About two weeks later . . .
Robert Romano swerved his Jeep to avoid hitting a car whose driver was blithely chattering away on her cell phone. 'Shit! As if driving a stick shift one-handed on icy roads isn't challenging enough, I have to deal with dingbats who shouldn't be allowed to operate anything more dangerous than a toaster!' His invective against clueless female drivers was interrupted by barking from the back seat. "Hey, you're not exactly contributing to road safety either," he admonished the pup, who had her paws up on the back of the seat and was trying to lick his ear.
*****
Monday morning, with the end of her shift approaching, Susan Lewis was tired and cranky. Her flight home from the conference in California had been delayed, getting her back just in time to head straight to her overnight shift Sunday night. Right before the conference, Chuck had learned that he needed to go out of town for the weekend, too. So, they had to scramble to arrange puppy-care. Leaving her "baby" in a kennel was out of the question, and Susan had failed to convince any of her friends to step up to the plate, their reticence perhaps due to the dog's dicey housebreaking status. She had asked Dr. Romano as a last resort, not really expecting him to agree. Surprisingly, he did. So, Chuck dropped the pup off at Robert's house Friday evening, and Robert would return her when he arrived for his shift this morning.
Despite her fatigue, Susan was instantly aware when her furry friend entered the ER, accompanied by Dr. Romano. She rushed over and kissed her, receiving sloppy doggie kisses in return.
"What a cutie!" "She got so big!" "Can I pet her?" Haleh, Jerry, Chuny, and Carter swarmed to greet the little visitor.
Reveling in the attention, the dog started jumping up and grabbing at Jerry's coat. Romano told her firmly, "Twopper, sit," and she sat.
"Oh my God - she sat! She never does what I tell her to do!" Susan commented, laughing.
"It's called training, Lewis. Were you just waiting for her to acquire language on her own?" Romano retorted sarcastically.
"What did you call her?" Carter asked.
Susan launched into an explanation that had, by now, become rote: "My patient, Ben, left a note asking me to keep her. Unfortunately, his handwriting wasn't so great, so we couldn't quite make out the name. It's probably supposed to be 'Trapper' or 'Trooper' or something, but it looked like 'Twopper', and that's what stuck." Affectionately, she continued, "And she's such a precious little Twopper girl, isn't she? I missed you SO much!" *kiss* *kiss*
"Dr. Lewis, your patient in Three is still complaining of chest pain," Haleh reminded her.
"Page Cardiology again," Susan responded. She planted another kiss on the puppy's head, and told Romano, "I'll be right back," as she ducked into Exam 3.
"Take your time," he replied, "I'm early." Turning on the rest of the staff, he growled, "Well, it's obvious you people won't get a lick of work done while the dog is in sight, so we'll be in the lounge." He grabbed some paperwork and headed off with Twopper in tow.
*****
A short time later, Susan and Carter entered the lounge and found Dr. Romano sitting on the couch reading some memos. Twopper was flopped on her back next to him, looking blissful as he absently rubbed her belly.
"I think she's in love," Carter remarked, grinning.
Susan laughed. Addressing Romano, she commented, "I wasn't even sure you liked dogs. You didn't seem too happy about it the last time she was here."
"Sure I like dogs," he responded, "I like rip-roaring sex too, but I don't want to see it in the ER."
"You mean you haven't yet?" Carter asked, feigning innocence, "Happens all the time."
"I think he means sex between TWO people," Susan clarified.
Romano made a funny grossed-out face and said, "Remind me to have the med students hose off Chairs."
"You have a huge dog, right? Like a mastiff or something?" Carter asked, smiling at the mental image of little Romano with a humungous dog.
"Used to," Romano replied, "She died this past fall." With a wry smile he added, "Have I mentioned that last year really sucked?"
Susan grinned at his joking tone, and at Twopper's attempts to nudge the papers off his lap and replace them with herself. Still, she felt bad about him losing his dog, especially amidst everything else, and she said softly, "I'm sorry."
Romano waved away her sympathy, but, recognizing a fellow dog-person he explained, "Well, it wasn't so bad. I was stuck at home a lot for a few weeks after the, uh, surgery, and then Weaver made me start back with only half-shifts. Gretel probably thought that I was finally spending time with her like she deserved. Her last months were good."
Romano's tone was strangely sentimental. Susan responded in kind, "Oh, I know - that's what they really want, isn't it? I had this old dog when I was in college, and I knew it wouldn't be long before . . . Stop laughing at me, Carter!"
"I'm not laughing," Carter protested, stifling a smirk at Romano and Susan's matching expressions of total canine adoration. "I'm not!"
*****
Greg Pratt arrived at work as Susan was leaving with her puppy. Despite the fact that the tyrannical ER Chief was on, Greg was anticipating a pretty good shift. He had been working the ER long enough, now, that he could predict patient flow on the basis of the weather. Today, the temperature was bitterly cold, and while there wasn't much snow on the ground there was a treacherous layer of ice coating everything. That meant the early morning would be slow, as the hypochondriacs and the little old ladies with multiple medical problems would stay home. Then the MVAs and slip-and-falls would kick in and they'd be hopping by noon. That suited Pratt just fine.
Several hours later, Pratt found his expectations for the day had been accurate. They were busy, but handling it well. Romano was in a meeting, leaving Carter in charge - at least until Kovac arrived at 4:00. The only unusual development was that the Pediatrics unit had been closed to new patients due to mercury contamination. The ambulance drivers were supposed to divert children automatically, but naturally, they didn't. Adult medicine would accept teenagers on a case-by-case basis, but younger kids who needed to be admitted had to be assessed and stabilized in the ER, then shipped off to either Mercy or Northwestern. Because of the icy roads and consequent pile-ups, transporting by air was more efficient than by ground. So the hospital had established a holding area on the floor below the helipad.
As Pratt cleared the names of the patients he was finished with off the board, Carter told him, "We've got another kid to go up for transport. Came in by ambulance. Can you bring her upstairs?"
"What part of 'no kiddies' don't they understand? Sure, I'll go," Pratt replied.
Carter gave him the bullet as they walked to the trauma room. "Eight-year- old female removed from home by Social Services. Evidence of repeated sexual abuse, abrasions and contusions on torso in various stages of healing. We've got the bleeding under control, but she needs inpatient evaluation to determine the full extent of her injuries. Temp 101. Head CT is clear. BP, sats are good." As they approached the room they could hear sounds of a struggle as two orderlies tried to restrain the child. Carter added, "And she's not real happy to be here."
Looking through the trauma room window, Pratt swore furiously, "Fuckin' pervert! She can't talk - makes her a perfect victim . . ."
"You know her?" Carter inquired.
"Yeah, she's been here before," Pratt sighed. "Page Romano. She's one of his."
*****
Robert walked into the holding area. It was a large room, well staffed and well organized, but with supplies and equipment obviously pulled together at the last minute. At the moment there were only three patients there, so it wasn't hard to find the one he was looking for -- especially since she was the only one putting up a fight. He approached Kiesha's gurney as the nurse, aide, and Dr. Pratt, were trying to hold the child in place and start an IV. There was a woman in a suit nearby; Robert assumed she was from Social Services.
Robert addressed Kiesha lightly, "Hey, kiddo. Are you picking on these guys?" He was smiling, but his eyes weren't.
The girl responded by pulling one of her hands free and reaching up for him. Wearing a patient gown instead of her street clothes, she seemed tiny and vulnerable. Robert knew she wanted him to pick her up, but he also knew that she wouldn't let go voluntarily when it was time for her to go. Having to be pried from his arms would only make the trauma worse for her. So, instead of lifting her, he put his hand on her shoulder.
Speaking calmly, he explained, "Here's what's going to happen, Kiesh. In a little while, you'll go for a ride on a helicopter to another hospital. The other hospital is near here, so it won't take long. I just talked to Ms. Anders on the phone, and she's going to meet you there."
Kiesha pointed toward Robert. He replied, "I'll stay with you until they're ready to take you. Then I'll drive over to the other hospital. You'll probably get there first, but I promise I will be there later on."
The girl seemed somewhat mollified, so Robert suggested, "If you let us put a needle in your arm we can give you medicine that will make it hurt less . . ."
Before they could attempt to do so, however, a pair of flight nurses entered the room. Robert recognized one of them as Susan's boyfriend, Chuck. The shaggy nurse smiled affably and said to Kiesha and one of the other patients, "Your ride is ready, ladies."
Robert hadn't planned on accompanying his patient up to the helipad itself, for obvious reasons, but at the moment he found himself unwilling to leave her. So he tagged along, keeping a comforting hand on her shoulder. Pratt came too. Robert didn't want Pratt around to witness any phobic reaction he might have, but the resident seemed genuinely concerned about Kiesha, so he didn't make him leave.
Robert managed to get on the elevator without panicking. 'That's it. Just don't think about it,' he told himself. And then they were there - one floor up, at their destination.
The doors opened before he was ready - as if he could ever be ready for the sight and sound that greeted him. The chopper was sitting there, like a predator waiting for fresh meat, humming with power and malice. As soon as he looked at the spinning blades he was lost, paralyzed by panic. Fear hit him like a blow to the chest and the harsh slashing rhythm of the propeller beat out all chance of rational thought. In his mind he was back there: hearing the sharp *zing* of the rotor as it cut through flesh and bone . . . hurting and falling . . . bleeding and dying. He whimpered softly and prayed for it to all go away.
Robert thought he heard Pratt speak to him, but whatever the other doctor said was drowned out by the din both inside and outside his head. He knew he was trembling, and he felt his hand close spasmodically into a fist. Something moved under his fist, and suddenly he remembered Kiesha. He looked down at his hand and saw that, fortunately, it had closed around the fabric of her gown, not her shoulder itself.
The girl gazed upward and once again reached for him, this time punctuating her gesture with a desperate sounding, "Mmmmmm!" Robert saw terror in her eyes, and was stunned to realize that she might actually be more afraid right now than he was. 'I didn't even think that was possible,' he marveled.
Of course, Robert understood that she wasn't afraid of the helicopter per se - just of something strange and noisy that would take her to a place where people she didn't know would hold her down and touch her and maybe hurt her and they were big and she was little and she couldn't make them stop. Looking into her big brown eyes, he saw all this. And he saw that he could make it better. He could pick her up; he could stay with her. He couldn't erase the hell she had been through or fix her damaged mind, but for right now, he could make her feel safe.
But that goddamn thing out there was standing in his way. The terror Robert felt did not abate, but his rage grew to match it. He was incensed at the infernal machine for destroying his life, for cutting out the one thing that justified his existence on the planet: his skill as a surgeon. And now it wanted to strip him of the last vestiges of that role. It wanted to force him to abandon his patient, to stop being a doctor. He didn't understand why Kiesha had placed her trust in him, but because of this attachment he could help her in a way that others couldn't. But *it* wouldn't let him. It was in his way.
Equal parts fear and fury circled each other like wild dogs vying for dominance. Neither was victorious, but one certainty emerged from the fray: NOTHING stands in Rocket Romano's way. Staring straight at the mechanical monster, he said quietly, "Not even you."
Robert looked back down at Kiesha's pleading face and nodded, "OK." He removed his hand from her shoulder and reached down to lift her. He didn't have to do much of the work; with strength born of adrenaline, she flung her arms tightly around his neck and pulled herself up. Somebody helped wrap a blanket around the girl's back, and Robert tucked his prosthesis awkwardly behind her knees.
Pratt and Chuck were talking at him, but all of Robert's attention was focussed on the child in his arms and the deadly adversary in front of him. He started forward and felt Chuck's hand on his shoulder. He realized that the larger man was walking along with him, placing his body between Robert and the tail rotor. In this manner, undeterred by the icy fingers of panic that gripped him, he headed straight for the belly of the beast.
*****
About an hour later . . .
Robert groaned weakly as he heard the bathroom door open. He was kneeling inside a stall, his lab coat discarded on the floor, vomiting violently into the bowl. After the chopper landed, he'd spoken briefly with Donna Anders, and with the pediatrician who would be treating Kiesha, making sure that the teacher would be permitted to stay with her charge. Then he made a bee-line for the restroom. Up until now he'd had the facility to himself. Overcome by another bout of retching, he thought, 'I could do without an audience.'
When he was able to pause for a breath, a voice outside the stall asked, "Need any help, Dr. Romano?"
Robert rasped, "Go away," before it occurred to him to question who, at Mercy Hospital, would be addressing him by name. Then he put it together - the voice was Chuck's.
Clearly unperturbed by Romano's rude dismissal, Chuck said, "I'll check back in a while to make sure you're still alive. I'm putting up the out-of- service sign so nobody else bothers you."
The door opened and closed, and Robert was alone again. His memories of the last hour were choppy, like an old movie reel, scenes cut across by the shadow of the propeller overhead, sounds distorted, disconnected. He recalled sitting in the helicopter, holding Kiesha on his lap as the nurses put in an IV. He knew he must have been completely useless, from a medical standpoint. But at least he hadn't done anything too embarrassing, like puking in-flight. He shivered as a moment of abject horror came back to him: getting off the chopper and catching sight of the tail rotor. Chuck must have pulled him along.
'Yeah, let's try to remember everything in vivid detail - that'll help,' Robert sneered, as the vomiting progressed into dry heaving. After 10 minutes of that, he was shaking with exhaustion. The pain in his head and stomach were making him dizzy, and the dizziness ratcheted up his anxiety level. He slumped against the side of the stall and closed his eyes.
Robert hadn't heard the door open, so he was startled to hear Chuck's voice announce, "It's me again."
He wasn't as annoyed at the other man's presence as he thought he should be. Right at this moment, feeling shaky and out-of-control, a small part of him wanted company - though, of course, he would never admit it. Having somebody nearby, but not actually within sight, was a good compromise.
Unfortunately, Robert figured that Chuck would either sit there quietly, which would be awkward, or, even worse, would try to engage him in conversation between bouts of retching. Instead, the flight nurse launched into a long meandering story about a road trip across the southwest. Calling it a "story" was generous. It was really more like a series of off- color jokes strung together with surreal transitional events, the kind of narrative that makes much more sense when one is stoned.
Twenty minutes - and some truly bizarre happenings in Arizona and New Mexico - later, the dry heaving had subsided and Romano asked in a lightly mocking tone, "If I come out, will you stop talking?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. I'm just getting to the good part," Chuck replied amicably. His pager buzzed, and he added, "Whoops - you're in luck. Gotta answer a page. I'll be back in a few. I left some stuff for you on the counter." Then he was gone.
Robert managed to rise to his feet, leaning against the wall of the stall as he pushed himself up. Opening the door, he felt insanely grateful when he saw that Chuck had left him a small bottle of Listerine, as well as a set of scrubs. Although his clothes had come through the ordeal surprisingly unsplattered, his shirt felt cold and clammy from perspiration. Also, his trembling muscles were sending false signals to the Utah arm, so that had to go too. Slowly, he took off his shirt and removed his prosthesis, then put on the scrub top. It was a good thing there was a bench in the restroom - he doubted he would have been able to stand up long enough to complete the task.
After resting a few minutes, he retrieved his lab coat from the stall and put it on. As he was rinsing out his mouth with Listerine, Chuck came back. The younger man smiled and said, "Where were we . . ?"
Robert shook his head and laughed softly. "I should go check on my patient. Pedes is this floor, on the other side, right?"
"Yup," Chuck confirmed. Then, appraising Romano he added, "You sure you're OK now?"
"Yeah, fine. Hangover without the fun part," Robert quipped confidently. Afterwards, more awkwardly, he mumbled, "Thanks."
"No problem," the nurse shrugged. As they left the restroom, Chuck found a plastic bag in the maintenance closet and handed it to Robert to hold his shirt and artificial arm. He also put the service sign back in the closet. Chuck's apparent familiarity with the available supplies prompted Robert to joke, "What - do you moonlight as a janitor?"
Chuck smirked and replied, "Nah - Suze and I went through a sex-in-public- restrooms phase." Then, looking embarrassed at the inappropriateness of this comment, he added, "Which, OK, maybe isn't something I should be telling her boss . . ."
"Never mind," Romano reassured him, "I plan on repressing this whole day."
*****
'I'm not going to make it,' Robert thought, as he stared down the corridor toward the Pediatrics unit. Vision too blurry to read the signs on the walls, he confirmed his location by the aggressively cheerful colors that heralded Pedes units everywhere.
When he parted with Chuck outside the restroom, he wasn't feeling too bad - tired and sore, but nothing he couldn't handle. That was before he tried doing something strenuous, like walking. The journey from the restroom to the place he now stood should have taken five minutes. Instead, it took twenty, and left him barely able to stand.
He gripped the railing along the wall and forced himself to move forward, motivated by a strong desire to avoid the humiliation of being found crumpled in the hallway. A cold wave of dizziness made him shiver uncontrollably and reduced his vision to shades of gray as he traversed the last few yards into the unit. One of the first doors he came upon was a visitors' lounge. He stumbled inside and collapsed onto the end of the couch, leaning heavily against the upholstered arm. He was acutely aware of his heart pounding loud and fast as he passed out.
*****
Some time later, Robert felt hands lifting him upright and removing his lab coat. A stethoscope was pressed against his chest; a BP cuff on his arm followed. When they tried shining light into his eyes, he pulled away and told them, "Leave me alone." Only he didn't think it came out as clearly as that, or even as words. But he must have gotten his point across, because they went away and let him sleep.
*****
Later, more hands. These were familiar, and accompanied by an insistent voice:
"Robert, wake up. Can you hear me? Robert!"
He opened his eyes to find that he was lying on the couch onto which he'd fallen, covered by a blanket, with Elizabeth looking down at him and shaking his shoulder. Flinching at the sudden influx of light to his brain, he turned his face away and moaned, ". . . 'm up."
"Good," she smiled, relieved. She proceeded to listen to his heart and take his blood pressure.
"Somebody already did that," he informed her, then added, "Aren't you at the wrong hospital Lizzie?"
"That was an hour ago. I'm checking it again."
"So, what's the verdict?"
"That you're completely mad," she replied, deadpan.
"Wow. You can tell that with a stethoscope? That's it - from now on I'm calling you down for Psych consults."
Suppressing a grin, she asked, "Any chest pain?"
"Some earlier. Just sore now. I didn't have a heart attack, if that's what you're thinking."
"Because, of course, you can depend on the phantom pain to provide you with that telltale tingling down your left arm," Elizabeth shot back sarcastically.
"Seems like the least it could do," Robert grumbled, turning onto his right side and pushing himself up to a sitting position with some difficulty. He felt light-headed, so he leaned forward, propping his elbow on his knee.
"Well, anyway, I concur. You had a panic attack, not a heart attack. Your blood pressure probably spiked and rebounded. You're actually a little low now. How do you feel?"
"Like crap." An awful realization dawned on him, "Oh, God. They didn't call over to County about me, did they?"
"No. Chuck called Susan and Susan paged me. When you didn't reply to my pages, I came here. I still can't believe you did that! What if you hyperventilated on the chopper?" she scolded. Her tone wasn't entirely negative, however. Pride peeked around the edges of her stern-physician front.
He prodded, "Aw, c'mon, admit it - you're impressed."
"If I say 'yes', will that encourage you to do such a foolish thing again?"
"Hell no," he replied cheerfully, leaning back against the back of the couch, "I'm never doing it again. Doesn't matter who forgot their damn watch. Not even if Pratt and Frank dare me. Not even if the building is on fire . . ."
"Actually, if the building were on fire that might justify . . ."
"Hush, Lizzie, I'm on a roll."
The English surgeon giggled. She'd seen Robert like this before, when he was *really* tired after completing double shifts of back-to-back surgeries. First he got grouchy, then punchy, his typically acerbic wit degenerating into silliness. Honestly, it was kind of cute - as was his obvious desire for her approval, thinly masked by sparring banter. She smiled and said softly, "Yes, I'm impressed."
"You should be," he retorted, laughing.
Elizabeth enjoyed seeing her friend in an up-beat mood, though there was a slightly hysterical edge to his laughter and she noticed that he was starting to shiver. She picked up the blanket, which had fallen to the floor earlier when he sat up, and tucked one end of it behind his left shoulder. Then she sat down on his right side, wrapped her left arm through his right, and draped the rest of the blanket over both of them.
Fully expecting Robert to make some smart-ass comment about their position, Elizabeth waited, poised to reply. Instead he just relaxed against her with a nearly imperceptible sigh, letting the warmth and comfort seep into his body.
Author's Note: OK - that was a bit more intense than usual. Do you like? Please don't hate me for killing off Gretel . . .
Robert Romano swerved his Jeep to avoid hitting a car whose driver was blithely chattering away on her cell phone. 'Shit! As if driving a stick shift one-handed on icy roads isn't challenging enough, I have to deal with dingbats who shouldn't be allowed to operate anything more dangerous than a toaster!' His invective against clueless female drivers was interrupted by barking from the back seat. "Hey, you're not exactly contributing to road safety either," he admonished the pup, who had her paws up on the back of the seat and was trying to lick his ear.
*****
Monday morning, with the end of her shift approaching, Susan Lewis was tired and cranky. Her flight home from the conference in California had been delayed, getting her back just in time to head straight to her overnight shift Sunday night. Right before the conference, Chuck had learned that he needed to go out of town for the weekend, too. So, they had to scramble to arrange puppy-care. Leaving her "baby" in a kennel was out of the question, and Susan had failed to convince any of her friends to step up to the plate, their reticence perhaps due to the dog's dicey housebreaking status. She had asked Dr. Romano as a last resort, not really expecting him to agree. Surprisingly, he did. So, Chuck dropped the pup off at Robert's house Friday evening, and Robert would return her when he arrived for his shift this morning.
Despite her fatigue, Susan was instantly aware when her furry friend entered the ER, accompanied by Dr. Romano. She rushed over and kissed her, receiving sloppy doggie kisses in return.
"What a cutie!" "She got so big!" "Can I pet her?" Haleh, Jerry, Chuny, and Carter swarmed to greet the little visitor.
Reveling in the attention, the dog started jumping up and grabbing at Jerry's coat. Romano told her firmly, "Twopper, sit," and she sat.
"Oh my God - she sat! She never does what I tell her to do!" Susan commented, laughing.
"It's called training, Lewis. Were you just waiting for her to acquire language on her own?" Romano retorted sarcastically.
"What did you call her?" Carter asked.
Susan launched into an explanation that had, by now, become rote: "My patient, Ben, left a note asking me to keep her. Unfortunately, his handwriting wasn't so great, so we couldn't quite make out the name. It's probably supposed to be 'Trapper' or 'Trooper' or something, but it looked like 'Twopper', and that's what stuck." Affectionately, she continued, "And she's such a precious little Twopper girl, isn't she? I missed you SO much!" *kiss* *kiss*
"Dr. Lewis, your patient in Three is still complaining of chest pain," Haleh reminded her.
"Page Cardiology again," Susan responded. She planted another kiss on the puppy's head, and told Romano, "I'll be right back," as she ducked into Exam 3.
"Take your time," he replied, "I'm early." Turning on the rest of the staff, he growled, "Well, it's obvious you people won't get a lick of work done while the dog is in sight, so we'll be in the lounge." He grabbed some paperwork and headed off with Twopper in tow.
*****
A short time later, Susan and Carter entered the lounge and found Dr. Romano sitting on the couch reading some memos. Twopper was flopped on her back next to him, looking blissful as he absently rubbed her belly.
"I think she's in love," Carter remarked, grinning.
Susan laughed. Addressing Romano, she commented, "I wasn't even sure you liked dogs. You didn't seem too happy about it the last time she was here."
"Sure I like dogs," he responded, "I like rip-roaring sex too, but I don't want to see it in the ER."
"You mean you haven't yet?" Carter asked, feigning innocence, "Happens all the time."
"I think he means sex between TWO people," Susan clarified.
Romano made a funny grossed-out face and said, "Remind me to have the med students hose off Chairs."
"You have a huge dog, right? Like a mastiff or something?" Carter asked, smiling at the mental image of little Romano with a humungous dog.
"Used to," Romano replied, "She died this past fall." With a wry smile he added, "Have I mentioned that last year really sucked?"
Susan grinned at his joking tone, and at Twopper's attempts to nudge the papers off his lap and replace them with herself. Still, she felt bad about him losing his dog, especially amidst everything else, and she said softly, "I'm sorry."
Romano waved away her sympathy, but, recognizing a fellow dog-person he explained, "Well, it wasn't so bad. I was stuck at home a lot for a few weeks after the, uh, surgery, and then Weaver made me start back with only half-shifts. Gretel probably thought that I was finally spending time with her like she deserved. Her last months were good."
Romano's tone was strangely sentimental. Susan responded in kind, "Oh, I know - that's what they really want, isn't it? I had this old dog when I was in college, and I knew it wouldn't be long before . . . Stop laughing at me, Carter!"
"I'm not laughing," Carter protested, stifling a smirk at Romano and Susan's matching expressions of total canine adoration. "I'm not!"
*****
Greg Pratt arrived at work as Susan was leaving with her puppy. Despite the fact that the tyrannical ER Chief was on, Greg was anticipating a pretty good shift. He had been working the ER long enough, now, that he could predict patient flow on the basis of the weather. Today, the temperature was bitterly cold, and while there wasn't much snow on the ground there was a treacherous layer of ice coating everything. That meant the early morning would be slow, as the hypochondriacs and the little old ladies with multiple medical problems would stay home. Then the MVAs and slip-and-falls would kick in and they'd be hopping by noon. That suited Pratt just fine.
Several hours later, Pratt found his expectations for the day had been accurate. They were busy, but handling it well. Romano was in a meeting, leaving Carter in charge - at least until Kovac arrived at 4:00. The only unusual development was that the Pediatrics unit had been closed to new patients due to mercury contamination. The ambulance drivers were supposed to divert children automatically, but naturally, they didn't. Adult medicine would accept teenagers on a case-by-case basis, but younger kids who needed to be admitted had to be assessed and stabilized in the ER, then shipped off to either Mercy or Northwestern. Because of the icy roads and consequent pile-ups, transporting by air was more efficient than by ground. So the hospital had established a holding area on the floor below the helipad.
As Pratt cleared the names of the patients he was finished with off the board, Carter told him, "We've got another kid to go up for transport. Came in by ambulance. Can you bring her upstairs?"
"What part of 'no kiddies' don't they understand? Sure, I'll go," Pratt replied.
Carter gave him the bullet as they walked to the trauma room. "Eight-year- old female removed from home by Social Services. Evidence of repeated sexual abuse, abrasions and contusions on torso in various stages of healing. We've got the bleeding under control, but she needs inpatient evaluation to determine the full extent of her injuries. Temp 101. Head CT is clear. BP, sats are good." As they approached the room they could hear sounds of a struggle as two orderlies tried to restrain the child. Carter added, "And she's not real happy to be here."
Looking through the trauma room window, Pratt swore furiously, "Fuckin' pervert! She can't talk - makes her a perfect victim . . ."
"You know her?" Carter inquired.
"Yeah, she's been here before," Pratt sighed. "Page Romano. She's one of his."
*****
Robert walked into the holding area. It was a large room, well staffed and well organized, but with supplies and equipment obviously pulled together at the last minute. At the moment there were only three patients there, so it wasn't hard to find the one he was looking for -- especially since she was the only one putting up a fight. He approached Kiesha's gurney as the nurse, aide, and Dr. Pratt, were trying to hold the child in place and start an IV. There was a woman in a suit nearby; Robert assumed she was from Social Services.
Robert addressed Kiesha lightly, "Hey, kiddo. Are you picking on these guys?" He was smiling, but his eyes weren't.
The girl responded by pulling one of her hands free and reaching up for him. Wearing a patient gown instead of her street clothes, she seemed tiny and vulnerable. Robert knew she wanted him to pick her up, but he also knew that she wouldn't let go voluntarily when it was time for her to go. Having to be pried from his arms would only make the trauma worse for her. So, instead of lifting her, he put his hand on her shoulder.
Speaking calmly, he explained, "Here's what's going to happen, Kiesh. In a little while, you'll go for a ride on a helicopter to another hospital. The other hospital is near here, so it won't take long. I just talked to Ms. Anders on the phone, and she's going to meet you there."
Kiesha pointed toward Robert. He replied, "I'll stay with you until they're ready to take you. Then I'll drive over to the other hospital. You'll probably get there first, but I promise I will be there later on."
The girl seemed somewhat mollified, so Robert suggested, "If you let us put a needle in your arm we can give you medicine that will make it hurt less . . ."
Before they could attempt to do so, however, a pair of flight nurses entered the room. Robert recognized one of them as Susan's boyfriend, Chuck. The shaggy nurse smiled affably and said to Kiesha and one of the other patients, "Your ride is ready, ladies."
Robert hadn't planned on accompanying his patient up to the helipad itself, for obvious reasons, but at the moment he found himself unwilling to leave her. So he tagged along, keeping a comforting hand on her shoulder. Pratt came too. Robert didn't want Pratt around to witness any phobic reaction he might have, but the resident seemed genuinely concerned about Kiesha, so he didn't make him leave.
Robert managed to get on the elevator without panicking. 'That's it. Just don't think about it,' he told himself. And then they were there - one floor up, at their destination.
The doors opened before he was ready - as if he could ever be ready for the sight and sound that greeted him. The chopper was sitting there, like a predator waiting for fresh meat, humming with power and malice. As soon as he looked at the spinning blades he was lost, paralyzed by panic. Fear hit him like a blow to the chest and the harsh slashing rhythm of the propeller beat out all chance of rational thought. In his mind he was back there: hearing the sharp *zing* of the rotor as it cut through flesh and bone . . . hurting and falling . . . bleeding and dying. He whimpered softly and prayed for it to all go away.
Robert thought he heard Pratt speak to him, but whatever the other doctor said was drowned out by the din both inside and outside his head. He knew he was trembling, and he felt his hand close spasmodically into a fist. Something moved under his fist, and suddenly he remembered Kiesha. He looked down at his hand and saw that, fortunately, it had closed around the fabric of her gown, not her shoulder itself.
The girl gazed upward and once again reached for him, this time punctuating her gesture with a desperate sounding, "Mmmmmm!" Robert saw terror in her eyes, and was stunned to realize that she might actually be more afraid right now than he was. 'I didn't even think that was possible,' he marveled.
Of course, Robert understood that she wasn't afraid of the helicopter per se - just of something strange and noisy that would take her to a place where people she didn't know would hold her down and touch her and maybe hurt her and they were big and she was little and she couldn't make them stop. Looking into her big brown eyes, he saw all this. And he saw that he could make it better. He could pick her up; he could stay with her. He couldn't erase the hell she had been through or fix her damaged mind, but for right now, he could make her feel safe.
But that goddamn thing out there was standing in his way. The terror Robert felt did not abate, but his rage grew to match it. He was incensed at the infernal machine for destroying his life, for cutting out the one thing that justified his existence on the planet: his skill as a surgeon. And now it wanted to strip him of the last vestiges of that role. It wanted to force him to abandon his patient, to stop being a doctor. He didn't understand why Kiesha had placed her trust in him, but because of this attachment he could help her in a way that others couldn't. But *it* wouldn't let him. It was in his way.
Equal parts fear and fury circled each other like wild dogs vying for dominance. Neither was victorious, but one certainty emerged from the fray: NOTHING stands in Rocket Romano's way. Staring straight at the mechanical monster, he said quietly, "Not even you."
Robert looked back down at Kiesha's pleading face and nodded, "OK." He removed his hand from her shoulder and reached down to lift her. He didn't have to do much of the work; with strength born of adrenaline, she flung her arms tightly around his neck and pulled herself up. Somebody helped wrap a blanket around the girl's back, and Robert tucked his prosthesis awkwardly behind her knees.
Pratt and Chuck were talking at him, but all of Robert's attention was focussed on the child in his arms and the deadly adversary in front of him. He started forward and felt Chuck's hand on his shoulder. He realized that the larger man was walking along with him, placing his body between Robert and the tail rotor. In this manner, undeterred by the icy fingers of panic that gripped him, he headed straight for the belly of the beast.
*****
About an hour later . . .
Robert groaned weakly as he heard the bathroom door open. He was kneeling inside a stall, his lab coat discarded on the floor, vomiting violently into the bowl. After the chopper landed, he'd spoken briefly with Donna Anders, and with the pediatrician who would be treating Kiesha, making sure that the teacher would be permitted to stay with her charge. Then he made a bee-line for the restroom. Up until now he'd had the facility to himself. Overcome by another bout of retching, he thought, 'I could do without an audience.'
When he was able to pause for a breath, a voice outside the stall asked, "Need any help, Dr. Romano?"
Robert rasped, "Go away," before it occurred to him to question who, at Mercy Hospital, would be addressing him by name. Then he put it together - the voice was Chuck's.
Clearly unperturbed by Romano's rude dismissal, Chuck said, "I'll check back in a while to make sure you're still alive. I'm putting up the out-of- service sign so nobody else bothers you."
The door opened and closed, and Robert was alone again. His memories of the last hour were choppy, like an old movie reel, scenes cut across by the shadow of the propeller overhead, sounds distorted, disconnected. He recalled sitting in the helicopter, holding Kiesha on his lap as the nurses put in an IV. He knew he must have been completely useless, from a medical standpoint. But at least he hadn't done anything too embarrassing, like puking in-flight. He shivered as a moment of abject horror came back to him: getting off the chopper and catching sight of the tail rotor. Chuck must have pulled him along.
'Yeah, let's try to remember everything in vivid detail - that'll help,' Robert sneered, as the vomiting progressed into dry heaving. After 10 minutes of that, he was shaking with exhaustion. The pain in his head and stomach were making him dizzy, and the dizziness ratcheted up his anxiety level. He slumped against the side of the stall and closed his eyes.
Robert hadn't heard the door open, so he was startled to hear Chuck's voice announce, "It's me again."
He wasn't as annoyed at the other man's presence as he thought he should be. Right at this moment, feeling shaky and out-of-control, a small part of him wanted company - though, of course, he would never admit it. Having somebody nearby, but not actually within sight, was a good compromise.
Unfortunately, Robert figured that Chuck would either sit there quietly, which would be awkward, or, even worse, would try to engage him in conversation between bouts of retching. Instead, the flight nurse launched into a long meandering story about a road trip across the southwest. Calling it a "story" was generous. It was really more like a series of off- color jokes strung together with surreal transitional events, the kind of narrative that makes much more sense when one is stoned.
Twenty minutes - and some truly bizarre happenings in Arizona and New Mexico - later, the dry heaving had subsided and Romano asked in a lightly mocking tone, "If I come out, will you stop talking?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. I'm just getting to the good part," Chuck replied amicably. His pager buzzed, and he added, "Whoops - you're in luck. Gotta answer a page. I'll be back in a few. I left some stuff for you on the counter." Then he was gone.
Robert managed to rise to his feet, leaning against the wall of the stall as he pushed himself up. Opening the door, he felt insanely grateful when he saw that Chuck had left him a small bottle of Listerine, as well as a set of scrubs. Although his clothes had come through the ordeal surprisingly unsplattered, his shirt felt cold and clammy from perspiration. Also, his trembling muscles were sending false signals to the Utah arm, so that had to go too. Slowly, he took off his shirt and removed his prosthesis, then put on the scrub top. It was a good thing there was a bench in the restroom - he doubted he would have been able to stand up long enough to complete the task.
After resting a few minutes, he retrieved his lab coat from the stall and put it on. As he was rinsing out his mouth with Listerine, Chuck came back. The younger man smiled and said, "Where were we . . ?"
Robert shook his head and laughed softly. "I should go check on my patient. Pedes is this floor, on the other side, right?"
"Yup," Chuck confirmed. Then, appraising Romano he added, "You sure you're OK now?"
"Yeah, fine. Hangover without the fun part," Robert quipped confidently. Afterwards, more awkwardly, he mumbled, "Thanks."
"No problem," the nurse shrugged. As they left the restroom, Chuck found a plastic bag in the maintenance closet and handed it to Robert to hold his shirt and artificial arm. He also put the service sign back in the closet. Chuck's apparent familiarity with the available supplies prompted Robert to joke, "What - do you moonlight as a janitor?"
Chuck smirked and replied, "Nah - Suze and I went through a sex-in-public- restrooms phase." Then, looking embarrassed at the inappropriateness of this comment, he added, "Which, OK, maybe isn't something I should be telling her boss . . ."
"Never mind," Romano reassured him, "I plan on repressing this whole day."
*****
'I'm not going to make it,' Robert thought, as he stared down the corridor toward the Pediatrics unit. Vision too blurry to read the signs on the walls, he confirmed his location by the aggressively cheerful colors that heralded Pedes units everywhere.
When he parted with Chuck outside the restroom, he wasn't feeling too bad - tired and sore, but nothing he couldn't handle. That was before he tried doing something strenuous, like walking. The journey from the restroom to the place he now stood should have taken five minutes. Instead, it took twenty, and left him barely able to stand.
He gripped the railing along the wall and forced himself to move forward, motivated by a strong desire to avoid the humiliation of being found crumpled in the hallway. A cold wave of dizziness made him shiver uncontrollably and reduced his vision to shades of gray as he traversed the last few yards into the unit. One of the first doors he came upon was a visitors' lounge. He stumbled inside and collapsed onto the end of the couch, leaning heavily against the upholstered arm. He was acutely aware of his heart pounding loud and fast as he passed out.
*****
Some time later, Robert felt hands lifting him upright and removing his lab coat. A stethoscope was pressed against his chest; a BP cuff on his arm followed. When they tried shining light into his eyes, he pulled away and told them, "Leave me alone." Only he didn't think it came out as clearly as that, or even as words. But he must have gotten his point across, because they went away and let him sleep.
*****
Later, more hands. These were familiar, and accompanied by an insistent voice:
"Robert, wake up. Can you hear me? Robert!"
He opened his eyes to find that he was lying on the couch onto which he'd fallen, covered by a blanket, with Elizabeth looking down at him and shaking his shoulder. Flinching at the sudden influx of light to his brain, he turned his face away and moaned, ". . . 'm up."
"Good," she smiled, relieved. She proceeded to listen to his heart and take his blood pressure.
"Somebody already did that," he informed her, then added, "Aren't you at the wrong hospital Lizzie?"
"That was an hour ago. I'm checking it again."
"So, what's the verdict?"
"That you're completely mad," she replied, deadpan.
"Wow. You can tell that with a stethoscope? That's it - from now on I'm calling you down for Psych consults."
Suppressing a grin, she asked, "Any chest pain?"
"Some earlier. Just sore now. I didn't have a heart attack, if that's what you're thinking."
"Because, of course, you can depend on the phantom pain to provide you with that telltale tingling down your left arm," Elizabeth shot back sarcastically.
"Seems like the least it could do," Robert grumbled, turning onto his right side and pushing himself up to a sitting position with some difficulty. He felt light-headed, so he leaned forward, propping his elbow on his knee.
"Well, anyway, I concur. You had a panic attack, not a heart attack. Your blood pressure probably spiked and rebounded. You're actually a little low now. How do you feel?"
"Like crap." An awful realization dawned on him, "Oh, God. They didn't call over to County about me, did they?"
"No. Chuck called Susan and Susan paged me. When you didn't reply to my pages, I came here. I still can't believe you did that! What if you hyperventilated on the chopper?" she scolded. Her tone wasn't entirely negative, however. Pride peeked around the edges of her stern-physician front.
He prodded, "Aw, c'mon, admit it - you're impressed."
"If I say 'yes', will that encourage you to do such a foolish thing again?"
"Hell no," he replied cheerfully, leaning back against the back of the couch, "I'm never doing it again. Doesn't matter who forgot their damn watch. Not even if Pratt and Frank dare me. Not even if the building is on fire . . ."
"Actually, if the building were on fire that might justify . . ."
"Hush, Lizzie, I'm on a roll."
The English surgeon giggled. She'd seen Robert like this before, when he was *really* tired after completing double shifts of back-to-back surgeries. First he got grouchy, then punchy, his typically acerbic wit degenerating into silliness. Honestly, it was kind of cute - as was his obvious desire for her approval, thinly masked by sparring banter. She smiled and said softly, "Yes, I'm impressed."
"You should be," he retorted, laughing.
Elizabeth enjoyed seeing her friend in an up-beat mood, though there was a slightly hysterical edge to his laughter and she noticed that he was starting to shiver. She picked up the blanket, which had fallen to the floor earlier when he sat up, and tucked one end of it behind his left shoulder. Then she sat down on his right side, wrapped her left arm through his right, and draped the rest of the blanket over both of them.
Fully expecting Robert to make some smart-ass comment about their position, Elizabeth waited, poised to reply. Instead he just relaxed against her with a nearly imperceptible sigh, letting the warmth and comfort seep into his body.
Author's Note: OK - that was a bit more intense than usual. Do you like? Please don't hate me for killing off Gretel . . .