Countdown
Part Five
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.

(5:17 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

Six hours and forty-three minutes before the end of the world, Lucy Knight dropped a chart off at the desk, noticed there were no more waiting, and did a quick mental gearshift. Lucy considered herself industrious and hard working - good qualities, normally, but in those rare moments when there was nothing to do, it always left her at a loss until she could adjust to inactivity. On New Year's Eve, she'd imagined it being much busier.

"Oh gee, free time," she muttered, unenthusiastically.

"Ah, you get used to it," Randi told her, absently, without looking up from her magazine. She was trying to play it cool as always, but there was an uncharacteristic tightness in her voice.

Lucy looked at her. "Has there been any change in that bar situation?"

"Uh, I dunno," the clerk replied, sort of vaguely, "I haven't heard anything..."

Lucy knew Randi could be snappish and irritable, but she was usually pretty much on the ball about business matters. Particularly in situations that might involve members of the ER staff. This sort of distracted tension was unlike her.

"You know," Lucy ventured, "I really don't think we need to worry. Haleh's probably-"

"Hey, don't talk to me about Haleh, okay, Lucy? I've got bigger things to worry about right now!"

Taken aback, Lucy said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything."

"Yeah, whatever." Randi turned her back, but not quickly enough. Lucy had seen the worry in her eyes.

"What's going on?" she asked, in the carefully neutral voice she'd learned to adopt during her Psyche rotation. Not too strong, not too soft. You don't want to come off as being either aggressive or syrupy. "What happened?"

"You didn't hear?" the clerk told her, trying for offhanded, "I'm probably gonna lose my job and maybe have my parole revoked, is all."

Lucy took her arm and turned Randi to face her, a little surprised at her own boldness. "Why? What happened?"

Randi momentarily looked like she was considering shoving the student away and telling her to mind her own damn business, but instead she said, "I picked some junkie scam artist's pocket and was dumb enough to let Weaver know."

Lucy's eyes went wide, and she had to curb her first impulse, which was to give Randi a hard shake by the shoulders and yell 'are you nuts?!' or something equally counterproductive. Instead, she kept her voice level and said, "Why'd you do that?"

"What, pick her pocket, or confess?" Randi tried for a smile, but the joke fell flat. She took a quick glance around, making sure there was no one else in earshot, and said, "I don't know, I just did it. Both of 'em. I wasn't stealing it, or I wouldn't've told Weaver. It was just a dumb prank. I didn't think about it or anything."

Lucy kept quiet, letting Randi work it out herself.

"I dunno why I did it, it was stupid of me," she went on, "The bitch just got to me, and I had the opportunity right there, and something made me do it. Like there's something in the air today..." Randi shook her head. "How could I be so dumb?"

"We're all a little on edge today," Lucy assured her, "Between this bar situation and being worried about Haleh, and the Y2K thing..."

"Hey, Lucy, don't try to shrink me, okay?" Randi broke in, irritably, "Look, thanks, I know you're just tryin' to help, but I've gotta work through this and see how it plays out." She rubbed her forehead. "Man, Weaver's gonna kill me..."

"You want me to talk to her?"

"No, just leave it alone. I don't think she's really gonna make a whole stink about it. She'll probably just put me on double-shifts forever or somethin'."

"She said that? That she's not going to take official action?"

"Hell, I don't know what she's gonna do." Randi crossed her arms, trying for tough, but just looking scared.

They broke off their conversation as Jerry returned from the men's room. "Anything exciting happen?" he asked.

"Surely you jest," Randi replied, resuming her customary blasé façade, "Nice and quiet."

"Yeah, I just finished with the drunken bumsicle in Four," Lucy put in. "By now I can suture head lacs in my sleep."

"That's the trouble with this job," Jerry said, "No variety. Same old same old, day in, day out..."

No sooner had he said it, then the doors slid open and a line of scantily clad women entered, all dressed in gold bikinis with gaudy feathered headdresses.

"Chorus girls AGAIN?!" Jerry moaned.

(5:29 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

Kerry gave her sixth chorus girl a clean bill of health and released her to wait in chairs with the rest. Like the others before her, she had suffered no more than the odd bump or random bruise. Strictly outpatient, treat-and-street stuff. Fortunately, there didn't seem to have been any real injuries among the dancers resulting from the bus crash.

The bus had been ferrying its load of dancers on their way to do a New Year's show, when it had skidded on a patch of ice and run into a parked Volvo before the driver could bring it to a stop. It was little more than a fender-bender, and the driver had managed to drive the bus to County, rather than call an ambulance, so it was hardly enough to qualify for one of those reality shows - 'America's Bloodiest Road Wrecks' or whatever.

In fact, the most danger the dancers seemed to be in was from hypothermia; they'd all walked from the bus to the ER without coats in December weather. Kerry didn't know whether there was some masochistic practice among professional dancers of ignoring the cold, like the Polar Bear Club, or if they were all simply no smarter than their headdresses.

Kerry checked in at the front desk, getting a quick status report from Jerry while she was there. Although the nurses could handle all the dancers' complaints, Drs. Carter, Kovac, and Doyle had all volunteered to pitch in and help out, so the dancers didn't have to wait long. Kerry felt obliged to treat some as well, though she suspected the other three doctors were volunteering less out of good will than the idea of spending time examining a bevy of near-naked women.

She shook the cynical notion out of her head and looked at the collection of chorus girls sitting in chairs, both those that had been green-lighted and those still waiting to be seen. They were chatting and laughing quietly among themselves, acting more like a coffee klatch than a group of accident victims. Why they felt they needed to come to an Emergency Room in the first place, she'd never know.

What the hell, it would keep everyone from getting bored. Or worse, starting one of those silly hallway sporting events that people seemed prone to during slow shifts. Rolling-chair soccer with Waste Hazard bins for goals, for instance.

Kerry mentally tallied up the number of dancers remaining, and decided to leave them to the others. She spent the next twenty minutes in the lounge, finishing off the reports she'd abandoned earlier, and then stood up and stretched her back. If it remained this slow, she figured she'd take a dinner break soon.

Walking to the restroom, she splashed some water on her face, dried off with a paper towel, and regarded her reflection. How you holding up? Not bad, all considering, and you? Don't ask me, I'm just a collection of reflected light waves wearing your face. So? That doesn't make you a bad person. Smile, willya, you look depressed.

She dropped the paper towel in the waste receptacle and turned to go back to work...

...and then it started again. Kerry clutched the edge of the sink for support, but her fingers didn't feel it. It all went away at the same time, sight, sound, scent.

She had time for one thought - Please don't let this one be like the last time - and then she was gone...



(TIME OUT...)

The tickety-ticking of the keyboard under her fingers was a reassuring rhythm. "...supports the viability of increased toxicity treatments," she half-whispered as she typed, "beyond previously recommended levels, as based upon the recent Lupoff-Haines protocols of 1998, in which..." No, wait, that was a run-on sentence. She had to watch out for her tendency to use those. She'd been told they bogged the reader down, and with material as dry as this, that was the kiss of death for the writer.

Speaking of dry... Kerry reached for the plastic tumbler, but there was no more soda in it, only melting ice. It wasn't the heat that got you, she told herself, it was the humidity. And right now, she wished she could get some humidity. Denver was going through a stretch of late-summer weather that seemed to dry out her throat constantly. Damn, she didn't really want to make her way back to the kitchen right now, not just for another Diet Pepsi.

The front door opened and she heard her husband enter. "Hey," he called, by way of greeting.

"I'm in the study," she called to him, her voice breaking a little. She tipped the tumbler and let a half-formed ice cube slide into her mouth for the moisture.

Doug entered, dropping his briefcase. As always, he looked uncomfortable in the shirt and tie, and not just because of the heat. He'd always be a tee shirt or scrubs kind of guy. "How goes it?" he asked her.

"Slow," she replied, saving the document and shutting off the laptop. "I got the rotational schedule worked out, but the research proposals are tough to get through. Particularly when there's nothing to break them up." She sighed. "I miss the place, you know? I miss seeing patients in the flesh."

"Yeah." He bent to kiss her, the ritual peck, then began loosening his tie. "You ever think about coming back? As more than an administrator, I mean?"

She thought about it all the time. She also thought about hang-gliding, swimming the English Channel, and any other number of things she couldn't do. "No," she told him, "We talked about this. I just can't function adequately, I'd be in the way..."

"You wouldn't be in anyone's way, Kerry. Maybe trauma is out of the question, but you could still see patients on a consultation basis. There are plenty of openings, the only issue is whether you want to..."

"Doug, please, could we not talk about this today?" she cut him off. The thought of going back to the hospital seemed more and more impossible every day. She knew she was digging a hole for herself, and it was only growing deeper, but she couldn't help how she felt. Each time she thought about it, two words sprang to mind. I can't.

"Okay," he said, quietly yielding the point. He picked up the tumbler. "You want another one?"

"Yeah, please."

He retreated from the study, and Kerry felt a moment's relief. Each evening when he came home from work, it was an emotional mixed-bag. She was relieved to see him - it meant another day had gone by and he hadn't left her yet - but once he was home, it seemed they had less and less to say to each other.

Doug returned a minute later with a fresh drink for her and a beer for himself. He had changed into a black tee shirt and seemed more relaxed. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to introduce a sore topic."

Kerry forced a smile for him. "No, it's all right. I'm just tired from staring at a computer screen all day. I think I'm getting eyestrain."

"That mean you don't want to watch the sunset? Supposed to be a terrific one, tonight."

"Are you kidding? You think I'd miss one with you?" This time the smile was genuine.

He returned it with one of his own. "I think we can just catch it if we go out now."

"Great." Kerry released the wheel brakes and rolled herself backward from the desk. The wheelchair was the strongest and lightest she could buy, and it handled pretty well. She let Doug push her out of the study and onto the front porch.

The sunset was, indeed, spectacular, and they watched it together, in silence. Their best times were when they didn't need to talk. Doug stood behind the chair, his hands rubbing her shoulders under her hair, which was nearly waist-length by now. The August weather was temperate enough that she didn't need a sweater, even when the sun was down completely.

"Doug?" she ventured, quietly.

"Mmm?"

"Do you ever have any regrets?"

"About what?"

About marrying me, she thought. "About leaving Chicago," she said.

He didn't answer straight away. "I miss Mark sometimes," he admitted, "but other than that...no, honey, I don't regret moving here. It was a good job offer, we both agreed..."

"But you don't like it as much as County, I can tell."

"Pay's better here," he said. "Besides, County had too many memories."

Kerry knew he was thinking of Her. The other woman in his life. The one who had broken him.

When Kerry first came to work at County General, she'd expected to find Doug Ross the same ego-driven womanizer he'd been in Med School. To her surprise, though, there had been something diminished, almost empty, about him. Her first year, he'd never given her any trouble, showing himself to be cooperative and obedient. He followed the rules, worked hard, and even backed her up when she had disputes with Mark Greene or Susan Lewis. She was at a loss for what had wrought this transformation in him.

Then she had learned that Doug had been in love with a woman at County, a nurse named Carol, who had taken her own life in an overdose of pills. No explanation for her suicide was ever discovered. She died nearly a year before Kerry came to County, and a piece of Doug Ross had died with her.

The sadness he carried with him at all times had touched something in Kerry, and she found herself drawn closer to him. Part of it was gratitude for his support, but she also found a degree of admiration for him. The good man she'd always suspected he had inside him was released. Doug's devotion to his patients was unparalleled, and she could tell how much it hurt him when he couldn't take action to help them. But he never broke, or even bent, a rule as far as she could tell.

Their relationship deepened, and developed an unexpected romantic dimension, and she felt he was on the verge of making it permanent, when the benzene incident changed her life.

Oxygen deprivation left her unable to walk at all, and her effectiveness as a trauma doctor was reduced unacceptably. Doug
devoted himself to caring for her, even though it meant working harder than he already did. When he was offered a job as a Pedes Attending in Denver, he felt he had no choice; he explained to Kerry that it meant more money, fewer hours, and he decided he'd need both if he were to support an invalid wife. That was as close to a marriage proposal as she got.

That was two years ago, and now, looking back, Kerry sometimes wondered if either of them had made the right choices. She still didn't know if she had married him because she wanted him...or because she needed him.

It didn't matter, she told herself. She'd made her choices, for better or for worse.

"Hey," he whispered, "Why are you crying?"

"It's nothing," she replied, brushing the tears away. "I love you."

Doug stroked her hair. "Love you, too," he said, exactly as he always did.

She held his hand in hers, and prayed that someday they would both mean it.



Thankfully, nobody else came into the restroom and saw her leaning against the sink. Kerry straightened up as her reality returned. She made it back to the lounge and sank into the couch before allowing herself to react to this latest vision.

Trapped in a wheelchair in Denver and married to Doug Ross. Jesus, what did I do in a past life to deserve THAT?

She sat still in the empty lounge, allowing herself to digest the experience. Although this last vision was without violence, it was somehow more disturbing than those with. Kerry could deal with tragedy from external sources. There were things beyond your control, after all, and the best you could do was react to it and deal with it.

But this version of herself was the saddest she'd ever imagined. It was a Kerry Weaver who had somehow given up. She'd succumbed to self-doubt and allowed herself to settle for someone who pitied her, rather than respecting her. She'd allowed herself to become needful and dependent on someone who was using her to try and patch a hole in himself. The thought that she could abandon her self-determination and surrender so much of what she'd always prided herself on was deeply repugnant to her.

Why is this happening to me?

The door slammed open and Lucy yelled, "Dr. Weaver, we've got incoming!"

Kerry was on her feet, banishing all thoughts of the vision. "What've we got?"

"It's the guy at the bar! He started shooting, and the cops had to force entry. He got a lot of shots off..."

Kerry wanted to ask if Haleh had been located, or if they had heard anything, but she refrained. If there had been any news, Lucy would have said so. Besides, this was the time it was most critical to remain focused, objective, and professional. Lives might depend upon it.

"All right, people, we knew this might happen!" Kerry declared, focusing everyone's attention, "Let's go to work!"

The first sirens approached less than a minute later.

(5:50 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)