Chapter Text
8:00 A.M.
Dayshift had only begun an hour ago, and the waiting room was a packed, sweaty sauna. The passing of the Fourth of July had everyone in some weird medical situation, and Dr. Langdon made it a challenge to keep an efficient turnover. At the moment, he was tending to a man’s minor firework burns, while his son observed him. It looked much worse under the harsh fluorescent lights. Still miffed at his triage placement by Robby, despite his success yesterday, the doctor spoke little.
“Does it hurt, Dad?”
“Nope.” The father patted his son’s shoulder.
“Anesthetics,” Langdon forced out. “He can’t feel a thing.”
“Weird…”
Curious kid, he thought. Tanner was curious, like that; he looked up to Frank and medicine. He would play doctor with a toy stethoscope, and Abby would always perform as the perfect patient for their son. A sudden aching cold trickled down inside his chest. The worst of times was behind him, yet Langdon couldn’t help but feel like it was chasing, nipping at his heels.
The doctor cleared his throat and focused back on the task at hand, itching for something more.
After finishing up the bandages and giving aftercare instructions, Dana popped her head out of emerg.
“Hey, sweetheart, we are getting killed back here,” she said while smacking gum, nodding for him to come back with her.
Langdon was eager to get back there, but… “But Dr. Robina-”
“Is being petty? Yeah, I know. If he has any shit, just send him my way, alright?” She looked at a nurse working nearby. “You guys got this back here?” The nurse nodded, and Dana left.
Langdon slowly trailed behind her like an eager puppy.
Inside, two newly dropped gurneys rolled in from the ambulance bay. One followed by Whitaker and some newbies. The other had Robby, Dr. Ellis, and Santos, which Langdon pretended not to notice. Nurses, doctors, and patients milled about. Now this is what it was all about: thinking smart and fast and moving even faster than that.
Back at her desk, Dana spoke. “I got another truck coming in hot. It sounded messy. Trauma two is free.”
And off Dr. Langon went, ready for the actual day to start and to not have so much time to think. The ambulance screeched to a halt, and EMTs swung out with a flurry of possible diagnoses.
“Assault?”
“Dog attack?”
“Unresponsive?”
“Drug-induced psychosis?”
“Bleeding out?”
It seemed almost nonsensical until the gurney rolled out. A girl, around Whitaker’s age, writhed as blood soaked her club entry wristband and ripped black dress. There were deep scratches and bites on her neck, arms, and legs.
“Christ. What do you have on this?” Langdon asked, helping to run the bed in.
“Not much. Someone found her in the bushes near a path.”
He eyed her wristband. “Any I.D.?”
“Nada. Just a Jane Doe for now.”
Some nurses, including Jesse, and a readied Mel followed suit.
“Page Garcia!” Langdon yelled at anyone listening.
“What am I even looking at?” Jesse muttered.
The team reached trauma two and moved the girl off the gurney in counts of three.
“They let you back over here.” Mel sounded relieved.
“They couldn’t keep me out for long.” Langdon half-grinned without looking away from his next project. He couldn’t lie that a certain tightness in his posture loosened when she was around, especially lately; however, that effect only let open that crack for more biting weight to flow in.
“Animal attack?”
“Best guess,” he agreed.
A nurse listed off her vitals; the conclusion being weak but present.
“What next?” He asked Mel.
“Cautionary rabies shot,” she started before listing more measures. Nurses moved quickly to meet every task.
Jesse cut up the girl’s dress, showing a myriad of gashes, scratches, and bites.
“O-neg… and a drug screen too,” Langdon added, lifting the patient’s wrist with her club labelled band. “Push forty propofol, then thirty-eight rocuronium for intubation.” He handed the tube to Mel. “You go for it when she’s set.”
“Thank you.” Mel grabbed it with confidence and started the flashlight guide, slowly beginning to intubate with an expert hand. In response to the feeling that shouldn’t have been felt, the Jane Doe’s eyes snapped open. She began to fight Mel to get the tube out whilst wailing bloody murder.
“Dr. Langdon!”
The Jane Doe gargled incomprehensibly, fighting against the tube.
The usually collected resident flinched at the patient’s reaction, nearly ripping the tube out while stepping back.
“Stop! Don’t rip her chords out,” warned Langdon as he went to hold the Jane Doe’s head still. “Did no one medicate? Common people!”
A nurse piped up while struggling to catch the left leg. “We did!”
“Everyone restrain her! Get that tube out, Dr. Langdon,” a husky voice boomed from the front doors — Dr. Robinavitch, followed by Garcia. He slid in beside Langdon to grab the right arm. The latter felt blind-sided rather than relieved by his appearance. The presence of “Mr. Perfect,” his mentor, who had overcome hardship without a crutch, able to enter a room and fix any problem, always weighed on Langdon’s shoulders. Since before he was caught, it always felt like that; now it had only worsened. What went wrong with me?
“Explain,” demanded the attending. He then nodded to Mel to start removing the tube.
Langdon listed everything assumed about the Jane Doe and the lack of propofol effect, all without making eye-contact. “Someone up the damn propofol?” He yelled a little too angrily at the room. “She should be out cold by now.”
Langdon felt Robby lean in slightly. “Some people are relentless.”
“Yeah, and some people give up too easily.”
Garcia chimed in, “and many are idiots.”
There was a panicked rage in the Jane Doe’s glassy eyes that reflected Langdon’s, though hers looked as if they were seeing something else.
“Don’t bite me,” she bemoaned, a little more subdued.
“Not here,” Robby addressed her. “You are at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. We want to help.”
“Oh, fuck off…” she muttered.
And within minutes, the girl went silent.
For an hour, they tried to stabilize the patient. Robby and Langdon worked around Garcia with an uncomfortable familiarity. They spoke little, moving in unison with some mild grumbles sprinkled in. Their Jane Doe’s stats went up and down rapidly until, finally, the bleeding stopped.
Langdon leaned against the wall opposite of the attending. “When can upstairs take her?”
Garcia shrugged. "Take a wild guess. She is stable but weak, and her major pieces didn’t suffer big injuries.”
“So never.”
“Oh, don’t be so pessimistic. Maybe tomorrow. Just make sure the clots keep up.”
“Fine,” he waved people off. Tomorrow… never, it was all the same when he needed to fix his reputation now. “Someone get me an I.D. And Jesse, clean her up and take her to C.T., please.” Robby retreated out of the room, and Langdon's eyes followed the man’s back as he spoke. “If she wakes like before, push midazolam since her drug screen was empty.”
He then escaped with Mel quietly at his side without having to ask. She had that familiar stress-induced, distant look. Langdon wanted to leave it at that and move on. “Hey…” Yet he couldn’t help but turn to one of the few people who had some faith in him. “You okay?”
Mel shook and then nodded her head. “Hmm, yep.”
He looked down to catch her eye, just to make sure. “Think before you move, no matter what. New golden rule.” She gave a thumbs up. “Go take a minute.”
With an awkward smile and pat on the shoulder, Langdon left, rubbing his face and clenching at his shirt.