Broken Glass
Seven days.
Just one week ago, Kel's life was a carefully constructed monument. It was the perfect, quiet result of many years of service to his community, to his partner, to himself. A week ago, Kel might have gone so far as to call the never changing routine of his life perfect; dependable, serene, spotless. Such a strange thing for an emergency room doctor, but it was true. Whether the people lived or died on his table, when he went home, he went home to peace and tranquility and order.
But that was seven days ago.
A careless diner jostled Kelly out of his spiraling thoughts, and a flash of rage was quickly replaced by an engulfing sense of shame. He had to stop thinking of his life in terms of Before Stanford's Fall and After. It was a false construct that did nothing for him, except keep his mind on the one thing he wanted most to forget, especially during the daylight, when scalpels and traffic lights forced him to be sober. Better to focus on the future in general, than to worry about the past, and how much it had changed in so short a time.
In seven little days.
Kel sighed and grabbed the first salad he saw, and slunk off towards the cashier. The smell of cooked chicken mixed with sugary sweet nondescript fruit pie made him shudder and gulp nauseously, but he was too dizzy and lightheaded and crampy to not pay for his greens. Besides, the nauseous feeling was exactly that, a feeling. Breakfast had been a thousand years ago, and was a long, tedious affair that involved Kelly resolving not to wash anything down with booze until after work, a resolution that had to be made because it was the first morning Kelly had truly to himself in a millenia, the first late day scheduled since - Stop.
Occasionally he caught a glimpse of his colleagues watching him like a lab experiment, but their cool expressions of calculated curiosity would shift into warm smiles and nods (and even the occasional hand wave) before he could do more than wonder why they stared at him so. Had he always been the center of attention? He couldn't recall being so, but maybe he just was always so sure of every damn thing all the damned time that he didn't see anyone around him. He certainly never saw what was always there in front of his face at home.
Pain tore at his center, and try as he might, he couldn't make Before and After go away. All he could do was tilt his face to the bright white fluorescent lights and try to swallow down the tears that threatened to fall before his curious observers got too curious or observant. Of all the times for Kel to be the subject of the damned rumor mill - there, another odd look, replaced with another quick smile. He had to get out.
Though there were only two people ahead of him, the cashier was moving like she was stuck in a vat of cold molasses. Several beady eyes fixed on him while the girl hunted and pecked her register for prices. Maybe he could just drop his money by her till. Maybe he could come back and pay later. Maybe someone else would come out and open the second register. Maybe his nerves would settle enough that he could hold onto his tray without rattling the salad off the plate.
The whole cafeteria was gaping openly at him. They were staring at him, and his tray, and his plate, and the silverware, and at the way everything in his hands bounced and clattered and shook and rattled. His tray was loud enough for the deaf to hear - visible noise for a visibly shaken man.
"Come on Dr. Brackett," came a low voice at his shoulder. He jumped and yelped a little, surprised by Dixie's warm breath on his collar. "They know you're good for it, and you've been running on overdrive all evening," she said. Then, more quietly, in a voice he was sure he wasn't supposed to hear, "I probably have to scrape the soles of your shoes to find whatever's left of your blood sugar." Before he could protest her remark, she grabbed his elbow with a surprisingly strong hand and ushered him out of the line. Though he could still feel everyone's eyes on him as Dixie escorted him out onto the patio, Kelly noticed that the cashier never bothered to look at him once.
Dixie led him through the mass of tables and tried to stop at their usual table near the door. Kel resisted, and finally broke free of her sharp clawed grip. He darted away from her and hunted for a better table, something more isolated, away from the hungry employees and anxious families that kept wandering in and out of the patio doors.
He settled on the table in the furthest corner from the cafeteria doors. Most people avoided it because of the overgrowth of random palm fronds and other implausible weeds in that particular portion of the planter. The miniature forest would provide him with sufficient foliage to keep them hidden from view. He let his tray drop on the table with the terrible clatter, and dropped himself into the plastic chair closest to the overgrown planter with a huff.
Dixie was still standing by his elbow (or, as he was now seated, his shoulder), and she was watching him with that same strangling look of curiosity.
God, was she in on the rumor?
He looked down at his salad, which was now just a handful of leaves strewn on a plastic tray and mixed in with a lonely random plate and dotted with a few wedges of white tomato. How appetizing.
Apparently, Kel was not alone in his distaste. Dix made a little humming sound, and then asked, "That all you having for linner?"
"What?"
"Linner." She nodded at his tray.
"What the hell is 'linner' supposed to mean?"
Dix rolled her eyes and plopped down across from him, away from the flora, but uncomfortably in the middle of the tight walkway between tables. "You know, too late for lunch, too early for dinner. Linner."
He looked at the mess on his tray and said sourly, "Dunch."
She chuckled lightly. "Dunch, huh? Okay, you can call it that, if you want."
"Actually, Dix," Kel said through clenched teeth, "I don't call it anything. Its the meal and 30 min break to which every full time Los Angeles County employee is entitled during an 8-hour work day."
Dunch wasn't Kelly's word. It was Stanford's. The first time Kel heard it was early in their courtship, when Kel was hitting the books a little too hard for Stan's taste: all work and no play makes Stan a hungry boy. Forget statistics for a while, he'd said, and come eat. He'd said, you can't ruin your dinner if you didn't have lunch, silly baby. Come on, he'd said, let's get some dunch. Let's go, silly baby.
Silly baby. Kel hadn't been that for a long, long time. At first, that's all he ever was, for years - but suddenly he wasn't. He'd forgotten that. He could recall no precipitating event, the nickname just sort of stopped. He definitely remembered the endearment on a trip to Mammoth, all snuggly warm in their room, where Kelly didn't get to do a lick of skiing.
He was still in residency then, a young provisional doctor who was proving his skill with a sharp knife, a soft hand, and an eye on the clock. In those days his confidence was soaring. He knew when he finished his residency, he'd be able to help people like his parents and brothers, the city blue collars, people like his former classmates, who were scratching just above the poverty line. Kelly was blooming, coming into his own, and his youthful idealism must have shown on his sweet, silly, baby face. He'd felt radiant then, like he was filled with the fire of a thousand suns. He was bursting with untapped energy.
But Kelly couldn't remember being called a silly baby after that trip. He couldn't even place when in his residency the Mammoth trip had taken place, only that it had been while he was still in residency, before taking charge of Rampart's emergency room.
Before Rampart.
Before success.
Before the beginning of After.
"So are you just gonna sit there staring at my left ear all afternoon, or are you gonna answer me?"
The room sharpened, and Kel's vision settled on a rather perturbed Dixie. "I'm sorry Dix. Did you say something?"
"I said are you gonna answer me."
"...did you ask something?"
"Boy, you really are out to lunch right now, aren't you? You need to take some more sick time?"
"Is that what you asked me?"
Dix sighed. "No, Kel, I asked you if you wanted to stop by my place for a drink tonight. You know, relax for a while. You seem like you might need it."
Kel froze, unsure how to answer her any more than he already obviously had. As much as he didn't want her fawning over him all day and night, it had been a comfort to have her sidle into his personal space all week. But he really didn't want her fawning all over him day and night.
His face must have telegraphed all the reasons for his hesitation. "We don't have to talk about it," she said, and reached out to rub the back of his hand briefly. "We don't have to talk at all. I just thought you might need some... neutral company." She smiled slyly and waggled her eyebrows. "Or an orally ingested tranquilizer."
The offer was tempting. He did want some neutral company - he was tired of pounding on strangers night after night, only to have the memory of Stan's touch burn a hot trail over his skin. He wanted someone who would let him sit in a corner and pout, or cry, or seethe, and not expect any acknowledgment of any kind from him.
But he couldn't take the offer. In the Before time, Kel hadn't been much of a social drinker. Inebriation in front of anyone you wouldn't take a leak in front of was unacceptable, particularly when drinking out of someone else's personal stash. It was impolite, to say the least. In the After time, well... the vast quantity of fermented fruit and grain he needed just to make it through the night was a far from polite amount. "I'd... better not," he forced himself to say. "It'll be pretty late when I get out of here," he said, grasping at straws. "I should go straight home. The commute and all."
The look she gave him made his belly flip flop, and for a moment he had the irrational fear that she actually knew everything he'd been up to and was going to call him out on it right there in the hospital.
But all she did was nod. "Okay," she said, and tried to school her face into a more neutral expression. She was only marginally successful. Her smile was thin and toothless, and looked more like she wanted to cry. But what the hell did she have to cry about? She pushed on, determined to make like everything was just fine. "You know the offer’s always open. I mean it, Kelly. You can lean on me, no matter how heavy your load is, you hear?"
He hadn't been very hungry to begin with, but the soft way Dix looked at him with those big pretty eyes - especially coupled with that declaration of undying loyalty - just killed what little appetite he had. Kel pushed his meager dinner away and shuddered.
"Too cold out here? Want me to grab you a soup?" She looked at his leaf covered tray, and began piling the salad back onto the plate with careful hands. "This didn't look too appetizing anyway."
Kel almost hated her for her perfect attention and endless care. The perfect fucking nurse, every doctor's dream, until he became the patient. He checked his watch. He knew perfectly well he had plenty of time left in his break, but he felt like a bug under glass with her sitting there watching him so.
"Time to go already?" Dix looked confused, and just the tiniest bit dismayed. "That can't be right, you haven't had a chance to get off your feet all day!"
What in the - was she really keeping tabs on when he took his damn breaks? She had absolutely no right whatsoever to do so - it was none of her business when or how he took his breaks. So long as the patients were not endangered, he could do whatever the hell he damn well pleased, no matter what county and state mandates declared! Kel bit down so hard he could feel his teeth turning to powder, but he managed not to yell. "I just wondered what the time was." He hadn't shouted, but he sounded cold and hard even to himself.
Dix had the good grace to look sheepish. "Oh." She lowered her eyes and went back to fixing the salad plate with stiff, tight movements.
Kel took the tray from her and ran a hand over the plate, mussing all her work. "Let it be. This way it looks like something in MOMA."
Dix sputtered with surprised laughter, and ducked to wipe away a stray tear. "Gee, Kel, what do you really think of modern art?"
"It's wonderful in reasonable doses. Keeps the body regular."
Dix's laughter was low and rich, and was far more satisfying than anything Kelly could have picked up in the cafeteria. He was almost feeling good when she smiled wide at him and said, "There you are."
"Huh?"
She shook her head. "We've all just been so worried about you all week, Kel... you've been so down, so... hurt." She sighed contentedly and leaned back in her seat. "It's just really wonderful to have that ridiculous sense of humor back."
Suddenly, Kel saw himself through Dix's eyes, through all his colleagues eyes, over the past seven days. He had to admit, he didn't like what he saw. He been so angry and cold and aloof and maybe even hurtful. Definitely hurtful. Dix had been on the verge of tears - still was, really - and it was his doing.
She seemed to sense his swift return to melancholy. "Hey, now. Don't go beating yourself up for feeling whatever it is you feel, whatever that feeling might be."
He shivered slightly at the way she zeroed in on his train of thought. "Quit reading my mind," he grumbled, only half facetiously.
She smiled as he'd hoped she would, and said, "That's my job." But then she turned serious again. "I don't want you thinking you haven't got the right to your sadness though, Kel. I only meant that I'm glad that whatever happened last weekend hasn't permanently broken your sense of humor."
He shrugged. "I suppose it hasn't. I just haven't felt like joking much."
"Or talking." Kel winced, but he nodded. "Well, you just aren't ready to talk. Maybe you'll never be ready. Maybe you'll always be sad or mad or whatever it is that makes that little thundercloud over your head tick."
He sighed. "That's not fair to you."
Dix snorted. "What do my feelings have to do with anything?"
"My hurt doesn't give me the right to ruin your day, or anyone else's here. That's not fair."
Dix looked thoughtful. "Okay. Say that's a true and valid argument. So what? Listen, if you're unhappy, don't fake happiness just to make me feel better. Do it to make you feel better."
Faking happiness to feel happier. The thought had never occurred to Kel. It wasn't something anyone had ever discussed in any of the simplified psych literature he'd read, but most of the literature was written by scholars and people in perfect lab conditions, not by nurses in the field with hurt, desperate patients and their harried, desperate doctors all around. Maybe he should try it. Pretend that the last seven days didn't bother him anymore. Pretend that the world hadn't cracked open and tried to swallow him whole. Everything was fine. Would be fine. Yes. "Okay," he said.
"Good." Dix got to her feet and collected his tray. "Somebody still has to pay for these garden clippings," she said. "Come on, you can get your soup while I wait in line."
But the thought of returning to the cafeteria made his stomach turn. Just the memory of the odor of cauliflower and chipped beef and boiled milk sauce made him nauseous. "I'm just not hungry, Dix."
"I don't know, Kel-"
"Drop it, Dixie!" So much for the fake it 'til you make it method. He sighed and tried again. "I'm sorry. I just... I'm under a lot of pressure right now."
"And you don't want to talk about it. I get it. But you still have to eat and bathe and sleep."
Kel looked up sharply at her words. "Are you calling me sloppy, Nurse?"
She hesitated just a touch too long for Kelly's liking before sitting down and reaching for his hands. He pulled them away before she could get a good grip, and she stared at him with wide eyes. "I'm saying that life continues, even when it slaps you in the face. I'm saying that no matter how terrible a blow you've been dealt, there are certain things you still gotta do."
"Don't you lecture me, Dixie. You think I don't know that? What the hell do you think I'm even doing here?"
Dix sighed and shook her head. "Okay, let me rephrase-"
"Don't, Dixie. Just let it lie, okay?"
"You're gonna fall on your face if you don't eat something."
"I'm gonna fall on my face even if I do eat something, Dixie, I fall on my face every night."
She stared at him, obviously horrified. "Kelly, what on Earth - talk to me! Let me help you!"
He'd said too much - much, much too much. She'd gone from being his stern and steady do-gooder friend to a woman terrified she was about to lose flesh and blood. It was a look he'd seen in the mothers and wives and sisters and daughters of the sick and injured who'd come through his doors. It was the look that always came when he had to tell them that their loved ones were forever changed, or that they were on death's door, or that he didn't know what to do for them.
And now the look was for him, and it was far more frightening, more intense a feeling, to see that look of horror, and to know that he wasn't the savior, he was the condemned. There was no doctor to soothe Dixie's fears that her friend Kelly would pull through. There was just an inkling of stark, white hot truth, blinding them both.
"I'm... I'll go take care of this," Dixie finally said, stumbling over her words with trembling lips. She pushed up to her feet with such weariness that the sight brought tears to Kelly's eyes.
Suddenly, he reached out for her, and caught her hand in his. "You're the best friend anyone could ever hope for, Dix. I... I know you want to help. Just keep being you, and forgive me for being me. That's help enough."
She smiled shakily. "I wouldn't have it any other way." She gave his hand another squeeze before gently pulling away to collect his tray. She wrinkled her nose at him. "I'm bringing you an apple, though. You're gonna eat something, goddammit."
Kel didn't stick around to find out if she was pulling his leg or not. He waited until she was inside dealing with his debt to the braindead cafeteria girl, before quietly leaving the patio to return to the base station, where Dr. Morton was taking a call.
Mike's manner was as tense and unyielding as ever. Squad 36 didn't seem to pay his surly attitude any mind, though. They simply followed his instruction as given, and provided clarification as requested. All the paramedics at 36 were patient men.
Nothing like Gage and Desoto, who seemed to turn everything upside down wherever they went. Nothing malicious, of course, but they just weren't satisfied to accept whatever bullshit line came down the wire. It always came down to what the patient needed, not the orders given - there was no room for ego in their world. Though he'd had a tough time when he hit that wall with them, it was probably the first thing he discovered he had in common with them, and it endeared them to him, elevating his admiration of the pair beyond detached professional camaraderie to a deep, brotherly affection.
He sighed shakily, as tears threatened to fill his eyes again at the thought of a permanent change to Squad 51. He missed DeSoto and his feigned disdain for his partner. Kel missed Gage too, even though Johnny had been around all week - the fireman seemed like a shadow of his usual jubilant self this week. Worse yet, was that in the last couple of runs, Gage had shown a disinterest that was no good for the patients or the paramedic program - or the fire department in general, really. Instead of missing his work partner, it seemed that Johnny was missing the other half of his own self.
"That's wonderful!" Kel jumped and looked at Mike in horrified wonder. There was nothing wonderful about a bright young man being plunged into depression because he was missing half his soul!
"I've already called his wife," Joe said, just as happily. "She's looking for a sitter now."
"Why doesn't she just bring the kids? I'm sure he'd love to see them," Mike said.
"Sure, but he's pretty black and blue in places still, so I figured Mom better take a look first before she brings the little ones up. But she is bringing one big kid with her, I'm sure," Joe said with a laugh.
Mike snorted. "Good. I'm tired of Gage's loooooong face dragging all over the floor around here. I'm pretty sure he left half of it in front of Kel's office this afternoon."
Joe and Mike seemed to think this was hilarious. Kel scowled at them both. "He's worried about Roy. I think he has the right to be unhappy."
Joe and Mike exchanged a look, but they calmed their laughter. "Of course he had the right to be sad," Joe said. "And now he'll start to feel better."
"And you two are going to stop all this gossip mongering and start showing your colleagues some compassion," Kel snapped. "You're doctors, not school children! Straighten up and show some respect."
"Don't look so scared, boys," Dixie said, appearing as if out of thin air. "That's just his blood sugar talking." She pushed Joe to one side and leaned over the countertop to shove a shiny red apple into Kel's hands.
"No, it's not! And dammit, Dix, I told you I'm not hungry!"
He was causing a scene. He could see people pausing in their conversations, heads turning, backs arching, necks craining. All the attention he didn't want in the cafeteria was nothing compared to the crowd he was drawing now. Everyone in the L-shaped hallway was watching him, from the end of the observation area all the way over to the admissions desk. He snapped his mouth shut and looked at the apple with a mixture of contrition and revulsion.
"Maybe you'd feel better if you went up and talked to Roy yourself," Joe said quietly. "You've been taking his absence as hard as Johnny has. Maybe a little harder."
Kel flicked his eyes up to Joe. He felt rock hard inside, hard and alight with rage. But there was nothing but compassionate concern on Joe's face. The face a guilty father or brother or son or husband has when he has to face a loved one and tell them what the doctor said. Kel turned away - he couldn't stand the idea of being doted on by Joe, though he couldn't begin to understand why. "I... no. I've... got to get home soon anyway."
"It's not like DeSoto is going anywhere," Mike said, though there was a touch of hesitation in his voice.
"No," Kel said. "It's not."
Commotion from the ambulance entrance closed the discussion as Joe and Dixie went to tend to 36's patient. Mike adjusted his glasses a couple of times as he was wont to do when he knew he was about to invite a long, nasty lecture, before he cleared his throat and began to speak. "I didn't mean to sound disrespectful of Gage. It's nothing I wouldn't tease him with normally."
"Being crushed and nearly asphyxiated in toxic fumes isn't normal, Mike," Kel said. But he clapped Mike on the shoulder and got to his feet. "Don't mind me. I'm just sensitive right now."
"The family emergency?" Kel nodded. "Is there something I can do to help?"
Kel shrugged at that. "Sure. Don't pay attention to me the next time I jump down your throat."
"Oh, I was gonna do that anyway," Mike said with a straight face. Then he grinned.
Kel sneered and stalked off to his office, and pretended not to feel a little better for the teasing.