Chapter 6

Saturday, May 9

Later, Steve would remember it as the last 'normal, everyday' moment before everything went haywire on them (again). Waltzing around the kitchen singing made-up lyrics with a newly-invented melody to an infant wearing only a towel and a diaper (at four in the morning) might veer into the abnormal for most - but for Steve it was a moment he knew enough to cherish, even as he was living it.

Then the phone rang...

Michael walked back through the doors of National Medical without feeling the sense of triumph he'd expected after hammering out such a sweet deal. The majority of the staff had apparently not been apprised of his pending arrival and when they backed away it wasn't out of respect or deference; it was out of fear. How had things gone so wrong? Just over a year ago, he'd been at the pinnacle of his career - respected as a pioneer and a trailblazer, with the good fortune to be entertaining the possibility of winning back the only woman he'd ever allowed himself the time to love. Now, the sight of his own staff averting their eyes and shying away from him brought his new reality slamming home far more brutally than even prison had. This was what he had become now...what he'd made himself into...a monster.

One last time, though, he was still a surgeon.

Mark found Oscar behind Rudy's desk at National, his worry lines deepening into crevices and the veins bulging angrily in his neck. ''Looks like I got here just in time,'' Mark noted.

''I just freed a multiple - and potentially violent - felon. One of my best operatives is about to go under his knife and one of my best friends has to find a way to deal with that. How was your day?'' Oscar snapped. ''I'm sorry,'' he backtracked. ''You didn't deserve that. Steve is with Jaime, while Michael consults with Corinth.''

Mark nodded. ''I know. How are you doing?''

''Don't ask.''

''I just did,'' Mark countered. ''How bad was it - going to see Marchetti? Did he ask for what you'd feared he might?''

''His freedom? Of course - and worse, besides. He wanted his record expunged. All traces gone.''

''Did you...?''

''There was nothing else I could do,'' Oscar said quietly, wishing (again) that the final decision could've been anyone else's. ''Two physicians on the East Coast could've been called in - one from New York or the other from Boston - but...''

''But Jaime doesn't have that kind of time,'' Mark concluded.

''And they both did their research under Marchetti. Up until a year ago, the man was brilliant,'' Oscar marveled. ''Maybe there was just too much on his plate.''

''It takes more than that,'' Mark told him gently. ''But speaking of plates, yours is overflowing...isn't it? You were the one who had to call Steve - and then take him to see Michael.''

''I would've gone to the prison alone,'' Oscar explained. ''I wish I had; Marchetti really turned the screws. I'm...still not sure we did the right thing,'' he admitted.

''Better to let Jaime die?'' Mark asked hypothetically. ''Of course not; you did what you had to do.''

''He's being watched, even though he doesn't realize it. My best teams just became orderlies and housekeepers for the duration of Marchetti's time here. He's lucky; if this were the NSB, agreement or no agreement there'd likely be a sniper outside waiting to pick him off as soon as he'd performed the operation and stepped outside for fresh air. Still, how will Jaime feel when she wakes up and finds the man who raped her - and tried to kill her, more than once - at her bedside, tending to her again? What about...Becca? She needs to be with at least one parent, the parent she has left at this point - but is she safe here, with Marchetti thinking she might be his? And...Rudy. How will Rudy react when he finds out what I gave permission to have happen here - and who I allowed into his hospital?''

Mark had never seen Oscar this close to distraught. ''No wonder you look so weighed down and buried,'' he remarked. ''Let's peel the layers away one at a time, as needed, instead of trying to take a huge bite of a bitter onion. First - where is Rudy? I can't seem to find any information on his condition and he doesn't even appear to be a patient here.''

''Because he isn't,'' Oscar told him. ''He's in the Coronary Care Unit over at Clayton Memorial. Last word was that he's no longer comatose -''

''Well, that's good news.''

Oscar nodded. ''It is...unless he finds out what's going on here at 'his' hospital...his 'baby'. The shock alone might kill him.''

Michael's initial examination of his patient was not encouraging. Jaime could no longer open her eyes or blink them on command; they only flew open (occasionally) in response to external stimuli. She was no longer making even the most basic, primal movements and the only sounds she uttered were low, soft moans of deep pain. Her Glasgow Score - '8' when they'd brought her in - had plummeted to a '5'. Jaime was dying.

Time to work the magic, Michael, he told himself. He only hoped he still could.