(A/N: The other one is still a work in progress, I'm afraid, and I don't like to post before they're done, so it will be a little bit before that one's ready. But it's coming. Many thanks to all of you who hung in there with me throughout this - I really didn't expect it for a comedy.)
14. Discretion Is the Better Part of Valor
Russell Coopersmith was having a very bad night. He hadn't been able to get a very coherent story from his patient about his scalded foot - something about coffee, but the details had remained vague. Perhaps he had been on stakeout and in one of the fights that had resulted in his black eyes or bumps his coffee had been spilled on his foot. Russell was not able to form a very clear picture of how this would work, but he knew that cops always drank coffee on stakeout, so it was the best explanation he could come up with.
The good news was that the foot only had first degree burns, so he had treated it with burn ointment and wrapped it lightly. Normally, it wouldn't have required any wrapping at all, but a foot required a little extra care to keep it clean.
The bad news was that examination of the foot had brought his attention to a blackening bruise on the patient's hip, which Russell had decided also needed an x-ray, just to be safe. The discovery of an injury he had previously overlooked had sent him into a near-panic, and, fearing what else he might have missed, he had doubled back and examined his patient so rigorously that Steve's blank stare had morphed into a frown of acute longsuffering, before he had finally wrapped a hand over his eyes and simply sagged dispiritedly while Russell did his worst. Russell grimaced at the memory. Well, one of them had felt much better after the examination anyway.
He studied the films clipped to the light board in front of him and sighed. But of course, now here was the worse news.
A police officer had stopped by to talk to Steve between the CT scans and the chest series and Russell had been fascinated to listen to the questioning, though much of the conversation had remained incoherent to him. Probably cop talk, he thought wisely. The other officer had seemed to find his colleague's situation hilarious, something that left Russell shocked and a little repelled, especially when the officer explained that they thought they had found the weapon - an old piece of lumber with a few jagged nails sticking out of the end, now bloodstained. He had gone on to explain cheerfully that they were testing the blood to make sure it matched Steve's, but that they were pretty sure, and would the doctor be needing it for anything, because they really wanted to hang onto it for evidence.
Russell had shaken his head dumbly to indicate that the information was all he needed, puzzled as to how being stabbed with old nails could be even mildly amusing. He had eyed his patient with growing respect. It must be some mysterious police thing.
He shrugged off the memory and turned his gaze hopefully back to the light board, but everything that had shown on the films a few minutes ago was still there. He sighed again. All right. There was no help for it - it had to be done. He'd better just go - do this. He unclipped the x-rays and slipped them into a grey envelope and started back toward the treatment rooms with his feet dragging.
He found his patient stretched out on an examining table with one arm draped over his eyes, a nurse just finishing cleaning out the wound in his side. Russell nodded to her to indicate that she should stay to assist while he did his stitching and took a deep breath to let his patient know he was there.
"So!" he said with forced brightness, "How are we feeling now?"
Steve didn't answer, but he did try to lever himself into sitting position, stopping with a grunt of pain as the movement pulled on his wound.
Russell hurried forward to help him ease himself upright. "Getting up and down is going to be a little tricky for a while," he offered. Then he cleared his throat self-consciously. Better just get this over with. "So, I've had a chance to look at your films…"
Steve just stared at him with a return of that disconcerting blankness. Russell twitched. Maybe he needed to recheck those CT scans. But the results had seemed so clear…"Your head seems to be just fine. No real injury there, just a bump. Er - bumps." Always a good idea to start with the good news first.
Steve made no comment, but his expression clearly stated that he knew that, but that nobody ever listened to him.
Russell shrugged apologetically. "Anyway, that's - that's good. The - um - the chest series - " he gestured with the grey envelope. Come on, Russell - you are the doctor - you are the one in charge. Take control. Be firm. Be strong. "Is - a little - um - less good."
Steve's expression did not budge from it's weary indifference and for a minute Russell wanted to shake him to be sure he was in there. No matter, once he said what he had to say, the lieutenant would doubtless spring to life with a vengeance.
"Not - not very bad - " he stammered on doggedly. "But - um - there seems to be a small nick in the lower lung - very small, mind you - bleeding just a little. It might just clear up all on its own, but to - um - to be safe, we um - " Here it goes! He took another deep breath and finished in a rush, "Weneedtokeepyouovernightforobservation."
There. He had said it. He peered cautiously at his patient, who had his brows pushed together again as though he was trying to sort out the words. "Probably - probably just overnight, you understand…" he babbled hopefully, wishing he could make himself stop talking.
"You want to keep me overnight?" Steve repeated slowly after a minute. His expression remained unchanged.
Russell bit his lip and nodded. He watched as Steve switched his gaze to the hands hanging lifelessly between his knees. He'd either fallen asleep, or he was thinking very deeply. Russell held his breath and waited, his strong arguments all carefully held at the ready, his authoritative words scrupulously marshaled, even a hypodermic secreted nearby with the nurse if the need should arise. He tried to straighten his shoulders and look firm.
Steve reached up and rubbed mindlessly at the back of his head as though just noticing that it hurt there, then looked Russell in the eye for the first time. "Overnight," he repeated. "Tonight."
Russell swallowed. "Just - yes. Tonight. Probably just tonight."
Steve nodded again, as though carefully processing this.
Russell hunched in his lab coat and tensed for the explosion.
"I don't suppose you've got a private room available?"
"A - ?" Russell felt his jaw drop and made every effort to close it. This was so unlike any response he had imagined that he stumbled over himself as he answered, "A - a - I - I'm sure we can - that we have - yes. Yes. We must have."
Steve nodded again, slowly, considering. Russell wondered if this was the moment to hustle him away to the room before he changed his mind, but he hadn't even stitched him up yet. While he was considering his best course of action, Steve continued, "They have televisions, right?"
Televisions. So he was saying he was willing, without any argument, to…? Filled with a rush of giddy relief, Russell burst out, "Oh, yes! They all have televisions - with cable! Telephones, too!"
"No telephone!"
The outburst was so fierce and so at odds with his despondent behavior so far that Russell actually stumbled backward in surprise.
This time his patient was the one to look embarrassed and clear his throat. "Um - " He shrugged a little, giving him an abashed, hopeful smile. "I meant - just seems like a waste - " the smile broadened unconvincingly, wheedling. " - a telephone for just one night?"
Russell's heart swelled with indignation this time. Now, really. This was taking economy too far. A man like Lt. Sloan - that is, Steve - risks his life every day protecting and serving them all and gets beaten up at least three times in one day, and the city can't even pay him well enough to afford a phone in his hospital room? Really, it was shocking. He had half a mind to write a stinging letter to the mayor. He felt a rush of protectiveness for his beleaguered patient. "You don't have to have anything you don't want," he assured him staunchly. "Anything."
Steve looked a little taken aback by his vehemence but nodded. "Ah - thanks." He looked down at his hands again, then back at Russell as though he wanted to ask something else. His ears reddened slightly, but he proffered that same hopeful, brilliant smile.
A little hesitantly he ventured, "And…I don't suppose the kitchen is still open? I'm starved."
0000
Russell felt he had things well in hand again at last. He had been determined to find something for Lt. Sloan to eat, even if it meant sending for take out, but as it turned out, such extreme measures weren't necessary. The kitchen still had a limited number of items available, and promised to send something to Lt. Sloan's room - a private room, which admitting had managed to find for him. After further thought, he had checked to see which nurses had night duty on that floor and had decided that Lucy Chesterton always had a soothing and warm-hearted bedside manner, so he placed a call to ask her to keep an eye on his patient. The city might not take good care of its boys in blue, but he was determined that the same would not be said of Community General - not on his watch, anyway.
Lucy had seemed to know who Lt. Sloan was, and had been decidedly willing and cheerful at the prospect of offering him a little extra special care. Satisfied that he had done his small part to protect the men who kept the city safe, Russell returned to his report, as meticulously detailed as it had been in his fantasies, and was just finishing it when Dr. Jesse Travis swept into the ER, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up, his suit jacket tossed carelessly over one arm.
"Hey!" he gave Russell a friendly clap on one shoulder. "Hear you had a rough night."
Russell was a little flustered to see him and stammered, "It was - it was fine. Everything went - just fine."
Dr. Travis twinkled knowingly. "Oh, come on - I hear you had to treat Steve Sloan. How hard a time did he give you? Did you have to actually use restraints? Sedate him?" He peered over Russell's shoulder at his report.
Russell stiffened a little. Much as he yearned to share a comradely moment with Dr. Travis, he felt sorry for his patient and his obviously undeserved reputation. He was determined to scotch these ridiculous rumors wherever he could. "Lt. Sloan," he said a little reproachfully (not too reproachfully, because Dr. Travis was his supervisor and a bit of a hero of his) "um - I mean, Steve - was a perfect pussycat."
The smile unexpectedly dropped from Dr. Travis' face. His eyes narrowed. "He was," he said flatly.
"That's right." Russell felt more confident now. "He barely made a peep the entire time. I finished stitching him up and he should be settled in his room by now."
"He's staying the night?" Dr. Travis' voice rose sharply. "And you're saying he just went - ?"
Russell hopped backward for the second time that evening at an abrupt change of tone. Really, these people were so - sudden - with their mood swings. "T-that's right," he insisted.
Dr. Travis' eyes jumped from one surface to another, one hand anxiously scrubbing through his hair. "His chart would be at the nurses' station," he said aloud, but obviously to himself. "Where did you say you put him?"
"Um - fourteenth floor. He requested a private room."
"He…?" Dr. Travis stared grimly at him, his expression completely unlike his usual good natured one. "What room number - never mind, I'll ask at the nurses' station." He started for the door at just under a run.
Russell was gaping after him when he turned suddenly and trotted back, aiming a hasty pat at his back. "Good job," he added hurriedly. "We'll talk more later." And then he was gone.
Russell stared, bewildered. Then he started to smile, remembering the feel of the pat on his back.
Just like he had imagined. It really had been a very good night.
TBC
(So, bjp, looks like you're psychic, too - you called this two chapters ago! You guys have really seem me coming a mile away!)