Chicago Med fic: Mercy (2/10)
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
-o-
By the end of the day, he’s shown Emily everything he can think of and she’s learned just about nothing. Will, on the other hand, has brushed up on all his remedial doctoring skills. Admittedly, there’s a part of him that wonders if this is Ethan and Goodwin’s way of making sure he still knows the fundamentals of medicine, if Emily Novak is a plant just to make sure he doesn’t get too full of himself.
That seems apt, but a little too over the top. He knows Goodwin wants him to get his act together, but her priority is always the hospital. Installing a questionable nurse on staff during a pandemic just to teach Will a lesson isn’t going to be her play.
Which means, Emily’s legit.
And she’s legitimately a problem.
Normally, he’d let it go. Nurses aren’t in his purview, and he’s got exactly no leadership roles right now. He’s here to follow orders and save lives, not exactly in that order, but you had to see how it went sometimes.
That said, Ethan has charged Emily’s integration into his care. If Will’s going to fulfill his word to Ethan, then he’s going to have to give Emily a little bit more training. He can’t turn her out like this. Any other doctor on service is going to have a hell of a time coping with her, so Will’s got to her up to speed -- now.
At the end of the day, he draws her aside and asks her how she thought today went.
To his dismay, she seems pleased. “Good, I think!” she says. “Busy, but I love how many patients there are to help.”
Will nods, trying not to let his concern show. “I’m glad it felt pretty good,” he says. He bites his lip and makes the difficult transition. “Although, I do have a few pointers for you. Just as you go into day two.”
She blinks at him, her doe eyes almost perfectly trained to make him feel uncomfortable. “Oh? Did it not go well for you?”
“It’s not that,” he says quickly. He shakes his head. “Just some tips. You know. A little feedback to help you get your bearings.”
She looks concerned, and Will worries for a second about what he’s doing. What if she complains? What if he’s out of line?
But what if she goes on like this? What if she works with Ethan tomorrow and doesn’t start his IVs?
He exhales heavily. “It’s just -- we all struggle with it -- balancing patient care with the medicine,” he says. “And you’re great with patients. I can see how much you invest in them, but at Med, we do expect our nurses to stay a little more active. You know, participate more in the treatment, especially if we’re running a trauma.”
He says this because they only worked on minor traumas today, and when he thinks of her approach in the middle of a GSW or massive MI, it makes him inherently anxious. A patient might be coding while she strokes their head and tells them it’s okay.
“Like you said, it’s fast paced here,” he tries to reason for her. “And I think maybe you can focus on keeping up a little more.”
People respond to criticism in lots of ways. Some people are hurt. Others are offended. There are those who like to argue every last point with you.
But something hardens in her expression. Something solidifies, and even as she smiles, Will senses the edge to her words. “Oh, I’m sorry. But I did tell you. Patient care is my thing.”
If she thinks she can get away with that, then Will should tell her about clinical trials and see how that conversation goes for a bit. “Sure,” he says as diplomatically as he can. “But they need actual care here. Sometimes the situation is acute, and every second counts. If we delay actual care in stead of emotional care, then we could be compromising their health. We have to do the basics is all.”
The look she gives him is quizzical, but in a practiced sort of way. This is something she’s thought about. Will’s touched on a matter of principle for her.
He knows from experience such things are deeply ingrained.
And, more problematically, not always rational.
“You mean blood work is more important than getting to know them?” she asks, framing the question that way as if to make her point self evident.
She’s not the only self righteous person here, though. Will’s just learned the hard way to keep it in check. She, it seems, has not.
It makes him respect her a little.
It annoys him even more.
“Not more important,” he reasons, keeping his response wholly rational for her sake. “But it is part of the job description.”
She nods, but there’s little sense of compliance. Instead, she seems annoyed right back. “It’s the system,” she says, as though she is agreeing with him. She leans forward, a little conspiratorial, apparently oblivious to what he’s actually trying to tell her. “I imagine you hate working in it as much as I do. But you can’t change it unless you’re in it.”
“I guess,” Will says. That’s clearly not what he’s trying to say, but she sounds so steadfast that he is reluctant to openly contradict her. He’s supposed to be learning self control these days. It’s time to show he can toe the line. Any line. All lines. “But right now, I’m just keeping to the status quo.”
She looks surprised. She’s missed all the rest, but this is the part she’s picking up on. “You didn’t strike me as a strict rules guy.”
Somehow, she’s managed to insult him on every level. Both for his failures and for his attempts at reform. He’s pretty sure it’s not intentional. He’s also pretty sure it doesn’t matter.
“These days, it’s how it has to be,” he says with a stiff shrug. He inclines his head. “So next time we’re on a case, just follow my lead a little more.”
She smiles. It looks sweet enough, but Will feels uneasy. “Sure thing, Dr. Halstead,” she says, her voice almost a little sing-songy.
That’s all there is, really, but the matter doesn’t feel settled. He doesn’t feel settled.
Emily is still smiling.
And Will finally smiles back.
Watching her go, somehow he manages to feel less optimistic about Emily Novak than he did before.
-o-
Sharon has a full day. There are two departmental reviews for cardiology and endocrinology, and she’s managed to score a meeting with the Kender Pharma rep to discuss the mending of fences for both their mutual interests. She’s also got to meet a donor for coffee just because, and Peter is stopping by to do a three-way meeting with one of the labor and delivery techs who was somehow injured in the line of duty. How is still not clear, and it will be interesting to see what part makes Peter more squeamish: the nature of the injury or the amount of money being requested to settle.
She has just enough time between meetings to stop by her office and refresh herself, and that is her intent. But when she arrives, her assistant winces.
Sharon sighs. “Again? Really?”
She nods. “Sorry. I tried to tell her you weren’t expected back.”
Sharon makes a face and glances through the window where Gwen is already waiting for her. Her day hasn’t been good so far, but it’s also not been particularly bad. She’s got no desire to change that, but this job, as she knows from ample experience, isn’t about her desires.
It’s the greater good, right?
The long hours, the politics of it all, the legalities and all the rest. Even the rogue doctors who steal trial meds.
Even the damn board presidents who seem dead set on ruining everything.
Sharon has to keep the big picture in mind, and tolerate the unfortunate corner that includes Gwen. Gwen likes to think she’s tough as nails.
That’s fine.
Sharon knows she’s tougher.
She nods at her assistant. “Hold my calls,” she says with an air of confidence she almost believes herself. “This won’t take long.”
-o-
Truth be told, Sharon has no idea what Gwen wants. Gwen always wants something, and it’s usually something Sharon isn’t keen to offer up. There are budgetary considerations. There are political postures. There are legal issues. It really does run the gamut.
And Gwen’s wants are not inherently bad.
Most of the time, they’re inherently annoying, but Sharon is a professional, and she knows how to keep things above the belt. She has to keep her eye on the prize, so to speak, and not everything on Gwen’s wishlist is going to be something that makes the little hairs rise up on the back of Sharon’s neck.
Not everything.
Who knows? Maybe Sharon will be lucky today.
Bustling in, Sharon is all smiles. “Gwen!” she says with a forced enthusiasm that neither of them are dumb enough to believe. “This is a surprise.”
Gwen turns but doesn’t bother getting up. Her expression is cool, but it’s not cold, and Sharon’s not entirely sure what that means. It makes no difference, however. Sharon will remain the resolute professional that she’s always been.
“Sharon,” Gwen says, inclining her head in the facsimile of respect.
They both play their parts, and they both play their parts well.
Moving around to her side of the desk, Sharon sits down and adjusts her jacket. She arranges her smile and meets Gwen’s eyes. “What can I do for you this morning?”
She’s being chipper almost. Kill them with kindness, she likes to think. Not that she wants Gwen dead, but if she could happen to go far, far away, Sharon would have exactly zero complaints.
That feeling, Sharon knows, is mutual.
“I should think we’re both doing well,” Gwen says, crossing her legs from one side to another. She smiles brilliantly. “Now that our ED is one step closer to full capacity.”
This is a reference to something, Sharon knows, but she’s been thinking about cardiac monitors and thyroid exams all morning. “Oh?” she asks, hedging her bets and buying her time.
Gwen seems to struggle for patience, even as she folds her fingers primly in her lap and smiles some more. “Tell me how Emily is doing?”
Sharon’s got Evan Larson on the mind for the legal matter in labor and delivery, and she’s not got a meeting with anyone named Emily this week. “Emily?”
That struggle is one that Gwen seems to be losing. Her smile fades somewhat. “Emily Novak?”
The name is familiar, but Sharon manages an entire hospital staff and maintains copious connections throughout the community. She could know five people named Emily Novak.
By this point, Gwen seems genuinely put out by this. “The new nurse in your ED,” she clarifies, a little more terse now.
That makes sense.
Except, it doesn’t.
As the head of the board, Gwen’s position is up there. For her to be stopping by, making chitchat about a new nurse is rather peculiar. Very peculiar.
And telling.
Curiously, Sharon decides to engage the topic with more energy.
Not because she cares that much about Emily Novak, but she does care about why Gwen cares.
“It seems to be working out okay, based on feedback from my charge nurse and the ED chief,” she says, although this report is mostly based on a lack of specific feedback rather than anything else. No one has said Emily’s a problem, which is why Sharon can safely assume she’s not. “But it is still early. There’s alway sa learning curve for new nurses, especially in a place like the ED.”
Now, it seems like she’s trolling Gwen a little bit, but she’s also being honest. New hires are always in a precarious position, and the ED is the most volatile new environment of them all. Some nurses thrive there; others fold fast and hard. She generally prefers to work only with nurses with ample ED experience, because the washout rate otherwise tends to be too pronounced.
Not having met Ms. Novak -- and having only the barest knowledge of her work history -- she’s got no way of knowing if she’s going to be a good long term fit, even if she is filling a head count for now. Real productivity value will be measured down the line, and with only a week of experience under her belt, there’s no way to safely give Gwen the glowing report she so clearly craves.
Also, she may be trolling Gwen -- just a little.
Gwen knows it, too. What’s so great about it is that both of them are far too hemmed up in their professional expectations to openly play the part of the bitch. “And I assume you’re providing her with the best support,” Gwen says.
It’s a fair volley, but Sharon smiles as sweet as she can. “I provide the best support to all my staff. A matter of policy, you know.”
The answer does not impress Gwen. She sits back with increasingly cool regard. “I’m sure you understand what I mean.”
“I’m sure I do,” Sharon says. She goes ahead and shrugs. “Though you are taking an interest in this girl, which seems unusual.”
“I’m concerned about all aspects of this hospital,” Gwen tells her, not missing a beat. “It is my job.”
“But your job is expansive,” Sharon says. “What is it about this ED nurse?”
Gwen narrows her eyes. “And why do you care?”
“I don’t,” Sharon says. “But if you want me to keep pulling out extra stops for her, I’d like to know why.”
“My support and approval mean nothing?” Gwen asks with false meandering.
Sharon smiles all the same.
Gwen finally rolls her eyes and sits forward somewhat. “Her success is just of notable concern to one of our donors.”
Sharon raised her eyebrows. “The one who recommended her?”
“Yes,” Gwen says. “More specifically, the donor’s son. The donor passed away a short time ago, which is how Ms. Novak came to be unemployed. The donor’s son expressed interest in ensuring a smooth career transition for Ms. Novak as thanks for her tireless devotion to his father. To make sure such a transition is possible, he’s been quite generous with his father’s assets.”
Sharon nods. She’s not surprised, particularly. Maybe a little surprised that Gwen owned to it. There’s something respectable about that, though. Sharon appreciates when people don’t hide just how scrupulous they are. It makes things easier.
Because Sharon can handle scruples.
She just has no patience for duplicity.
Or stupidity for that matter.
“Is any of that a problem?” Gwen asks, arching her eyebrow expectantly.
Sharon shrugs, making a face. “No problem at all,” she says. “As long as Ms. Novak is a productive, hard working member of the ED, then there are no problems at all.”
“Good,” Gwen says, getting to her feet.
“But,” Sharon says. Gwen turns back, her brow dark. “I do hope you did your due diligence with the vetting. I never did see that background check.”
“I’ve done everything I need to do,” she replies tersely. She inclines her head once more, but there’s something dangerous in her insinuation now. “I suggest you do the same.”
With that, she stalks out. She waits until the door is closed and she hears the sound of Gwen’s heels on the tile outside. Then, she mutters a few choice words about what she really thinks, and gets back to work.
Emily Novak, her ass.
Ms. Novak’s success is not her concern today.
Neither, she tells herself as she busies herself with her next task, is her possible failure.
In fact, Sharon would prefer not to think about Emily Novak at all.
-o-
Unfortunately, Will does not have the same luxury. In fact, over the last week, Emily Novak was all he could think about. At first, he’d tried to get to know her. He’d worked on mentoring her a little.
Now, a week in, he finds he just dreads seeing her each morning.
Ethan had only asked him to show her the ropes, but Will’s shown her the ropes. He’s shown them to her time and again, and she seems intent on ignoring that they exist. It’s not fair to call her incompetent -- she knows medicine very well -- but there’s just something off about her. It’s like the knowledge isn’t being applied.
Like she doesn’t know she’s supposed to apply it.
Or, possibly, that she doesn’t want to.
And again, that’s not laziness. Every criticism he can find has to be couched in the strangest ways. She’s always busy doing something, but it’s just never the thing Will needs her to be doing.
This is a problem on many levels.
First, because he told Ethan he’d take care of it. He’s supposed to get Emily into working order, and she’s not even close. If he goes to Ethan and admits his failure, it’s not going to look good for him, and it certainly won’t prove to Ethan or Goodwin that he’s ready to be off probation.
Second, he’s getting nothing done. He’s trying to maintain his normal case load without any actual support. During busy traumas, there’s at least a full team on hand. When it’s just him and Emily, however, Will has to be doctor and nurse, and he’s running behind.
And he’s exhausted. He’s working late, arriving early. And every time he thinks he might have a reprieve, he turns around and there she is.
She never sets up an IV or takes a real history, but she’s always in the patient room before her. He’s chased down nurses before, and he usually finds Doris with her phone, stealing a quick snack. Emily? He’s learned to track Emily down to their latest admit, chit chatting about gardening or what to buy the grandkids for Christmas.
The more he tells her about policy and procedure, the more she winks at him like it’s their little secret. Like he’s in on the joke.
Except he’s not sure what the punchline is.
Somehow, he feels like it’s him.
-o-
He is doing the best he can, going along with things, until his patient in 5 starts to code. This is unexpected -- Will has been more worried about his GSW in 2. He’s been trying to track down a bed in cardio to transfer his MI up. The guy had clearly had a minor MI, but he was stable and a prime candidate for surgery. He’d talked to Latham and things were on track to schedule the procedure for later today.
Rushing toward the commotion, Will finds that the code is blaring but the room is surprisingly empty. The patient is down on the bed, and Emily’s the only one there, fingers at his neck, checking his pulse.
He looks at her, and she looks back.
He looks at the patient, stunned.
“No pulse,” Emily says simply, and she steps back.
Just as Will moves forward. “Then we need to run the code,” he barks, getting himself up high enough to start compressions. He presses down fast and hard, looking to Emily in confusion. “The code. I know you can run a code. We did it just this morning.”
Emily blinks back at him, arms still lax at her sides. “But he’s gone.”
Will bites down hard, almost locking his jaw. “Emily!” he barks. “I need you to get some epi! How long has he been down?”
“Dr. Halstead,” she says. “He’s gone.”
Her voice is imbued with sympathy, so sincere that it’s jarring. Not because medical professionals don’t feel bad for their patients.
But because, Will remembers with sudden clarity, the code’s not done.
Will hasn’t even run it.
This guy, this man under Will’s care, isn’t dead yet. There’s a whole checklist -- a whole damn procedure -- that Will can use before he has to call time of death, and he doesn’t want to call it. Not for a guy who should be going home in a few days. Not for a guy with a lot of life left to live.
In this sense, medicine is easy. Sure, the body is complicated. Of course, drugs have strange and varied reactions. All these years in, Will is still learning, and he suspects he always will be.
But at its core, at its foundation, medicine is just the fulfillment of the most basic human principle. The desire to save lives.
That’s all it is.
That’s all it has to be.
Will’s bad with a lot of the ethical pandering, but he’s never -- ever -- been bad at that.
With Emily standing idle, Will does it himself. He grabs the epi and fills the syringe. He wishes he could be ventilating during this process, but he’s got to get the heart started again. He inject the epi quickly, stepping up to start up the compressions while the drugs take effect.
He looks to Emily, face rigid. She stares back at him, wide-eyed and blank.
“Can you bag him?” he asks, voice short. “Emily, can you bag him!”
She startles, and she looks down. She picks up the bag and mask, looking a little confused.
Will doesn’t have time for this. He pauses compressions, glancing at the monitor. “V-fib,” he mutters to himself as he reaches for the paddles. “200. Clear!”
He glances at Emily, who is still standing with the bag in her hands. She’s not touching the patient.
Will presses the paddles to the patient’s chest, releasing the charge. The patient responds, a jerking motion, but Will’s eyes are on the monitor.
“Sinus rhythm,” he says, with a wave of relief. He presses his fingers to the pulse point just to be sure, watching as the other vitals start to come back. Blood pressure, oxygenation -- all of it. “He’s back.”
He steps back, still half trembling from the flood of adrenaline.
“He’s back,” he repeats, letting the finality of it be some comfort to him.
Some comfort.
But he looks up once more.
He locks eyes with Emily. “We need to talk,” he tells her. “We need to talk now.”
-o-
He takes her in the hall, pausing only to send in another nurse and a resident for follow up care. The patient needs to be monitored, and they need to run another full set of labs and arrange for a neuro and cardio consult. They may have to admit him into the ICU, but Will wants to see how he stabilizes over the next few minutes.
But he can’t deal with that.
Not until he deals with this.
He has the presence of mind to pull Emily into another room, but that’s the most his patience can be stressed. She turns to look at him, that same wide-eyed nonsense, and he can barely keep himself in check. He breathes for a second, holding the air in his lungs before he lets it out.
“Do you want to tell me what you were doing?” he demands finally.
Because he’s treaded lightly. He’s played nice. He’s taken this slow.
But this is too much.
It’s too much.
To make matters worse, she looks at him, bewildered. “What do you mean?”
“Back there, when we ran the code,” he says, shaking his head as his adrenaline continues to scatter his thoughts. “You weren’t even going to try.”
She blinks now, somehow surprised. “I watched him die,” she says slowly. “I thought--”
“Emily, you called a code. You run the code,” he says, a little firmer than he intends. His voice is shaking, he’s so emotional from this. “We have procedures--”
“For death?” she asks, eyebrows up. “Doesn’t that seem ludicrous.”
“It seems necessary,” he says. “We can’t go around playing God. We can’t make decisions about life and death on our terms -- because we’ll screw it up. Trust me, Emily. I know what I’m talking about. You can’t cut corners like this. You can’t, not if you want to stay employed at Med.”
He’s appealing to her from experience. He’s appealing to her as a colleague. He’s appealing to her as a professional.
Really, he’s just appealing to her in his absolute desperation. He’s a doctor to save lives. He’s been confused about a lot of other things, but he’s never been confused about that.
Slowly, tentatively, she studies his expression. Then, finally, she nods. “Yes, I can see what you’re saying,” she says, but her voice is vague, somehow. “I do want to keep my job at Med.”
“Then you have to be more active,” Will says, hoping to drive this point home. “We’re here to save lives, aren’t we?”
She looks at him, head tilted. “Yes,” she agrees. “We are here to save lives.”
It’s an agreement, and it’s an acknowledgement, and Will’s gotten what he asked for.
But, as he watches her go, it feels like he’s further away from understanding Emily Novak than before.
-o-
He needs a minute to collect himself.
Actually, he needs more than a minute, but he works in a busy, understaffed ED, so a minute is about all he’s going to get. He’s about to head back into the patient’s room to run some of the follow up care himself when Ethan pops in.
He looks concerned.
“Everything okay?”
That’s the kind of thing people ask each other, and it doesn’t really work anywhere. It works even less in an ED. The kind of place where okay is the most relative kind of word there is.
Will shakes his head, remember just now to breathe again. “Not really,” he admits. “Just ran a code.”
“We run codes all the time,” Ethan says. “Why were you chewing out Emily?”
Will frowns. He’d been going for discreet in his interaction with Emily. Apparently, with his stress levels so high, he hadn’t been discreet enough.
There are a thousand lies to tell. He has plenty of excuses. He can downplay this if he wants, and certainly, he’s done that for Emily every step of the way so far.
But this time, a patient nearly died. He can’t soft peddle this.
If Emily’s not cut out for the ED, then Will has a responsibility to come clean to Ethan, no matter how inept it makes him look.
“I don’t know if she’s really the right fit for the ED,” he says finally, helplessly. “I’ve tried working with her. I’ve spent a lot of time coaching her, but I don’t think she’s cut out for this.”
At the confession, Ethan steps into the room and lets the door close behind him. His face is couched with concern. “You haven’t said anything so far.”
“Because I thought it was growing pains, getting acclimated, whatever,” Will says, and he shakes his head. “But it’s more than that.”
This clearly isn’t what Ethan wants to talk about. He draws his brows together and takes a breath. “Is this about the code?”
“Yes,” Will says, almost indignant at it all. Not at Ethan, but at the situation. The unbelievable situation. “She called that code, you know.”
“Nurses call codes all the time,” Ethan reminds him.
But he’s missing the point. “Sure, and then they help run them,” Will says tautly. “She just stood there. She didn’t do compressions. She didn’t ventilate. She didn’t run the drugs for me.”
“Maybe she was shocked--”
“She stood there and told me about how the patient was already gone,” Will says flatly. “She was able to stand there and rationalize death -- but she wouldn’t lift a single finger to help save the life. Which is her job, by the way. All our jobs, even though sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.”
His emotions are still running high; he’s saying too much. He knows it, but he’s held his tongue long enough. He can’t sit this one out.
“But Emily’s new,” Ethan says, and it feels like a well-worn and overused refrain now. “We have to have a little leeway.”
“I’ve given her a little leeway,” Will tells him. “I’ve given her space, support, training -- you name it. I’ve done everything I can to help her make the transition, but it’s not clicking. She probably is great at long term care or home health care, but an ED? This isn’t the right place for her. Not at all.”
The overlay of sympathy seems to drain a little from Ethan’s face. “If we had the luxury of being picky, maybe,” he says. “But we’re still understaffed as it is. She is literally the only qualified candidate we’ve been able to bring in for months. We need her.”
“I know we’re strapped thin -- I’ve been pulling more than my share of overtime to prove it,” Will argues. “But we’re better off a nurse down than staffing with a nurse that is unreliable. Or worse, dangerous.”
Ethan gives Will a look. “Now she’s dangerous?”
“She was going to let the patient die, Ethan.”
“What exactly do you think is wrong with her?” Ethan asks for clarity.
It’s not an unfair question, but it still gives Will pause. “I don’t know exactly,” he says. “I’ve been trying to put my finger on it for weeks now. There’s just something not quite right.”
Ethan, who has tried to be patient as well, has a shorter fuse than Will this time. His face hardens somewhat and he shakes his head. “Will, that’s not an answer. That’s nothing I can work with.”
Will can only sigh. His shoulders fall. “I know,” he says. “But she didn’t even help me run the code, Ethan. What kind of nurse stands there and does nothing while a patient dies? While they suffer?”
He’s making an appeal now, but he hasn’t got enough credibility to pull it off. “So figure it out,” is what Ethan says. “I want to trust your judgment, Will. So, give me something I can trust.”
Will wants to save lives, see, but it’s a responsibility. It’s a huge responsibility, and he’s been careless with it before, and this is the result.
Probation.
A doctor with everything to prove.
And an ED nurse.
Whose success and failure has suddenly become his own.
-o-
Will finishes his day. It’s long, it’s stressful, it’s exhausting. In short, every second of it is horrible. He’s not inclined to let Emily off of any proverbial hook, but cutting her loose isn’t an option. She needs more time, more attention, more support.
Did Will mention how horrible it is?
At day’s end, she apologizes for her performance. She says she’ll try harder.
She doesn’t say it won’t happen again.
And then she smiles at him.
Long, lingering, and sweet.
She smiles, and Will leaves the hospital that night feeling worse than ever.
-o-
Most nights, Will works late. He’s taken to being the last one on the day shift to clock out, and he’s used to spending the extra time making sure his reports and charts are absolutely impeccable. However, the thought of going through charts today is more than he can handle. Besides, as it turns out, he has plans.
It’s Thursday night, after all. He and Jay have a long standing tradition fall to watch Thursday Night Football. Will’s neglected it more than he’s adhered to it this year, but given the way today has gone, some football might be just the distraction he needs.
Or at least it’s a distraction
Will knows well enough that, as a beggar, he doesn’t get to be a chooser.
Still, when Jay lets him inside, Will immediately sees the flaw with his plan. For all that Will has taken time to show up, there’s nothing to be done for his downtrodden demeanor. Jay notices, naturally. Being Jay, he doesn’t let it go. He gives Will a beer, and they both collect a few pieces of pizza before they sit down side by side on the couch.
Then, Jay asks, “You look wiped. Bad day?”
That sounds so much like an understatement that Will’s response is to laugh. “I feel like I’ve had nothing but bad days,” he says.
Jay lifts one shoulder, nursing his beer a little bit. “Yeah, but this is different,” he says, because his brother’s a cop. His brother is also his brother, and no one knows Will -- all his faults and weaknesses -- quite like Jay. “What’s up?”
There’s no need to give the full context. Jay already knows all the details of his dramatic fall from grace. He’s heard about Will’s struggle to ingratiate himself back into the hierarchy at Med, and he knows how hard Will’s worked and how lonely the struggle’s been.
All Will needs to do is tell him that, despite all that, it’s just not working. “I don’t know,” he admits with a small shake of his head. He studies his beer, but he doesn’t have the heart to take a drink. His pizza is sitting on a plate at the coffee table. “I keep telling myself that I can do this, but maybe I can’t. You know? Maybe I can’t.”
Will’s being honest, which is of course not what Jay wants. He half slaps Will on the arm. “You can’t talk like that,” he says. “You’re working your ass off. That’s all you have to do. That’s all they can expect of you.”
“But it’s not enough,” Will says, and he knows his brother doesn’t want to hear it, but Jay’s stubborn in his own ways, blind in his own ways. He wants Will to stay more than anything, and he’s thinking about family -- not Will’s fledgling career. He sighs. “I work my ass off, and I do my best, and it’s not enough. I’m worse off than when I started back at Med. And maybe this whole thing is a mistake.”
Jay looks at him again, now with alarm. “What whole thing?”
He’s sure that Jay can figure it out, but he’s going to make Will say it. Will’s tried not to -- for months now -- but after today, he’s not sure he can keep on pretending like he’s got a handle on things. “Me,” he says, with a small gesture to himself. “I’m going through the motions, pretending like I have a place at Med, but I don’t know if I actually do. Maybe I should have just followed my instincts from the start. Maybe I should have just left Med, started over somewhere else. A clean break.”
He’s not being cruel, and he’s not saying this to hurt his brother. He’s tried his best not to think this way for months now, but it’s too hard to keep it at bay any longer. His self doubt is too crippling now; the weight is too much to prop himself up much longer.
Will’s being honest.
And Jay is, too.
Clearly distressed now, he turns away from the game entirely, the beer in his hand all but forgotten. “What? No way. I can’t believe you. All this time, and you’re still looking for reasons to bail.”
He knows this is a sore subject for Jay, and Will’s tried hard to make it up to his brother. He knows all the times he wasn’t there, and he’s done everything he can to be there now, to be the brother Jay deserves.
But this is different. In his effort not to quit, Will’s starting to think he’s holding on too long. It might be pathetic.
It is pathetic.
He shakes his head, increasingly dejected. “Jay, I was fired. I didn’t bail on anything.”
“You were fired and you got your job back,” Jay says. “You didn’t steal the meds.”
He’s explained the situation to Jay a thousand times, but that’s somehow the only point that seems to stick. “But I still had a part in it. Goodwin was right to fire me. I thought she knew what she was doing when she hired me back, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe I was wrong to even ask her.”
Jay is bristling now, adamantly shaking his head in response. “You just have to see this through.”
“Getting fired wasn’t enough?” Will asks miserably.
Jay shoves him lightly, as if some brotherly banter can make this seem less awful than it is. “You fought your way back, man. That impresses the hell out of me, and it’s got to have some impact with your doctors there at Med. Even Goodwin. I mean, you’ve been the model employee, right?”
“Yeah,” Will says. “At least, I thought so. Until this new nurse came along.”
Jay gathers himself and seems moderately content now. “The problem isn’t you, then. The problem is the nurse.”
“But I’m responsible for her,” Will tries to reason.
“She’s a grown woman, not a houseplant,” Jay tells him. “Just do your best, and she’ll sink or swim on her own.”
“But Ethan asked me to get her up to speed,” Will says.
Jay shrugs. “And if she’s not up for it?”
“Then, that’s on me,” Will says again. “I have to show Ethan and Goodwin I’m up for anything. I can’t have any slip ups. The terms of the probation are very clear.”
Jay sighs somewhat. “Okay, okay,” he yields. “So you just have to find a new way to reach her.”
Will regards his brother with some skepticism. “New way?”
“Sure,” Jay says. “I assume you’ve gone with distanced and professional so far?”
“As is appropriate,” Will counters.
Now, Jay rolls his eyes. “I’m not suggesting anything untoward,” he says. “I’m just saying. Maybe she doesn’t do well in formal learning situations. Maybe she’s more personable. Learns through friendships, that kind of thing.”
That’s a point Will actually considers. What he knows of Emily actually supports what Jay’s saying. Her commitment to patients shows that she values interpersonal connection, real conversations.
“That might work,” he admits.
“Of course it will,” Jay says with a smirk. “Now can we stop talking about work. We do have a game to watch.”
“Okay, okay,” Will relents with a roll of his eyes. “But it’s not like the Bears are going to give us much to watch. They’re still terrible.”
“The one thing in Chicago to put your career in perspective,” Jay jokes.
Will chuffs. “You always know how to make me feel better.”
“That’s my job,” Jay reminds him. “Now shut up. Drink your beer. Eat your pizza.”
Will obliges, tipping his bottle to his brother. “That is one order I can actually fulfill.”
-o-
The game is terrible, for the record. The beer is cheap, and the pizza is cold. But Will goes home that night feeling optimistic somehow.
He has a plan again.
He has a fresh take on Emily.
Maybe he can make this work -- for his sake and for hers -- after all.
-o-
He gets to work bright and early the next morning, and he’s ready to round by the time Emily arrives. They’ve developed a bit of a rhythm, the two of them, strange as it is. It’s now assumed that Emily is something of his responsibility. Maggie no longer checks in with him to see if it’s okay that she tags along. Will taking her with him seems to be helping everyone, because Emily doesn’t fit in anywhere else.
And that’s fine.
Will is resolved now.
He can make this work.
He’s come back from being fired. So hell, yes, he can do this. Emily is a sweet enough person. She’s a knowledgeable nurse. She cares about what she does. Will can work with this.
If they can’t connect over the procedures, if they can’t find common ground over the medicine, then Will will reach out to her where she’s at.
He finds her stocking a crash cart during the slow morning. He meanders over and greets her, apologizing for yesterday.
“I know I got a little heated,” he says. “I just care about my patients.”
That much seems to be relatable. “I know. It’s why I like working with you. I don’t generally get on with others.”
Will takes this as a compliment because he’s pretty sure he’s in need of one at the moment. “I find that a little discipline is good for me,” he says, trying to be friendly. “We all need humility when lives are on the line.”
Her smile widens somewhat. This line of conversation seems to resonate with her. “I suppose,” she says. “But I don’t need to be reminded of nursing school.”
“I’ve always wondered if it’s as bad as med school,” he says. “Though I’m not sure I always took my studies as seriously as I should.”
He did study, for the record. He just also did party. And he did like girls. Was it his fault if they liked him, too? The red hair had to be good for something.
“Well, you can’t learn it all from books,” she says, and their camaraderie is building.
Will seizes upon it with all he has. “You went to Michigan State, right?”
She freezes for a split second, the smile going stiff. “Yes,” she says. “Michigan State.”
“I hear their program is outstanding,” he says. “Do you know Ian Miller?”
It’s kind of a silly thing to ask. Everyone in the Midwest knows Ian Miller. He conducts training seminars at every teaching hospital in the region. He’s a legend, and when he agreed to join the staff at Michigan State it had been a big deal.
He is the closest thing there is to a rock star in teaching medicine. He works with doctors, nurses, techs, all of them.
But Emily frowns thoughtfully. Her face is blank. “No, I don’t. But it’s kind of a big program, and I haven’t been back since graduation in 2010.”
This seems weird. Ian Miller joined in 2008. Will remembers it distinctly as he considered Michigan State Instead of Chicago after leaving New York.
Then, Emily smiles. “I worked with Evelyn Pringle, though,” she says. “Lovely woman. Taught me a lot.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of her, too,” Will says. He tips his head. “But it’s been awhile. Didn’t she retire in something like 2007? She was a part of the recruiting class when I was doing med school applications.”
He’s doing the math in his head. He’s so focused on his own timeline that he doesn’t think about Emily’s.
Emily who graduated in 2010.
Emily who should know Ian Miller.
Emily who should have no knowledge of Evelyn Pringle.
Emily who shrugs easily. “Anyway, I didn’t honestly care much for school. Rules, procedures. It’s about patient care, right?”
He gives her a funny, uncertain look. It feels rude to contradict her, even if he can’t quite muster up a real validation. “Right.”
“I really appreciate your interest, Dr. Halstead, really,” she says, offering up a small, emphatic smile. She reaches out uninvited, giving his wrist a little squeeze. “I don’t usually connect with my coworkers, not like I have you.”
The sentiment is there, but Will pulls his hand away, just slightly uneasy. “Well, just trying to make life easier,” he says, keeping his own sentiment as benign as possible. “I know first hand just how trying the ED can be on your social skills.”
“You?” she says, lightly scoffing. “I doubt that.”
“You’d be surprised,” he says. He jerks his head in the direction of an exam room. “Anyway, better get back at it.”
She all but beams at him. “That’s the right spirit,” she says soundly as he starts to move away. “Patients first, right?”
“Right,” he replies, mustering a half smile before gratefully disappearing into an exam room.
She’s a little odd, to be sure.
But Will’s not one to judge.
He has to worry about his own history, his own standing.
Emily could deal with her own.
-o-
After his moderately unsuccessful attempt to befriend Emily over her schooling, Will decides something different. He reminds himself that not everyone loves school. He himself doesn’t always have the best memories of med school, despite Stevie’s attempts to romanticize it all.
So maybe she doesn’t remember Ian Miller.
Maybe she connected with Pringle in another way.
So, Will shouldn’t talk to her about work all the time.
Between patients, while he helps her restock one of the trauma bays, he asks her about something far less risky. “So, Emily,” he starts, marking off a few notations on his iPad. He glances at her while he taps. “What do you do for fun?”
He’s trying to keep it benign. He means nothing untoward, and he’s pretty sure if he keeps it neutral, then he’s not at risk for anything resembling harassment. That’s about the only line he hasn’t crossed yet, and he’d like to keep it that way.
Besides, he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. This is conversation. He’s trying to be more approachable so she doesn’t feel out of place.
She looks at him, and she doesn’t look offended. But the blank expression on her face isn’t exactly what he’s going for. “Fun?”
She repeats the word like it’s somehow foriegn to her, and Will already fears that this is another dead end. Jay’s always telling him not to quit, however, so he presses on. “You know,” he says, shrugging now. “Hobbies.”
At least, this time, there’s no way for her not to understand the question. She looks quizzical for a moment, as if this is something she is actually contemplating. “I guess I haven’t thought about it much,” she says finally. “Work is kind of my life, I guess. Investing in my patients.”
“But you do go home,” Will cajoles her lightly. “So what do you do? Go out? Catch a game? Go to the movies?”
She shrugs, as if all of those suggestions bore her. “I’m a home-body really,” she says. “I mostly keep to myself. I’m not exactly great at making friends.”
Will goes back to tapping away on his iPad. “Well, you won’t need to worry about that if you work at Med for long,” he says. “Working here, people are like family. They’re great.”
She looks at him, clearly skeptical. “Doris is great?”
Will chuckles, because she does have a point. “She’s a little caustic, but she throws a great party,” he says. “And there are people beyond Doris. You should ask Maggie about the next time the nurses are going out. They’ve usually got something going. Karaoke. Pottery class. Wine tasting. All sorts of stuff that I don’t know about because I’m a doctor.”
He’s trying to be lighthearted here, but somehow, Emily just looks envious.
She wrinkles her nose. “I’m just not really that social,” she says.
This surprises him. She’s said that various times now, but it doesn’t make sense to him. He puts the iPad down again. “But you connect so well. I see how you are with patients.”
“Sure, with patients,” she says. She shakes her head again. “I just don’t click with everyone else. Patients are vulnerable. We meet them when their walls are down. It’s different.”
It’s not a bad point, but it’s not a perspective he’s thought much about. Usually, he’s guarded from the other direction. He wants to make his patients feel comfortable, but he needs his separation.
And still, it’s mostly besides the point. “But what do you do to unwind?” he asks, hoping to refocus his conversation starter. He had never intended it to be a hard question or even one worthy of debate. “Like in your free time?”
“Oh,” she says, as if this thought hasn’t occurred to her. “I read, I guess. You know. Netflix. Chill.”
That’s not much, but it’s something. Will seizes upon it with undue interest. “I’m afraid I haven’t done much free reading outside of a medical journal in ten years,” he admits. “But my Netflix queue is full. What’s your favorite?”
Despite Will’s enthusiasm -- or, he’s starting to wonder because of it -- her mood dampens. She makes a small face and shrugs yet again, somehow even more noncommittal than before. “The usuals, I guess. I’ve done some Stranger Things, but I thought it was overrated. And I think the Crown is interminable.”
Will chuckles. “I actually didn’t mind the Crown,” he says. Natalie had been a big fan, and he had binged watched it a second time with Sabeena. “I’m also a sucker for some of the competition shows. I had a girlfriend once who was obsessed with Bridgerton, but I never made it past the first five minutes.”
She seems curious at that. “Girlfriend?”
Will reddens almost out of reflex. Somehow, it seems inappropriate to get that personal. Worse, he doesn’t want to remember the girlfriends he’s had and lost. “Yeah, I mean, ex-girlfriend.”
“Oh,” she says, and she seems to wince sympathetically. “Seems like you might be a little bit of a loner yourself?”
This is not the direction Will is trying to go with this. He shakes his head, trying to dissuade her. “So you’re not a Bridgerton fan?”
She shrugs, almost as if the idea is one she is indifferent, too. “They’ve had some good documentaries, though,” she says. “The true crime stuff, I think it’s fascinating. When you look at people as people, and not just labels. Criminal, victim. Nurse, patient. But people.”
Will nods as he allows that concession. “It’s good to remember we’re all human,” he agrees. “But sometimes I do think those shows go out of their way to make them too sympathetic.”
She arches her eyebrows. “But that’s the problem, right there. Them? They’re people.”
“Who do terrible things,” Will says with a small chuckle. He eyes her cautiously. “I mean, it’s good to know we’re all capable of terrible things -- keeps us humble, I guess.”
That, and ongoing probationary periods that involve training socially awkward nurses.
She nods, though, almost solemn at the thought. “And it gives us perspective. On what evil really is, and how it’s not always what we think.”
Somehow, Will’s attempt at a lighthearted discussion has ventured off into a rather dark territory, and at this point, Will’s not sure how to salvage it. Honestly, he should just abandon it like he should abandon any hope for his career or social life. At this point, he’s pretty sure it’s all DOA.
She seems to notice, and she offers him a smile. “There are a lot of lonely people in the world, Dr. Halstead. I know how hard it is.”
He frowns, brow furrowed. “What? No, Emily--”
She thinks he’s reaching out to her for his sake. She thinks he’s trying to be her friend.
He tries to shake her head, but his protests seem like too much to her.
“It’s okay,” she assures him. “Your secret is safe with me.”
With that, she wanders off, and Will is left feeling disconcerted. He knows more about her, he thinks, though he’s not sure what. And he’s pretty sure he knows less and less about himself in the process.
-o-
Getting to know Emily is going to be a problem, that much is clear.
At this point, he’s not sure she’ll ever be a good candidate for the ED nursing system here at Med, but that’s not his call to make. He’s got a task, and he’s got to fulfill it.
That means working with Emily, case after case, patient after patient.
And hoping like hell she gets it sooner as opposed to later.
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
-o-
By the end of the day, he’s shown Emily everything he can think of and she’s learned just about nothing. Will, on the other hand, has brushed up on all his remedial doctoring skills. Admittedly, there’s a part of him that wonders if this is Ethan and Goodwin’s way of making sure he still knows the fundamentals of medicine, if Emily Novak is a plant just to make sure he doesn’t get too full of himself.
That seems apt, but a little too over the top. He knows Goodwin wants him to get his act together, but her priority is always the hospital. Installing a questionable nurse on staff during a pandemic just to teach Will a lesson isn’t going to be her play.
Which means, Emily’s legit.
And she’s legitimately a problem.
Normally, he’d let it go. Nurses aren’t in his purview, and he’s got exactly no leadership roles right now. He’s here to follow orders and save lives, not exactly in that order, but you had to see how it went sometimes.
That said, Ethan has charged Emily’s integration into his care. If Will’s going to fulfill his word to Ethan, then he’s going to have to give Emily a little bit more training. He can’t turn her out like this. Any other doctor on service is going to have a hell of a time coping with her, so Will’s got to her up to speed -- now.
At the end of the day, he draws her aside and asks her how she thought today went.
To his dismay, she seems pleased. “Good, I think!” she says. “Busy, but I love how many patients there are to help.”
Will nods, trying not to let his concern show. “I’m glad it felt pretty good,” he says. He bites his lip and makes the difficult transition. “Although, I do have a few pointers for you. Just as you go into day two.”
She blinks at him, her doe eyes almost perfectly trained to make him feel uncomfortable. “Oh? Did it not go well for you?”
“It’s not that,” he says quickly. He shakes his head. “Just some tips. You know. A little feedback to help you get your bearings.”
She looks concerned, and Will worries for a second about what he’s doing. What if she complains? What if he’s out of line?
But what if she goes on like this? What if she works with Ethan tomorrow and doesn’t start his IVs?
He exhales heavily. “It’s just -- we all struggle with it -- balancing patient care with the medicine,” he says. “And you’re great with patients. I can see how much you invest in them, but at Med, we do expect our nurses to stay a little more active. You know, participate more in the treatment, especially if we’re running a trauma.”
He says this because they only worked on minor traumas today, and when he thinks of her approach in the middle of a GSW or massive MI, it makes him inherently anxious. A patient might be coding while she strokes their head and tells them it’s okay.
“Like you said, it’s fast paced here,” he tries to reason for her. “And I think maybe you can focus on keeping up a little more.”
People respond to criticism in lots of ways. Some people are hurt. Others are offended. There are those who like to argue every last point with you.
But something hardens in her expression. Something solidifies, and even as she smiles, Will senses the edge to her words. “Oh, I’m sorry. But I did tell you. Patient care is my thing.”
If she thinks she can get away with that, then Will should tell her about clinical trials and see how that conversation goes for a bit. “Sure,” he says as diplomatically as he can. “But they need actual care here. Sometimes the situation is acute, and every second counts. If we delay actual care in stead of emotional care, then we could be compromising their health. We have to do the basics is all.”
The look she gives him is quizzical, but in a practiced sort of way. This is something she’s thought about. Will’s touched on a matter of principle for her.
He knows from experience such things are deeply ingrained.
And, more problematically, not always rational.
“You mean blood work is more important than getting to know them?” she asks, framing the question that way as if to make her point self evident.
She’s not the only self righteous person here, though. Will’s just learned the hard way to keep it in check. She, it seems, has not.
It makes him respect her a little.
It annoys him even more.
“Not more important,” he reasons, keeping his response wholly rational for her sake. “But it is part of the job description.”
She nods, but there’s little sense of compliance. Instead, she seems annoyed right back. “It’s the system,” she says, as though she is agreeing with him. She leans forward, a little conspiratorial, apparently oblivious to what he’s actually trying to tell her. “I imagine you hate working in it as much as I do. But you can’t change it unless you’re in it.”
“I guess,” Will says. That’s clearly not what he’s trying to say, but she sounds so steadfast that he is reluctant to openly contradict her. He’s supposed to be learning self control these days. It’s time to show he can toe the line. Any line. All lines. “But right now, I’m just keeping to the status quo.”
She looks surprised. She’s missed all the rest, but this is the part she’s picking up on. “You didn’t strike me as a strict rules guy.”
Somehow, she’s managed to insult him on every level. Both for his failures and for his attempts at reform. He’s pretty sure it’s not intentional. He’s also pretty sure it doesn’t matter.
“These days, it’s how it has to be,” he says with a stiff shrug. He inclines his head. “So next time we’re on a case, just follow my lead a little more.”
She smiles. It looks sweet enough, but Will feels uneasy. “Sure thing, Dr. Halstead,” she says, her voice almost a little sing-songy.
That’s all there is, really, but the matter doesn’t feel settled. He doesn’t feel settled.
Emily is still smiling.
And Will finally smiles back.
Watching her go, somehow he manages to feel less optimistic about Emily Novak than he did before.
-o-
Sharon has a full day. There are two departmental reviews for cardiology and endocrinology, and she’s managed to score a meeting with the Kender Pharma rep to discuss the mending of fences for both their mutual interests. She’s also got to meet a donor for coffee just because, and Peter is stopping by to do a three-way meeting with one of the labor and delivery techs who was somehow injured in the line of duty. How is still not clear, and it will be interesting to see what part makes Peter more squeamish: the nature of the injury or the amount of money being requested to settle.
She has just enough time between meetings to stop by her office and refresh herself, and that is her intent. But when she arrives, her assistant winces.
Sharon sighs. “Again? Really?”
She nods. “Sorry. I tried to tell her you weren’t expected back.”
Sharon makes a face and glances through the window where Gwen is already waiting for her. Her day hasn’t been good so far, but it’s also not been particularly bad. She’s got no desire to change that, but this job, as she knows from ample experience, isn’t about her desires.
It’s the greater good, right?
The long hours, the politics of it all, the legalities and all the rest. Even the rogue doctors who steal trial meds.
Even the damn board presidents who seem dead set on ruining everything.
Sharon has to keep the big picture in mind, and tolerate the unfortunate corner that includes Gwen. Gwen likes to think she’s tough as nails.
That’s fine.
Sharon knows she’s tougher.
She nods at her assistant. “Hold my calls,” she says with an air of confidence she almost believes herself. “This won’t take long.”
-o-
Truth be told, Sharon has no idea what Gwen wants. Gwen always wants something, and it’s usually something Sharon isn’t keen to offer up. There are budgetary considerations. There are political postures. There are legal issues. It really does run the gamut.
And Gwen’s wants are not inherently bad.
Most of the time, they’re inherently annoying, but Sharon is a professional, and she knows how to keep things above the belt. She has to keep her eye on the prize, so to speak, and not everything on Gwen’s wishlist is going to be something that makes the little hairs rise up on the back of Sharon’s neck.
Not everything.
Who knows? Maybe Sharon will be lucky today.
Bustling in, Sharon is all smiles. “Gwen!” she says with a forced enthusiasm that neither of them are dumb enough to believe. “This is a surprise.”
Gwen turns but doesn’t bother getting up. Her expression is cool, but it’s not cold, and Sharon’s not entirely sure what that means. It makes no difference, however. Sharon will remain the resolute professional that she’s always been.
“Sharon,” Gwen says, inclining her head in the facsimile of respect.
They both play their parts, and they both play their parts well.
Moving around to her side of the desk, Sharon sits down and adjusts her jacket. She arranges her smile and meets Gwen’s eyes. “What can I do for you this morning?”
She’s being chipper almost. Kill them with kindness, she likes to think. Not that she wants Gwen dead, but if she could happen to go far, far away, Sharon would have exactly zero complaints.
That feeling, Sharon knows, is mutual.
“I should think we’re both doing well,” Gwen says, crossing her legs from one side to another. She smiles brilliantly. “Now that our ED is one step closer to full capacity.”
This is a reference to something, Sharon knows, but she’s been thinking about cardiac monitors and thyroid exams all morning. “Oh?” she asks, hedging her bets and buying her time.
Gwen seems to struggle for patience, even as she folds her fingers primly in her lap and smiles some more. “Tell me how Emily is doing?”
Sharon’s got Evan Larson on the mind for the legal matter in labor and delivery, and she’s not got a meeting with anyone named Emily this week. “Emily?”
That struggle is one that Gwen seems to be losing. Her smile fades somewhat. “Emily Novak?”
The name is familiar, but Sharon manages an entire hospital staff and maintains copious connections throughout the community. She could know five people named Emily Novak.
By this point, Gwen seems genuinely put out by this. “The new nurse in your ED,” she clarifies, a little more terse now.
That makes sense.
Except, it doesn’t.
As the head of the board, Gwen’s position is up there. For her to be stopping by, making chitchat about a new nurse is rather peculiar. Very peculiar.
And telling.
Curiously, Sharon decides to engage the topic with more energy.
Not because she cares that much about Emily Novak, but she does care about why Gwen cares.
“It seems to be working out okay, based on feedback from my charge nurse and the ED chief,” she says, although this report is mostly based on a lack of specific feedback rather than anything else. No one has said Emily’s a problem, which is why Sharon can safely assume she’s not. “But it is still early. There’s alway sa learning curve for new nurses, especially in a place like the ED.”
Now, it seems like she’s trolling Gwen a little bit, but she’s also being honest. New hires are always in a precarious position, and the ED is the most volatile new environment of them all. Some nurses thrive there; others fold fast and hard. She generally prefers to work only with nurses with ample ED experience, because the washout rate otherwise tends to be too pronounced.
Not having met Ms. Novak -- and having only the barest knowledge of her work history -- she’s got no way of knowing if she’s going to be a good long term fit, even if she is filling a head count for now. Real productivity value will be measured down the line, and with only a week of experience under her belt, there’s no way to safely give Gwen the glowing report she so clearly craves.
Also, she may be trolling Gwen -- just a little.
Gwen knows it, too. What’s so great about it is that both of them are far too hemmed up in their professional expectations to openly play the part of the bitch. “And I assume you’re providing her with the best support,” Gwen says.
It’s a fair volley, but Sharon smiles as sweet as she can. “I provide the best support to all my staff. A matter of policy, you know.”
The answer does not impress Gwen. She sits back with increasingly cool regard. “I’m sure you understand what I mean.”
“I’m sure I do,” Sharon says. She goes ahead and shrugs. “Though you are taking an interest in this girl, which seems unusual.”
“I’m concerned about all aspects of this hospital,” Gwen tells her, not missing a beat. “It is my job.”
“But your job is expansive,” Sharon says. “What is it about this ED nurse?”
Gwen narrows her eyes. “And why do you care?”
“I don’t,” Sharon says. “But if you want me to keep pulling out extra stops for her, I’d like to know why.”
“My support and approval mean nothing?” Gwen asks with false meandering.
Sharon smiles all the same.
Gwen finally rolls her eyes and sits forward somewhat. “Her success is just of notable concern to one of our donors.”
Sharon raised her eyebrows. “The one who recommended her?”
“Yes,” Gwen says. “More specifically, the donor’s son. The donor passed away a short time ago, which is how Ms. Novak came to be unemployed. The donor’s son expressed interest in ensuring a smooth career transition for Ms. Novak as thanks for her tireless devotion to his father. To make sure such a transition is possible, he’s been quite generous with his father’s assets.”
Sharon nods. She’s not surprised, particularly. Maybe a little surprised that Gwen owned to it. There’s something respectable about that, though. Sharon appreciates when people don’t hide just how scrupulous they are. It makes things easier.
Because Sharon can handle scruples.
She just has no patience for duplicity.
Or stupidity for that matter.
“Is any of that a problem?” Gwen asks, arching her eyebrow expectantly.
Sharon shrugs, making a face. “No problem at all,” she says. “As long as Ms. Novak is a productive, hard working member of the ED, then there are no problems at all.”
“Good,” Gwen says, getting to her feet.
“But,” Sharon says. Gwen turns back, her brow dark. “I do hope you did your due diligence with the vetting. I never did see that background check.”
“I’ve done everything I need to do,” she replies tersely. She inclines her head once more, but there’s something dangerous in her insinuation now. “I suggest you do the same.”
With that, she stalks out. She waits until the door is closed and she hears the sound of Gwen’s heels on the tile outside. Then, she mutters a few choice words about what she really thinks, and gets back to work.
Emily Novak, her ass.
Ms. Novak’s success is not her concern today.
Neither, she tells herself as she busies herself with her next task, is her possible failure.
In fact, Sharon would prefer not to think about Emily Novak at all.
-o-
Unfortunately, Will does not have the same luxury. In fact, over the last week, Emily Novak was all he could think about. At first, he’d tried to get to know her. He’d worked on mentoring her a little.
Now, a week in, he finds he just dreads seeing her each morning.
Ethan had only asked him to show her the ropes, but Will’s shown her the ropes. He’s shown them to her time and again, and she seems intent on ignoring that they exist. It’s not fair to call her incompetent -- she knows medicine very well -- but there’s just something off about her. It’s like the knowledge isn’t being applied.
Like she doesn’t know she’s supposed to apply it.
Or, possibly, that she doesn’t want to.
And again, that’s not laziness. Every criticism he can find has to be couched in the strangest ways. She’s always busy doing something, but it’s just never the thing Will needs her to be doing.
This is a problem on many levels.
First, because he told Ethan he’d take care of it. He’s supposed to get Emily into working order, and she’s not even close. If he goes to Ethan and admits his failure, it’s not going to look good for him, and it certainly won’t prove to Ethan or Goodwin that he’s ready to be off probation.
Second, he’s getting nothing done. He’s trying to maintain his normal case load without any actual support. During busy traumas, there’s at least a full team on hand. When it’s just him and Emily, however, Will has to be doctor and nurse, and he’s running behind.
And he’s exhausted. He’s working late, arriving early. And every time he thinks he might have a reprieve, he turns around and there she is.
She never sets up an IV or takes a real history, but she’s always in the patient room before her. He’s chased down nurses before, and he usually finds Doris with her phone, stealing a quick snack. Emily? He’s learned to track Emily down to their latest admit, chit chatting about gardening or what to buy the grandkids for Christmas.
The more he tells her about policy and procedure, the more she winks at him like it’s their little secret. Like he’s in on the joke.
Except he’s not sure what the punchline is.
Somehow, he feels like it’s him.
-o-
He is doing the best he can, going along with things, until his patient in 5 starts to code. This is unexpected -- Will has been more worried about his GSW in 2. He’s been trying to track down a bed in cardio to transfer his MI up. The guy had clearly had a minor MI, but he was stable and a prime candidate for surgery. He’d talked to Latham and things were on track to schedule the procedure for later today.
Rushing toward the commotion, Will finds that the code is blaring but the room is surprisingly empty. The patient is down on the bed, and Emily’s the only one there, fingers at his neck, checking his pulse.
He looks at her, and she looks back.
He looks at the patient, stunned.
“No pulse,” Emily says simply, and she steps back.
Just as Will moves forward. “Then we need to run the code,” he barks, getting himself up high enough to start compressions. He presses down fast and hard, looking to Emily in confusion. “The code. I know you can run a code. We did it just this morning.”
Emily blinks back at him, arms still lax at her sides. “But he’s gone.”
Will bites down hard, almost locking his jaw. “Emily!” he barks. “I need you to get some epi! How long has he been down?”
“Dr. Halstead,” she says. “He’s gone.”
Her voice is imbued with sympathy, so sincere that it’s jarring. Not because medical professionals don’t feel bad for their patients.
But because, Will remembers with sudden clarity, the code’s not done.
Will hasn’t even run it.
This guy, this man under Will’s care, isn’t dead yet. There’s a whole checklist -- a whole damn procedure -- that Will can use before he has to call time of death, and he doesn’t want to call it. Not for a guy who should be going home in a few days. Not for a guy with a lot of life left to live.
In this sense, medicine is easy. Sure, the body is complicated. Of course, drugs have strange and varied reactions. All these years in, Will is still learning, and he suspects he always will be.
But at its core, at its foundation, medicine is just the fulfillment of the most basic human principle. The desire to save lives.
That’s all it is.
That’s all it has to be.
Will’s bad with a lot of the ethical pandering, but he’s never -- ever -- been bad at that.
With Emily standing idle, Will does it himself. He grabs the epi and fills the syringe. He wishes he could be ventilating during this process, but he’s got to get the heart started again. He inject the epi quickly, stepping up to start up the compressions while the drugs take effect.
He looks to Emily, face rigid. She stares back at him, wide-eyed and blank.
“Can you bag him?” he asks, voice short. “Emily, can you bag him!”
She startles, and she looks down. She picks up the bag and mask, looking a little confused.
Will doesn’t have time for this. He pauses compressions, glancing at the monitor. “V-fib,” he mutters to himself as he reaches for the paddles. “200. Clear!”
He glances at Emily, who is still standing with the bag in her hands. She’s not touching the patient.
Will presses the paddles to the patient’s chest, releasing the charge. The patient responds, a jerking motion, but Will’s eyes are on the monitor.
“Sinus rhythm,” he says, with a wave of relief. He presses his fingers to the pulse point just to be sure, watching as the other vitals start to come back. Blood pressure, oxygenation -- all of it. “He’s back.”
He steps back, still half trembling from the flood of adrenaline.
“He’s back,” he repeats, letting the finality of it be some comfort to him.
Some comfort.
But he looks up once more.
He locks eyes with Emily. “We need to talk,” he tells her. “We need to talk now.”
-o-
He takes her in the hall, pausing only to send in another nurse and a resident for follow up care. The patient needs to be monitored, and they need to run another full set of labs and arrange for a neuro and cardio consult. They may have to admit him into the ICU, but Will wants to see how he stabilizes over the next few minutes.
But he can’t deal with that.
Not until he deals with this.
He has the presence of mind to pull Emily into another room, but that’s the most his patience can be stressed. She turns to look at him, that same wide-eyed nonsense, and he can barely keep himself in check. He breathes for a second, holding the air in his lungs before he lets it out.
“Do you want to tell me what you were doing?” he demands finally.
Because he’s treaded lightly. He’s played nice. He’s taken this slow.
But this is too much.
It’s too much.
To make matters worse, she looks at him, bewildered. “What do you mean?”
“Back there, when we ran the code,” he says, shaking his head as his adrenaline continues to scatter his thoughts. “You weren’t even going to try.”
She blinks now, somehow surprised. “I watched him die,” she says slowly. “I thought--”
“Emily, you called a code. You run the code,” he says, a little firmer than he intends. His voice is shaking, he’s so emotional from this. “We have procedures--”
“For death?” she asks, eyebrows up. “Doesn’t that seem ludicrous.”
“It seems necessary,” he says. “We can’t go around playing God. We can’t make decisions about life and death on our terms -- because we’ll screw it up. Trust me, Emily. I know what I’m talking about. You can’t cut corners like this. You can’t, not if you want to stay employed at Med.”
He’s appealing to her from experience. He’s appealing to her as a colleague. He’s appealing to her as a professional.
Really, he’s just appealing to her in his absolute desperation. He’s a doctor to save lives. He’s been confused about a lot of other things, but he’s never been confused about that.
Slowly, tentatively, she studies his expression. Then, finally, she nods. “Yes, I can see what you’re saying,” she says, but her voice is vague, somehow. “I do want to keep my job at Med.”
“Then you have to be more active,” Will says, hoping to drive this point home. “We’re here to save lives, aren’t we?”
She looks at him, head tilted. “Yes,” she agrees. “We are here to save lives.”
It’s an agreement, and it’s an acknowledgement, and Will’s gotten what he asked for.
But, as he watches her go, it feels like he’s further away from understanding Emily Novak than before.
-o-
He needs a minute to collect himself.
Actually, he needs more than a minute, but he works in a busy, understaffed ED, so a minute is about all he’s going to get. He’s about to head back into the patient’s room to run some of the follow up care himself when Ethan pops in.
He looks concerned.
“Everything okay?”
That’s the kind of thing people ask each other, and it doesn’t really work anywhere. It works even less in an ED. The kind of place where okay is the most relative kind of word there is.
Will shakes his head, remember just now to breathe again. “Not really,” he admits. “Just ran a code.”
“We run codes all the time,” Ethan says. “Why were you chewing out Emily?”
Will frowns. He’d been going for discreet in his interaction with Emily. Apparently, with his stress levels so high, he hadn’t been discreet enough.
There are a thousand lies to tell. He has plenty of excuses. He can downplay this if he wants, and certainly, he’s done that for Emily every step of the way so far.
But this time, a patient nearly died. He can’t soft peddle this.
If Emily’s not cut out for the ED, then Will has a responsibility to come clean to Ethan, no matter how inept it makes him look.
“I don’t know if she’s really the right fit for the ED,” he says finally, helplessly. “I’ve tried working with her. I’ve spent a lot of time coaching her, but I don’t think she’s cut out for this.”
At the confession, Ethan steps into the room and lets the door close behind him. His face is couched with concern. “You haven’t said anything so far.”
“Because I thought it was growing pains, getting acclimated, whatever,” Will says, and he shakes his head. “But it’s more than that.”
This clearly isn’t what Ethan wants to talk about. He draws his brows together and takes a breath. “Is this about the code?”
“Yes,” Will says, almost indignant at it all. Not at Ethan, but at the situation. The unbelievable situation. “She called that code, you know.”
“Nurses call codes all the time,” Ethan reminds him.
But he’s missing the point. “Sure, and then they help run them,” Will says tautly. “She just stood there. She didn’t do compressions. She didn’t ventilate. She didn’t run the drugs for me.”
“Maybe she was shocked--”
“She stood there and told me about how the patient was already gone,” Will says flatly. “She was able to stand there and rationalize death -- but she wouldn’t lift a single finger to help save the life. Which is her job, by the way. All our jobs, even though sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.”
His emotions are still running high; he’s saying too much. He knows it, but he’s held his tongue long enough. He can’t sit this one out.
“But Emily’s new,” Ethan says, and it feels like a well-worn and overused refrain now. “We have to have a little leeway.”
“I’ve given her a little leeway,” Will tells him. “I’ve given her space, support, training -- you name it. I’ve done everything I can to help her make the transition, but it’s not clicking. She probably is great at long term care or home health care, but an ED? This isn’t the right place for her. Not at all.”
The overlay of sympathy seems to drain a little from Ethan’s face. “If we had the luxury of being picky, maybe,” he says. “But we’re still understaffed as it is. She is literally the only qualified candidate we’ve been able to bring in for months. We need her.”
“I know we’re strapped thin -- I’ve been pulling more than my share of overtime to prove it,” Will argues. “But we’re better off a nurse down than staffing with a nurse that is unreliable. Or worse, dangerous.”
Ethan gives Will a look. “Now she’s dangerous?”
“She was going to let the patient die, Ethan.”
“What exactly do you think is wrong with her?” Ethan asks for clarity.
It’s not an unfair question, but it still gives Will pause. “I don’t know exactly,” he says. “I’ve been trying to put my finger on it for weeks now. There’s just something not quite right.”
Ethan, who has tried to be patient as well, has a shorter fuse than Will this time. His face hardens somewhat and he shakes his head. “Will, that’s not an answer. That’s nothing I can work with.”
Will can only sigh. His shoulders fall. “I know,” he says. “But she didn’t even help me run the code, Ethan. What kind of nurse stands there and does nothing while a patient dies? While they suffer?”
He’s making an appeal now, but he hasn’t got enough credibility to pull it off. “So figure it out,” is what Ethan says. “I want to trust your judgment, Will. So, give me something I can trust.”
Will wants to save lives, see, but it’s a responsibility. It’s a huge responsibility, and he’s been careless with it before, and this is the result.
Probation.
A doctor with everything to prove.
And an ED nurse.
Whose success and failure has suddenly become his own.
-o-
Will finishes his day. It’s long, it’s stressful, it’s exhausting. In short, every second of it is horrible. He’s not inclined to let Emily off of any proverbial hook, but cutting her loose isn’t an option. She needs more time, more attention, more support.
Did Will mention how horrible it is?
At day’s end, she apologizes for her performance. She says she’ll try harder.
She doesn’t say it won’t happen again.
And then she smiles at him.
Long, lingering, and sweet.
She smiles, and Will leaves the hospital that night feeling worse than ever.
-o-
Most nights, Will works late. He’s taken to being the last one on the day shift to clock out, and he’s used to spending the extra time making sure his reports and charts are absolutely impeccable. However, the thought of going through charts today is more than he can handle. Besides, as it turns out, he has plans.
It’s Thursday night, after all. He and Jay have a long standing tradition fall to watch Thursday Night Football. Will’s neglected it more than he’s adhered to it this year, but given the way today has gone, some football might be just the distraction he needs.
Or at least it’s a distraction
Will knows well enough that, as a beggar, he doesn’t get to be a chooser.
Still, when Jay lets him inside, Will immediately sees the flaw with his plan. For all that Will has taken time to show up, there’s nothing to be done for his downtrodden demeanor. Jay notices, naturally. Being Jay, he doesn’t let it go. He gives Will a beer, and they both collect a few pieces of pizza before they sit down side by side on the couch.
Then, Jay asks, “You look wiped. Bad day?”
That sounds so much like an understatement that Will’s response is to laugh. “I feel like I’ve had nothing but bad days,” he says.
Jay lifts one shoulder, nursing his beer a little bit. “Yeah, but this is different,” he says, because his brother’s a cop. His brother is also his brother, and no one knows Will -- all his faults and weaknesses -- quite like Jay. “What’s up?”
There’s no need to give the full context. Jay already knows all the details of his dramatic fall from grace. He’s heard about Will’s struggle to ingratiate himself back into the hierarchy at Med, and he knows how hard Will’s worked and how lonely the struggle’s been.
All Will needs to do is tell him that, despite all that, it’s just not working. “I don’t know,” he admits with a small shake of his head. He studies his beer, but he doesn’t have the heart to take a drink. His pizza is sitting on a plate at the coffee table. “I keep telling myself that I can do this, but maybe I can’t. You know? Maybe I can’t.”
Will’s being honest, which is of course not what Jay wants. He half slaps Will on the arm. “You can’t talk like that,” he says. “You’re working your ass off. That’s all you have to do. That’s all they can expect of you.”
“But it’s not enough,” Will says, and he knows his brother doesn’t want to hear it, but Jay’s stubborn in his own ways, blind in his own ways. He wants Will to stay more than anything, and he’s thinking about family -- not Will’s fledgling career. He sighs. “I work my ass off, and I do my best, and it’s not enough. I’m worse off than when I started back at Med. And maybe this whole thing is a mistake.”
Jay looks at him again, now with alarm. “What whole thing?”
He’s sure that Jay can figure it out, but he’s going to make Will say it. Will’s tried not to -- for months now -- but after today, he’s not sure he can keep on pretending like he’s got a handle on things. “Me,” he says, with a small gesture to himself. “I’m going through the motions, pretending like I have a place at Med, but I don’t know if I actually do. Maybe I should have just followed my instincts from the start. Maybe I should have just left Med, started over somewhere else. A clean break.”
He’s not being cruel, and he’s not saying this to hurt his brother. He’s tried his best not to think this way for months now, but it’s too hard to keep it at bay any longer. His self doubt is too crippling now; the weight is too much to prop himself up much longer.
Will’s being honest.
And Jay is, too.
Clearly distressed now, he turns away from the game entirely, the beer in his hand all but forgotten. “What? No way. I can’t believe you. All this time, and you’re still looking for reasons to bail.”
He knows this is a sore subject for Jay, and Will’s tried hard to make it up to his brother. He knows all the times he wasn’t there, and he’s done everything he can to be there now, to be the brother Jay deserves.
But this is different. In his effort not to quit, Will’s starting to think he’s holding on too long. It might be pathetic.
It is pathetic.
He shakes his head, increasingly dejected. “Jay, I was fired. I didn’t bail on anything.”
“You were fired and you got your job back,” Jay says. “You didn’t steal the meds.”
He’s explained the situation to Jay a thousand times, but that’s somehow the only point that seems to stick. “But I still had a part in it. Goodwin was right to fire me. I thought she knew what she was doing when she hired me back, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe I was wrong to even ask her.”
Jay is bristling now, adamantly shaking his head in response. “You just have to see this through.”
“Getting fired wasn’t enough?” Will asks miserably.
Jay shoves him lightly, as if some brotherly banter can make this seem less awful than it is. “You fought your way back, man. That impresses the hell out of me, and it’s got to have some impact with your doctors there at Med. Even Goodwin. I mean, you’ve been the model employee, right?”
“Yeah,” Will says. “At least, I thought so. Until this new nurse came along.”
Jay gathers himself and seems moderately content now. “The problem isn’t you, then. The problem is the nurse.”
“But I’m responsible for her,” Will tries to reason.
“She’s a grown woman, not a houseplant,” Jay tells him. “Just do your best, and she’ll sink or swim on her own.”
“But Ethan asked me to get her up to speed,” Will says.
Jay shrugs. “And if she’s not up for it?”
“Then, that’s on me,” Will says again. “I have to show Ethan and Goodwin I’m up for anything. I can’t have any slip ups. The terms of the probation are very clear.”
Jay sighs somewhat. “Okay, okay,” he yields. “So you just have to find a new way to reach her.”
Will regards his brother with some skepticism. “New way?”
“Sure,” Jay says. “I assume you’ve gone with distanced and professional so far?”
“As is appropriate,” Will counters.
Now, Jay rolls his eyes. “I’m not suggesting anything untoward,” he says. “I’m just saying. Maybe she doesn’t do well in formal learning situations. Maybe she’s more personable. Learns through friendships, that kind of thing.”
That’s a point Will actually considers. What he knows of Emily actually supports what Jay’s saying. Her commitment to patients shows that she values interpersonal connection, real conversations.
“That might work,” he admits.
“Of course it will,” Jay says with a smirk. “Now can we stop talking about work. We do have a game to watch.”
“Okay, okay,” Will relents with a roll of his eyes. “But it’s not like the Bears are going to give us much to watch. They’re still terrible.”
“The one thing in Chicago to put your career in perspective,” Jay jokes.
Will chuffs. “You always know how to make me feel better.”
“That’s my job,” Jay reminds him. “Now shut up. Drink your beer. Eat your pizza.”
Will obliges, tipping his bottle to his brother. “That is one order I can actually fulfill.”
-o-
The game is terrible, for the record. The beer is cheap, and the pizza is cold. But Will goes home that night feeling optimistic somehow.
He has a plan again.
He has a fresh take on Emily.
Maybe he can make this work -- for his sake and for hers -- after all.
-o-
He gets to work bright and early the next morning, and he’s ready to round by the time Emily arrives. They’ve developed a bit of a rhythm, the two of them, strange as it is. It’s now assumed that Emily is something of his responsibility. Maggie no longer checks in with him to see if it’s okay that she tags along. Will taking her with him seems to be helping everyone, because Emily doesn’t fit in anywhere else.
And that’s fine.
Will is resolved now.
He can make this work.
He’s come back from being fired. So hell, yes, he can do this. Emily is a sweet enough person. She’s a knowledgeable nurse. She cares about what she does. Will can work with this.
If they can’t connect over the procedures, if they can’t find common ground over the medicine, then Will will reach out to her where she’s at.
He finds her stocking a crash cart during the slow morning. He meanders over and greets her, apologizing for yesterday.
“I know I got a little heated,” he says. “I just care about my patients.”
That much seems to be relatable. “I know. It’s why I like working with you. I don’t generally get on with others.”
Will takes this as a compliment because he’s pretty sure he’s in need of one at the moment. “I find that a little discipline is good for me,” he says, trying to be friendly. “We all need humility when lives are on the line.”
Her smile widens somewhat. This line of conversation seems to resonate with her. “I suppose,” she says. “But I don’t need to be reminded of nursing school.”
“I’ve always wondered if it’s as bad as med school,” he says. “Though I’m not sure I always took my studies as seriously as I should.”
He did study, for the record. He just also did party. And he did like girls. Was it his fault if they liked him, too? The red hair had to be good for something.
“Well, you can’t learn it all from books,” she says, and their camaraderie is building.
Will seizes upon it with all he has. “You went to Michigan State, right?”
She freezes for a split second, the smile going stiff. “Yes,” she says. “Michigan State.”
“I hear their program is outstanding,” he says. “Do you know Ian Miller?”
It’s kind of a silly thing to ask. Everyone in the Midwest knows Ian Miller. He conducts training seminars at every teaching hospital in the region. He’s a legend, and when he agreed to join the staff at Michigan State it had been a big deal.
He is the closest thing there is to a rock star in teaching medicine. He works with doctors, nurses, techs, all of them.
But Emily frowns thoughtfully. Her face is blank. “No, I don’t. But it’s kind of a big program, and I haven’t been back since graduation in 2010.”
This seems weird. Ian Miller joined in 2008. Will remembers it distinctly as he considered Michigan State Instead of Chicago after leaving New York.
Then, Emily smiles. “I worked with Evelyn Pringle, though,” she says. “Lovely woman. Taught me a lot.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of her, too,” Will says. He tips his head. “But it’s been awhile. Didn’t she retire in something like 2007? She was a part of the recruiting class when I was doing med school applications.”
He’s doing the math in his head. He’s so focused on his own timeline that he doesn’t think about Emily’s.
Emily who graduated in 2010.
Emily who should know Ian Miller.
Emily who should have no knowledge of Evelyn Pringle.
Emily who shrugs easily. “Anyway, I didn’t honestly care much for school. Rules, procedures. It’s about patient care, right?”
He gives her a funny, uncertain look. It feels rude to contradict her, even if he can’t quite muster up a real validation. “Right.”
“I really appreciate your interest, Dr. Halstead, really,” she says, offering up a small, emphatic smile. She reaches out uninvited, giving his wrist a little squeeze. “I don’t usually connect with my coworkers, not like I have you.”
The sentiment is there, but Will pulls his hand away, just slightly uneasy. “Well, just trying to make life easier,” he says, keeping his own sentiment as benign as possible. “I know first hand just how trying the ED can be on your social skills.”
“You?” she says, lightly scoffing. “I doubt that.”
“You’d be surprised,” he says. He jerks his head in the direction of an exam room. “Anyway, better get back at it.”
She all but beams at him. “That’s the right spirit,” she says soundly as he starts to move away. “Patients first, right?”
“Right,” he replies, mustering a half smile before gratefully disappearing into an exam room.
She’s a little odd, to be sure.
But Will’s not one to judge.
He has to worry about his own history, his own standing.
Emily could deal with her own.
-o-
After his moderately unsuccessful attempt to befriend Emily over her schooling, Will decides something different. He reminds himself that not everyone loves school. He himself doesn’t always have the best memories of med school, despite Stevie’s attempts to romanticize it all.
So maybe she doesn’t remember Ian Miller.
Maybe she connected with Pringle in another way.
So, Will shouldn’t talk to her about work all the time.
Between patients, while he helps her restock one of the trauma bays, he asks her about something far less risky. “So, Emily,” he starts, marking off a few notations on his iPad. He glances at her while he taps. “What do you do for fun?”
He’s trying to keep it benign. He means nothing untoward, and he’s pretty sure if he keeps it neutral, then he’s not at risk for anything resembling harassment. That’s about the only line he hasn’t crossed yet, and he’d like to keep it that way.
Besides, he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. This is conversation. He’s trying to be more approachable so she doesn’t feel out of place.
She looks at him, and she doesn’t look offended. But the blank expression on her face isn’t exactly what he’s going for. “Fun?”
She repeats the word like it’s somehow foriegn to her, and Will already fears that this is another dead end. Jay’s always telling him not to quit, however, so he presses on. “You know,” he says, shrugging now. “Hobbies.”
At least, this time, there’s no way for her not to understand the question. She looks quizzical for a moment, as if this is something she is actually contemplating. “I guess I haven’t thought about it much,” she says finally. “Work is kind of my life, I guess. Investing in my patients.”
“But you do go home,” Will cajoles her lightly. “So what do you do? Go out? Catch a game? Go to the movies?”
She shrugs, as if all of those suggestions bore her. “I’m a home-body really,” she says. “I mostly keep to myself. I’m not exactly great at making friends.”
Will goes back to tapping away on his iPad. “Well, you won’t need to worry about that if you work at Med for long,” he says. “Working here, people are like family. They’re great.”
She looks at him, clearly skeptical. “Doris is great?”
Will chuckles, because she does have a point. “She’s a little caustic, but she throws a great party,” he says. “And there are people beyond Doris. You should ask Maggie about the next time the nurses are going out. They’ve usually got something going. Karaoke. Pottery class. Wine tasting. All sorts of stuff that I don’t know about because I’m a doctor.”
He’s trying to be lighthearted here, but somehow, Emily just looks envious.
She wrinkles her nose. “I’m just not really that social,” she says.
This surprises him. She’s said that various times now, but it doesn’t make sense to him. He puts the iPad down again. “But you connect so well. I see how you are with patients.”
“Sure, with patients,” she says. She shakes her head again. “I just don’t click with everyone else. Patients are vulnerable. We meet them when their walls are down. It’s different.”
It’s not a bad point, but it’s not a perspective he’s thought much about. Usually, he’s guarded from the other direction. He wants to make his patients feel comfortable, but he needs his separation.
And still, it’s mostly besides the point. “But what do you do to unwind?” he asks, hoping to refocus his conversation starter. He had never intended it to be a hard question or even one worthy of debate. “Like in your free time?”
“Oh,” she says, as if this thought hasn’t occurred to her. “I read, I guess. You know. Netflix. Chill.”
That’s not much, but it’s something. Will seizes upon it with undue interest. “I’m afraid I haven’t done much free reading outside of a medical journal in ten years,” he admits. “But my Netflix queue is full. What’s your favorite?”
Despite Will’s enthusiasm -- or, he’s starting to wonder because of it -- her mood dampens. She makes a small face and shrugs yet again, somehow even more noncommittal than before. “The usuals, I guess. I’ve done some Stranger Things, but I thought it was overrated. And I think the Crown is interminable.”
Will chuckles. “I actually didn’t mind the Crown,” he says. Natalie had been a big fan, and he had binged watched it a second time with Sabeena. “I’m also a sucker for some of the competition shows. I had a girlfriend once who was obsessed with Bridgerton, but I never made it past the first five minutes.”
She seems curious at that. “Girlfriend?”
Will reddens almost out of reflex. Somehow, it seems inappropriate to get that personal. Worse, he doesn’t want to remember the girlfriends he’s had and lost. “Yeah, I mean, ex-girlfriend.”
“Oh,” she says, and she seems to wince sympathetically. “Seems like you might be a little bit of a loner yourself?”
This is not the direction Will is trying to go with this. He shakes his head, trying to dissuade her. “So you’re not a Bridgerton fan?”
She shrugs, almost as if the idea is one she is indifferent, too. “They’ve had some good documentaries, though,” she says. “The true crime stuff, I think it’s fascinating. When you look at people as people, and not just labels. Criminal, victim. Nurse, patient. But people.”
Will nods as he allows that concession. “It’s good to remember we’re all human,” he agrees. “But sometimes I do think those shows go out of their way to make them too sympathetic.”
She arches her eyebrows. “But that’s the problem, right there. Them? They’re people.”
“Who do terrible things,” Will says with a small chuckle. He eyes her cautiously. “I mean, it’s good to know we’re all capable of terrible things -- keeps us humble, I guess.”
That, and ongoing probationary periods that involve training socially awkward nurses.
She nods, though, almost solemn at the thought. “And it gives us perspective. On what evil really is, and how it’s not always what we think.”
Somehow, Will’s attempt at a lighthearted discussion has ventured off into a rather dark territory, and at this point, Will’s not sure how to salvage it. Honestly, he should just abandon it like he should abandon any hope for his career or social life. At this point, he’s pretty sure it’s all DOA.
She seems to notice, and she offers him a smile. “There are a lot of lonely people in the world, Dr. Halstead. I know how hard it is.”
He frowns, brow furrowed. “What? No, Emily--”
She thinks he’s reaching out to her for his sake. She thinks he’s trying to be her friend.
He tries to shake her head, but his protests seem like too much to her.
“It’s okay,” she assures him. “Your secret is safe with me.”
With that, she wanders off, and Will is left feeling disconcerted. He knows more about her, he thinks, though he’s not sure what. And he’s pretty sure he knows less and less about himself in the process.
-o-
Getting to know Emily is going to be a problem, that much is clear.
At this point, he’s not sure she’ll ever be a good candidate for the ED nursing system here at Med, but that’s not his call to make. He’s got a task, and he’s got to fulfill it.
That means working with Emily, case after case, patient after patient.
And hoping like hell she gets it sooner as opposed to later.