Disclaimer: The Night Shift is property of NBC and all respective cast, crew , and employees. I am not making a profit off this. This is simply for fancition enjoyment.

Summary: What if Topher's surgery had turned out differently? How one moment in time changes everything.

Rating: PG-13

Home

Around the corner and down the hallway, TC paced.

"You keep doing that," Nurse Ramos said, "Ragosa's gonna charge you for prematurely wearing out the tiles."

TC gave a slight chuckle. Finally, he let out a slow breath and walked purposefully towards Topher's room. When he reached the room, Jordan was helping Topher back into bed.

"Oh great," Topher said, "more paparazzi."

TC asked Jordan for a moment alone with Topher and Jordan made a quick exit, lightly touching TC on the arm as she left.

"I'm done being kissed by you," Topher said as he settled back into bed, "... no offense."

"So Jordan told you about what happened?" TC asked.

"Yeah, guess you really should've killed Milo, huh?"

"I am so sorry...I just..." TC started, "wait a minute, what did Jordan tell you?"

"That because you all had to treat Milo, the bleeding in my spine went too far... why?" Topher raised a wary eyebrow at his friend.

TC resumed his pacing and found that he couldn't look his friend in the eyes.

"TC?"

TC let out a breath through his teeth.

"Jordan didn't tell you the whole truth... I'm the reason you're paralyzed." TC confessed in a rush.

"What?"

TC proceeded to explain what Scott has told him.

"The scary thing is..." TC finished softly, "I don't even remember what happened. All I remember is being pushed out of the OR."

A long silence descended in the room as TC looked at the floor and Topher looked away.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am..." TC began, but Topher cut him off.

"Don't be... you want to blame someone? Blame Milo. He's the one who held us hostage. He's the reason I had to wait longer for the second surgery... Hell, he's the one who shot me in the first place."

For a few moments, neither said a word. TC continued to stare at the floor.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" TC asked, finally meeting Topher in the eye.

"Because you are my friend. And this whole situation is messed up enough without us blaming each other."

"Still, I really am sorry."

"Yeah I know, but I told you. There's nothing for your to be sorry for."

"Scott, can we talk for a minute?" Jordan asked as she spotted Scott in the hallway.

Jordan closed the door to a small room behind her before speaking.

"You told TC that it was his fault Topher's paralyzed?"

"You heard about that?"

"You were in front of the nurse's station when you told him. Word travels fast."

"I was just telling the truth." Scott replied matter-of-factly.

Jordan looked up, trying to control her anger, "First of all, we don't know if that's true, and second if all, as head of the ER, it's my job to tell TC what happened, not yours. You also had no right to tell him the way you did."

This time, it was Scott's turn to get angry.

"I had to! He wasn't facing reality. When are you going to stop protecting him? Today it was the outburst in the OR. Which, by the way, isn't the only time he's spaced out. What's it going to be tomorrow? Is he gonna go postal the next time his mind leaves the real world? Who knows? He might come out with guns blazing and shoot people."

Jordan glared back at Scott. Scott had no idea much his last words had hurt.

"That's it," Jordan said, her voice shaking, "we're done. It's obvious you've changed. I can't be with you anymore."

With that, turned on her heel and out the door, leaving a stunned Scott in her wake.

Paul sheepishly followed the nurse as she stepped into Topher's room.

Topher glared down as he saw what the nurse was carrying: a catheter kit.

"I'm sorry," Paul whispered.

Topher's glare softened to a gaze and he slowly looked up.

"It's okay," he said, his voice equally soft.

"Hey," Jordan greeted TC as he gathered medical supplies from the supply room.

"Hey, what're you still doing here?" TC responded, "You should go home."

"I will, I just need to take care of something first." She closed the door behind her.

TC smiled, but his expression turned serious when he saw Jordan's face.

"I saw what happened in the OR."

TC sighed, "Yeah, well that's all over now. I'm fine."

"Unfortunately, that's not for you to decide," Jordan said slowly, "after careful review, I have no choice but to suspend you."

"What?!"

"Pending review by a psychiatrist," Jordan interrupted before TC could speak further, "You'll see a psychologist for six weeks, after which time, if he clears you, you can come back to work."

"Jordan, I just blanked out a bit for a second, you can't... wait a minute... you said 'he.' I'm not going to see Landry?"

Jordan shook her head, "Since you know each other, it would be a conflict of interest. I'm sending you to see Dr. Abrams at Holy Cross."

"You can't be serious. I was just thinking about something else for a moment. And... and..." TC's voice trailed off as his thoughts took over.

"... and in that moment, Topher paid the price." He thought.

TC let out a deep breath.

"Okay," he said, throwing his hands up in defeat, "I'll go."

Topher sighed as physical therapist Mark Greensburg moved to lift him from the passenger seat to the adjacent wheelchair on the ground. Topher waved him off and pulled up the left armrest. With a lot of struggle, he used his hands to maneuver from inside the car to on his wheelchair.

"I have to learn sometime, right?"

Mark stepped back. When Topher was seated, he looked up at Janet, who had driven the three of them to their house.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier," Topher said, "and I'm sorry for this... all of this."

"We'll get through it," Janet assured him with an embrace.

"Daddy!"

The front door opened with a bang and Topher's older daughter, Lynn came running down the lawn. Tears began streaming down her cheeks as he hugged he father.

"It's okay," Topher whispered, "I'm okay, this is just temporary."

Janet caught Topher's words, but didn't say anything.

Lynn looked hard into Topher's eyes, still crying. Topher held his daughter's head with both of his hands.

"Really, I'm fine."

Topher then looked to his right.

"This is Mr. Greensburg," he introduced, "he'll be helping me adjust to my new wheelchair. He'll show me how to get in and out of bed, make dinner, stuff like that. Mr. Greensburg, this is my daughter, Lynn."

"Nice to meet you," Mark said, kneeling down to Lynn's level.

Lynn nodded, "Hi."

Over the next several hours, Mark showed Topher how to perform everyday tasks. From taking a shower, to cooking, to getting dressed, even simply maneuvering in a wheelchair, everything would take at least twice as long and be seemingly ten times more difficult. The corners of the hallways were barely wide enough for Topher to turn, even after a lot of maneuvering. Their heights of their two showers would have to be lowered and the heads would have to be switched out to ones with detachable arms. The kitchen counter was too tall, so a ramp with a platform would have to be built so Topher could reach it from his wheelchair. The crib for the twins would have to be switched out for one with a side that could be lowered so Topher could pick up the twins without having to reach over the railing.

The list of changes went on from there. Although Topher had seen paraplegics as patients, he had no idea how much they struggled just to get through the day.

To make matters worse, Topher and Janet's house was two stories. A chair lift could be built into the wall along the staircase, but that would take time and money. Although the family would take the time, it was money out of their savings account they hadn't planned for. Not that they had planned for any of this to begin with.

"We can have the technician come in two days to start building the chair lift and the ramp," Mark explained.

In the meantime, Topher would be restricted to the first floor.

"Thank you," Topher said as Mark prepared to walk out the door.

"I'll see you next week for your first physical therapy session," Mark replied.

"Do you have time tomorrow?"

"You don't have to rush it. You need some time to rest and adjust."

"There'll be plenty of time to do that when I'm at home," Topher countered, "the sooner I start the sessions, the sooner I can get out of this thing." He looked down the chair he was sitting in.

Mark looked as if he was going to say something, but nodded instead.

"See you tomorrow at 2 pm?"

"I'll be there."

Topher arrived early and scanned the area. The sounds of groaning, straining, and heavy breathing filled the room. Every once in a while, someone would wince and grimace in pain.

"You're new around here, right?"

Topher looked to his left. He had wheeled to the center of the physical therapy room where three sets of parallel bars stood. The person who just spoke was at the middle set. He was an African American male with a muscular physique. He was also in a wheelchair.

"Uh... yeah," Topher looked up. The sound of pain all around him seemed to invade his ears.

"Name's Gabriel, but people call me Gabe." He stuck his hand out.

Topher wheeled closer and shook his hand, "Topher. Nice to meet you, Gabe."

Gabe nodded. Slowly, Gabe lifted himself out of his wheelchair and with his physical therapist's help, stood tall enough to grip the parallel bars. As he struggled to move down the bars, he said, "You know, life kinda sucks sometimes. One stupid car accident and boom... here I am. Guy approaching an intersection fell asleep at the wheel and sideswiped my car. What about you?"

"Got shot." Topher said simply.

"Wow... that really sucks."

Topher chuckled ruefully, "Pretty much."

Gabe looked as if he was going to ask for details, but kept silent instead.

After a few minutes, Gabe's physical therapist told him to take a break and stepped away.

"So this is the torture room, huh?" Topher asked, scanning the room. Every once in a while, the sounds of grimacing and groans was punctured by yells of frustration. Usually over an inability to perform a simple task such as raising an arm or kicking a ball.

"Pretty much." Gabe replied.

"You know," Gabe continued, settling back into his wheelchair and wiping the sweat off his forehead with a towel, "I've been coming here for six weeks and there still hasn't been any progress. Not that I should be surprised. Doctors have told me I have less than a twenty percent chance of walking again."

Topher thought for a moment.

"You know what I've heard?" he said, meeting Gabe in the eyes, "I've heard that doctors give you a lower probability of walking than what's real. You might have a fifty percent chance, but they tell you twenty percent."

"What? Why would they do that?"

"Because the U.S. is a sue-happy country If they give you a higher probability of walking and it ends up you aren't able to, you can sue them for giving you false hope. You can say that you've suffered emotionally from it. That you've wasted your time when you could have returned to work faster in a wheelchair and earned more money sooner."

"You serious?" Gabe raised an eyebrow at Topher.

"It's just what I've heard," Topher shrugged.

At the entrance of the room, Mark entered.

"Guess it's my turn to feel the pain," Topher gestured with his head towards Mark.

Soon, Gabe resumed his therapy at the parallel bars while Topher was given a walker to try to stand with some support.

"Can't I start at the parallel bars?" Topher asked.

"Let's just work our way up to it Topher," Mark smiled, "wish all my patients were as enthusiastic as you."

"Let's just say timeframes and numbers can fluctuate," Topher said, winking at Gabe.

A few weeks later, Topher and Gabe were working at the parallel bars side-by-side. Gabe moved down the bars with renewed strength, sweat dripping off his forehead. Topher worked as well, although his movements were much slower, having just started work on the bars.

Topher glanced at Gabe's and his own feet. None of which moved. It seemed more like they were working their arms than anything else.

"I'm back!" a voice shouted from behind.

A hand patted him on the back.

"TC!" Topher looked to his side.

"I'm cleared to return to work," TC announced proudly, "Scott can say all he wants, but I'm back."

"That's great!" Topher settled back into his wheelchair to slap his friend on the back as well.

"So you're fine?"

"Yeah," TC gave a half smile, "I guess I had to unload some things before I could move on."

The two filled each other in on how they had been doing. Both talked, but did not reveal specific details.

"Well, I should get going," TC said before leaving, "I've got some paperwork to fill out before I start my shift, and I heard..."

He said this next words in a whisper and a twinkle in his eye.

"That Jordan's back on the market."

"Woah," Topher warned, "down boy. It's only been a few weeks since she broke up with Scott. She probably just wants some space from any guy right now."

"Yeah," TC said absentmindedly as he walked away.

Before Topher could resume his physical therapy, Gabe spoke.

"You know that guy? Isn't he a doctor here?"

'Yeah," Topher admitted hesitantly.

"So... what you said about doctors giving us a low probability of waking. That's not just something you heard. That's something you know... right?"

"... yes, again," Topher smiled ruefully.

"Why didn't you tell me you're a doctor here?"

"Well, technically, as a doctor, I wasn't supposed to tell you that... about the statistics thing."

Gabe settled back into his wheelchair and mulled for a moment.

"But you weren't telling me that as a doctor," Gabe pointed out, "you were telling me that as a patient... and as a friend."

Topher shrugged, but didn't say anything. He glanced towards the entrance to the physical therapy room.

"I'll be right back," he said and wheeled towards it.

Dr. Drew Allister stood in the doorway, looking towards the side of the room. Topher followed his gaze. On the east side of the room, Rick, Drew's partner was being fitted for a prosthetic leg.

"I-I don't know what to say," Drew stammered, not taking his gaze off Rick.

"You don't have to say anything," Topher replied, "Just be there with him."

After several moment's hesitation, Drew found the strength to move towards Rick. Topher watched as two set eyes on each other and embraced. With one arm and hand stretched behind Rick's back and the other hand grabbing Rick's hand, Drew silently supported Rick as he tried to stand up for the first time.

After the physical therapy session, instead of going home, Topher headed for the ER.

"Jordan," he greeted the passing doctor.

"Topher, how are you doing?"

Topher shrugged, "Okay, given the circumstances, but I'd be doing better if I were back at work."

Jordan looked back at her colleague and friend.

"I'm going crazy at home., Topher said, "I've gotten so used to working nights, I'm awake while the kids are asleep. And all I do is think about when I can get back to work."

Before Jordan could respond, Topher continued.

"I know that now that I'm in a wheelchair, I won't be at the patient's level while they're on a gurney. I can build a platform so I can roll onto it and treat them."

Topher looked into Jordan's eyes. Jordan thought for a moment.

"Jordan... please."

"Alright," she said, "how about starting next Monday?"

"Great!"

Topher took a deep breath before wheeling into the ER.

"Hey Toph!"

TC turned around towards his friend and put his hand in the air. Topher gave TC a high five.

"Nice to have you back."

Topher smiled.

"Okay, we've got a triple bounce-back in room two and possible OD in room five..."

"I'll take that," Topher said,

Drew looked down beside him and after a glance, handed the chart to Topher.

"How's Rick?"

"Doing as well as can be expected," Drew said, "it'll take some time to get used to the new leg."

"I'm sure he's glad you'll be with him to help him through it."

Drew gave a small smile.

Topher nodded before heading to room five.

In room five, a young man who looked to be in his twenties lay on the gurney. He was semi-conscious and his breathing was shallow. His parents sat beside him.

"Hi," Topher said. The parents turned towards him. Their double-takes and lingering glances did not escape the physician.

"Are you the doctor?"

Topher nodded.

"Dr. Zia," Topher greeted, extending his hand. The father hesitantly shook his hand.

The night before, Topher and TC had dropped off the wooden platforms they had created and placed them in each exam room. Topher grabbed the one in the corner of the room by the leather strap on the side and began dragging it towards the gurney while maneuvering his wheelchair.

"Did you need some help?" the mother asked.

"Nope, thanks."

Once Topher was level with the patient, he began assessing him.

"You a doctor?"

Drew turned around to find a middle aged man speaking to him,

"Yeah, what can I help you with?"

"My son, he's in room five and... uh, I'm not comfortable with the doctor who's with him right now."

"Really? Why?" Drew asked, stepping with the man towards room five.

When Drew entered room five, he glanced at Topher.

"It's okay," the patient's father said to the seated doctor, "Dr... ah..."

He looked back at Drew.

"Allister, but-"

"Dr. Allister," the father smiled down at Topher, "will take over now."

As he said this, Topher shook his head in dismay.

"Actually," Drew said, "Dr. Zia is more than capable of-"

"It's okay," Topher said, "go treat the patient."

"But..."

Topher wheeled away, although not without a sidelong glare at the patient's father.

"I'm never going to walk again, am I?" Topher asked. He had just gotten into bed and was laying on his side.

Topher's first night back at work seemed the longest. Although the rest of Topher's patients allowed him to treat them, almost all questioned his judgment. Comments such as "are you sure?" and "Maybe we should check with another doctor." became common.

"Huh?" Janet was getting dressed for work. Usually, Topher closed the curtains to block the light, but this time he left them open. Daylight spilled into the room.

Janet climbed onto the bed and stroked the side of her husband's face.

"You're not sure about that" she said.

"Actually, I am," Topher replied, "at least now I am. If there was any chance of my walking, I would have done so by now."

"You can't give up. You've seen so many patients overcome odds they should've have."

"No, I have to face reality. Yes, there is a miniscule chance that I might walk, but I also have to prepare myself if that miniscule chance doesn't arise."

"Well, no matter what," Janet said, leaning over Topher to face him, "we're in this together."

A smile spread across Topher's face, "Thanks. Love you."

"Love you too."

It was only when Janet left the room when Topher stopped smiling. No one saw the single tear shed down his face.

To be continued...

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