" ER/Stand part 11"
It wasn't that she was hungry, no. Between her own nerves and the Prozac, her appetite was non existent. She just wanted something to do. She had tried lying down, when Carter had suggested it but it hadn't worked. She had tossed and turned on the soft leather couch for almost an hour. She hadn't been able to find a position that didn't make her hurt. In truth, she was regretting her insistence on not taking anything too strong. Her head hurt badly, and the rest of her wasn't far behind. Her entire body was turning a variation of black and blue. There were a lot of bruises, a lot of suspicious bruises but try as she might, she still didn't remember anything. Nothing at all. The only plus to the Prozac, she mused darkly as she peered into the oven, is that I can't seem to get that upset over it.
She sighed as she poked the loaves of bread. She didn't like how she felt, all fuzzy and detached and disconnected. The bread should be done in an hour, she thought as she carefully straightened up, just in time for dinner. Dinner was roast chicken, mashed potatoes and tossed salad, with a peach pie for desert. She figured that everyone could use a good meal, considering how they had demolished all of the pancakes that morning. Plus, the food was going to go bad if they didn't eat it. The electricity wasn't going to last forever. And cooking made her feel better.
That everyone thought she had mentally destabilized didn't make her feel better. It was humiliating, all the more humiliating because it was true. I went crazy, she thought as she started to set the kitchen table, and I might still be unstable. It was unnerving. She didn't feel crazy, though she knew that was hardly a diagnostic tool. Every real psychotic she'd ever known had never considered themselves crazy. She sighed again.
The door opened. She jumped and spun around, only to see Doug. He was holding several brown paper bags. He grinned at her. " Hi honey bunch. You don't have dinner ready and waiting for me?" He set the bags on the counter and started unpacking. " You're slipping, dear. I expect dinner on the table as soon as I walk through that door."
" Bite me," she muttered as she set out the monogrammed silverware.
" Well I see your mood is being sufficiently altered." Doug chuckled. He started putting things away. She noticed that he had picked up mostly canned goods and boxes and bags of heavily salted snacks. " Here, " he said bruskly as he handed her a small sack. " I know you aren't feeling well. I thought you liked Chips Ahoy cookies so I picked some up for you."
It was, Kerry realized with detached surprise, a surprisingly nice thing for him to do. She didn't think he had meant anything other than his usual disdain for her by his remarks both earlier in the day and just then. It had hurt, more than she ever intended to admit, but she sensed his presentation of snack treats was an apology of sorts. " Thank you, " she said softly.
" You don't look good, Kerry," he said as he walked over to the large double door refrigerator. He withdrew a can of imported beer and cracked it open. He gestured to the bank of stoves. " You haven't been in here screwing around all afternoon have you? You're still tired. I can see it."
" I tried to sleep but I couldn't." She didn't want to get into it with him. She hadn't been able to sleep because she was in pain. She knew that anxiety and insomnia were side effects of Prozac, among many others, but she knew she hadn't had enough for it to be the problem.
" It's probably not the Prozac," Doug said as he poked around the various stoves, evidently no longer interested in putting away his various stores. " You were lucky. In case you haven't taken a look at yourself in a mirror, you're covered in bruises. I examined you yesterday and I was surprised you were able to get out of bed this morning without some morphine." He gestured to the hot stove. " Is that fresh bread?"
" Yes, its fresh bread. Everything here was stale." She felt oddly unsettled by his words. " You examined me? " She didn't remember that either. Again, she found herself wondering if the reason she wasn't quite able to get angry was because of the drug, or if she was just too tired, or if that was just how she felt. She didn't like the eerie second guessing of her feelings. She knew instinctively that the notion of Doug Ross examining her was something she should find creepy, but instead she felt... detached.
He chuckled again. " I asked you, and you agreed. I know you don't want to hear this again, but you were pretty out of it. Don't be so paranoid. I'm a doctor. You were hurt and you weren't acting particularly rational. I got you to lie down on an exam table and I checked you out. Then I gave you some Haldol because you were completely incapable of acting normal without some sleep. I think, in a similar situation, that you'd do the same for me. "
" I guess I owe you one." She limped over to the stove and started to take the loaves of bread out of the oven. Out of all of the people that had survived, it would figure that she would end up indebted to Doug. No wonder I snapped, she mused.
Doug watched with interest as Kerry pulled the hot loaves of bread out of the oven and set them on the counter to cool. She's definitely zonked out of her skull, he decided. He'd done everything but call her names and it had hardly touched her. He didn't like it. It could just be that she's tired, he thought, but if she's still like that after a week, we better cut the dose. It was a little unnerving to push her and not get the obligatory rise. Not just unnerving, but simply wrong.
He sipped his beer as he watched her move around the kitchen. He had always suspected that she had some womanly traits. Being a good cook wasn't necessarily a woman's job, he knew Carol would have chided him for thinking such a thing, but he couldn't help it. It was just how he thought. Women should be able to cook well. His mother could cook and bake like a master. Carol could turn almost anything into a tasty meal. It pleased him in some way to see a woman, even Kerry, bustling around a kitchen preparing a meal. Admit it Doug, he told himself cheerfully, you're just a sexist pig.
" It smells pretty good," he said after a moment. It didn't hurt him to compliment food, he decided. He had no doubt that Kerry was feeling low. He could be nice. He didn't think that the Prozac was letting her feel enough to provoke any sort of wild rage, and he knew he wasn't going to push her buttons. At least not intentionally, he allowed.
" It'll be done in a half hour. " He was surprised to see her limp to the table, leaving her crutch leaning up against the counter. He'd seen her walk without her crutch before, but only at work and never without a hand on a stretcher or a wall. She was carrying plates in her hands, and she limped badly. It made him feel suddenly guilty.
" Do you want some help?" He knew it would irk her a bit but it went against the few manners he possessed to let her do all of the dinner preparations.
She frowned at him. " I'm not helpless, Doug. I've set tables by myself before." After a moment though, her anger seemed to fade away. " I can't reach the water glasses."
" I will get them." Creepy, he thought as he opened the high cabinet doors. She looked ok, and was acting ok, well enough that Kovac would deem her normal, but she was out of it. Ah well, he thought as he set the glasses down onto the counter, we had to do something. Once things get settled, he thought, she'll be all right. She just needs a little time.
And a lower dose. He grabbed her just as she spiralled towards the floor. " Careful..." In seconds he had her seated in one of the chairs with her head between her legs. " You think its the medication or the concussion causing the dizziness?"
" The concussion," was her immediate if muffled response. " It can take weeks for adverse side affects to show up." She raised her head after a long moment and blinked. " It... it's been bothering me a little. The dizziness, I mean."
He wondered if she was being honest. " You do realize that under normal circumstances you'd be in a hospital, right? Maybe you should take it easy."
" Doug, under normal circumstances we wouldn't be caught in the same room together. As for a hospital, " she laughed just a little, " I think we can safely assume it'll be a damn long time before there's even enough people to warrant having a hospital. Things have changed. "
He drew back almost as if she'd slapped his face. For someone who had been acting irrational, she had just coolly and logically stated the bald faced facts, facts he hadn't wanted to think about. It wasn't just that people had died. Things were different. Life had changed in a fundamental way for all of them. She was right, he realized suddenly. Unbidden, images of Carol and Mark came to him. He shook off the unwanted thoughts as he slowly stood. I really want a drink. He'd kept his distance from the heavy liquor all day but suddenly he craved something strong. Not now, he told himself, but definitely later.
He picked up her crutch and set it next to her. " Don't get up unless you have to and stop fooling with dinner. You need to give your body a break. From what Jeanie said, you hardly ate for a week, you didn't sleep, and you're hurt. You're not helping this situation at all by abusing yourself. At the very least, use your damn crutch when you're walking. It might help prevent you from falling."
Her eyes lit up with anger. Through gritted teeth, she growled, " Is that your best medical opinion? Or is that just the beer talking?"
" Go to hell." He stomped out. She can have a fit on the floor for all I care. I need a drink. It wouldn't be long until the sun set, and he needed something. Something to help him sleep. The bad dreams, dreams of a dark faceless man beckoning him with threats, taunts and promises, were starting to get to him. I need a drink, he thought as he walked over to the bar, or else Kerry'll be on the receiving end of her own damn nervous breakdown.
??
It wasn't that she was hungry, no. Between her own nerves and the Prozac, her appetite was non existent. She just wanted something to do. She had tried lying down, when Carter had suggested it but it hadn't worked. She had tossed and turned on the soft leather couch for almost an hour. She hadn't been able to find a position that didn't make her hurt. In truth, she was regretting her insistence on not taking anything too strong. Her head hurt badly, and the rest of her wasn't far behind. Her entire body was turning a variation of black and blue. There were a lot of bruises, a lot of suspicious bruises but try as she might, she still didn't remember anything. Nothing at all. The only plus to the Prozac, she mused darkly as she peered into the oven, is that I can't seem to get that upset over it.
She sighed as she poked the loaves of bread. She didn't like how she felt, all fuzzy and detached and disconnected. The bread should be done in an hour, she thought as she carefully straightened up, just in time for dinner. Dinner was roast chicken, mashed potatoes and tossed salad, with a peach pie for desert. She figured that everyone could use a good meal, considering how they had demolished all of the pancakes that morning. Plus, the food was going to go bad if they didn't eat it. The electricity wasn't going to last forever. And cooking made her feel better.
That everyone thought she had mentally destabilized didn't make her feel better. It was humiliating, all the more humiliating because it was true. I went crazy, she thought as she started to set the kitchen table, and I might still be unstable. It was unnerving. She didn't feel crazy, though she knew that was hardly a diagnostic tool. Every real psychotic she'd ever known had never considered themselves crazy. She sighed again.
The door opened. She jumped and spun around, only to see Doug. He was holding several brown paper bags. He grinned at her. " Hi honey bunch. You don't have dinner ready and waiting for me?" He set the bags on the counter and started unpacking. " You're slipping, dear. I expect dinner on the table as soon as I walk through that door."
" Bite me," she muttered as she set out the monogrammed silverware.
" Well I see your mood is being sufficiently altered." Doug chuckled. He started putting things away. She noticed that he had picked up mostly canned goods and boxes and bags of heavily salted snacks. " Here, " he said bruskly as he handed her a small sack. " I know you aren't feeling well. I thought you liked Chips Ahoy cookies so I picked some up for you."
It was, Kerry realized with detached surprise, a surprisingly nice thing for him to do. She didn't think he had meant anything other than his usual disdain for her by his remarks both earlier in the day and just then. It had hurt, more than she ever intended to admit, but she sensed his presentation of snack treats was an apology of sorts. " Thank you, " she said softly.
" You don't look good, Kerry," he said as he walked over to the large double door refrigerator. He withdrew a can of imported beer and cracked it open. He gestured to the bank of stoves. " You haven't been in here screwing around all afternoon have you? You're still tired. I can see it."
" I tried to sleep but I couldn't." She didn't want to get into it with him. She hadn't been able to sleep because she was in pain. She knew that anxiety and insomnia were side effects of Prozac, among many others, but she knew she hadn't had enough for it to be the problem.
" It's probably not the Prozac," Doug said as he poked around the various stoves, evidently no longer interested in putting away his various stores. " You were lucky. In case you haven't taken a look at yourself in a mirror, you're covered in bruises. I examined you yesterday and I was surprised you were able to get out of bed this morning without some morphine." He gestured to the hot stove. " Is that fresh bread?"
" Yes, its fresh bread. Everything here was stale." She felt oddly unsettled by his words. " You examined me? " She didn't remember that either. Again, she found herself wondering if the reason she wasn't quite able to get angry was because of the drug, or if she was just too tired, or if that was just how she felt. She didn't like the eerie second guessing of her feelings. She knew instinctively that the notion of Doug Ross examining her was something she should find creepy, but instead she felt... detached.
He chuckled again. " I asked you, and you agreed. I know you don't want to hear this again, but you were pretty out of it. Don't be so paranoid. I'm a doctor. You were hurt and you weren't acting particularly rational. I got you to lie down on an exam table and I checked you out. Then I gave you some Haldol because you were completely incapable of acting normal without some sleep. I think, in a similar situation, that you'd do the same for me. "
" I guess I owe you one." She limped over to the stove and started to take the loaves of bread out of the oven. Out of all of the people that had survived, it would figure that she would end up indebted to Doug. No wonder I snapped, she mused.
Doug watched with interest as Kerry pulled the hot loaves of bread out of the oven and set them on the counter to cool. She's definitely zonked out of her skull, he decided. He'd done everything but call her names and it had hardly touched her. He didn't like it. It could just be that she's tired, he thought, but if she's still like that after a week, we better cut the dose. It was a little unnerving to push her and not get the obligatory rise. Not just unnerving, but simply wrong.
He sipped his beer as he watched her move around the kitchen. He had always suspected that she had some womanly traits. Being a good cook wasn't necessarily a woman's job, he knew Carol would have chided him for thinking such a thing, but he couldn't help it. It was just how he thought. Women should be able to cook well. His mother could cook and bake like a master. Carol could turn almost anything into a tasty meal. It pleased him in some way to see a woman, even Kerry, bustling around a kitchen preparing a meal. Admit it Doug, he told himself cheerfully, you're just a sexist pig.
" It smells pretty good," he said after a moment. It didn't hurt him to compliment food, he decided. He had no doubt that Kerry was feeling low. He could be nice. He didn't think that the Prozac was letting her feel enough to provoke any sort of wild rage, and he knew he wasn't going to push her buttons. At least not intentionally, he allowed.
" It'll be done in a half hour. " He was surprised to see her limp to the table, leaving her crutch leaning up against the counter. He'd seen her walk without her crutch before, but only at work and never without a hand on a stretcher or a wall. She was carrying plates in her hands, and she limped badly. It made him feel suddenly guilty.
" Do you want some help?" He knew it would irk her a bit but it went against the few manners he possessed to let her do all of the dinner preparations.
She frowned at him. " I'm not helpless, Doug. I've set tables by myself before." After a moment though, her anger seemed to fade away. " I can't reach the water glasses."
" I will get them." Creepy, he thought as he opened the high cabinet doors. She looked ok, and was acting ok, well enough that Kovac would deem her normal, but she was out of it. Ah well, he thought as he set the glasses down onto the counter, we had to do something. Once things get settled, he thought, she'll be all right. She just needs a little time.
And a lower dose. He grabbed her just as she spiralled towards the floor. " Careful..." In seconds he had her seated in one of the chairs with her head between her legs. " You think its the medication or the concussion causing the dizziness?"
" The concussion," was her immediate if muffled response. " It can take weeks for adverse side affects to show up." She raised her head after a long moment and blinked. " It... it's been bothering me a little. The dizziness, I mean."
He wondered if she was being honest. " You do realize that under normal circumstances you'd be in a hospital, right? Maybe you should take it easy."
" Doug, under normal circumstances we wouldn't be caught in the same room together. As for a hospital, " she laughed just a little, " I think we can safely assume it'll be a damn long time before there's even enough people to warrant having a hospital. Things have changed. "
He drew back almost as if she'd slapped his face. For someone who had been acting irrational, she had just coolly and logically stated the bald faced facts, facts he hadn't wanted to think about. It wasn't just that people had died. Things were different. Life had changed in a fundamental way for all of them. She was right, he realized suddenly. Unbidden, images of Carol and Mark came to him. He shook off the unwanted thoughts as he slowly stood. I really want a drink. He'd kept his distance from the heavy liquor all day but suddenly he craved something strong. Not now, he told himself, but definitely later.
He picked up her crutch and set it next to her. " Don't get up unless you have to and stop fooling with dinner. You need to give your body a break. From what Jeanie said, you hardly ate for a week, you didn't sleep, and you're hurt. You're not helping this situation at all by abusing yourself. At the very least, use your damn crutch when you're walking. It might help prevent you from falling."
Her eyes lit up with anger. Through gritted teeth, she growled, " Is that your best medical opinion? Or is that just the beer talking?"
" Go to hell." He stomped out. She can have a fit on the floor for all I care. I need a drink. It wouldn't be long until the sun set, and he needed something. Something to help him sleep. The bad dreams, dreams of a dark faceless man beckoning him with threats, taunts and promises, were starting to get to him. I need a drink, he thought as he walked over to the bar, or else Kerry'll be on the receiving end of her own damn nervous breakdown.
??