Countdown
Part Four
By Scott J. Welles
scottjwelles@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMERS: Okay, here we are again. First, the usual jazz. Sing along if you know the words...

ER and all related characters are the property of Warner Bros., ConstantC Productions, and Amblin Entertainment Television, a bunch of really swell, understanding guys who won't sue me if I mention that the aforementioned characters and institutions are being used without their permission, but only for entertainment purposes, and that no form of profit is being made on this work, especially if I remind them that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Yeah, they'll buy that...

Rate this one PG-13 for subject material.

The time-frame on this one is as current as you can get. Last episode seen was "Great Expectations," and there are probably 6th Season spoilers, accordingly. (I'll try to keep them to a minimum, though.)

One more thing. This is the most intense, serious story I've written yet. There may be parts that could be disturbing, chilling, or downright tragic. Some seriously bad things will probably happen to our heroes before we're through. Expect the worst. However, by way of reassurance, I ask you to recall the ad campaign for 'The Princess Bride': "She gets captured, he gets killed...but it all turns out okay." If you're still game, with all that in mind, let's get to it...

Non-Trek fans, bear with me on this one. I must be true to my roots.

(4:12 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

Seven hours and forty-eight minutes before the end of the world, Dr. Kerry Weaver was dealing with an upset vulcan and a gum-chewing bajoran.  "Now, how exactly did this happen?" she asked.

The girl, dressed like Nana Visitor's character from 'Deep Space Nine', rolled her eyes (which looked odd to Kerry, with the wrinkled nose makeup) and whined, "I told you, Barry and I were necking during the party-"

"It was a come-as-your-favorite-Trekker party," put in Barry, who wore the old '60's-style Mr. Spock outfit, complete with the slick black hair and arched eyebrows.   Unfortunately, he didn't seem to have included a vulcan's calm in the outfit.   He acted and sounded more like Woody Allen.  The blue shirt was about three sizes too big for him.

"-and I was, y'know, kinda nibbling his ear, and it...well, I kinda swallowed it."

"The tip of his ear?" Kerry supplied, hiding her amusement.  Behind her, Malik had to turn away so they wouldn't see him trying not to laugh.

"Yeah, that's right."  The boy turned his head, showing one pointed ear and one normal one.  It made his head look lopsided.

"Are those made out of plastic or latex?" Kerry asked.  "The ear prosthetics?"

"Latex," he said.  "The plastic kind are easy to put on and reuse, but they look pretty dorky.  These look just like the kind used on the show.  I bought 'em over the Internet, and they were shipped from a makeup designer in Hollywood who works on all the cool horror and sci-fi movies.  He studied under Rick Baker, and-"

Kerry tried not to be judgmental about her patients, as a general rule, but honestly, she thought, where's William 'Get-A-Life' Shatner when you need him?

"Barry, shut up, willya?" the girl in the Kira suit broke in.  "So, like, is there anything we can do about this?"

"Well, you don't show any signs of an allergic reaction," Kerry said, "so I wouldn't worry; it should pass without any difficulties."

"What, you mean just wait for it to...?"

"If you're concerned, you could pick up a laxative at any drug store," Kerry added.

"Great!  So I'm stuck walking around with only one pointed ear?" Barry whined, "We've still got the Millennium Convention to go to!  What am I supposed to tell people?!"

"Tell 'em you're Vulcan Van Gogh?" Malik suggested.  Then he threw his hands up and bowed to an imaginary audience, exclaiming, "Thank you, Chicago!   I'm here all week!"

Everyone stared at him in surprise.

"What?  Oh, c'mon, that was damn funny!"

(4:19 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

Kerry nodded goodbye to the Trekkie couple as they put on their coats and walked out of the hospital.  Signing off the young woman's chart, she reached for the next one.

"Geez, what a geek," Randi muttered.

"Excuse me?" Kerry said, a little archly.

"Not you, them," the clerk clarified, "Walkin' around in outfits like those.  Okay, maybe she looks okay in the red catsuit, but him, come on."

Kerry gave Randi one of her patented looks and said, "You know, every patient who comes in here is entitled to a degree of respect, even when they're not in earshot."

"Dr. Weaver, I'm sorry, I don't mean anything, but I'm entitled to my opinion, right?"

"Well, maybe we should all keep our opinions on fashion to ourselves..."   She glanced briefly at Randi's typically unconventional outfit and added, "For everyone's sake."

The ER Chief departed without another word, and Randi looked after her. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked of no one in particular.

Conni arrived at the desk before anyone could answer her.  "Hey, turn on the TV," she said, urgently.

Jerry found the remote and clicked on the set, surfing briefly until he found a newscast.   "...no further word on the situation within," a well-groomed Asian woman was saying into a microphone on the screen, "What is known is that approximately twenty minutes ago, an unidentified man entered the bar carrying a hunting rifle and an automatic pistol and has refused to let any of the bar patrons leave. No one else has been allowed to enter, and it is unclear what his intentions are at this time."

"Aw, man, what's-" Jerry began.

Several people shushed him.

"Police efforts to enter through the rear of the establishment have been postponed, as it is believed that the doors and windows may have been wired with explosives.   The gunman himself may have explosives on his person, reports are inconclusive, but SWAT sniper tactics have been ruled out for the time being.  Police spotters have determined that at least thirty-four people are trapped in the bar with their captor-"

"Oh, Lord, I know that place, I recognize the street corner," Lydia said, "It's five blocks from here.  Haleh sings there sometimes!"

"No statements or demands have been made thus far, and it is unclear what the man's motivation is for taking hostages.  Behind me, the authorities are attempting to communicate..."

"She's not performing there tonight, is she?" Yosh asked.

"I dunno," Lydia said.

"She's scheduled to be on later tonight," Jerry assured them, "She doesn't sing before shifts, only after them...right?"

Everyone looked at each other.

"I'll try her at home," Jerry added, scooping up the telephone receiver.

"What's everyone standing around for?" Kerry asked, startling them all.

"Dr. Weaver," Lydia said, "we're concerned that Haleh might be in the middle of this."  She outlined the news briefly.

Kerry listened to Lydia with one ear, and the television report with the other.  Then she reached for the remote and muted the sound.  "All right, there's nothing to be gained by speculating.  Try calling her at home-"

"Way ahead of you, Dr. Weaver," Jerry said, waggling the receiver.

"Fine.  In the meantime, let's assume the worst and be standing by to receive casualties.  If this situation blows up, they'll be coming here.  Lydia, make sure the trauma rooms are prepped, Yosh, same with the exam rooms - we may need every available space.  Conni, make sure the supply room's stocked, then call upstairs and make sure extras are available if we need them."

Everyone nodded, but lingered, glancing at Jerry.

"Uhh...no answer at her place," the big clerk said.

"Come on, everyone, let's do our jobs," Kerry snapped at them, "Better to do something instead of standing around fretting about it."  She clicked off the set and watched as everyone reluctantly tore themselves away and followed her instructions. 

After they were gone, however, Kerry hovered around the desk until Jerry hung up the phone.  Kerry looked at him for a moment without saying anything, and then walked away.

"Man, and she thinks I'M insensitive..." Randi muttered when she was out of sight.

(4:41 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

The computer search didn't reveal anything. That didn't surprise Kerry much. What were you supposed enter under SYMPTOMS? Spontaneous hallucinations? Perceptual reality discrepancies? Everything's-topsy-turvy-itis? How do you describe visions, like the two she'd had, to a medical database?

It occurred to her to double-check the aftereffects of benzene exposure.  She'd had her mental status altered briefly before receiving oxygen.  Were there any indications of flashbacks, like people who'd experimented with LSD?  Nothing that she could find.  Even if there were, she reasoned, and she had gone about two years without experiencing any problems, would the things she saw be so crystal-clear and perfectly detailed?  Wouldn't they be more surreal or psychedelic or something?

Could the cause of her visions be psychological, rather than medical? She didn't want to think about that possibility.

No, there had to be a quantifiable cause for it.  But she couldn't think straight enough to come up with the answer. 

The current circumstance didn't help.  A part of her was distracted by the thought, however unlikely, that Haleh Adams, their own epitome of 'tough love', could be in danger.   She told herself that the odds of that being the case were slim, but the possibility wouldn't leave her alone.  Kerry wouldn't admit it in front of the others - as an authority figure, she had a responsibility to remain controlled and calm - but she was as worried as any of them.  No matter how professionally she tried to behave, a threat to one of her people was a personal matter.

Now when did she start thinking of the ER staff as 'her people'?  Did they think of her as one of 'their people'?  She had begun to think so, until her reappointment as Chief a few months ago.

"Hey, Dr. Weaver?"

She started. "What do you need, Carter?"

"I'm just gonna grab something from the coach.  You want anything?"

"Um, no thank you.  I'm fine."  She looked back at the computer screen and began typing a new search.

Carter lingered a moment, then leaned against the counter.  "You know, if you don't mind my saying so, you keep saying you're fine, and it's a little less convincing each time."

"I do mind your saying so," she replied without looking up.

"Come on, I know you pretty well by now.  What's wrong?"

"Carter, I really don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"Okay," he said, easily.  Then, obviously trying to set her mind at ease, he added, "You know, Haleh's gonna turn out to be fine..."

"Yeah, and there's no reason to think otherwise, so can we please stop saying so?" she snapped at him.  "You know, just once, I'd like to have everyone around here stop bitching about their personal problems and just do their goddamn jobs, is that too much to ask?  Just for one shift?"

She knew as soon as she said it that she was out of line, but she couldn't bring herself to say so.

"Everyone's doing their jobs," Carter assured her, calmly.  "Right now, the only one letting their personal problems affect their work is you."

Kerry didn't reply.

"Look, something's bothering you.  Everyone can tell.  If you don't want to talk to me, talk to someone, okay?  Whatever it is, you'll feel better if you let it out."

She looked at him.  He was sincere in his concern, and a part of her wanted to blurt it all out, the way she had done the night some woman called her home, claiming to be her mother.  As easily as that, she'd found herself suddenly telling her life story to John Carter without thinking about it.  She knew he'd listen now as he had then, sympathetically, but not judgmentally.  Tell him, the voice in her head urged.

"If you're going to the coach, go, and get back quickly," she said, "We might need you on a moment's notice."

Carter showed only the faintest sign of disappointment as he nodded and walked away.

Shit, I did it again, she thought.  I pushed him away right when he was trying to show support as a friend.  Just like when I became Chief.  He was so happy for me, and that's when I throw him out of my house.  What the hell is wrong with me?

She logged out of the medical search program and made her way to the front desk, hearing the arguing voices even before it came into sight.

"What's the problem?  Just sign the damn thing, will you?!" came an angry woman's voice.

"I can't do that, I'm not a doctor..."  That was Randi.

"Well, will you get a doctor out here, then?!"

"Okay, just calm down, all right?"

"Don't tell me to calm down, you trampy twerp!"

Oh, that's going to inflame things, Kerry thought, hurrying a little more.

"What'd you call me?" Randi retorted, indignantly.

"What's the problem here?" Kerry asserted as she arrived.

The angry woman at the desk had dishwater blonde hair to her waist, and her clothes, denim and corduroy under an orange down vest, were badly in need of laundering.  She had a backpack slung by both straps over one shoulder, and with the other arm she held a chubby, unwashed infant who stared at everything with uncomprehending indifference.  Both the backpack and the baby seemed to be treated about equally.  "Are you a doctor?" she insisted as she laid eyes on Kerry.

"I'm Dr. Weaver.  What's the problem?"

"Would you just sign this, please, so I can get my prescription?" the woman shoved a slip of paper at Kerry with an air of frustration and impatience.  Randi picked up a magazine and a pen, clearly glad to be out of the conversation.

"I'm sorry, have you been treated by one of the doctors here?" Kerry asked her.   The 'prescription' didn't look like one of County General's.

"Jeez, what difference does it make?!"  The blonde woman let out a loud sigh, letting everyone know how put-upon she was, dropped her backpack on the floor, and dumped the baby carelessly on the desk.  The baby remained sitting up, unperturbed by his surroundings, and wobbled, a little too close to the edge to suit Kerry.   "Look, I saw this other doctor at Mercy, and he forgot to sign it, okay, so I just need you to sign off on it so I can get it filled, awright?"

"I'm afraid we can't prescribe anything for patients we haven't diagnosed ourselves," Kerry informed her, as calmly as she could, "If you'd like to wait a moment, I can see you myself..."

"Look, I don't have time, okay?!  I got a job appointment I gotta get to, an' I gotta do some other stuff!  Just sign it, willya?!" She paid no attention to the child, who had rolled onto his back on the desk, perilously close to falling. 

Randi didn't look up from her crossword puzzle, but took two casual steps to her left.   This seemingly random motion put her body in a position to block the child from rolling off the desktop onto the floor.  Kerry's estimation of her went up a notch.

"Ma'am," Kerry said, quietly but firmly, "I can't help you unless you calm down.  I should tell you that it's illegal to forge a prescription.  There could be serious repercussions, and..."

"Are you calling me a liar?!"  Her eyes flashed with rage.  Kerry could see her tensing, as if for a fight.  Behind her, Randi had focused her eyes on the woman and had put down the pen and magazine.  Her weight was balanced on the balls of her feet.  If the woman made a move, Kerry knew Randi would be ready to grab her.  Another notch.

"No, I'm not calling you anything," Kerry said, diplomatically, not backing down an inch, "but it would be easy for others to get that impression."  She looked significantly at the baby and added, "It wouldn't be in anyone's best interests to cause yourself trouble unnecessarily."

The woman shook her head in disgust and shouted, "Screw you, you bitch! Get outta my way!"  The latter was addressed to Randi as she shoved rudely past the clerk, grabbed her pack and child and stormed out the main doors.

The tension went down considerably.

"Well, I'm convinced about that job interview," Randi quipped, "How about you?"

Kerry nodded gratefully.  "I appreciate how you handled that," she told the clerk.  "I'm glad you restrained yourself and didn't try to take her head off."

Randi shrugged.  "Well, maybe if she didn't have a kid with her..."

Kerry smiled and looked at the obviously falsified prescription form, which the woman had left behind.  "Amazing what some people will do to get their pharmaceutical fix."

"Yeah.  More amazing how bad a liar they usually are."

Kerry nodded, enjoying the moment's camaraderie.  "You think we'll be seeing her again?"

"Yeah, I'd bet on it," Randi replied, rather smugly.  She held up a wallet and said, "She'll be back for this."

Kerry's eyes nearly bugged out of her head.  "Is that hers?"

"Serves her right for treating her kid like luggage.  Besides, she pissed me off with that 'trampy twerp' remark."

"So you stole her wallet?!" Kerry exclaimed.

Randi put on her most innocent expression and said, "No, of course not, Dr. Weaver!   It fell out of her pocket."  She winked, almost imperceptibly.

"I can't believe you did that!  What would you do if she came back and accused you of stealing?"

"I'd conveniently find it in the 'Lost-And-Now-It's-Ours' box.  Look here, you can see it's still got the cash in it..."

"That's not the point!" Kerry informed her, angrily, "You just as much as admitted to me that you committed a crime, Randi!  A felony, no less!"

Randi's smirk faded.  "Dr. Weaver, come on..."

"What am I supposed to do now?  I have an obligation to uphold hospital regulations; if I were to report this, you'd be suspended, maybe lose your job!  You know what kind of position you've put me in?"

Randi looked back at her, at a loss for words.

"And what do you think would happen if your parole officer learned about it?   Jesus, Randi, did you think at all about what you were doing?!  Do you EVER think before you act, or do you just let your ego act for you?!" 

Kerry realized that, in yelling at Randi, she was drawing a number of stares.  She looked pointedly at their audience: What the hell are you all looking at?

Everyone made a point of finding something else to occupy their attention.

You shouldn't be doing this in front of everyone, she chided herself. This discussion really should be held in private.  But it was too late now.  "Give me the wallet," she snarled, "I'll take responsibility."

Randi handed over the wallet without argument.

(4:56 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

Kerry's pen hovered uncertainly over the Employee Incident Report.  She knew that her position came with certain obligations, certain responsibilities.  There were standards of authority to uphold.  She knew, also, that Randi's action had been stupid and inexcusable.  This was real life, not some kind of wacky, mischief-prone situation comedy. And she knew that if she filed the report, the ER would likely lose Randi's services permanently. 

For all her griping and her surly attitude and her bizarre defiance of dress codes, Randi was a valued employee, and Kerry didn't want to lose her.  She was a capable, hard worker with a good head on her shoulders - most of the time - and she was a part of the spirit of County's ER.  In some ways, more an integral part of the place than Romano or Anspaugh or the Board of Directors or any of the other exalted figures who had held power over their operation.

Kerry had fired such people before, in accordance with regulations. Right or wrong, the rules were made for a reason. Covering for Carol's mistake during the nurses' strike was one thing, but overlooking a deliberate act like Randi's...

Damn her for putting me in this position, she thought, driven nearly to tears in her anger.  Aren't there enough problems on this job to deal with?  Why do people have to go creating more trouble for themselves? Do they think I can keep cleaning up after them forever?

Kerry filled out the form, documenting time, details, and recommended consequences.   She signed and dated it accordingly. She looked at it. She really had no choice in the matter.  Her job and her responsibility demanded it.

Then she crumpled the form and stuffed it into her lab coat pocket.

(4:58 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)