Fabrication (1/27)
Title: Fabrication (1/27)
Summary: "I had a crush on him when I was 16 years old. Let’s not act like he’s the long-lost love of my life or something."
Disclaimer: Clearly not mine.
Spoilers: Doubtful
Rating: Up to NC-17
A/N: Sequel to Consult
Bob Hughes looked up at the knock on his office door. He waved Alex Roberts in and then held up his index finger as he concluded his phone call. Hanging up the receiver, he leaned forward on his elbows and looked at Roberts expectantly.
“What’s going on, Alex?”
Alex situated himself in the visitor chair with a sigh. “I think I’ve solved two of our problems at the same time, Bob.”
“Which of our many problems are those?”
“First, who’s going to replace me when I retire in a few months.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Bob said, bowing his head. “It’s not that I don’t like your staff, Alex, but none of them are ready to lead the department yet.”
Alex nodded. “Except maybe Jenkins, and UW’s going to lure him away by the end of the year, I guarantee it.”
“We’ll have to do an outside hire,” Bob concluded. “Or you could stay on another - ”
“Nice try! With the donations from Henry Coleman and the Snyder Foundation, we’re in a position to attract someone really good,” Alex pointed out.
Bob laughed. “Yeah. Unfortunately - and I say this with great love for this town - Oakdale doesn’t have too many other attractions that would get someone really good.”
“So we find someone with a previous connection, perhaps. Or we get them here under false pretenses and then trap them. Or both.”
“That sounds like a nefarious and entirely too specific plan,” Bob said, narrowing his eyes.
“That brings me to the other problem I may have solved.”
Bob tilted his head curiously. Alex held up the journal in his hand. “This month’s Journal of Neurosurgery. Cover article on treatment for trauma to the occipital lobe resulting in lost or impaired vision.”
Bob nodded slowly. “Noah Mayer,” he observed.
Alex stood up. “Give it a read,” he said, tossing the journal onto the desk. He walked out of Bob’s office, knocking on the doorframe as he left. Bob looked after him, somewhat amused by his long-time colleague’s strange behavior. The prospect of retirement was really lightening his mood.
Bob wondered if he shouldn’t maybe consider…no, not yet.
He picked up the journal, flipping quickly to the cover article. He glanced at the title quickly and then read the list of authors. He had skimmed all four of them before he paused, realizing what he had overlooked. His eyes darted back to the first author. R. Oliver.
Bob laughed out loud. There was a name he hadn’t seen or thought about in years. Falling back into his chair, still chuckling, Bob pressed his fingers to his lips and shook his head. And then he stopped laughing. Maybe it wasn’t so crazy. Maybe his subconscious had never truly let go of the future potential he had seen in the doctor. Because there were plenty of things that Henry’s and Luke’s donations could have been used for. Bob was the one who had pushed for the neuro wing.
Bob picked up the journal again, this time reading the article all the way through. Then he let the journal fall shut, returning it to his desk. Truthfully, the protocol Reid and his colleagues described, although still under refinement, could very well be just what Noah Mayer’s condition required.
It wouldn’t hurt to call him.
**
Reid hurried to his desk, the pile of case files about to slide out of his arms and his coffee cup gripped precariously between his incisors. He was ready for an exciting Friday evening of catching up on his dictating. He dropped the files on his desk and walked around it, falling into his chair with an oof. The chair rolled back a few inches, and Reid pulled himself forward again with his toes. Then he leaned back, propping his feet up on the desk and grabbing the first folder.
He pressed record on his Dictaphone and was just about to start speaking when the phone rang. Reid sighed.
“Yeah, Oliver,” he answered.
There was no reply at first, and Reid grew impatient. “Hello?”
“Reid, hello. Sorry, I was expecting your voicemail service.”
“Who is this?”
“Bob Hughes,” the man said, suddenly sounding more cordial.
Reid was silent for a moment, unable to place the name after his long, mentally exhausting week.
“From Oakdale,” Bob added. “Illinois.”
“Bob!” Reid exclaimed, leaning forward and rubbing his face. “Sorry. What - why are you calling?”
Bob laughed. “I’ve missed that congenial personality. Anyway, I saw your article in this month’s Journal of Neurosurgery. Interesting protocol.”
“Thank you,” Reid said cautiously.
“We’ve got a patient here who - ”
Reid groaned, covering his eyes as he leaned forward against his desk. “No,” he sighed, half-refusal, half-resignation.
“Noah Mayer,” Bob continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “College kid, fireworks accident. It’s ideal for your study.”
“Fine,” Reid said. “Put him on a plane.”
“Surely it would be - ”
“Bob,” Reid interrupted. “People come from all over the world to see me. This isn’t a pregnant coma patient; this is a kid who is perfectly capable of travel.”
“Do you have other surgeries scheduled soon?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“So that’s a no. And clearly you don’t have any pressing personal obligations, as you’re in your office at 7 o’clock on a Friday night.”
“That’s really none of your business.”
“So what’s the harm in taking a few days? This kid can’t travel; he has no money. His medical bills are being covered by a local donor, so it’d be difficult to make the arrangements with another hospital.”
“Sounds like you’re out of luck, Bob!”
“OK,” Bob replied, sighing loudly. “Thanks for your time.”
“That’s it?” Reid asked incredulously. “You’re giving up just like that?”
“No, of course not. I have a whole list of names here. There’s this guy who’s developing a protocol somewhat similar to yours. Channing, is it? The AMA is pretty close to endorsing it, I guess. And Chicago’s not too far away for the trip, obviously.”
Reid was silent for a long time; Bob fought a triumphant grin.
“This is blackmail,” Reid finally said.
“Yes, Dr. Oliver, it is.” Bob hung up the phone.
**
Noah looked up at the sound of the door opening and closing. “Hello?” he asked curiously.
“It’s just me.”
Noah smiled. “Hi Luke.”
“How are you? Ready to go home?”
“Yeah. Thanks again for the ride.”
Luke shrugged even though Noah couldn’t possibly see him. “What are friends for?”
As Noah carefully climbed off the exam table, Luke stepped forward and put a hand to Noah’s arm, helping him to his feet.
“So what did the doctor say?”
“Nothing much has changed with my eyes. But they’ve called in a specialist who has developed this new surgery. They’re really excited. He’s going to be here by the end of the week.”
“Good, that’s great.”
“Yeah.”
“So where am I taking you?” Luke asked, guiding him down the hall.
“Home, I guess.”
Luke looked over at Noah, debating whether he should bring up his concerns. Finally, he decided to. “Home? Not - not Richard’s?”
Noah paused, then shook his head. “No.”
Luke sighed. “I don’t know why you’re - ”
“I can’t be around him right now, OK? He just, he’s always helping me and trying to be nice, and I can’t take it.”
“I help you! Casey helps you! Maddie helps you! Everybody helps you.”
“It’s different. You’re my friends. He’s…”
“Yeah, God forbid your boyfriend is concerned about your well-being.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“What wouldn’t I understand? I know what it’s like to feel helpless,” Luke argued as they reached the front door. “You need people around who will be there for you. You need the people you love.”
They stopped outside of Luke’s car. Noah sighed as he lowered himself into the passenger seat. “That’s not what I meant,” he said.
“So what’d you mean?” Luke asked, leaning against the door.
“The longest relationship you’ve ever had was me, for a few months, what five years ago? You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to deal with something like this with someone you love. You’ve never been in love.”
Luke didn’t respond for a few moments, and then he just closed the door.
“Right,” he muttered, before walking around to the driver’s side.
Continued
Summary: "I had a crush on him when I was 16 years old. Let’s not act like he’s the long-lost love of my life or something."
Disclaimer: Clearly not mine.
Spoilers: Doubtful
Rating: Up to NC-17
A/N: Sequel to Consult
Bob Hughes looked up at the knock on his office door. He waved Alex Roberts in and then held up his index finger as he concluded his phone call. Hanging up the receiver, he leaned forward on his elbows and looked at Roberts expectantly.
“What’s going on, Alex?”
Alex situated himself in the visitor chair with a sigh. “I think I’ve solved two of our problems at the same time, Bob.”
“Which of our many problems are those?”
“First, who’s going to replace me when I retire in a few months.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Bob said, bowing his head. “It’s not that I don’t like your staff, Alex, but none of them are ready to lead the department yet.”
Alex nodded. “Except maybe Jenkins, and UW’s going to lure him away by the end of the year, I guarantee it.”
“We’ll have to do an outside hire,” Bob concluded. “Or you could stay on another - ”
“Nice try! With the donations from Henry Coleman and the Snyder Foundation, we’re in a position to attract someone really good,” Alex pointed out.
Bob laughed. “Yeah. Unfortunately - and I say this with great love for this town - Oakdale doesn’t have too many other attractions that would get someone really good.”
“So we find someone with a previous connection, perhaps. Or we get them here under false pretenses and then trap them. Or both.”
“That sounds like a nefarious and entirely too specific plan,” Bob said, narrowing his eyes.
“That brings me to the other problem I may have solved.”
Bob tilted his head curiously. Alex held up the journal in his hand. “This month’s Journal of Neurosurgery. Cover article on treatment for trauma to the occipital lobe resulting in lost or impaired vision.”
Bob nodded slowly. “Noah Mayer,” he observed.
Alex stood up. “Give it a read,” he said, tossing the journal onto the desk. He walked out of Bob’s office, knocking on the doorframe as he left. Bob looked after him, somewhat amused by his long-time colleague’s strange behavior. The prospect of retirement was really lightening his mood.
Bob wondered if he shouldn’t maybe consider…no, not yet.
He picked up the journal, flipping quickly to the cover article. He glanced at the title quickly and then read the list of authors. He had skimmed all four of them before he paused, realizing what he had overlooked. His eyes darted back to the first author. R. Oliver.
Bob laughed out loud. There was a name he hadn’t seen or thought about in years. Falling back into his chair, still chuckling, Bob pressed his fingers to his lips and shook his head. And then he stopped laughing. Maybe it wasn’t so crazy. Maybe his subconscious had never truly let go of the future potential he had seen in the doctor. Because there were plenty of things that Henry’s and Luke’s donations could have been used for. Bob was the one who had pushed for the neuro wing.
Bob picked up the journal again, this time reading the article all the way through. Then he let the journal fall shut, returning it to his desk. Truthfully, the protocol Reid and his colleagues described, although still under refinement, could very well be just what Noah Mayer’s condition required.
It wouldn’t hurt to call him.
**
Reid hurried to his desk, the pile of case files about to slide out of his arms and his coffee cup gripped precariously between his incisors. He was ready for an exciting Friday evening of catching up on his dictating. He dropped the files on his desk and walked around it, falling into his chair with an oof. The chair rolled back a few inches, and Reid pulled himself forward again with his toes. Then he leaned back, propping his feet up on the desk and grabbing the first folder.
He pressed record on his Dictaphone and was just about to start speaking when the phone rang. Reid sighed.
“Yeah, Oliver,” he answered.
There was no reply at first, and Reid grew impatient. “Hello?”
“Reid, hello. Sorry, I was expecting your voicemail service.”
“Who is this?”
“Bob Hughes,” the man said, suddenly sounding more cordial.
Reid was silent for a moment, unable to place the name after his long, mentally exhausting week.
“From Oakdale,” Bob added. “Illinois.”
“Bob!” Reid exclaimed, leaning forward and rubbing his face. “Sorry. What - why are you calling?”
Bob laughed. “I’ve missed that congenial personality. Anyway, I saw your article in this month’s Journal of Neurosurgery. Interesting protocol.”
“Thank you,” Reid said cautiously.
“We’ve got a patient here who - ”
Reid groaned, covering his eyes as he leaned forward against his desk. “No,” he sighed, half-refusal, half-resignation.
“Noah Mayer,” Bob continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “College kid, fireworks accident. It’s ideal for your study.”
“Fine,” Reid said. “Put him on a plane.”
“Surely it would be - ”
“Bob,” Reid interrupted. “People come from all over the world to see me. This isn’t a pregnant coma patient; this is a kid who is perfectly capable of travel.”
“Do you have other surgeries scheduled soon?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“So that’s a no. And clearly you don’t have any pressing personal obligations, as you’re in your office at 7 o’clock on a Friday night.”
“That’s really none of your business.”
“So what’s the harm in taking a few days? This kid can’t travel; he has no money. His medical bills are being covered by a local donor, so it’d be difficult to make the arrangements with another hospital.”
“Sounds like you’re out of luck, Bob!”
“OK,” Bob replied, sighing loudly. “Thanks for your time.”
“That’s it?” Reid asked incredulously. “You’re giving up just like that?”
“No, of course not. I have a whole list of names here. There’s this guy who’s developing a protocol somewhat similar to yours. Channing, is it? The AMA is pretty close to endorsing it, I guess. And Chicago’s not too far away for the trip, obviously.”
Reid was silent for a long time; Bob fought a triumphant grin.
“This is blackmail,” Reid finally said.
“Yes, Dr. Oliver, it is.” Bob hung up the phone.
**
Noah looked up at the sound of the door opening and closing. “Hello?” he asked curiously.
“It’s just me.”
Noah smiled. “Hi Luke.”
“How are you? Ready to go home?”
“Yeah. Thanks again for the ride.”
Luke shrugged even though Noah couldn’t possibly see him. “What are friends for?”
As Noah carefully climbed off the exam table, Luke stepped forward and put a hand to Noah’s arm, helping him to his feet.
“So what did the doctor say?”
“Nothing much has changed with my eyes. But they’ve called in a specialist who has developed this new surgery. They’re really excited. He’s going to be here by the end of the week.”
“Good, that’s great.”
“Yeah.”
“So where am I taking you?” Luke asked, guiding him down the hall.
“Home, I guess.”
Luke looked over at Noah, debating whether he should bring up his concerns. Finally, he decided to. “Home? Not - not Richard’s?”
Noah paused, then shook his head. “No.”
Luke sighed. “I don’t know why you’re - ”
“I can’t be around him right now, OK? He just, he’s always helping me and trying to be nice, and I can’t take it.”
“I help you! Casey helps you! Maddie helps you! Everybody helps you.”
“It’s different. You’re my friends. He’s…”
“Yeah, God forbid your boyfriend is concerned about your well-being.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“What wouldn’t I understand? I know what it’s like to feel helpless,” Luke argued as they reached the front door. “You need people around who will be there for you. You need the people you love.”
They stopped outside of Luke’s car. Noah sighed as he lowered himself into the passenger seat. “That’s not what I meant,” he said.
“So what’d you mean?” Luke asked, leaning against the door.
“The longest relationship you’ve ever had was me, for a few months, what five years ago? You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to deal with something like this with someone you love. You’ve never been in love.”
Luke didn’t respond for a few moments, and then he just closed the door.
“Right,” he muttered, before walking around to the driver’s side.
Continued