Tuesday . . .
As she arrived at County, Susan observed the crowded triage area. It was almost three weeks since the disaster, and things were getting back to normal. This fact, in itself, struck her as bizarre. 'Don't these people realize that there was incredible carnage in the very place where they now stand smoking their cigarettes or waiting for cabs? But what can you do? You have to go on living your life. You can't constantly dwell on the fact that it can be cut short in an instant for no reason.'
The vivid reminder of the uncertainty of it all did help Susan put one thing in perspective. The morning of the crash, she had been leaning toward ending her relationship with Chuck. He was fun; he was comfortable; but wasn't there more to love than that? His suggestion that they might as well settle for each other had made it clear to her that she didn't want to "settle" for anyone.
Then he was dead, or so she thought, and she realized how much of a loss that was. He was her drinking buddy and her partner for restroom trysts. But he also brought her coffee in bed, consoled her after Ben's suicide, and really listened to her worries about work, about little Susie, about everything. He had a wicked sense of humor, without having a wicked bone in his body. He made her happy, and she made him happy. "Settling" for that was like settling for winning the lottery.
Things at home were good. Things at work were not quite so blissful. Dr. Romano's behavior had gone from bad to, well, bad anyway, since the crash. Susan recalled a time long ago when he used to be funny. Pee-in-your-pants- I-can't-believe-I'm-laughing-at-this-I'm-going-to-hell funny. Back then, she saw him infrequently. He would swoop in from his office upstairs, save the day, and verbally castrate all the doctors who thought they were hot shit.
Since taking over the ER, he acted like he was trying to be funny or clever, but mostly he wasn't - he was just cruel. Lately, he had dropped even the pretense of humor. He was nasty, plain and simple, toward the doctors and nurses, and was often callous and condescending toward patients. Some of the med students managed to escape his abuse by being beneath his notice.
There were three relatively positive developments on this front. First, Romano was being somewhat less vicious toward Abby, since, as he put it, "she's no longer impersonating a surgeon." Second, Susan noticed that his cruelty was becoming more reactive than active. A few months ago he would prowl the halls of the department looking for people on whom to vent his rage. Now he kept more to himself, only spewing venom on those who demanded his attention in some way. Of course, since he was the boss, few people could avoid doing so.
Third, Susan herself still seemed to be exempt from Romano's wrath. He was grouchy toward her, but she detected an underlying current of respect. And, once in a great while, she could tease out his latent sense of humor. Susan didn't know what it was that made her special, but she had to admit that the fact that he granted her this status did endear him to her a bit. She smiled, recalling how she had berated Frank for goading Romano into going up to the roof before the crash:
"Nice, Frank. The man's got a boatload of personality defects, and you've got to pick on the one that's really not his fault."
"Oh, please. Like he wouldn't do the same thing to somebody else."
"Yeah, but he's an amoral asshole. You don't want to be . . . Oh, wait - too late!"
Today things were a lot quieter than usual, since Romano was obviously under the weather. 'More snarling, less screaming,' Susan thought, smirking. He had brushed off Susan's concern earlier in the day; they were busy and he seemed annoyed by her attention. Now a lull was setting in. She approached him as he stood behind the desk working at the computer. His cough had "Flu" written all over it.
"It's a bummer that the vaccine isn't 100% effective," Susan said, trying to be sympathetic without mothering, "but it'll probably at least make it go away faster."
Romano looked away awkwardly.
"Oh, no," she continued, "Don't tell me you didn't get a flu shot."
He shrugged, trying to seem intent on what he was doing.
"Did you just MISS the massive public health campaign? You work in a hospital emergency department! How can you not get a flu shot? Look - there's a sign on the door reminding all health care workers to get one. And - hey! - there's another sign. They're freakin' everywhere!"
"I never get the flu," Romano protested weakly.
"That's because you haven't been working in the ER up 'till now." Gesturing toward the patients in triage, she went on, "We clean them up, then we bag 'em so they can't breathe on you guys upstairs. Down here is where the germs come out to play. It's worse than a day-care center."
Susan was briefly distracted by Neela and Gallant, who wanted her opinion and signature on something. She turned back to Romano, ready to continue her rant.
He cut her off in a strained voice, "How about we pretend we've already established that I'm an idiot, and you leave me alone, OK?"
Susan broke into a smile. He really did sound pathetic, and it was no fun mocking him if he wasn't going to fight back. "Heh. OK. Here's me, dialing down my inner bitch. Go home. You're useless here."
"That was less bitchy, how?" Romano replied, finally working up a trace of a grin.
Susan laughed. "I meant that you can't treat patients without infecting them and thus causing more work for us in the long run. So you might as well go home and rest. When are you off? I'll get somebody to cover."
"Three."
"You do know that was an hour and twenty minutes ago, right?"
Romano groused, "Yes, I know. I have a virus, not brain damage. There's just a few more things I want to . . ." He broke off coughing and had trouble catching his breath.
Susan made a flashing neon sign gesture with her hands, "GO. HOME."
Romano pointedly ignored her.
"If you don't go home, I'm going to admit you," she threatened.
He waved her away dismissively.
"I'm starting a chart . . ."
"You're getting on my nerves, Lewis."
"Let's see, coughing, temperature . . .," Susan reached across the desk to feel his forehead. She had barely touched him, when he pulled his head away suddenly. At the same time, his Utah arm jerked upward, slamming forcefully into the underside of the desk. Susan was startled; Romano's eyes went wide and he looked shaken.
He sighed, "You win. I'm going."
"You know, Robert, maybe I should check you out first . . .," Susan began.
"Too late," Romano called over his shoulder as he headed to his locker to get his coat, "You just missed me."
*****
Friday . . .
"Welcome back, Dr. Romano," said Jerry with a slightly nervous grin, "I wasn't sure if we'd be seeing you today."
Robert grunted in response. He scanned the triage area and muttered, "For this I scraped myself up off the bathroom floor?"
Jerry continued, "Dr. Weaver and Dr. Anspaugh wanted to confirm that you're here today for the meetings. Should I . . ."
"I'm here, aren't I? Confirm away," Romano interrupted with a glare.
Pratt walked over to the board, handing off patients to Gallant, ". . . Mr. Weams in curtain one is ready for dispo; Ramirez in three, still waiting on a CBC. Sorry 'bout dumping all this on you, but I gotta go to that damn meeting with Anspaugh . . ."
"You sure you don't want to say your goodbyes first?" Romano inquired nastily. Pratt sniffed and turned to leave without replying to the jab. Romano continued to his retreating back, "Hey, I didn't get to fire you on Thanksgiving. I guess the week before Christmas will have to do."
After Romano stalked away, Gallant wondered aloud, "Does he even HAVE a soul?"
*****
A little later, Robert was in the elevator headed up to Anspaugh's office, contemplating the upcoming Pratt-roast. Thinking of it in those terms caused him a moment of malicious pleasure. And then . . . it was gone. He just wanted the meeting to be over, and Pratt to be out of his hair for good. 'What the hell is wrong with me? I used to be able to savor the torments I inflicted on people.'
Part of the problem was that he didn't really believe that Pratt would be fired. The tone of Anspaugh's last e-mail, and the fact that Kerry refused to suspend Pratt pending the meeting, told Robert that they were not ready to give the resident the boot just yet. Fair enough. If necessary, he would settle for a suspension and formal reprimand now. Then, when Pratt screwed up again, which was sure to happen in short order, he could easily terminate him. In some ways, this latter scenario was even more appealing than a quick dismissal. It would draw out the torture for Pratt, and would give Romano a reason to harass Kerry for not firing him instantly.
Intellectually, Robert could see the appeal of this course of events, but instead of eagerly anticipating it, he just felt tired. He remembered being curled up in bed Wednesday night, having thrown up his last dose of ibuprofen, praying for oblivion. Sleep wouldn't come, at least not for long. As soon as he nodded off he would be hit by dreams that left him wide awake and shaking - again and again. Now he felt a little better physically; his fever was down to a manageable level and he could keep down toast, coffee and Advil. But he still wasn't sleeping much and, emotionally, he still just wanted everything to stop.
'Tough shit,' he told himself, 'the world doesn't stop just because you want to get off.' Thus admonished, he got off the elevator and headed for Donald's office. He knocked, then entered to find Anspaugh and Pratt chatting a bit stiffly. Kerry wasn't there; Robert hadn't been sure whether she was planning on attending.
"Robert, have a seat," Donald Anspaugh greeted him, "Let's get this over with." Then, addressing Pratt, he continued, "Dr. Pratt, as you know, Dr. Romano has compiled a rather hefty file of charges against you. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Well," Pratt began, not looking at Romano, "Dr. Romano and I don't always see eye to eye on things . . ." Robert started to speak, but Anspaugh silenced him with an upraised hand, "You'll get your turn." Pratt continued, "I guess I've had a few conflicts with other departments lately . . . nothing I would characterize as major, you know, just stepping on each other's toes."
"True, no single incident stands out as significant," Anspaugh responded, "yet the sheer quantity of charges here would be enough to warrant a suspension or worse."
Romano smirked.
Anspaugh went on, "However, I think we can do without such punitive measures."
Romano stopped smirking.
"I was quite impressed with your performance on Thanksgiving during the crisis. I think you are an asset to the emergency department. As for these issues," Anspaugh waved toward the bulging file Romano had given him, "part of your job as a resident is to learn. And sometimes the toughest thing to learn is that people in other departments are usually working just as hard as you are. It is in your best interest to get along with them. Understood?"
Pratt, comprehending that he had just dodged a bullet, nodded, "Yes, sir."
"Good. You can go back to work now."
As soon as the door closed behind Pratt, Romano, who had been silently fuming, burst out with, "What the hell was that? What does he have to do to get disciplined? Take a whiz in your chair?"
"What I'm doing is being careful," Anapaugh answered evenly. "I'm sure you've heard the story of the boy who cried wolf? You've had conflicts with nearly everybody lately, and I don't even want to count the number of people you've tried to fire. This pile of papers you gave me could represent a problem on Dr. Pratt's part, or it could just be another one of your vendettas. Frankly, I'm not willing to sacrifice his career on your say-so."
"You're not going to pay attention to the assessment of his immediate supervisor?!?" Romano sputtered.
"I suspect that if Dr. Pratt's attitude problem were as serious as you make it out to be I would be hearing complaints from others, not just from you. But I will take your observations under advisement." Anspaugh's tone indicated that, as far as he was concerned, the discussion was over.
Romano opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it. His expression went from anger to disgust, to something darker. Finally, he just threw up his hand, speechless with frustration, and turned to leave. He stopped a few feet from the door, went back and slapped a file folder onto Anspaugh's desk without looking at him, then stormed out.
*****
3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . the elevator descended toward the ER. Romano got out, steaming mad. Naturally, the first person he saw was Pratt, who tried to say something to him. "Don't even," Romano cut him off in a deadly quiet tone. There was something unhinged about the expression in Romano's eyes; it was enough to make Pratt back off immediately.
The next two hours were like a repeat of Romano's first day as ER chief. He lashed out at everybody he met, throwing racist barbs, insults, whatever would offend the most. However, by now the ER staff had experience dealing with Romano-tantrums, and were better equipped to handle him. Susan and Gallant took point, absorbing much of his rage and serving as a buffer between him and the rest of the staff and the patients. Susan reminded herself to thank Gallant for "taking one for the team." Pratt made himself scarce.
After a couple of hours, Romano started to wind down. He just didn't have the energy to keep up a tirade for a whole shift any more. The others knew he was running out of steam when he started bitching at Sam about the holiday music and decorations, saying something lame like, "This is supposed to be a workplace, not a winter wonderland!"
When it seemed like the worst was over, Neela tentatively approached Romano. Normally he found her quiet intelligence refreshing. Right now he was annoyed by her apparent timidity. "What do you want?" he growled.
She flinched, but handed him a manila envelope, saying, "This is for you."
Romano impatiently tore open the envelope, reached inside, and pulled out a big piece of construction paper, folded in half twice. Opening it, he saw a riot of crayon markings, some of them resembling pictures, some not so much. Amidst the childish drawings, an adult hand had written, "Dr. Romano, Get Well Soon - Donna Anders' class." Some of the students' names were visible, but since they tended to write and draw on top of each other's work, most were illegible.
"They were here on Wednesday for a re-check on Zachary's bloodwork," Neela explained, "Dr. Lewis told them that you were out sick.
Looking at the card, Romano's face slowly warmed with amusement. He chuckled softly, some of the angry tension fading from his posture. Neela, encouraged by this reaction, continued in a slightly sheepish tone, as if she expected that some people might disagree with her assessment, "Zach's a charming little fellow." Then she added wryly, "Sharp elbows, though."
Turning on the men nearby, Romano said mockingly, "You heroes made NEELA restrain him?"
"I wasn't here," Gallant spoke up defensively. Malik looked away. Lester looked clueless.
Susan, overhearing the discussion, approached saying, "I told Morris to get the kid ready for the blood draw. He delegated. Chivalry is dead." Then, after a beat, she added, "The teacher asked for you by name." Grinning, she teased Romano in a sing-song voice, "You've got regulars . . ."
"What are you, twelve?" Romano shot back. Susan's infectious smile was making it hard for him to maintain his dour expression. "Go away, Lewis."
*****
Meanwhile, upstairs . . .
Donald Anspaugh sat down across from Kerry Weaver, pleased that they had a few minutes to talk before the Department Heads' meeting. Kerry was reading his memo about the resolution to the Pratt situation. She looked up, saying, "You didn't even give him a formal reprimand? How did Robert take that?"
"Not well, as you might guess. Though, actually, I'm surprised he didn't put up more of a fight. He dropped the ER budget report on my desk before stomping off. I'd be surprised if he shows up at the meeting."
Kerry spoke diplomatically, "Robert's desire to get rid of Pratt is undoubtedly more personal than professional. And, of course, disciplinary decisions are within your prerogative. But I'm concerned about the message this sends. Dr. Pratt does have a history of disregarding the orders of his superiors. I recall an incident last year, when he resuscitated a man whom Dr. Kaysen and the chief resident had declared dead. And, just recently, he seemed to think that he could pick and choose which attending he reports to . . ."
"Are you saying Robert is RIGHT about him?"
"No, not exactly. I think Dr. Pratt has potential, and I would like to keep him on staff. But overreacting is more Robert's style than outright fabrication."
"Point taken," Donald sighed. "Of course, the more serious personnel concern down there is Romano himself. I'm not sure how long we can let this go on. The man's a menace, Kerry. He's not getting any better. It might be time to cut our losses."
Kerry's expression grew pensive as various department heads began arriving for the meeting. She marveled at the difference between herself and Dr. Anspaugh. Donald and Robert had worked together for years, apparently getting along reasonably well. In fact, Anspaugh was probably one of very few people at the hospital who had never been screwed by Robert. Yet he seemed to have lost all patience with his colleague and had no compunction against getting rid of him. His attitude struck Kerry as very . . . surgical: if you can't cure it, cut it out. Kerry, on the other hand, had every reason in the world to want to sack Romano. Yet she couldn't quite bring herself to give up on him just yet . . .
Author's Note: I started writing this fic because I was mad at the way TPTB disposed of my favorite character. Now I'm mad at them for transforming the OTHER characters into callous jerks who can't be bothered going to a memorial service for a colleague. Suffice it to say, I won't be portraying them like that! Reviews make me happy . . .
As she arrived at County, Susan observed the crowded triage area. It was almost three weeks since the disaster, and things were getting back to normal. This fact, in itself, struck her as bizarre. 'Don't these people realize that there was incredible carnage in the very place where they now stand smoking their cigarettes or waiting for cabs? But what can you do? You have to go on living your life. You can't constantly dwell on the fact that it can be cut short in an instant for no reason.'
The vivid reminder of the uncertainty of it all did help Susan put one thing in perspective. The morning of the crash, she had been leaning toward ending her relationship with Chuck. He was fun; he was comfortable; but wasn't there more to love than that? His suggestion that they might as well settle for each other had made it clear to her that she didn't want to "settle" for anyone.
Then he was dead, or so she thought, and she realized how much of a loss that was. He was her drinking buddy and her partner for restroom trysts. But he also brought her coffee in bed, consoled her after Ben's suicide, and really listened to her worries about work, about little Susie, about everything. He had a wicked sense of humor, without having a wicked bone in his body. He made her happy, and she made him happy. "Settling" for that was like settling for winning the lottery.
Things at home were good. Things at work were not quite so blissful. Dr. Romano's behavior had gone from bad to, well, bad anyway, since the crash. Susan recalled a time long ago when he used to be funny. Pee-in-your-pants- I-can't-believe-I'm-laughing-at-this-I'm-going-to-hell funny. Back then, she saw him infrequently. He would swoop in from his office upstairs, save the day, and verbally castrate all the doctors who thought they were hot shit.
Since taking over the ER, he acted like he was trying to be funny or clever, but mostly he wasn't - he was just cruel. Lately, he had dropped even the pretense of humor. He was nasty, plain and simple, toward the doctors and nurses, and was often callous and condescending toward patients. Some of the med students managed to escape his abuse by being beneath his notice.
There were three relatively positive developments on this front. First, Romano was being somewhat less vicious toward Abby, since, as he put it, "she's no longer impersonating a surgeon." Second, Susan noticed that his cruelty was becoming more reactive than active. A few months ago he would prowl the halls of the department looking for people on whom to vent his rage. Now he kept more to himself, only spewing venom on those who demanded his attention in some way. Of course, since he was the boss, few people could avoid doing so.
Third, Susan herself still seemed to be exempt from Romano's wrath. He was grouchy toward her, but she detected an underlying current of respect. And, once in a great while, she could tease out his latent sense of humor. Susan didn't know what it was that made her special, but she had to admit that the fact that he granted her this status did endear him to her a bit. She smiled, recalling how she had berated Frank for goading Romano into going up to the roof before the crash:
"Nice, Frank. The man's got a boatload of personality defects, and you've got to pick on the one that's really not his fault."
"Oh, please. Like he wouldn't do the same thing to somebody else."
"Yeah, but he's an amoral asshole. You don't want to be . . . Oh, wait - too late!"
Today things were a lot quieter than usual, since Romano was obviously under the weather. 'More snarling, less screaming,' Susan thought, smirking. He had brushed off Susan's concern earlier in the day; they were busy and he seemed annoyed by her attention. Now a lull was setting in. She approached him as he stood behind the desk working at the computer. His cough had "Flu" written all over it.
"It's a bummer that the vaccine isn't 100% effective," Susan said, trying to be sympathetic without mothering, "but it'll probably at least make it go away faster."
Romano looked away awkwardly.
"Oh, no," she continued, "Don't tell me you didn't get a flu shot."
He shrugged, trying to seem intent on what he was doing.
"Did you just MISS the massive public health campaign? You work in a hospital emergency department! How can you not get a flu shot? Look - there's a sign on the door reminding all health care workers to get one. And - hey! - there's another sign. They're freakin' everywhere!"
"I never get the flu," Romano protested weakly.
"That's because you haven't been working in the ER up 'till now." Gesturing toward the patients in triage, she went on, "We clean them up, then we bag 'em so they can't breathe on you guys upstairs. Down here is where the germs come out to play. It's worse than a day-care center."
Susan was briefly distracted by Neela and Gallant, who wanted her opinion and signature on something. She turned back to Romano, ready to continue her rant.
He cut her off in a strained voice, "How about we pretend we've already established that I'm an idiot, and you leave me alone, OK?"
Susan broke into a smile. He really did sound pathetic, and it was no fun mocking him if he wasn't going to fight back. "Heh. OK. Here's me, dialing down my inner bitch. Go home. You're useless here."
"That was less bitchy, how?" Romano replied, finally working up a trace of a grin.
Susan laughed. "I meant that you can't treat patients without infecting them and thus causing more work for us in the long run. So you might as well go home and rest. When are you off? I'll get somebody to cover."
"Three."
"You do know that was an hour and twenty minutes ago, right?"
Romano groused, "Yes, I know. I have a virus, not brain damage. There's just a few more things I want to . . ." He broke off coughing and had trouble catching his breath.
Susan made a flashing neon sign gesture with her hands, "GO. HOME."
Romano pointedly ignored her.
"If you don't go home, I'm going to admit you," she threatened.
He waved her away dismissively.
"I'm starting a chart . . ."
"You're getting on my nerves, Lewis."
"Let's see, coughing, temperature . . .," Susan reached across the desk to feel his forehead. She had barely touched him, when he pulled his head away suddenly. At the same time, his Utah arm jerked upward, slamming forcefully into the underside of the desk. Susan was startled; Romano's eyes went wide and he looked shaken.
He sighed, "You win. I'm going."
"You know, Robert, maybe I should check you out first . . .," Susan began.
"Too late," Romano called over his shoulder as he headed to his locker to get his coat, "You just missed me."
*****
Friday . . .
"Welcome back, Dr. Romano," said Jerry with a slightly nervous grin, "I wasn't sure if we'd be seeing you today."
Robert grunted in response. He scanned the triage area and muttered, "For this I scraped myself up off the bathroom floor?"
Jerry continued, "Dr. Weaver and Dr. Anspaugh wanted to confirm that you're here today for the meetings. Should I . . ."
"I'm here, aren't I? Confirm away," Romano interrupted with a glare.
Pratt walked over to the board, handing off patients to Gallant, ". . . Mr. Weams in curtain one is ready for dispo; Ramirez in three, still waiting on a CBC. Sorry 'bout dumping all this on you, but I gotta go to that damn meeting with Anspaugh . . ."
"You sure you don't want to say your goodbyes first?" Romano inquired nastily. Pratt sniffed and turned to leave without replying to the jab. Romano continued to his retreating back, "Hey, I didn't get to fire you on Thanksgiving. I guess the week before Christmas will have to do."
After Romano stalked away, Gallant wondered aloud, "Does he even HAVE a soul?"
*****
A little later, Robert was in the elevator headed up to Anspaugh's office, contemplating the upcoming Pratt-roast. Thinking of it in those terms caused him a moment of malicious pleasure. And then . . . it was gone. He just wanted the meeting to be over, and Pratt to be out of his hair for good. 'What the hell is wrong with me? I used to be able to savor the torments I inflicted on people.'
Part of the problem was that he didn't really believe that Pratt would be fired. The tone of Anspaugh's last e-mail, and the fact that Kerry refused to suspend Pratt pending the meeting, told Robert that they were not ready to give the resident the boot just yet. Fair enough. If necessary, he would settle for a suspension and formal reprimand now. Then, when Pratt screwed up again, which was sure to happen in short order, he could easily terminate him. In some ways, this latter scenario was even more appealing than a quick dismissal. It would draw out the torture for Pratt, and would give Romano a reason to harass Kerry for not firing him instantly.
Intellectually, Robert could see the appeal of this course of events, but instead of eagerly anticipating it, he just felt tired. He remembered being curled up in bed Wednesday night, having thrown up his last dose of ibuprofen, praying for oblivion. Sleep wouldn't come, at least not for long. As soon as he nodded off he would be hit by dreams that left him wide awake and shaking - again and again. Now he felt a little better physically; his fever was down to a manageable level and he could keep down toast, coffee and Advil. But he still wasn't sleeping much and, emotionally, he still just wanted everything to stop.
'Tough shit,' he told himself, 'the world doesn't stop just because you want to get off.' Thus admonished, he got off the elevator and headed for Donald's office. He knocked, then entered to find Anspaugh and Pratt chatting a bit stiffly. Kerry wasn't there; Robert hadn't been sure whether she was planning on attending.
"Robert, have a seat," Donald Anspaugh greeted him, "Let's get this over with." Then, addressing Pratt, he continued, "Dr. Pratt, as you know, Dr. Romano has compiled a rather hefty file of charges against you. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Well," Pratt began, not looking at Romano, "Dr. Romano and I don't always see eye to eye on things . . ." Robert started to speak, but Anspaugh silenced him with an upraised hand, "You'll get your turn." Pratt continued, "I guess I've had a few conflicts with other departments lately . . . nothing I would characterize as major, you know, just stepping on each other's toes."
"True, no single incident stands out as significant," Anspaugh responded, "yet the sheer quantity of charges here would be enough to warrant a suspension or worse."
Romano smirked.
Anspaugh went on, "However, I think we can do without such punitive measures."
Romano stopped smirking.
"I was quite impressed with your performance on Thanksgiving during the crisis. I think you are an asset to the emergency department. As for these issues," Anspaugh waved toward the bulging file Romano had given him, "part of your job as a resident is to learn. And sometimes the toughest thing to learn is that people in other departments are usually working just as hard as you are. It is in your best interest to get along with them. Understood?"
Pratt, comprehending that he had just dodged a bullet, nodded, "Yes, sir."
"Good. You can go back to work now."
As soon as the door closed behind Pratt, Romano, who had been silently fuming, burst out with, "What the hell was that? What does he have to do to get disciplined? Take a whiz in your chair?"
"What I'm doing is being careful," Anapaugh answered evenly. "I'm sure you've heard the story of the boy who cried wolf? You've had conflicts with nearly everybody lately, and I don't even want to count the number of people you've tried to fire. This pile of papers you gave me could represent a problem on Dr. Pratt's part, or it could just be another one of your vendettas. Frankly, I'm not willing to sacrifice his career on your say-so."
"You're not going to pay attention to the assessment of his immediate supervisor?!?" Romano sputtered.
"I suspect that if Dr. Pratt's attitude problem were as serious as you make it out to be I would be hearing complaints from others, not just from you. But I will take your observations under advisement." Anspaugh's tone indicated that, as far as he was concerned, the discussion was over.
Romano opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it. His expression went from anger to disgust, to something darker. Finally, he just threw up his hand, speechless with frustration, and turned to leave. He stopped a few feet from the door, went back and slapped a file folder onto Anspaugh's desk without looking at him, then stormed out.
*****
3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . the elevator descended toward the ER. Romano got out, steaming mad. Naturally, the first person he saw was Pratt, who tried to say something to him. "Don't even," Romano cut him off in a deadly quiet tone. There was something unhinged about the expression in Romano's eyes; it was enough to make Pratt back off immediately.
The next two hours were like a repeat of Romano's first day as ER chief. He lashed out at everybody he met, throwing racist barbs, insults, whatever would offend the most. However, by now the ER staff had experience dealing with Romano-tantrums, and were better equipped to handle him. Susan and Gallant took point, absorbing much of his rage and serving as a buffer between him and the rest of the staff and the patients. Susan reminded herself to thank Gallant for "taking one for the team." Pratt made himself scarce.
After a couple of hours, Romano started to wind down. He just didn't have the energy to keep up a tirade for a whole shift any more. The others knew he was running out of steam when he started bitching at Sam about the holiday music and decorations, saying something lame like, "This is supposed to be a workplace, not a winter wonderland!"
When it seemed like the worst was over, Neela tentatively approached Romano. Normally he found her quiet intelligence refreshing. Right now he was annoyed by her apparent timidity. "What do you want?" he growled.
She flinched, but handed him a manila envelope, saying, "This is for you."
Romano impatiently tore open the envelope, reached inside, and pulled out a big piece of construction paper, folded in half twice. Opening it, he saw a riot of crayon markings, some of them resembling pictures, some not so much. Amidst the childish drawings, an adult hand had written, "Dr. Romano, Get Well Soon - Donna Anders' class." Some of the students' names were visible, but since they tended to write and draw on top of each other's work, most were illegible.
"They were here on Wednesday for a re-check on Zachary's bloodwork," Neela explained, "Dr. Lewis told them that you were out sick.
Looking at the card, Romano's face slowly warmed with amusement. He chuckled softly, some of the angry tension fading from his posture. Neela, encouraged by this reaction, continued in a slightly sheepish tone, as if she expected that some people might disagree with her assessment, "Zach's a charming little fellow." Then she added wryly, "Sharp elbows, though."
Turning on the men nearby, Romano said mockingly, "You heroes made NEELA restrain him?"
"I wasn't here," Gallant spoke up defensively. Malik looked away. Lester looked clueless.
Susan, overhearing the discussion, approached saying, "I told Morris to get the kid ready for the blood draw. He delegated. Chivalry is dead." Then, after a beat, she added, "The teacher asked for you by name." Grinning, she teased Romano in a sing-song voice, "You've got regulars . . ."
"What are you, twelve?" Romano shot back. Susan's infectious smile was making it hard for him to maintain his dour expression. "Go away, Lewis."
*****
Meanwhile, upstairs . . .
Donald Anspaugh sat down across from Kerry Weaver, pleased that they had a few minutes to talk before the Department Heads' meeting. Kerry was reading his memo about the resolution to the Pratt situation. She looked up, saying, "You didn't even give him a formal reprimand? How did Robert take that?"
"Not well, as you might guess. Though, actually, I'm surprised he didn't put up more of a fight. He dropped the ER budget report on my desk before stomping off. I'd be surprised if he shows up at the meeting."
Kerry spoke diplomatically, "Robert's desire to get rid of Pratt is undoubtedly more personal than professional. And, of course, disciplinary decisions are within your prerogative. But I'm concerned about the message this sends. Dr. Pratt does have a history of disregarding the orders of his superiors. I recall an incident last year, when he resuscitated a man whom Dr. Kaysen and the chief resident had declared dead. And, just recently, he seemed to think that he could pick and choose which attending he reports to . . ."
"Are you saying Robert is RIGHT about him?"
"No, not exactly. I think Dr. Pratt has potential, and I would like to keep him on staff. But overreacting is more Robert's style than outright fabrication."
"Point taken," Donald sighed. "Of course, the more serious personnel concern down there is Romano himself. I'm not sure how long we can let this go on. The man's a menace, Kerry. He's not getting any better. It might be time to cut our losses."
Kerry's expression grew pensive as various department heads began arriving for the meeting. She marveled at the difference between herself and Dr. Anspaugh. Donald and Robert had worked together for years, apparently getting along reasonably well. In fact, Anspaugh was probably one of very few people at the hospital who had never been screwed by Robert. Yet he seemed to have lost all patience with his colleague and had no compunction against getting rid of him. His attitude struck Kerry as very . . . surgical: if you can't cure it, cut it out. Kerry, on the other hand, had every reason in the world to want to sack Romano. Yet she couldn't quite bring herself to give up on him just yet . . .
Author's Note: I started writing this fic because I was mad at the way TPTB disposed of my favorite character. Now I'm mad at them for transforming the OTHER characters into callous jerks who can't be bothered going to a memorial service for a colleague. Suffice it to say, I won't be portraying them like that! Reviews make me happy . . .