associating her homeland with loss. She'd told herself that she hadn't needed to go, was busy setting up house with Sandy and... But it was all done, all done, and now she could... Looking at the drab interior of the lounge, she wondered why she didn't, why she didn't want to take off and go but preferred to be sweetly reminded of it all, tickled by the sight of her scarf as a snake. The feeling didn't leave, which was odd, for Kerry's moments of dreamery were fleeting, especially when bogged down with work. But something, something kept them going... Kept her mind filled with an extra bit of gossamer, an inkling of impractical thought. This lasted all through her shift, which buzzed by in a blur of routine familiarity. She trundled into Doc's as the sun was just rising, stamping through the piles of snow that had magically accumulated whist she saved lives indoors. Settling herself into an empty booth, she paged through the menu she knew by heart, not bothering to take her gloves off. She'd just ordered a Belgian waffle when a small voice cut through the clatter and bang of the morning kitchen.
"Mom! Mom, over there! Do you see? It's the doctor!" At first, Kerry didn't look up--most of the patrons at Doc's were, in fact, doctors and the voice in question could have been referring to any of them--but when the sound of urgent feet drew closer to where she sat she was compelled to raise her head. The little freckled boy. What had his name been? Something odd, Kerry remembered, the name of a city. Had it been Chicago? She nearly laughed aloud; a little boy in Illinois named Chicago. But that, she was fairly certain, hadn't been his name.
"Hello," she said, trying not to appear startled.
"Hi, doc," the boy said, his mother coming up beside him.
"Sorry," she offered, looking sheepishly at Kerry, "I--"
"It's no problem," said Kerry, trying desperately to place the woman standing in front of her, "don't worry about it."
"Lynn," the woman said, "Lynn Murray. Dislocated shoulder?" In an instant, it came back to her.
"That's right," she said, "I--I'm sorry, there are... There are a lot of patients..." She could feel herself stumbling, wishing she could recant her words. A faux pas, but not the sort she usually made. Smooth talking, especially with strangers, was something that came with the territory of being an ER physician; in fact, it was more than half the battle. This time, however, Kerry had choked on her own foot.