Miranda strode through University hospital. After some resistance from hospital staff, she had flashed her Torchwood credentials and demanded to see their chief of surgery. Miranda was an immortal of the Game and she understood how it was played. And that went for any game, the game of interrogating a prisoner or the game of hospital politics.
"Doctor Ryan?" the man said, striding towards her. He looked at her blood matted hair with alarm. "Are you all right? Doctor Dafydd Llewellyn."
"It was superficial," she lied. "My apologies, Doctor Llewellyn, I know you were giving an intern lecture," she said, extending her hand. She didn't bother stroking the man's ego or offering false platitudes. She sized Llewellyn up immediately. He was a true surgeon, a person of action who got down to business.
"I hope that a courtesy extended to Torchwood could be returned in the future," he said, taking the offered hand, shaking it firmly.
"Of course, Doctor Llewellyn. One of our agents was injured earlier, a GSW to the upper right quadrant of the chest. He's in your operating theatre now," she said.
"Do you require access to the theatre? You are a medical doctor?" the man said, waving down the hallway.
"I am, Doctor Llewellyn. I'm licensed to practice medicine in the UK but do not have credentials with the hospital and Doctor Foster was already in surgery by the time I arrived. I've been unable to relay my information. Captain Hart has some uniqueness in his anatomy and physiology that are non-pathologic but can be misinterpreted to possibly disastrous effect," Miranda said nervously.
"Walk with me, Doctor Ryan, and speak quickly," the man said, walking Miranda down the hallway that led to the observation area for the surgical theatre.
"He has an anatomically normal and non-pathologic enlargement of his heart as well as significant bradycardia and hypotension. These unique features are normal for the captain," she said. She prayed that the surgeon operating on Hart hadn't already misinterpreted his low heart rate and low blood pressure.
"I take it both are low enough that a doctor would want to correct them?" Llewellyn asked.
"Yes, but they will be unresponsive," she said as they increased their pace. "Captain Hart's normal body temperature is thirty eight degrees Celsius. He also has anatomic variations to his spleen and liver, also non-pathologic."
"He sounds like a unique individual, Doctor Ryan," the other doctor said, pausing at the observation theatre.
"He is," she said.
"Doctor Ryan, I mean no offence. You seem to care about this man a great deal," Llewellyn said giving her an appraising look. "I'm afraid I need you to wait out here."
"I am Torchwood's physician, Doctor Llewellyn. Captain Hart is under my-" Miranda began hotly.
"I understand, Doctor Ryan," he interrupted, "I will be having Doctor Foster consult with you but I can't allow you to be in direct control of the Captain's care."
Before she could protest, Llewellyn pushed through the door to the observation area and Miranda heard him speaking through the intercom. After a few minutes, Llewellyn emerged from the observation room.
"I've advised Doctor Foster of what you have just told me, Doctor Ryan. It is good that you intervened. The surgery is going well but Doctor Foster was already attempting to correct the bradycardia and the hypotension. Do you know the Captain's normal values?"
"I've seen a resting heart rate from Captain Hart as low as twenty four. I've seen a systolic blood pressure as low as forty," she said.
Llewellyn raised his eyebrows. "Those are dangerously low numbers, Doctor Ryan."
"I know but I assure you, they're normal for the Captain," she said.
"I'll arrange for you to be with your partner in the recovery room and the intensive care unit," Llewellyn said. "I appreciate your professionalism, Doctor Ryan. I know Torchwood has autonomy and you could've gone about this different especially since a loved one is involved."
"I and Torchwood appreciate your understanding, Doctor Llewellyn." she said.
"The procedure will take a few more hours, I believe. You may observe, Doctor Ryan or you can wait. Use the doctor's lounge if you like," he said.
Miranda nodded and took out her mobile said, "The doctor's lounge is fine. I need to speak with my colleagues."
After Llewellyn left her in the doctor's lounge, Miranda sat down in a corner off by herself and used her mobile to call Jack.
"Harkness," he said.
"It's me, Jack."
"How is he?"
"In surgery, which I've been told is going well."
"You're not in there with him?" Jack exclaimed. "You're a surgeon."
"He's having a thoracotomy, Jack. They're inside his chest. I haven't performed a surgery like that in years. I'd go so far as to say I'm no longer qualified. The doctors here are more than capable of taking care of him. I'm consulting on the case. What is the situation at the water plant?"
"We're all fine. Three terrorists are dead, UNIT is doing the xenopsies. The prisoner's in UNIT custody, still being treated."
"Leave off, Jack," Miranda snapped.
"This isn't over, Will," Jack said.
"Yes, sir," she relented. She knew she had gone too far with their prisoner but, in truth, she didn't care. She could have used softer methods but they would have taken time that Hart didn't have. It was possible she'd taken too long already.
"Ianto's putting the cover together. Colonel Ashline wants to meet with us at the Hub. I don't know if we're in the clear yet."
"Can you send Ifan here when he's finished? I'm unarmed. I'll ring when Captain Hart is out of surgery."
Miranda rang off and tossed the mobile on the table in front of her. She buried her face in her hands, glad that the rest of the team was safe and the situation contained. They were all exhausted. Miranda raised her hand to her forehead, it was throbbing slightly. She had forgotten she had received a bullet to the head not more than a few hours ago. It had clipped her skull, just above her ear but the wound had still been fatal. She looked into the locker room attached to the doctor's lounge and decided to take a quick shower.
Once she was clean, she redressed and sat back down on a sofa to wait. She closed her eyes for a moment against the headache and woke when she felt someone touching her shoulder.
"Doctor Ryan?" the woman asked.
"Doctor Foster, my apologies… what time is it?" Miranda said, looking around. Someone had draped her coat over her.
"It's nearly two in the afternoon."
Miranda's eyes widened. She'd fallen asleep and had been asleep for nearly six hours. "Captain Hart's condition?"
"He's in our pulmonary intensive care ward," Foster said. "I'll update you as we walk."