A.N. at end : )

Chapter 6

At 5:30, I'm stationed at my desk outside Darius's and Katniss's rooms, aimlessly fiddling with the computer when an icy shiver of dread slithers up my spine. I instinctively glance at Katniss's room; she's there, peacefully devouring her third pudding I've gotten her today and engrossed in the book I brought from home to read at my desk when things were slow. Delly exits Cara's room, her face a mirror of my own unease.

Our eyes lock, and we both pivot towards Darius's room. My heart plummets as I see his heart rate soaring into the 200s and his blood pressure nosediving.

Oh, my God. He's coding.

Darius, as per his family's wishes, is a full code—meaning we are to pull out every stop to save him. And right now, he's teetering on the edge.

"Oh, shit!" I roar, sprinting into the room. Delly, trailing behind me, slams the code blue button with a deafening clang. The wail of the alarm reverberates through the unit, and I can hear the frantic rush of nurses converging on us. Delly yanks the crash cart into the room as I drop the bed to its lowest position and dive into chest compressions. Ryn bursts in, flanked by doctors and nurses, their faces set with grim determination. Ryn immediately starts scribbling furiously as Dr. Thorn commands, "Get epi! Get the pads!"

I slam down on Darius's chest, my arms straining with each desperate push. The sound of ribs cracking under my hands mingles with the frantic shouts of the team. Delly administers meds with precision while other nurses work to keep him breathing. The seconds stretch agonizingly as Dr. Thorn calls for a pulse and rhythm check. The flatline is a gut-wrenching confirmation of our worst fears—Darius is gone.

My chest aches, my arms are leaden, but I refuse to stop. Every push feels like a battle against time and fate. Delly, her face pale and set in determination, pushes medication while another nurse pressure-bags fluids into Darius. I glance at Dr. Thorn, whose face reflects the harsh truth we all fear. This is slipping away from us.

Dr. Thorn's gaze sweeps the room, meeting mine briefly before looking at the empty echo of Darius's chest. "Any ideas?" he asks, his voice heavy with resignation. I, along with the rest of the team, can only shake our heads. Dr. Thorn's shoulders slump as he presses the ultrasound again, confirming the absence of a pulse.

"Let's call it," he says quietly, his voice breaking the silence with an unbearable finality. "Time of death 18:03."

I stare at the hollow indentation left by relentless CPR, feeling the weight of defeat press down on me. The room is silent now, except for the faint hum of the equipment and the subdued sobs from outside. The reality sinks in—despite all our efforts, we couldn't save him. I am left standing in the wreckage, consumed by the crushing knowledge that I couldn't change the outcome.

Everyone filed out of the room, leaving just Delly and me alone with Darius. We stared at him, now at peace, and the silence was heavy with the weight of our shared failure.

"Peeta—" Delly began, her voice barely a whisper.

"Please, don't," I cut her off, the frustration in my voice barely masked. I couldn't look at her. Instead, I turned my gaze to the window, where I saw Katniss clinging to Darius's wife, tears streaming down her face. She had seen everything. She knew Darius. She had witnessed my failure.

Delly and I began the grim task of cleaning up. We removed the tubes, wiped his body down, and smoothed the blanket over him. The room was eerily quiet except for the rustling of our movements. I looked at the mess from the code, my anger bubbling over. I kicked the crash cart with all my might, sending it crashing to the floor. Delly's scream cut through the air as Ryn burst in, her face a mixture of concern and exasperation.

I sank to the floor, burying my face in my hands, tears streaming down my face. I could feel the weight of every missed opportunity, every failed attempt to save Darius. My sobs were ragged, a physical manifestation of my guilt and despair.

Every nurse has that one patient who haunts them, the one whose fate feels like a personal failure. I thought I had been through that, but Darius was different. This was different.

Ryn stood next to me, her presence a quiet comfort as she placed a hand on my shoulder. She told me the family wanted to see Darius one last time. Delly stepped outside to give them space, while Ryn and I cleaned up the cart I kicked over. I opened the door to find Darius's wife waiting, her eyes red and swollen, mirroring my own. My gaze shifted to Katniss, who stood beside her. I quickly looked away, focusing on Darius's wife.

"I—I am so, so sorry," I stammered, my hands trembling from the strain of the prolonged CPR. My voice broke as I tried to explain, but the weight of the situation was too much.

His wife approached me, her hand raised. I flinched, bracing for a slap, but instead, she wrapped her arms around my neck. Her embrace was unexpected, her words soft but heavy with grief. She had known the end was near, had wanted to let go days ago but hadn't been able to. I clung to her, my own tears mixing with hers. I had failed them. I had failed him.

I watched as the little family, now fatherless and husbandless, gathered around Darius's body. They looked at him with a strange sense of peace, and I closed the door behind me, leaning against it as if it could somehow keep the pain out.

"Peeta, what the hell happened?" Ryn's voice was tight with barely contained anger. "I gave you specific orders to monitor that room. We knew he was going, but I hoped it wouldn't end like this, with you breaking his ribs in front of his family!" Her voice cracked with the last words, a mix of frustration and sympathy. She took a deep breath and softened. "I'm sorry, that's not fair. There was no way to prevent this outcome."

I stood there, motionless, staring at the wall, my eyes red-rimmed and full of unshed tears. "I'm sorry," I whispered, the words barely audible.

"Maybe you should go home," Ryn suggested gently. "You don't need to stay now that he's gone. We'll handle the rest."

Ryn and Delly left, leaving me alone with Katniss. She clutched her blanket, her face pale and drawn. She looked like she might collapse, so I gestured toward her room. She moved silently, retreating back into her space, and I followed, closing the door behind me.

I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. Katniss reached out, inviting me to sit with her. I sat down, my heart heavy with the weight of the day.

"Peeta—"

"Don't, right now, Katniss," I said, my voice hollow. "I don't even know what I'm doing here." I say standing up and walking to her door. This is the exact reason things ended this way – me being where I shouldn't be.

"Do you blame me?" she asked, her voice soft but edged with hurt. She had moved so quietly that I hadn't even noticed her standing behind me. The hunter's stealth, a reminder of how closely she watched.

I looked down, then up at her, trying to make sense of my own feelings. Why would I blame her? This wasn't her fault. It was my responsibility to focus on Darius, not on her. The hurt in her eyes was palpable, and she began to walk away.

"No, Katniss, I don't blame you," I admitted, grabbing her arm, the words coming out strained. "I— I honestly blame myself. I was supposed to be focused on him. I shouldn't have been distracted by you."

She stopped and turned to face me. "So, because you were watching me and not him, he died," she said, her voice flat. It stung, but it was deserved.

I couldn't answer her, so I just stared at my feet, unable to find the right words. She nodded, her gaze distant, and the atmosphere between us shifted. She shook her arm from my loose grasp and sank onto her bed, wrapping herself tightly in her blanket, staring at the wall. I wanted to comfort her, to tell her it wasn't her fault, but I couldn't. We both needed to feel this pain. I needed to distance myself from her, and I was secretly relieved that she would soon be discharged from my care.

The next day, Ryn pleaded with me not to stay on, but I couldn't walk away. I was driven by a need for redemption, a chance to atone for my failure. When I was assigned a new patient in Darius's old room, I threw myself into the task, determined to give it everything I had.

Ryn had spoken to me before the shift change, her voice gentle but firm as she instructed me not to go into Katniss's room anymore. I agreed; she was a distraction I couldn't afford. I needed to get back to being myself—the calm, collected Peeta, the unit flirt and helper. Delly had added that last part, her way of keeping me grounded.

As I left the room, I glanced at the assignment sheet, wondering if they had moved Katniss now that she was more stable. They hadn't, so I took Cara's new admission while Delly continued with Katniss and the room next to hers.

Walking into the new patient's room, I was met with the sight of an older man, propped up in bed with a tube in his throat, his body covered in coal dust. The residue from a recent mine blast. My mind flashed to Katniss and her father. I shook the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. I slipped on gloves and set to work.

I carefully washed away the coal dust, suctioned the debris from his throat, checked his vitals, and performed my usual morning assessment. Despite the grim circumstances, he didn't seem too bad. Much of this was precautionary; the black smoke he'd inhaled had been close to the blast's front line, and the extent of his exposure was still being assessed.

After changing his sheets and repositioning him comfortably, I stepped out of the room to wash my hands. Delly was in Katniss's room, though I couldn't see what was happening. The blinds were drawn, and the door was shut. I assumed she was helping Katniss with personal care. But then Delly's head popped out, her eyes scanning the hallway.

"Peeta," she called softly, her gaze darting nervously.

"I'm not going in there, Delly," I said, my voice sharper than I intended, not looking away from the computer. The words felt like a declaration, a barrier against my own turmoil.

"No, can you do me a favor and grab Dr. Thorn for me? Thanks," she responded quickly, disappearing back into Katniss's room.

I made my way to the front desk, where I spotted Dr. Thorn in conversation with Ryn. I eased closer, leaning against the desk, arms crossed over my chest. Ryn was rolling her eyes as Dr. Thorn made some offhand comment about her supposed light workload as charge nurse.

"Yes, Peeta?" Ryn's voice cut through, her tone a mix of relief and mild irritation at the interruption.

"I need—well, Delly needs Dr. Thorn," I said, fiddling with the corner of the desk as if it were the most interesting thing in the room.

Dr. Thorn nodded, heading back toward the rooms with Ryn following closely behind. I decided to leave their business to them and walked toward Cara's room. As I approached, I noticed she was still asleep, later than usual. I crouched by her bed, gently rubbing her shoulder to wake her.

"Cara," I whispered softly, trying to avoid jolting her from sleep. "Hey, sleepyhead. Time to wake up. I've got some things for you, and I need to check your lungs today." Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and she buried her face deeper into the pillow. I chuckled softly and gave her a light tickle under the arm, which finally got a reaction.

"Peeta! Don't do that, I'm tryingggg to sleep!" she protested, her voice muffled by the pillow. I gave her a moment, knowing her morning grumpiness would soon give way to a more awake demeanor. I saw her turn her head slightly, peeking out with one eye. I waved cheerfully, trying to lift the mood.

I handed her the sippy cup she favored—she was well past the age of needing one, but her weakened arms made it the only cup that didn't spill. She took a few gulps, sitting up and stretching one arm high while using the other to hold the cup. I settled on the edge of her bed, a familiar routine. I catered to her morning grumpiness, waiting patiently until she was ready.

Delly used to handle things differently, often doing all the necessary tasks while Cara slept and only bothering her once she was fully awake. Today, though, I felt a selfish need to connect with anyone who wasn't wrapped up in the heavy silence surrounding Katniss. The pitying looks and the unspoken weight of her situation were too much to bear. I needed this small moment of normalcy, a chance to care for someone without the constant reminder of my own failure.

"Peeta, what happened yesterday?" Cara asked, sitting cross-legged in her bed, or as she liked to call it, criss-crossed apple sauce. I took a deep breath, trying to find the words. I couldn't tell her everything—but Cara wasn't unfamiliar with loss.

"Well, yesterday, the person next door to you got really sick all of a sudden. Delly and I had to act fast to try and help him, but sadly, he didn't make it." I kept my eyes down, not wanting her to see the tears threatening to spill. Keep it together, Peeta.

She made a thoughtful noise, accepting my simplified version of events. Cara knew what the code blue sound meant, and even though I spared her the harsher details, I was sure she'd heard the commotion.

"You're like a superhero!" she exclaimed, hopping excitedly in her spot. She grabbed her blue blanket, wrapping it around my neck like a cape. "Now you look like a superhero, too!" She clapped her hands, her face lighting up with joy.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Alright, Cara, superhero Peeta needs to check you out." I started by listening to her lungs, the familiar crackle of fluid still present, though I expected that. I listened to her heart and belly, making a show of blowing warm air on the stethoscope before placing it in different spots, which made her giggle each time. Smiling, I helped her sit up so I could feel her arms and legs. Nothing had changed. That was good news.

"Alright, missy miss, we've got some IV meds, and I also need to give you your Epo shot since you're getting chemo later today. Pick a spot." I tried to keep my tone light as she inspected her arms, legs, and stomach, searching for a place that wasn't already bruised or sore. Finally, she pointed to a spot on the back of her arm.

After wiping it down with an alcohol pad, I let it air dry. Cara, as brave as ever, didn't even flinch when I gave her the injection. I tossed the syringe into the red bin, feeling a pang in my chest. Cara had grown so used to needles that she no longer reacted, while even I still winced at the sight of them.

I administered her morning IV meds and tickled her side on my way out. She was already looking like she might fall back asleep, which was for the best. Chemo days drained her, and when she didn't get enough rest, she'd be sick all night.

As I unwrapped the makeshift superhero cape from my neck and tucked it around her, I kissed her forehead. I didn't have much experience with kids, but Cara made me feel like maybe one day I could be good at this—like one day, I might want a family of my own. For now, though, she filled that space in my heart, and I was content.

I headed toward my desk, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up on me. As I sat down, I couldn't help but notice that Dr. Thorn, Delly, and Ryn were still in Katniss's room. The blinds were slightly lifted, and through the gap, I spotted unfamiliar faces—people I hadn't seen before. I tried to push it all out of my mind, focusing on my work instead.

I pulled up Cara's chart and began updating it, then moved on to the older gentleman I'd been caring for. His history was all too familiar—smoker, drinker, born and raised in the Seam, a mine worker for over 40 years, and now suffering from heart failure. It was a common story around here. The immediate dangers of the mines were well known, but the long-term effects? Those were even more deadly. Nearly everyone who'd spent their life in the mines ended up in a hospital room like this one, battling the inevitable consequences of inhaling coal dust and other debris—cancer, lung disease, heart failure.

Working here, I made mental notes on everything. What to avoid, how to take care of myself to avoid this fate. Don't smoke. Don't drink heavily. Stay out of the mines.

I looked up just in time to see Ryn stepping out of Katniss's room, her face tense and disappointed. She was focused on her tablet, making notes on the patients in the unit, but then her eyes met mine. She opened her mouth, like she was about to say something, but before she could, Dr. Thorn stormed out of the room, brushing past her with a deep scowl. His voice was clipped, irritated, as he muttered something about calling psychiatry.

I raised my eyebrows, feeling the tension in the air. Something wasn't right, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to know what it was. I pursed my lips and glanced back at Ryn, waiting for her to fill me in.

Curiosity is second nature in healthcare, so before I could stop myself, I asked, "Ryn, what's going on with her?" I kept my tone neutral, more curious than concerned—at least, that's what I was aiming for. I had to distance myself. She was just another patient. Treat her like that, Peeta.

Ryn exhaled slowly, glancing back at Katniss's room. "She's not talking. Not moving. Not eating. Again. Something about reverting to a 'mental Avox.'"

I blinked, caught off guard by the term. "That's… tough for her. Hope she pulls through," I said, my voice flat as I leaned forward, forcing my attention back to the computer. Ryn didn't comment on the sudden indifference in my tone. Instead, she nodded and turned to tell Delly to let her know if she needed anything else.

I could hear Delly's muffled "Thanks" from inside the room, but my focus had already shifted. I glanced at the blinds again, catching a glimpse of Katniss sitting upright, her face eerily blank. Her eyes were distant, like she was somewhere else entirely. She was slipping.

A heavy sigh left me as I turned back to my screen. "That's not good…" I muttered to myself. My conscience screamed at me to do something, anything, to help her. But I stayed put, hands on the keyboard, pretending not to listen.

Hiiii. Rough chapter, ammirite. Hate to say this, but it is actually something I have experienced and it really can suck sometimes being in the medical field. This is starting to feel like therapy to get out the events that bother me and put them in my story truthfully. That frustration stays with you for a long time - to think you're doing everything right and then BAM things go to hell in a hand basket. Also, writing about pediatrics (children) is so hard :( I refuse to work with kids simply for the fact that I cannot handle sick kids. Or parents of sick kids who dont care. Its the WORST and it is yet another thing I have experienced in the hospital! yuck!

But yuh, sorry for the angst. Its just so fun. heheheh Plus, last chapter, writing Katniss was a looottt easier with describing her, so now that I'm getting the idea of how to write her complex character from another perspective, ya might see some more.

Please leave a review, like and follow the story! Ty for reading so far 3