Chicago Med fic: Redemption (5/8)
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
-o-
The ED had grown increasingly chaotic, and Will felt a pang of guilt for being tied up for so long. This was his ED, his hospital -- and he needed to be in charge.
That said, it looked like things were going pretty well without him. It was all hands on deck, and this was an unprecedented challenge that the staff seemed to be rising to meet. From his vantage point, moving with the stretcher with his hand in the man’s chest, it was impressive to see the seamless operation where once there had been chaos. In a short period of time, this hospital had become something he never imagined.
He could feel its pulse, like a throbbing artery beneath his fingers.
One wrong move and it might all bleed out.
But if he could keep it together -- if he could just keep it together -- then they might save a whole lot more than a single life.
The two nurses worked with him, navigating the stretcher past the crowds. They had to squeeze through the corridors where less critical patients were lined up, and one of the residents helped them hold the elevator doors open long enough to safely load up.
The elevator was old and jerky, and Will kept his balance, making sure his grip was firm. The nurse doing the ventilating was counting her breaths, and the other was tapping her foot anxiously while she watched the elevator ascend.
Fortunately, slow as the elevator was, surgery was only on the second floor. When they arrived, a nurse was already waiting for them, quickly coming alongside to guide the gurney to the available operating room.
Inside, things were already being prepared. Another nurse was laying out supplies, and it looked like the anesthesiologist had just finished scrubbing. The team carefully worked to line up the gurney, and Will braced himself to keep his grip as they transferred the patient over onto the operating table.
Will stood fast while the rest of the staff continued to set up, and his fingers were starting to cramp when the door opened and the surgeon came in, scrubbed, gowned and ready.
Smiling was the wrong response, but he felt heartened anyway. “Dr. Barringer,” he said. “I see you pulled the lucky number.”
She gave him a withering look as she approached. “Your notes on this one were particularly subpar,” she said, looking over the patient as the team prepped him. Her eyes landed on Will’s hand, before she looked up at his eyes. “But you do have a thing for the dramatics.”
“You know how it goes,” he quipped. “Just trying to save a life.”
She scoffed, looking over the chart that the nurse presented her without touching it. “You’re making a bloody mess is what you’re doing,” she muttered, finishing her reading. “Impalement?”
“Shifted while in the ED,” Will said. “He was hemorrhaging, so we removed it.”
She nodded with some discretion. “Well, that explains the mess,” she said. “I reckon I’ll have to clean it up for you, eh?”
This time, he did smile. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. Then, to another nurse, she added, “Abby, please get Dr. Halstead in a mask, and gown him as best you can.”
“You do know that my hand is already in his chest,” Will pointed out.
“Yes, I am aware,” she said. “But he doesn’t need your hair, germs or saliva in an open incision. I know we cut a few corners here, but I still have some standards, and a sterile operating environment is one of them.”
“Hey,” Will protested. “I’m the one here who makes sure the corners aren’t cut -- not anymore.”
She rolled her shoulders knowingly. “All the more reason, then.”
The back and forth grew quiet while Helena finished her own prep around the patient, and Will allowed the nurse to help him with a mask and partial gown. He had to stoop down for her to put on the cap, but when he was done, so was the prep. The patient was intubated and sedated, and the area had been cleaned and shaved. Someone had hung a fresh bag of blood, and Helena was standing at his side, eyebrows up. “You ready to let go, Dr. Halstead?”
“We need to make sure you’re in position first,” Will said. “He will bleed -- and fast.”
“You’ll have to let go at some point,” Helena pointed out. “Once I’ve made the incision, that’s the safest bet. I can’t operate too close to the source with your hand still in the way.”
Will understood the logic, but he could still feel the artery as it vibrated. “He won’t have much time.”
“You said you trust me,” Helena said, eye to eye with him now. “So trust me.”
Will said nothing, but watched as she made the first cut. One of the nurses provided traction, and Helena started to visualize the area as best she could. The pressure on his hand from the chest cavity had been reduced substantially, and Will was starting to feel tingling in his numb fingers.
“Okay, Dr. Halstead,” she coached, primed and ready to act. “You can let go.”
He looked at her, cautious for one last moment. “Are you sure?”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “I’m sure,” she replied. “Let go.”
Will’s fingers loosened, and he pulled his hand out. The blood came out in a rush, pushing several clots along with it that splashed onto the table and spilling onto the floor. Most people would panic in that moment, but Helena was calm and in control. She called for suction, quickly moving in with a clamp.
After clamping it off, she did not hesitate. The repair work had to be done quickly to the artery -- or he would still be at risk for brain death and paralysis. The artery threatened to roll away from her, but she kept herself steady, and within five minutes, she had a temporary patch bridging one torn end to the other.
It was good work by any standard, and the real dividend paid off when the blood flow was restored.
The team breathed a sigh of relief, and Helena cast him a look.
“Good work,” he said. “That was one of the fastest repairs I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s not done yet,” she said. “I’m still going to have to stabilize the patch and eliminate the leaking.”
“But it’s a start,” Will said.
“Beginnings are easy,” she said, ducking her head to get back to work. “It’s the end that is difficult, Dr. Halstead.”
That point, Will decided as he left the OR in Helena’s good hands, could not have been better made.
-o-
Tired as he was, Will could have used the break. More than that, he felt invested in that patient by this point. He dealt with life and death all the time, but it wasn’t usually quite so literal. You got used to things as a doctor, but you couldn’t get used to everything. Will, despite all his hard work and discipline, was still human.
He’d made that allowance a lot in his life -- too often in his career. He had to do better. He had to push on. He couldn’t stop now.
Especially now.
With a trauma in his own ED, life and death left the blood on his hands. He had to keep his fingers on the heart of all of them -- or it could all fall apart.
Therefore, he left the patient with Helena, changed out of his ruined scrubs, and headed back downstairs. He expected chaos, given the amount of casualties and the overstretched capacity of his ED, but he found himself pleasantly surprised.
The ED was still busy, but it was operating smoothly. Patients were being moved in and out of rooms. The critical traumas had been dealt with efficiently, and several patients were stabilized and awaiting transfer. Among the less critical, all the triage had been completed, and there were some who had already been discharged. As an added bonus, one of the nurses had taken up the roll of point person, helping match worried families to their loved ones.
In short, they were doing all the things he’d trained them to do.
Seamlessly.
Without direct supervision.
He’d been training them for the next level of care, but this was proof: they’d arrived.
They were more than a profitable hospital now. They were even more than an efficient hospital. They were a reliable hospital that could be counted on as a community center. They were saving lives.
To see if his work had turned out, all he had to do, in the end, was let go.
-o-
Proud as Will was, there wasn’t time to bask. His ED was running efficiently, but there was still a mass casualty event on hand. He quickly jumped back in the order with the charge nurse, who looked guilty when she said they needed help clearing out the patients on the lower level of the triage list. Doctors liked the flashy saves, but Will understood the broad dynamic of needs. He gladly took the rest of the patients in the waiting room, and he spent most of the afternoon treating sprained wrists, wrapping ribs and putting in stitches.
It wasn’t glorious, but it helped keep the ED clear as a few more critical patients came through. As they were winding down, Will agreed to let Mikayla direct him to a makeshift press briefing just outside the front doors.
This was something of a novelty, of course. He knew that Ms. Goodwin had been forced to do press briefings from time to time, but this little hospital? This makeshift staff? It had never been an issue before. In fact, most of the time, it was Will hounding reporters for a good headline, and not the other way around.
It occurred to him belatedly, as he was standing in front of the small crowd, that he had no experience or training in this kind of thing. It could be an unmitigated disaster. The idea that anyone would trust him to be a reliable arbiter of the truth was actually quite laughable.
But here he was.
Finishing the things he started.
Most of the questions were simplistic, asking for a simple breakdown of the numbers -- data facts that Mikayla had helpfully compiled while he was preoccupied with patients. He was also able to share the resource hotline if anyone was looking for a missing family member in the chaos. Their stats on the day were pretty good, with only two fatalities and five people still in critical condition. The total patient count had come out near 40, which was a far cry from the limit Will had agreed to earlier in the morning.
Will was about to chalk all of this up to a damn good day, when one last question caught him off guard.
“What can you tell us about Frederick Bankole?”
Will paused, thinking through the name. The question was asked like it was obvious, but Will couldn’t place the name with anything in his memory. “I’m sorry, who?”
The reporter bounced on her toes a little bit, pen anxious in her hand. “Frederick Bankole,” she repeated, still sounding like the name would be enough. When Will still returned the name with a blank stare, she elaborated. “The investment operator. Wealthiest man in the city. It was reported earlier that he was taken to this ED.”
The question was just that -- a question. There was no accusation, no insinuation.
All the same, Will felt himself start to panic inside.
Bankole wasn’t someone he knew -- but he was a VIP patient. All the good things Will had managed today, and if he’d blown that one -- if they’d lost Bankole--
Then, just like that, the headlines changed. Will’s hospital wasn’t the story of the little hospital that could. Instead, it would be branded as the place where the wealthiest man in town died.
It was a line of thought he couldn’t sustain.
Headlines didn’t matter.
Patients mattered.
All the things Will had to worry about, he had to make sure that was still first.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about individual patients,” he said, because it wasn’t just a good answer, it was the right answer. He smiled politely. “That’s all for now.”
It was a perfectly professional note to end on, and Will held his head high as he came back inside. And then he made a beeline to the charge nurse, leaving Mikayla behind him to disperse the press. He drew her aside, trying not to look quite as unnerved as he was. He was the boss, after all. He was in charge.
Even when it felt like he was on the verge of falling apart.
“Do we have a patient by the name Bankole in the ED?” he asked, hoping to sound nonchalant.
It didn’t work. She raised her brows. “You mean Frederick Bankole?”
Will felt flustered and had little way to hide it. “Yes. Is he a patient here?”
To this, she only looked more surprised. “You didn’t know, Dr. Halstead?”
Will shook his head, still feeling like he was one step behind on all of these conversations. Being a good doctor wasn’t half as hard as trying to be an administrator, too. Maybe that was why they kept the administrative roles more separate back in Chicago. To make this kind of conflict of interest easier to manage. “Didn’t know what?” he asked, well aware just how red his cheeks were getting.
She drew a breath, and her smile at him was kind. “He was your patient,” she said. She gave him an expectant look, like he was supposed to put it together now. “The man you saved? Your hand in his chest?”
In all the possible scenarios Will had played out in his head, that wasn’t one that had even occurred to him.
The charge nurse was watching him, and she inclined her head to the stairs. “I heard he’s out of surgery if you want to check for yourself.”
It was an out from the conversation, but not an out from the reality of this situation. Will had vowed to always think before he acted, to go into things with eyes wide open -- but here he was. Playing catchup -- again.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he should have seen this coming, but he skipped the elevator and took the stairs, scaling them two at a time. A pit was growing in his stomach, deepening and yawning, and Will felt a familiar sense of dread filling it. He always made mistakes when he was overly confident. He was prone to disaster when he didn’t think things through. He’d gone with his gut today -- and for what? To what end?
His intentions had been good, but that wasn’t always enough.
It was never enough.
He dodged out of the way of several people in the hall until he came into the recovery ward. Everyone knew who he was of course, so the nurse looked at him with mild concern. “Is everything okay, Dr. Halstead?”
Will didn’t have the energy to explain. “Mr. Bankole,” he said. “Patient with a perforated artery.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, immediately relaxing. “Mr. Bankole is stable. We started to wean him from the sedation, and last I heard, he was starting to wake up.”
Will’s eyes goggled a little bit. “He’s waking up?”
“Groggy and confused, but yes,” she said. “He’s in curtain two if you want to see him--”
Will didn’t wait for further invitation. He was moving again, side stepping a nurse as he came to the curtain. He pulled it back, stepping inside. Despite the positive report, there was a part of him that was still expecting the worse.
Still bracing for it.
To his utter shock, however, Mr. Bankole was more than stable. He wasn’t just waking up.
He was awake.
Pale and drawn, he looked small in the bed, but when he saw Will, he smiled.
“It is you!” he crooned.
Will rushed forward, rapidly looking over his vitals and looking for some sign of impending disaster. BP was good. Heart rate was steady. Temperature was normal -- no sign of infection. He looked stable. He looked good.
He looked--
Will looked at him in earnest now.
He looked good.
“Dr. Halstead, am I correct?” Mr. Bankole said, sounding surprisingly coherent for someone who had just come through major surgery today.
“How are you feeling?” Will asked, reaching for the chart. One advantage to paper charts was that they were still stored at the end of the bed. Will just had to pick it up and look it over for an accurate picture of his full coverage of care. Helena had documented the surgery -- no complications -- and she’d tracked the blood and fluids -- just the bare minimum. For a man who had nearly bled out, he was doing really well.
Remarkably well.
Will looked at him, half gaping.
Mr. Bankole, still on some pretty good pain medications, was still smiling. “You are the one who saved me!”
Will blinked, somewhat stupefied. He’d come upstairs thinking the worst. He’d gone over every worst-case he knew. In his mind, he’d already been crafting a press release. Part of him had already penned a resignation letter to Dr. Wexler and Dr. Ho, apologizing for killing such an important patient at one of their hospitals.
The gratitude, therefore, didn’t parse.
“You’re going to be just fine,” Will said, although the revelation seemed to be more for him than Mr. Bankole.
The man nodded quite eagerly. “That is what the other doctor said, a nice doctor. Barringer?”
“The surgeon,” Will said. “She repaired your artery.”
“Yes, it is quite remarkable,” he enthused. “But I remember you. She said you clamped the artery with your hand. It is you who kept me alive.”
“I -- was just doing my job,” Will said, still somewhat confused by this turn of events. He had been predicting disaster. The consequences of his actions. The fallout.
Mr. Bankole chuckled. “You know, I was upset when they said they were taking me here, to this hospital,” he said. “I tried to talk them out of it. I kept telling them who I was, but they said that I wouldn’t survive the trip.”
“The rod in your chest,” Will pointed out. “Triage protocol would dictate you go to the closest trauma center.”
He was reciting policy and protocol as if it had some meaning. Dumbstruck, he wasn’t sure what else to fall back on.
“Yes, of course, but this hospital has a reputation,” Mr. Bankole said. “I had heard it was changing, but I didn’t want to take the risk. But I am so glad I did! I could not be more pleased with the service I am receiving, and the quality of care is unparalleled. You had your hand in my chest!”
He said it like it was some novelty, and not a choice of emergency medicine that Will had undertaken in haste without regard for the consequences. He’d been trying to save a life, but that had never been a guarantee. Protocol and policy, and these decisions were still governed by his gut in the moment.
But that was all there was to it.
Mr. Bankole had been dying.
Will had taken the only solution available to him.
Policy and protocol hadn’t mattered. There had been no other choice. Adam had tried to teach him that. Karen had, too. It was probably the same lesson that Ms. Goodwin had wanted him to learn, but it took his own ass on the line to make him understand it fully.
“I was just doing the job,” he said, and the words felt hollow in his chest. They reverberated with an intensity that threatened to make him weak at the knees.
“That is why it is all so impressive,” Mr. Bankole said. And the man was drugged, but he was fully coherent. Will knew there was a good chance he would remember this later; he would remember this always. “Am I right in remembering that you did not know who I was? When I came in?”
The question was earnest, and Will’s impulse to lie was as much to save himself from embarrassment as anything else. Clearly, this was a man to know. And clearly, Will had been the only idiot in the room.
You’d think he’d be used to that by now.
“Admittedly, no,” he said, pressing his lips together in a small, flustered smile. “Things were kind of hectic, and I am not always up on local news to learn the ins and outs.”
He was making excuses, but they were not needed. “See!” Mr. Bankole said. “You did not have any clue who I was. And still! I got the best care!”
This wasn’t going the way Will had thought it would. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but from the fear that he’d killed the most important man in town to receiving unfettered praise, Will was off his game in a big way now. “That would be true at any hospital. That’s what we do.”
“Maybe,” Mr. Bankole said. “But you had your hand in my chest. A hospital I had written off as inadequate, and you went above and beyond for a stranger. This is something that should be known, and I will make sure people know it. I have a friend, a Mr. Alawe?”
Will nodded quickly, happily seizing on something familiar. “Yes, I do know Mr. Alawe.”
“Well, I owe him an apology,” Mr. Bankole said. Even from flat on his back, he was speaking with inflection now, more and more lucid with every passing word. “He kept telling me all the good things about you, but I did not believe him. He has his pet projects, you know. He gets emotionally invested. It makes him quite passionate, but not always a reliable judge.”
“He is a character,” Will conceded, offering both the nicest and truest version of the truth.
Mr. Bankole lifted his hand, weak, wavering and true. “But he was right about you,” he said, letting his hand drop again. He exhaled, slow and a little shaky from exhaustion. “He was right.”
Will stepped forward, feeling more awkward than ever. “I’m just really glad to see you feeling better,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to be up and awake so quickly.”
The man lifted his hand tiredly again, pressing it to his nose. “See? The quality of your work.”
Will was blushing now. “You still need a lot of rest, and I’m sure Dr. Barringer will talk to you more specifically about the scope of your recovery,” he said. “But I’ll be sure to follow up myself, just to see how you’re doing.”
“Thank you, Dr. Halstead,” Mr. Bankole said again, wearier than before but just as lucid. “Thank you.”
With that, Will made to left, still vexed by how this was turning out.
“Oh,” Mr. Bankole said, his voice weak as he called Will back. “Dr. Halstead?”
Will turned, still intent on his patient. “Yes?”
As a doctor, Will could think of a thousand things his patient might need. More pain killers. A sedative. More information about his wounds and the surgical procedure. Someone to call his family.
But Mr. Bankole gave him an expectant look. “If you send up a representative from your PR team, I can help them craft an appropriate joint press release.”
Will had had patients ask him a lot of strange things, but that one was new. “A press release?”
“I am sure they have been asking,” Mr. Bankole rightly assumed. “With a joint release, we can assure them that I am quite well -- thanks to you.”
“Oh,” Will said, and he shook his head. “You really don’t have to do that. You need to focus on your recovery.”
He nodded along with Will’s sentiment, but then added a thought of his own. “It is the things we don’t have to do but choose to do that really make a difference,” he said. Then, he let his head dip to the side with just a hint of request. “Allow me to do this for you.”
Will was torn between his ethical obligation to stay clear of any type of personal payment and his need to give his patients the closure they requested. As best as he could tell, nothing in this qualified as a quid pro quo. In fact, ethically speaking, Will was pretty much in the free and clear. There was no personal gifting here.
And practically speaking, a press release would have to go out. From the hospital -- and likely from Mr. Bankole. If Mr. Bankole consented to the release, then that made the legalities infinitely easier.
It was also what his patient wanted. Mr. Bankole was fresh out of surgery, but there was nothing compromised in his overall demeanor. He would maybe have Helena check him over again, just for a second opinion on his mental state, before going ahead with any release.
All the same, he nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Bankole. You rest up.”
Outside of the room, he carefully closed the curtain behind him. Trying to be discreet now, his efforts were entirely futile. Helena found him just like that -- and it occurred to him that she had probably been waiting for him.
“I was wondering when you’d figure it out,” she quipped, just a touch smug.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You knew, then? That we had Frederick Bankole in the operating room?”
Her smirk grew. “You mean that you had your hand inside the chest of the richest man in town? Yeah, I knew.”
“Then, why didn’t you tell me?” Will asked, his ire rising. He lowered his voice, somewhat, in some vain attempt at privacy.
Helena did not seem bothered. “Because it’s so cute to watch you when you’re earnest,” she said. “And besides, telling you who he was wouldn’t have changed anything. You were doing what had to be done, billionaire or not.”
Will reached up and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Did everyone else really know?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Everyone knew.”
He shook his head, blowing out a low breath. “I had no idea.”
She couldn’t quite contain her composure. She laughed. “Really? You didn’t recognize him at all?”
“Not at all,” Will said.
“You are adorably naive sometimes,” she said with a self satisfied inhale.
Will groaned somehow. “I could have killed him, you know.”
Now, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, rubbish.”
“I could have,” he protested, a bit more insistent now.
She gave him a plaintive look of abject exasperation. “You stuck your hand in his chest and held on -- all without knowing who he was,” she said. “That doesn’t sound like almost killing him. That sounds like going above and beyond to save his life.”
His self doubt was flaring up -- badly. “But if I’d known--”
“Then, you would have done the exact same thing -- and worried about it a lot more,” she retorted simply. “Will, I know the kind of doctor you are -- the kind of man you are.”
Helena probably had a point -- but Will felt too sheepish to admit it. Instead, he slumped a little. “I just feel like such an idiot.”
She nodded in mock commiseration. “Yes, for saving a life and giving this hospital the best press its ever had. Such an idiot.”
Her sarcasm was noted, and it was not well received. “Helena--”
She reached out before he could finish the thought. Her look softened as she squeezed his arm. “Relax, Will. You did good.”
They were there, touching. He could feel her breathing, and the implicit invitation was still there, always there. He pulled away from her touch for both their sakes. Diverting his eyes, he deflected as best he could. “You’re the one who saved his life.”
He refused to look her in the eye now, but he could tell that her expression shifted again. The sadness was there, just ever so withdrawn. All the same, her fortitude never wavered -- it never had. He suspected it never would.
“No,” she said, softly and gently. “No, this one is all you.”
-o-
And it was all him.
Bankole spoke to the press as soon as he could, and he lauded the hospital as much as he could. Will was mortified when he was mentioned by name, and Mikayla had to field press calls the rest of the week.
That was all well and good.
Will had to handle donation calls.
Now that they were officially reputable, people wanted to offer support. Bankole himself made a sizeable donation, which Will repeatedly told him wasn’t necessary, and it seemed that other philanthropists took note. In a single week, Will exceeded last year’s donation cycle.
Money they needed, too. As they press picked up, so did the patients. Soon, Will had to start drawing up expansion plans to open up a new wing, buy more equipment and hire a few extra staff members.
Actions had consequences. That was the lesson he’d been trying to teach himself.
He just had never quite prepared himself for the idea that not all consequences were bad.
-o-
Success made Will unnerved at work -- and he was always poised to think things were about to go horribly wrong -- but he found comfort in knowing that he could always count on his brother to keep things real. Especially since sometimes, Jay had just as many things on his plate as Will did.
“August 14,” Jay blurted out over the Facetime they’d started. “Save the date.”
“Okay,” Will said, sitting himself down on his couch and propping up his phone in front of him. “What’s August 14?”
“A date you need to be here, in Chicago,” Jay said. He was also in his apartment, and he was sitting on his bed.
“But why?” Will said. “I mean, it’s not like I can just take the train over.”
“Because,” Jay said, and any show of exasperation was clearly forced as he began to grin. “That’s the date of the wedding, and I need you here as my best man.”
Will blinked in surprise, mouth falling open. Jay had been not talking about the wedding for the better part of a year now, so much so that Will wasn’t even sure where he and Hailey were at on things. They had never broken up, which Will had taken as a good sign, but he knew there were issues to work out between them. Jay’s issues, Hailey’s issues -- Will had no idea, and he wasn’t one to judge, given his complete failures in the romance department.
And part of him hadn’t needed to worry. He knew Jay and Hailey were the real deal, and this conclusion had always been inevitable.
Inevitable, but exciting.
He started to grin. “That’s awesome!”
“So you’ll be the best man?” Jay asked, actually sounding somewhat anxious.
“Of course,” Will said. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“So you’ll be here?” Jay asked. “You’ll buy your plane tickets?”
“Jay, of course I’ll be there,” Will said. “You’re getting married -- and you and Hailey are perfect together. I’m just so happy you two finally worked it out.”
Jay grinned somewhat, and it was clearly a look of self satisfaction. “I think the wait was worth it, just figuring out our crap,” he said. “And I took your advice. I proposed the right way.”
“With Mom’s ring?” Will asked hopefully. “That thing deserves to be on someone’s finger.”
“Actually, I had something new made,” Jay said. “I wanted it to be special like that.”
Will frowned. “Wait -- but why? Mom’s ring was always for the first one to get married.”
“I know, I know,” Jay said. “But the year Hailey and I have had -- the time we’ve spent together. Trust me. This just felt right.”
“But now that ring will never get used!” Will objected.
Jay gave him a look of critical surprise. “There are two of us, dude. Unless you’re hiding a secret wife over there, I’m pretty sure you can still use it.”
Will immediately drew himself back, embarrassed. That was the natural answer, but it hadn’t even occurred to him. He loved the idea of it -- settling down, finding the right girl, starting a family. But there was a part of him -- a large part of him -- that was pretty sure he’d given that up when he’d given up Natalie. Happy endings could only be so happy, in some cases.
In his case.
He tried to smile, though -- for Jay’s sake. “I guess we’ll see.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Jay said, a little expectant. “So? What about you?”
Will frowned, suddenly wishing that he hadn’t agreed to a Facetime. “Um. I don’t know. What about me?”
Jay gave him a deadpanned look across the feed. The connection was a little slow and in slightly compromised quality, but the acuity of Jay’s look was impossible to miss. “Don’t play stupid,” he said. “Tell me something about you.”
“I told you everything about me,” Will protested.
Jay shook his head with a scoff. “No, you told me about work. I know all about your schedule, and I know about your requisition of a new CT machine, but I don’t know anything about you.”
The question was probably valid, as they were brothers and as Will had run away to Africa and conveniently avoided telling Jay anything about his personal life. This type of avoidance could be construed in a negative way, but it wasn’t like Will was trying to hide something. Or, more to the point, it wasn’t like there was anything to hide.
Which was precisely why he was trying to hide it.
He had been in Africa for nearly a year now, and he had done a lot of great things, a lot of impressive things. He’d become a better doctor. He’d become a better person.
And he had completely avoided interpersonal connections of any depth at nearly all costs.
“Come on,” Jay cajoled, lightly but still insistent. “You’ve got to have some kind of social life going there. I mean, I know you. Always the life of the party. Always finding the prettiest girls.”
Will was embarrassed by the implication, if only because it was spot on. “Those days are long past me,” he said. “No parties these days. No women.”
“What, not a single one?” Jay asked, sounding like he couldn’t buy it.
“No, not a single one,” Will said. “I mean, not like that. I have plenty of colleagues--”
Jay groaned. “Colleagues?”
“Friends, then,” Will clarified with a note of concessions. “But I’m nowhere near ready for anything like that.”
“I’m not talking about getting married--”
“Well, to be fair, you are--”
Jay continued with a small toss of his head. “I’m talking about you having a life again. A real life.”
Will nodded along because he knew his brother would not relent from this one by a long shot. Short of hanging up on his brother, Will would have to talk about it. “Well, I mean, I do stuff,” he said. “There are plenty of things going on, and I’m Chief of Staff. I have to make an appearance, and I put in extra effort with the ED staff. But honestly, the social side of things hasn’t been the same since I left Adam’s hospital.”
Jay made a face. “Dude, you haven’t worked with Adam in months.”
Will composed himself, trying to act like that declaration had no bearing on anything. “I know.”
Jay gave him a plaintive stare. Will was trying to be difficult; Jay clearly did not care. He had all the finesse of a battering ram: no subtlety, but it would be effective sooner or later. The question was just whether or not Will could make it through this call. “So, what?” Jay asked. “What’s going on now?”
The attempt to clarify made Will grunt in exasperation. “Nothing. Nothing is going on now, Jay. Nothing.”
Even as he was saying it, Will knew that three denials was probably overkill. He was protesting too much, and Jay was too keen to let that slide.
Worse, inexplicably and totally against his will, he was starting to blush.
Damn it.
Those Irish genes weren’t doing him any favors right now
Even over the ocean, with a crappy phone connection, Jay noticed. His eyes widened and he sat up. “Wait! There is something going on!”
“No, there’s not--” Will said quickly.
Jay ignored him completely. “What’s her name?”
This was literally the last thing Will wanted to talk about right now. “There’s no one--”
Jay was an impeccable cop, though. Once he had a theory, he was like a dog with a bone. “Will.”
And Will didn’t have much fight left in him -- not for this. He put his all into his work. He left it all at the hospital, each and every day. Here? With Jay?
He owed his brother every answer, even the ones he wasn’t sure of himself.
Sighing, he let his shoulders slump. “Helena.”
“Helena?” he asked, making it clear that providing a name was not sufficient in this story.
Lying to Jay was pointless, and really, for all of Will’s many faults as a brother, being dishonest wasn’t one of them. At work, that was apparently a different issue.
“She’s British, one of my surgeons here,” he said. That was the professional delineation, but that wasn’t even what Jay was asking. “I mean, she’s smart, talented. Beautiful.”
“Okay,” Jay said. His face was set expectantly. “So, what’s the problem?”
Will picked up his phone, walking over to the couch while he contemplated a way to answer that question. “There’s no problem.”
Will sat down as his brother’s questions continued. “So you’re going out with her?”
Will adjusted his position, propping up the phone on the coffee table. “How did this become about me? We’re supposed to be talking about you and Hailey.”
“We did, and we settled it,” Jay reminded him. “Wedding date July 10. You’ll be there, no fuss, no drama, no questions. Unlike Helena. Are you going to bring her?”
The question was too much, too fast. “Jay, we’re not even dating!” Will said, trying not to let the color creep up in his cheeks. “Why would I invite her to your wedding?”
“Because you like her,” Jay said. He gave a small, no nonsense shrug. “And I’m guessing she likes you.”
“That’s really not the point--”
“Two consenting adults like each other,” Jay said. “I think that is the point.”
“Just -- no,” Will said. He shook his head so his brother might actually listen to him for once. “Helena is a colleague -- a friend. That’s all. I’ll come to your wedding solo. As best man, I don’t even have time for a date.”
“Oh, whatever,” Jay said, face scrunching up. “That’s the lamest copout in the world.”
“It’s not a copout,” Will insisted. “I’m coming back for you, that’s all.”
“But if Helena likes you, and she’s smart and talented and pretty, why not?” Jay posited.
He had this way of asking things, totally matter of fact, that left Will flustered. When it came to family matters, Will’s policy had generally been to live and let live. He didn’t seek out conflict with his family, and if he could play nice, he would. If things got uncomfortable, he tended to run hard and fast.
But that wasn’t feasible.
Not when he’d already run all the way to Africa.
“Because I’m not good at relationships,” Will said, struggling to find the words. “I don’t know how to make boundaries. I get in too deep, and it always ends up badly. Every relationship I had in Chicago was the same story on repeat. You know this. I’ve told you this.”
Jay didn’t look nearly as convinced as Will might have hoped. “Sure, and I let that little song and dance slide as long as there was no one out there that you liked,” he said. Jay sat forward, staring him down even across the ocean. “But seriously, I can tell that you like this woman. I can tell because you have that stupid expression on your face, the one you always get when you’ve fallen head over heels. Does she like you? This isn’t one-sided, is it?”
This was getting even more humiliating. “It doesn't matter.”
“Of course it matters,” Jay retorted.
Will was weary by the debate. He was losing the ability to hold up his side of things. “Jay, I’m just not ready. I can’t do another relationship, not when I literally ruined two at the same time.”
“Sabeena doesn’t even count -- that was never even a real thing,” Jay said. “And Natalie? Last I checked, you and Natalie could still be a thing--”
“She’s in Seattle; I’m in Africa,” Will said.
“And the fact that you’re still in contact and you’re still having this conversation means that that door is still open,” Jay said. “And even if it’s not, bad luck in the past doesn’t mean that you suck at all relationships. I’m pretty sure that you’ve had quite a few extenuating circumstances, circumstances that don’t apply to you and the lovely Helena.”
“But I made the circumstances,” Will said, refusing to give in on this point. “I mean, I chose to be the CI and lie to Natalie. I couldn’t get rid of the gun. I moved in with Hannah when I knew she wasn’t ready. I lied to Sabeena. I enabled Natalie in her desperation instead of cleaning things up. Those aren’t acts of God, Jay. That’s just me, making the same stupid mistakes every time I let myself fall in love.”
“Even so,” Jay said. “Come on, Will. Just because you have doesn’t mean you will next time. Or ever again for that matter. That’s what you’re doing in Africa, right? Learning? And is the lesson that you’re meant to be alone forever?”
Jay rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, I don’t buy that for a minute,” he said. He nodded at Will forcefully. “Look at how much you’ve changed. I mean, I can see it every time I talk to you. You’re different. Which means this crazy-ass African adventure is working.”
That was a point -- maybe. But it wasn’t a point Will was in a position to concede just yet. It was too new; the change was too nascent. He fell back on stubborn denial. “I’m just not ready.”
Jay eased back with that, because that was a concession he was willing to make. They’d learned a lot of give and take over the years. They’d learned to be brothers. “That’s fair,” he said. “I want what’s best for you, I do. So just make sure you’re holding out for the right reasons.”
“I’m trying,” Will said quietly. “I swear, I’m trying.”
-o-
Trying.
That was all there was to it.
Will just kept trying.
Fortunately, with the crazy nature of his job, there was always something to work on. Paperwork was always stacked high, and he was constantly analyzing the latest figures in an attempt to streamline production and costs. Managing the staff had its own difficulties, and Will needed to play politics in order to keep everyone happy and working. The turnover rate had dropped dramatically, but that was never a given. He had to keep trying.
And trying and trying.
He worked as many shifts as he was able, sometimes sneaking down to the ED just because.
Because he had to keep trying.
-o-
But no matter how much he buried himself in his work, Helena was there. In a professional capacity, it was impossible to avoid one another. He was her boss, as well, which meant that he had a supervisory role. It was a role he took seriously, and he maintained it actively. And she was a productive and diligent member of the hospital’s leadership team.
True to her word, she respected the boundaries he had set. It was never weird or tense between them. In fact, if anything, they were better friends than ever. Seeing her, when he was really honest with himself, was the highlight of his day.
She made the hectic days tolerable. She made the stressful days manageable. She made the hard calls easier. She made everything better.
Will wasn’t sure what that meant, really, but he was sure what it couldn’t mean.
He had to stay focused. He had to stay productive. He had to build out the protocols and establish a hospital that functioned better for staff and patients. Will was making a happily ever after for everyone else.
His own, he had decided, just wasn’t in the cards.
-o-
Helena was a consuming distraction, but Will did have plenty of other things to think about. His days were more full than ever, and he took on more shifts just to make sure he never got tempted by a down moment. This meant he worked earlier and stayed later, but he felt the tradeoff was worthwhile.
He knew the endgame, after all.
The best damn hospital he could make.
That was his plan, and he worked toward it without reserve. So there was no reason for him to be surprised by his progress.
Except, he was surprised.
He had always thought he’d be ready, that he’d see success coming and recognize it for what it was.
That was not the first thing Will had ever been wrong about, and it certainly would not be the last.
-o-
The call came in, directly to his desk. He hadn’t really wanted a personal assistant, but he’d never been able to fire Mikayla when she was doing a perfectly good job. Besides, he couldn't pretend like it wasn’t useful to have an assistant. An assistant was able to field phone calls, manage his appointments and streamline administrative tasks. He appreciated knowing that when a call came through, it was a call that mattered.
He thought he was ready when he answered the phone.
He wasn’t.
-o-
For months, he’d been building up this hospital as a respected institution in the local healthcare landscape. It had taken a lot of work to raise the hospital’s profile, and as its notoriety shifted, he’d been able to secure more funds, increase paid visits and retain staff. Without a marketing department -- there was simply no room in the budget when Will was still updating treatment rooms and trying to carve out space to reopen a specific pediatrics department -- he was in charge of most of the hands-on branding himself. He’d gotten to know the press pretty well as a result, and he’d rubbed shoulders with several high profile members of the city elite.
This, though?
Was a call from the mayor.
A factory fire had spread quickly throughout one of the warehouse districts. While fire crews had contained most of the flames, several buildings had been structurally compromised, with factory workers still trapped inside. Evidence suggested they were still alive, but the situation was a mess and relief crews were sapped.
His ED had already picked up some of the overflow, but the problem was that many victims were arriving in too critical of condition. They need triage to be done onsite to help ensure that people were getting treatment in time. The mayor was rallying each local ED to send its best, and he requested Will by name.
It was the culmination of everything he’d worked for. To be trusted among the city’s best. It was respect -- not for Will, but for the institutions he was trying to build. This could cement the hospital’s status as an equal player on the healthcare market.
He was allowed to bring one additional surgeon.
And Will knew exactly who to take.
-o-
Helena was naturally curious, and she wasn’t someone who took orders blindly. However, he and Helena had also built up enough trust over the months working together. So when he asked her to come now and ask questions later, she willingly obliged him.
That was a novel idea, really. The idea that Will had earned someone’s trust. The idea that Will had enough integrity to be given trust.
He would have to contemplate what that meant another day. This wasn’t the time for existential pondering. Now was the time to save lives.
One of the ambulance crews was on their way back out to the disaster, and Will asked for a ride. The drivers agreed, and Helena geared up as she would for any field work. Will gathered as much as he could carry and hopped in back next to her.
She was to the point and all business, and she didn’t ask a single question until they ambulance had pulled away, sirens blaring.
“We’re going to the scene?” she asked, having figured out the basics.
“We are,” he said.
She nodded but her expression was a little tight. “I had a patient, you know,” she said. She looked at him. “I was about to go into surgery.”
“I know,” Will said, not able to apologize. “Danvers took it over.”
“Danvers is a nice woman, but she’s done exactly two surgeries of that nature,” Helena said.
The tone of her voice wasn’t a challenge precisely, but it was her professional commitment that she could not squash. Helena wanted to save lives, just like Will. It was one reason why he’d grown so fond of her.
“Well, we’ve built up a strong support network for the surgical staff. Everyone has been called in,” Will said. “This is all hands on deck. Danvers isn’t alone.”
“But I should be there,” Helena said. “That was my patient, and I can’t be some glorified medic--”
“You won’t be,” Will said. “The influx of victims -- triage is a mess. Patients are dying onsite or being mismanaged before they get to the hospital. We have to go and help the process. If needed, we’ll perform whatever procedures we can onsite to minimize mortality.”
Helena looked like she might not believe him.
“What?” Will asked. “Hospitals do this all the time.”
“Respected hospitals, sure,” Helena said. “But us--”
“The mayor called,” Will told her. “Requested help from me personally.”
She looked like she might not believe him out of shock. “The mayor. Requested you?”
Will smiled, just a little. “He told me to bring my best.”
Helena snorted with a small laugh. “Your best?”
“You were the first and only person I considered,” he told her as the ambulance rocked them forward. “It had to be you.”
Her smile warmed to him, and their knees brushed against one another as they were jarred again. “Well, then,” she said. “Let’s go save some lives.”
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
-o-
The ED had grown increasingly chaotic, and Will felt a pang of guilt for being tied up for so long. This was his ED, his hospital -- and he needed to be in charge.
That said, it looked like things were going pretty well without him. It was all hands on deck, and this was an unprecedented challenge that the staff seemed to be rising to meet. From his vantage point, moving with the stretcher with his hand in the man’s chest, it was impressive to see the seamless operation where once there had been chaos. In a short period of time, this hospital had become something he never imagined.
He could feel its pulse, like a throbbing artery beneath his fingers.
One wrong move and it might all bleed out.
But if he could keep it together -- if he could just keep it together -- then they might save a whole lot more than a single life.
The two nurses worked with him, navigating the stretcher past the crowds. They had to squeeze through the corridors where less critical patients were lined up, and one of the residents helped them hold the elevator doors open long enough to safely load up.
The elevator was old and jerky, and Will kept his balance, making sure his grip was firm. The nurse doing the ventilating was counting her breaths, and the other was tapping her foot anxiously while she watched the elevator ascend.
Fortunately, slow as the elevator was, surgery was only on the second floor. When they arrived, a nurse was already waiting for them, quickly coming alongside to guide the gurney to the available operating room.
Inside, things were already being prepared. Another nurse was laying out supplies, and it looked like the anesthesiologist had just finished scrubbing. The team carefully worked to line up the gurney, and Will braced himself to keep his grip as they transferred the patient over onto the operating table.
Will stood fast while the rest of the staff continued to set up, and his fingers were starting to cramp when the door opened and the surgeon came in, scrubbed, gowned and ready.
Smiling was the wrong response, but he felt heartened anyway. “Dr. Barringer,” he said. “I see you pulled the lucky number.”
She gave him a withering look as she approached. “Your notes on this one were particularly subpar,” she said, looking over the patient as the team prepped him. Her eyes landed on Will’s hand, before she looked up at his eyes. “But you do have a thing for the dramatics.”
“You know how it goes,” he quipped. “Just trying to save a life.”
She scoffed, looking over the chart that the nurse presented her without touching it. “You’re making a bloody mess is what you’re doing,” she muttered, finishing her reading. “Impalement?”
“Shifted while in the ED,” Will said. “He was hemorrhaging, so we removed it.”
She nodded with some discretion. “Well, that explains the mess,” she said. “I reckon I’ll have to clean it up for you, eh?”
This time, he did smile. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. Then, to another nurse, she added, “Abby, please get Dr. Halstead in a mask, and gown him as best you can.”
“You do know that my hand is already in his chest,” Will pointed out.
“Yes, I am aware,” she said. “But he doesn’t need your hair, germs or saliva in an open incision. I know we cut a few corners here, but I still have some standards, and a sterile operating environment is one of them.”
“Hey,” Will protested. “I’m the one here who makes sure the corners aren’t cut -- not anymore.”
She rolled her shoulders knowingly. “All the more reason, then.”
The back and forth grew quiet while Helena finished her own prep around the patient, and Will allowed the nurse to help him with a mask and partial gown. He had to stoop down for her to put on the cap, but when he was done, so was the prep. The patient was intubated and sedated, and the area had been cleaned and shaved. Someone had hung a fresh bag of blood, and Helena was standing at his side, eyebrows up. “You ready to let go, Dr. Halstead?”
“We need to make sure you’re in position first,” Will said. “He will bleed -- and fast.”
“You’ll have to let go at some point,” Helena pointed out. “Once I’ve made the incision, that’s the safest bet. I can’t operate too close to the source with your hand still in the way.”
Will understood the logic, but he could still feel the artery as it vibrated. “He won’t have much time.”
“You said you trust me,” Helena said, eye to eye with him now. “So trust me.”
Will said nothing, but watched as she made the first cut. One of the nurses provided traction, and Helena started to visualize the area as best she could. The pressure on his hand from the chest cavity had been reduced substantially, and Will was starting to feel tingling in his numb fingers.
“Okay, Dr. Halstead,” she coached, primed and ready to act. “You can let go.”
He looked at her, cautious for one last moment. “Are you sure?”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “I’m sure,” she replied. “Let go.”
Will’s fingers loosened, and he pulled his hand out. The blood came out in a rush, pushing several clots along with it that splashed onto the table and spilling onto the floor. Most people would panic in that moment, but Helena was calm and in control. She called for suction, quickly moving in with a clamp.
After clamping it off, she did not hesitate. The repair work had to be done quickly to the artery -- or he would still be at risk for brain death and paralysis. The artery threatened to roll away from her, but she kept herself steady, and within five minutes, she had a temporary patch bridging one torn end to the other.
It was good work by any standard, and the real dividend paid off when the blood flow was restored.
The team breathed a sigh of relief, and Helena cast him a look.
“Good work,” he said. “That was one of the fastest repairs I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s not done yet,” she said. “I’m still going to have to stabilize the patch and eliminate the leaking.”
“But it’s a start,” Will said.
“Beginnings are easy,” she said, ducking her head to get back to work. “It’s the end that is difficult, Dr. Halstead.”
That point, Will decided as he left the OR in Helena’s good hands, could not have been better made.
-o-
Tired as he was, Will could have used the break. More than that, he felt invested in that patient by this point. He dealt with life and death all the time, but it wasn’t usually quite so literal. You got used to things as a doctor, but you couldn’t get used to everything. Will, despite all his hard work and discipline, was still human.
He’d made that allowance a lot in his life -- too often in his career. He had to do better. He had to push on. He couldn’t stop now.
Especially now.
With a trauma in his own ED, life and death left the blood on his hands. He had to keep his fingers on the heart of all of them -- or it could all fall apart.
Therefore, he left the patient with Helena, changed out of his ruined scrubs, and headed back downstairs. He expected chaos, given the amount of casualties and the overstretched capacity of his ED, but he found himself pleasantly surprised.
The ED was still busy, but it was operating smoothly. Patients were being moved in and out of rooms. The critical traumas had been dealt with efficiently, and several patients were stabilized and awaiting transfer. Among the less critical, all the triage had been completed, and there were some who had already been discharged. As an added bonus, one of the nurses had taken up the roll of point person, helping match worried families to their loved ones.
In short, they were doing all the things he’d trained them to do.
Seamlessly.
Without direct supervision.
He’d been training them for the next level of care, but this was proof: they’d arrived.
They were more than a profitable hospital now. They were even more than an efficient hospital. They were a reliable hospital that could be counted on as a community center. They were saving lives.
To see if his work had turned out, all he had to do, in the end, was let go.
-o-
Proud as Will was, there wasn’t time to bask. His ED was running efficiently, but there was still a mass casualty event on hand. He quickly jumped back in the order with the charge nurse, who looked guilty when she said they needed help clearing out the patients on the lower level of the triage list. Doctors liked the flashy saves, but Will understood the broad dynamic of needs. He gladly took the rest of the patients in the waiting room, and he spent most of the afternoon treating sprained wrists, wrapping ribs and putting in stitches.
It wasn’t glorious, but it helped keep the ED clear as a few more critical patients came through. As they were winding down, Will agreed to let Mikayla direct him to a makeshift press briefing just outside the front doors.
This was something of a novelty, of course. He knew that Ms. Goodwin had been forced to do press briefings from time to time, but this little hospital? This makeshift staff? It had never been an issue before. In fact, most of the time, it was Will hounding reporters for a good headline, and not the other way around.
It occurred to him belatedly, as he was standing in front of the small crowd, that he had no experience or training in this kind of thing. It could be an unmitigated disaster. The idea that anyone would trust him to be a reliable arbiter of the truth was actually quite laughable.
But here he was.
Finishing the things he started.
Most of the questions were simplistic, asking for a simple breakdown of the numbers -- data facts that Mikayla had helpfully compiled while he was preoccupied with patients. He was also able to share the resource hotline if anyone was looking for a missing family member in the chaos. Their stats on the day were pretty good, with only two fatalities and five people still in critical condition. The total patient count had come out near 40, which was a far cry from the limit Will had agreed to earlier in the morning.
Will was about to chalk all of this up to a damn good day, when one last question caught him off guard.
“What can you tell us about Frederick Bankole?”
Will paused, thinking through the name. The question was asked like it was obvious, but Will couldn’t place the name with anything in his memory. “I’m sorry, who?”
The reporter bounced on her toes a little bit, pen anxious in her hand. “Frederick Bankole,” she repeated, still sounding like the name would be enough. When Will still returned the name with a blank stare, she elaborated. “The investment operator. Wealthiest man in the city. It was reported earlier that he was taken to this ED.”
The question was just that -- a question. There was no accusation, no insinuation.
All the same, Will felt himself start to panic inside.
Bankole wasn’t someone he knew -- but he was a VIP patient. All the good things Will had managed today, and if he’d blown that one -- if they’d lost Bankole--
Then, just like that, the headlines changed. Will’s hospital wasn’t the story of the little hospital that could. Instead, it would be branded as the place where the wealthiest man in town died.
It was a line of thought he couldn’t sustain.
Headlines didn’t matter.
Patients mattered.
All the things Will had to worry about, he had to make sure that was still first.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about individual patients,” he said, because it wasn’t just a good answer, it was the right answer. He smiled politely. “That’s all for now.”
It was a perfectly professional note to end on, and Will held his head high as he came back inside. And then he made a beeline to the charge nurse, leaving Mikayla behind him to disperse the press. He drew her aside, trying not to look quite as unnerved as he was. He was the boss, after all. He was in charge.
Even when it felt like he was on the verge of falling apart.
“Do we have a patient by the name Bankole in the ED?” he asked, hoping to sound nonchalant.
It didn’t work. She raised her brows. “You mean Frederick Bankole?”
Will felt flustered and had little way to hide it. “Yes. Is he a patient here?”
To this, she only looked more surprised. “You didn’t know, Dr. Halstead?”
Will shook his head, still feeling like he was one step behind on all of these conversations. Being a good doctor wasn’t half as hard as trying to be an administrator, too. Maybe that was why they kept the administrative roles more separate back in Chicago. To make this kind of conflict of interest easier to manage. “Didn’t know what?” he asked, well aware just how red his cheeks were getting.
She drew a breath, and her smile at him was kind. “He was your patient,” she said. She gave him an expectant look, like he was supposed to put it together now. “The man you saved? Your hand in his chest?”
In all the possible scenarios Will had played out in his head, that wasn’t one that had even occurred to him.
The charge nurse was watching him, and she inclined her head to the stairs. “I heard he’s out of surgery if you want to check for yourself.”
It was an out from the conversation, but not an out from the reality of this situation. Will had vowed to always think before he acted, to go into things with eyes wide open -- but here he was. Playing catchup -- again.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he should have seen this coming, but he skipped the elevator and took the stairs, scaling them two at a time. A pit was growing in his stomach, deepening and yawning, and Will felt a familiar sense of dread filling it. He always made mistakes when he was overly confident. He was prone to disaster when he didn’t think things through. He’d gone with his gut today -- and for what? To what end?
His intentions had been good, but that wasn’t always enough.
It was never enough.
He dodged out of the way of several people in the hall until he came into the recovery ward. Everyone knew who he was of course, so the nurse looked at him with mild concern. “Is everything okay, Dr. Halstead?”
Will didn’t have the energy to explain. “Mr. Bankole,” he said. “Patient with a perforated artery.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, immediately relaxing. “Mr. Bankole is stable. We started to wean him from the sedation, and last I heard, he was starting to wake up.”
Will’s eyes goggled a little bit. “He’s waking up?”
“Groggy and confused, but yes,” she said. “He’s in curtain two if you want to see him--”
Will didn’t wait for further invitation. He was moving again, side stepping a nurse as he came to the curtain. He pulled it back, stepping inside. Despite the positive report, there was a part of him that was still expecting the worse.
Still bracing for it.
To his utter shock, however, Mr. Bankole was more than stable. He wasn’t just waking up.
He was awake.
Pale and drawn, he looked small in the bed, but when he saw Will, he smiled.
“It is you!” he crooned.
Will rushed forward, rapidly looking over his vitals and looking for some sign of impending disaster. BP was good. Heart rate was steady. Temperature was normal -- no sign of infection. He looked stable. He looked good.
He looked--
Will looked at him in earnest now.
He looked good.
“Dr. Halstead, am I correct?” Mr. Bankole said, sounding surprisingly coherent for someone who had just come through major surgery today.
“How are you feeling?” Will asked, reaching for the chart. One advantage to paper charts was that they were still stored at the end of the bed. Will just had to pick it up and look it over for an accurate picture of his full coverage of care. Helena had documented the surgery -- no complications -- and she’d tracked the blood and fluids -- just the bare minimum. For a man who had nearly bled out, he was doing really well.
Remarkably well.
Will looked at him, half gaping.
Mr. Bankole, still on some pretty good pain medications, was still smiling. “You are the one who saved me!”
Will blinked, somewhat stupefied. He’d come upstairs thinking the worst. He’d gone over every worst-case he knew. In his mind, he’d already been crafting a press release. Part of him had already penned a resignation letter to Dr. Wexler and Dr. Ho, apologizing for killing such an important patient at one of their hospitals.
The gratitude, therefore, didn’t parse.
“You’re going to be just fine,” Will said, although the revelation seemed to be more for him than Mr. Bankole.
The man nodded quite eagerly. “That is what the other doctor said, a nice doctor. Barringer?”
“The surgeon,” Will said. “She repaired your artery.”
“Yes, it is quite remarkable,” he enthused. “But I remember you. She said you clamped the artery with your hand. It is you who kept me alive.”
“I -- was just doing my job,” Will said, still somewhat confused by this turn of events. He had been predicting disaster. The consequences of his actions. The fallout.
Mr. Bankole chuckled. “You know, I was upset when they said they were taking me here, to this hospital,” he said. “I tried to talk them out of it. I kept telling them who I was, but they said that I wouldn’t survive the trip.”
“The rod in your chest,” Will pointed out. “Triage protocol would dictate you go to the closest trauma center.”
He was reciting policy and protocol as if it had some meaning. Dumbstruck, he wasn’t sure what else to fall back on.
“Yes, of course, but this hospital has a reputation,” Mr. Bankole said. “I had heard it was changing, but I didn’t want to take the risk. But I am so glad I did! I could not be more pleased with the service I am receiving, and the quality of care is unparalleled. You had your hand in my chest!”
He said it like it was some novelty, and not a choice of emergency medicine that Will had undertaken in haste without regard for the consequences. He’d been trying to save a life, but that had never been a guarantee. Protocol and policy, and these decisions were still governed by his gut in the moment.
But that was all there was to it.
Mr. Bankole had been dying.
Will had taken the only solution available to him.
Policy and protocol hadn’t mattered. There had been no other choice. Adam had tried to teach him that. Karen had, too. It was probably the same lesson that Ms. Goodwin had wanted him to learn, but it took his own ass on the line to make him understand it fully.
“I was just doing the job,” he said, and the words felt hollow in his chest. They reverberated with an intensity that threatened to make him weak at the knees.
“That is why it is all so impressive,” Mr. Bankole said. And the man was drugged, but he was fully coherent. Will knew there was a good chance he would remember this later; he would remember this always. “Am I right in remembering that you did not know who I was? When I came in?”
The question was earnest, and Will’s impulse to lie was as much to save himself from embarrassment as anything else. Clearly, this was a man to know. And clearly, Will had been the only idiot in the room.
You’d think he’d be used to that by now.
“Admittedly, no,” he said, pressing his lips together in a small, flustered smile. “Things were kind of hectic, and I am not always up on local news to learn the ins and outs.”
He was making excuses, but they were not needed. “See!” Mr. Bankole said. “You did not have any clue who I was. And still! I got the best care!”
This wasn’t going the way Will had thought it would. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but from the fear that he’d killed the most important man in town to receiving unfettered praise, Will was off his game in a big way now. “That would be true at any hospital. That’s what we do.”
“Maybe,” Mr. Bankole said. “But you had your hand in my chest. A hospital I had written off as inadequate, and you went above and beyond for a stranger. This is something that should be known, and I will make sure people know it. I have a friend, a Mr. Alawe?”
Will nodded quickly, happily seizing on something familiar. “Yes, I do know Mr. Alawe.”
“Well, I owe him an apology,” Mr. Bankole said. Even from flat on his back, he was speaking with inflection now, more and more lucid with every passing word. “He kept telling me all the good things about you, but I did not believe him. He has his pet projects, you know. He gets emotionally invested. It makes him quite passionate, but not always a reliable judge.”
“He is a character,” Will conceded, offering both the nicest and truest version of the truth.
Mr. Bankole lifted his hand, weak, wavering and true. “But he was right about you,” he said, letting his hand drop again. He exhaled, slow and a little shaky from exhaustion. “He was right.”
Will stepped forward, feeling more awkward than ever. “I’m just really glad to see you feeling better,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to be up and awake so quickly.”
The man lifted his hand tiredly again, pressing it to his nose. “See? The quality of your work.”
Will was blushing now. “You still need a lot of rest, and I’m sure Dr. Barringer will talk to you more specifically about the scope of your recovery,” he said. “But I’ll be sure to follow up myself, just to see how you’re doing.”
“Thank you, Dr. Halstead,” Mr. Bankole said again, wearier than before but just as lucid. “Thank you.”
With that, Will made to left, still vexed by how this was turning out.
“Oh,” Mr. Bankole said, his voice weak as he called Will back. “Dr. Halstead?”
Will turned, still intent on his patient. “Yes?”
As a doctor, Will could think of a thousand things his patient might need. More pain killers. A sedative. More information about his wounds and the surgical procedure. Someone to call his family.
But Mr. Bankole gave him an expectant look. “If you send up a representative from your PR team, I can help them craft an appropriate joint press release.”
Will had had patients ask him a lot of strange things, but that one was new. “A press release?”
“I am sure they have been asking,” Mr. Bankole rightly assumed. “With a joint release, we can assure them that I am quite well -- thanks to you.”
“Oh,” Will said, and he shook his head. “You really don’t have to do that. You need to focus on your recovery.”
He nodded along with Will’s sentiment, but then added a thought of his own. “It is the things we don’t have to do but choose to do that really make a difference,” he said. Then, he let his head dip to the side with just a hint of request. “Allow me to do this for you.”
Will was torn between his ethical obligation to stay clear of any type of personal payment and his need to give his patients the closure they requested. As best as he could tell, nothing in this qualified as a quid pro quo. In fact, ethically speaking, Will was pretty much in the free and clear. There was no personal gifting here.
And practically speaking, a press release would have to go out. From the hospital -- and likely from Mr. Bankole. If Mr. Bankole consented to the release, then that made the legalities infinitely easier.
It was also what his patient wanted. Mr. Bankole was fresh out of surgery, but there was nothing compromised in his overall demeanor. He would maybe have Helena check him over again, just for a second opinion on his mental state, before going ahead with any release.
All the same, he nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Bankole. You rest up.”
Outside of the room, he carefully closed the curtain behind him. Trying to be discreet now, his efforts were entirely futile. Helena found him just like that -- and it occurred to him that she had probably been waiting for him.
“I was wondering when you’d figure it out,” she quipped, just a touch smug.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You knew, then? That we had Frederick Bankole in the operating room?”
Her smirk grew. “You mean that you had your hand inside the chest of the richest man in town? Yeah, I knew.”
“Then, why didn’t you tell me?” Will asked, his ire rising. He lowered his voice, somewhat, in some vain attempt at privacy.
Helena did not seem bothered. “Because it’s so cute to watch you when you’re earnest,” she said. “And besides, telling you who he was wouldn’t have changed anything. You were doing what had to be done, billionaire or not.”
Will reached up and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Did everyone else really know?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Everyone knew.”
He shook his head, blowing out a low breath. “I had no idea.”
She couldn’t quite contain her composure. She laughed. “Really? You didn’t recognize him at all?”
“Not at all,” Will said.
“You are adorably naive sometimes,” she said with a self satisfied inhale.
Will groaned somehow. “I could have killed him, you know.”
Now, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, rubbish.”
“I could have,” he protested, a bit more insistent now.
She gave him a plaintive look of abject exasperation. “You stuck your hand in his chest and held on -- all without knowing who he was,” she said. “That doesn’t sound like almost killing him. That sounds like going above and beyond to save his life.”
His self doubt was flaring up -- badly. “But if I’d known--”
“Then, you would have done the exact same thing -- and worried about it a lot more,” she retorted simply. “Will, I know the kind of doctor you are -- the kind of man you are.”
Helena probably had a point -- but Will felt too sheepish to admit it. Instead, he slumped a little. “I just feel like such an idiot.”
She nodded in mock commiseration. “Yes, for saving a life and giving this hospital the best press its ever had. Such an idiot.”
Her sarcasm was noted, and it was not well received. “Helena--”
She reached out before he could finish the thought. Her look softened as she squeezed his arm. “Relax, Will. You did good.”
They were there, touching. He could feel her breathing, and the implicit invitation was still there, always there. He pulled away from her touch for both their sakes. Diverting his eyes, he deflected as best he could. “You’re the one who saved his life.”
He refused to look her in the eye now, but he could tell that her expression shifted again. The sadness was there, just ever so withdrawn. All the same, her fortitude never wavered -- it never had. He suspected it never would.
“No,” she said, softly and gently. “No, this one is all you.”
-o-
And it was all him.
Bankole spoke to the press as soon as he could, and he lauded the hospital as much as he could. Will was mortified when he was mentioned by name, and Mikayla had to field press calls the rest of the week.
That was all well and good.
Will had to handle donation calls.
Now that they were officially reputable, people wanted to offer support. Bankole himself made a sizeable donation, which Will repeatedly told him wasn’t necessary, and it seemed that other philanthropists took note. In a single week, Will exceeded last year’s donation cycle.
Money they needed, too. As they press picked up, so did the patients. Soon, Will had to start drawing up expansion plans to open up a new wing, buy more equipment and hire a few extra staff members.
Actions had consequences. That was the lesson he’d been trying to teach himself.
He just had never quite prepared himself for the idea that not all consequences were bad.
-o-
Success made Will unnerved at work -- and he was always poised to think things were about to go horribly wrong -- but he found comfort in knowing that he could always count on his brother to keep things real. Especially since sometimes, Jay had just as many things on his plate as Will did.
“August 14,” Jay blurted out over the Facetime they’d started. “Save the date.”
“Okay,” Will said, sitting himself down on his couch and propping up his phone in front of him. “What’s August 14?”
“A date you need to be here, in Chicago,” Jay said. He was also in his apartment, and he was sitting on his bed.
“But why?” Will said. “I mean, it’s not like I can just take the train over.”
“Because,” Jay said, and any show of exasperation was clearly forced as he began to grin. “That’s the date of the wedding, and I need you here as my best man.”
Will blinked in surprise, mouth falling open. Jay had been not talking about the wedding for the better part of a year now, so much so that Will wasn’t even sure where he and Hailey were at on things. They had never broken up, which Will had taken as a good sign, but he knew there were issues to work out between them. Jay’s issues, Hailey’s issues -- Will had no idea, and he wasn’t one to judge, given his complete failures in the romance department.
And part of him hadn’t needed to worry. He knew Jay and Hailey were the real deal, and this conclusion had always been inevitable.
Inevitable, but exciting.
He started to grin. “That’s awesome!”
“So you’ll be the best man?” Jay asked, actually sounding somewhat anxious.
“Of course,” Will said. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“So you’ll be here?” Jay asked. “You’ll buy your plane tickets?”
“Jay, of course I’ll be there,” Will said. “You’re getting married -- and you and Hailey are perfect together. I’m just so happy you two finally worked it out.”
Jay grinned somewhat, and it was clearly a look of self satisfaction. “I think the wait was worth it, just figuring out our crap,” he said. “And I took your advice. I proposed the right way.”
“With Mom’s ring?” Will asked hopefully. “That thing deserves to be on someone’s finger.”
“Actually, I had something new made,” Jay said. “I wanted it to be special like that.”
Will frowned. “Wait -- but why? Mom’s ring was always for the first one to get married.”
“I know, I know,” Jay said. “But the year Hailey and I have had -- the time we’ve spent together. Trust me. This just felt right.”
“But now that ring will never get used!” Will objected.
Jay gave him a look of critical surprise. “There are two of us, dude. Unless you’re hiding a secret wife over there, I’m pretty sure you can still use it.”
Will immediately drew himself back, embarrassed. That was the natural answer, but it hadn’t even occurred to him. He loved the idea of it -- settling down, finding the right girl, starting a family. But there was a part of him -- a large part of him -- that was pretty sure he’d given that up when he’d given up Natalie. Happy endings could only be so happy, in some cases.
In his case.
He tried to smile, though -- for Jay’s sake. “I guess we’ll see.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Jay said, a little expectant. “So? What about you?”
Will frowned, suddenly wishing that he hadn’t agreed to a Facetime. “Um. I don’t know. What about me?”
Jay gave him a deadpanned look across the feed. The connection was a little slow and in slightly compromised quality, but the acuity of Jay’s look was impossible to miss. “Don’t play stupid,” he said. “Tell me something about you.”
“I told you everything about me,” Will protested.
Jay shook his head with a scoff. “No, you told me about work. I know all about your schedule, and I know about your requisition of a new CT machine, but I don’t know anything about you.”
The question was probably valid, as they were brothers and as Will had run away to Africa and conveniently avoided telling Jay anything about his personal life. This type of avoidance could be construed in a negative way, but it wasn’t like Will was trying to hide something. Or, more to the point, it wasn’t like there was anything to hide.
Which was precisely why he was trying to hide it.
He had been in Africa for nearly a year now, and he had done a lot of great things, a lot of impressive things. He’d become a better doctor. He’d become a better person.
And he had completely avoided interpersonal connections of any depth at nearly all costs.
“Come on,” Jay cajoled, lightly but still insistent. “You’ve got to have some kind of social life going there. I mean, I know you. Always the life of the party. Always finding the prettiest girls.”
Will was embarrassed by the implication, if only because it was spot on. “Those days are long past me,” he said. “No parties these days. No women.”
“What, not a single one?” Jay asked, sounding like he couldn’t buy it.
“No, not a single one,” Will said. “I mean, not like that. I have plenty of colleagues--”
Jay groaned. “Colleagues?”
“Friends, then,” Will clarified with a note of concessions. “But I’m nowhere near ready for anything like that.”
“I’m not talking about getting married--”
“Well, to be fair, you are--”
Jay continued with a small toss of his head. “I’m talking about you having a life again. A real life.”
Will nodded along because he knew his brother would not relent from this one by a long shot. Short of hanging up on his brother, Will would have to talk about it. “Well, I mean, I do stuff,” he said. “There are plenty of things going on, and I’m Chief of Staff. I have to make an appearance, and I put in extra effort with the ED staff. But honestly, the social side of things hasn’t been the same since I left Adam’s hospital.”
Jay made a face. “Dude, you haven’t worked with Adam in months.”
Will composed himself, trying to act like that declaration had no bearing on anything. “I know.”
Jay gave him a plaintive stare. Will was trying to be difficult; Jay clearly did not care. He had all the finesse of a battering ram: no subtlety, but it would be effective sooner or later. The question was just whether or not Will could make it through this call. “So, what?” Jay asked. “What’s going on now?”
The attempt to clarify made Will grunt in exasperation. “Nothing. Nothing is going on now, Jay. Nothing.”
Even as he was saying it, Will knew that three denials was probably overkill. He was protesting too much, and Jay was too keen to let that slide.
Worse, inexplicably and totally against his will, he was starting to blush.
Damn it.
Those Irish genes weren’t doing him any favors right now
Even over the ocean, with a crappy phone connection, Jay noticed. His eyes widened and he sat up. “Wait! There is something going on!”
“No, there’s not--” Will said quickly.
Jay ignored him completely. “What’s her name?”
This was literally the last thing Will wanted to talk about right now. “There’s no one--”
Jay was an impeccable cop, though. Once he had a theory, he was like a dog with a bone. “Will.”
And Will didn’t have much fight left in him -- not for this. He put his all into his work. He left it all at the hospital, each and every day. Here? With Jay?
He owed his brother every answer, even the ones he wasn’t sure of himself.
Sighing, he let his shoulders slump. “Helena.”
“Helena?” he asked, making it clear that providing a name was not sufficient in this story.
Lying to Jay was pointless, and really, for all of Will’s many faults as a brother, being dishonest wasn’t one of them. At work, that was apparently a different issue.
“She’s British, one of my surgeons here,” he said. That was the professional delineation, but that wasn’t even what Jay was asking. “I mean, she’s smart, talented. Beautiful.”
“Okay,” Jay said. His face was set expectantly. “So, what’s the problem?”
Will picked up his phone, walking over to the couch while he contemplated a way to answer that question. “There’s no problem.”
Will sat down as his brother’s questions continued. “So you’re going out with her?”
Will adjusted his position, propping up the phone on the coffee table. “How did this become about me? We’re supposed to be talking about you and Hailey.”
“We did, and we settled it,” Jay reminded him. “Wedding date July 10. You’ll be there, no fuss, no drama, no questions. Unlike Helena. Are you going to bring her?”
The question was too much, too fast. “Jay, we’re not even dating!” Will said, trying not to let the color creep up in his cheeks. “Why would I invite her to your wedding?”
“Because you like her,” Jay said. He gave a small, no nonsense shrug. “And I’m guessing she likes you.”
“That’s really not the point--”
“Two consenting adults like each other,” Jay said. “I think that is the point.”
“Just -- no,” Will said. He shook his head so his brother might actually listen to him for once. “Helena is a colleague -- a friend. That’s all. I’ll come to your wedding solo. As best man, I don’t even have time for a date.”
“Oh, whatever,” Jay said, face scrunching up. “That’s the lamest copout in the world.”
“It’s not a copout,” Will insisted. “I’m coming back for you, that’s all.”
“But if Helena likes you, and she’s smart and talented and pretty, why not?” Jay posited.
He had this way of asking things, totally matter of fact, that left Will flustered. When it came to family matters, Will’s policy had generally been to live and let live. He didn’t seek out conflict with his family, and if he could play nice, he would. If things got uncomfortable, he tended to run hard and fast.
But that wasn’t feasible.
Not when he’d already run all the way to Africa.
“Because I’m not good at relationships,” Will said, struggling to find the words. “I don’t know how to make boundaries. I get in too deep, and it always ends up badly. Every relationship I had in Chicago was the same story on repeat. You know this. I’ve told you this.”
Jay didn’t look nearly as convinced as Will might have hoped. “Sure, and I let that little song and dance slide as long as there was no one out there that you liked,” he said. Jay sat forward, staring him down even across the ocean. “But seriously, I can tell that you like this woman. I can tell because you have that stupid expression on your face, the one you always get when you’ve fallen head over heels. Does she like you? This isn’t one-sided, is it?”
This was getting even more humiliating. “It doesn't matter.”
“Of course it matters,” Jay retorted.
Will was weary by the debate. He was losing the ability to hold up his side of things. “Jay, I’m just not ready. I can’t do another relationship, not when I literally ruined two at the same time.”
“Sabeena doesn’t even count -- that was never even a real thing,” Jay said. “And Natalie? Last I checked, you and Natalie could still be a thing--”
“She’s in Seattle; I’m in Africa,” Will said.
“And the fact that you’re still in contact and you’re still having this conversation means that that door is still open,” Jay said. “And even if it’s not, bad luck in the past doesn’t mean that you suck at all relationships. I’m pretty sure that you’ve had quite a few extenuating circumstances, circumstances that don’t apply to you and the lovely Helena.”
“But I made the circumstances,” Will said, refusing to give in on this point. “I mean, I chose to be the CI and lie to Natalie. I couldn’t get rid of the gun. I moved in with Hannah when I knew she wasn’t ready. I lied to Sabeena. I enabled Natalie in her desperation instead of cleaning things up. Those aren’t acts of God, Jay. That’s just me, making the same stupid mistakes every time I let myself fall in love.”
“Even so,” Jay said. “Come on, Will. Just because you have doesn’t mean you will next time. Or ever again for that matter. That’s what you’re doing in Africa, right? Learning? And is the lesson that you’re meant to be alone forever?”
Jay rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, I don’t buy that for a minute,” he said. He nodded at Will forcefully. “Look at how much you’ve changed. I mean, I can see it every time I talk to you. You’re different. Which means this crazy-ass African adventure is working.”
That was a point -- maybe. But it wasn’t a point Will was in a position to concede just yet. It was too new; the change was too nascent. He fell back on stubborn denial. “I’m just not ready.”
Jay eased back with that, because that was a concession he was willing to make. They’d learned a lot of give and take over the years. They’d learned to be brothers. “That’s fair,” he said. “I want what’s best for you, I do. So just make sure you’re holding out for the right reasons.”
“I’m trying,” Will said quietly. “I swear, I’m trying.”
-o-
Trying.
That was all there was to it.
Will just kept trying.
Fortunately, with the crazy nature of his job, there was always something to work on. Paperwork was always stacked high, and he was constantly analyzing the latest figures in an attempt to streamline production and costs. Managing the staff had its own difficulties, and Will needed to play politics in order to keep everyone happy and working. The turnover rate had dropped dramatically, but that was never a given. He had to keep trying.
And trying and trying.
He worked as many shifts as he was able, sometimes sneaking down to the ED just because.
Because he had to keep trying.
-o-
But no matter how much he buried himself in his work, Helena was there. In a professional capacity, it was impossible to avoid one another. He was her boss, as well, which meant that he had a supervisory role. It was a role he took seriously, and he maintained it actively. And she was a productive and diligent member of the hospital’s leadership team.
True to her word, she respected the boundaries he had set. It was never weird or tense between them. In fact, if anything, they were better friends than ever. Seeing her, when he was really honest with himself, was the highlight of his day.
She made the hectic days tolerable. She made the stressful days manageable. She made the hard calls easier. She made everything better.
Will wasn’t sure what that meant, really, but he was sure what it couldn’t mean.
He had to stay focused. He had to stay productive. He had to build out the protocols and establish a hospital that functioned better for staff and patients. Will was making a happily ever after for everyone else.
His own, he had decided, just wasn’t in the cards.
-o-
Helena was a consuming distraction, but Will did have plenty of other things to think about. His days were more full than ever, and he took on more shifts just to make sure he never got tempted by a down moment. This meant he worked earlier and stayed later, but he felt the tradeoff was worthwhile.
He knew the endgame, after all.
The best damn hospital he could make.
That was his plan, and he worked toward it without reserve. So there was no reason for him to be surprised by his progress.
Except, he was surprised.
He had always thought he’d be ready, that he’d see success coming and recognize it for what it was.
That was not the first thing Will had ever been wrong about, and it certainly would not be the last.
-o-
The call came in, directly to his desk. He hadn’t really wanted a personal assistant, but he’d never been able to fire Mikayla when she was doing a perfectly good job. Besides, he couldn't pretend like it wasn’t useful to have an assistant. An assistant was able to field phone calls, manage his appointments and streamline administrative tasks. He appreciated knowing that when a call came through, it was a call that mattered.
He thought he was ready when he answered the phone.
He wasn’t.
-o-
For months, he’d been building up this hospital as a respected institution in the local healthcare landscape. It had taken a lot of work to raise the hospital’s profile, and as its notoriety shifted, he’d been able to secure more funds, increase paid visits and retain staff. Without a marketing department -- there was simply no room in the budget when Will was still updating treatment rooms and trying to carve out space to reopen a specific pediatrics department -- he was in charge of most of the hands-on branding himself. He’d gotten to know the press pretty well as a result, and he’d rubbed shoulders with several high profile members of the city elite.
This, though?
Was a call from the mayor.
A factory fire had spread quickly throughout one of the warehouse districts. While fire crews had contained most of the flames, several buildings had been structurally compromised, with factory workers still trapped inside. Evidence suggested they were still alive, but the situation was a mess and relief crews were sapped.
His ED had already picked up some of the overflow, but the problem was that many victims were arriving in too critical of condition. They need triage to be done onsite to help ensure that people were getting treatment in time. The mayor was rallying each local ED to send its best, and he requested Will by name.
It was the culmination of everything he’d worked for. To be trusted among the city’s best. It was respect -- not for Will, but for the institutions he was trying to build. This could cement the hospital’s status as an equal player on the healthcare market.
He was allowed to bring one additional surgeon.
And Will knew exactly who to take.
-o-
Helena was naturally curious, and she wasn’t someone who took orders blindly. However, he and Helena had also built up enough trust over the months working together. So when he asked her to come now and ask questions later, she willingly obliged him.
That was a novel idea, really. The idea that Will had earned someone’s trust. The idea that Will had enough integrity to be given trust.
He would have to contemplate what that meant another day. This wasn’t the time for existential pondering. Now was the time to save lives.
One of the ambulance crews was on their way back out to the disaster, and Will asked for a ride. The drivers agreed, and Helena geared up as she would for any field work. Will gathered as much as he could carry and hopped in back next to her.
She was to the point and all business, and she didn’t ask a single question until they ambulance had pulled away, sirens blaring.
“We’re going to the scene?” she asked, having figured out the basics.
“We are,” he said.
She nodded but her expression was a little tight. “I had a patient, you know,” she said. She looked at him. “I was about to go into surgery.”
“I know,” Will said, not able to apologize. “Danvers took it over.”
“Danvers is a nice woman, but she’s done exactly two surgeries of that nature,” Helena said.
The tone of her voice wasn’t a challenge precisely, but it was her professional commitment that she could not squash. Helena wanted to save lives, just like Will. It was one reason why he’d grown so fond of her.
“Well, we’ve built up a strong support network for the surgical staff. Everyone has been called in,” Will said. “This is all hands on deck. Danvers isn’t alone.”
“But I should be there,” Helena said. “That was my patient, and I can’t be some glorified medic--”
“You won’t be,” Will said. “The influx of victims -- triage is a mess. Patients are dying onsite or being mismanaged before they get to the hospital. We have to go and help the process. If needed, we’ll perform whatever procedures we can onsite to minimize mortality.”
Helena looked like she might not believe him.
“What?” Will asked. “Hospitals do this all the time.”
“Respected hospitals, sure,” Helena said. “But us--”
“The mayor called,” Will told her. “Requested help from me personally.”
She looked like she might not believe him out of shock. “The mayor. Requested you?”
Will smiled, just a little. “He told me to bring my best.”
Helena snorted with a small laugh. “Your best?”
“You were the first and only person I considered,” he told her as the ambulance rocked them forward. “It had to be you.”
Her smile warmed to him, and their knees brushed against one another as they were jarred again. “Well, then,” she said. “Let’s go save some lives.”