Benton charged through the ER, barely noticing the
attention he drew from the waiting patients, not
noticing that the reception desk had been almost
completely vacated. Randi started to say something to
the surgeon as he stormed past, but got no further
than "Dr" before he was gone.
Mark Greene stood in trauma one, staring blankly at
the door. So he was the only one who had any warning
before Benton charged into the room. Abby yelped in
surprise as the doors imploded behind her; Chuny
reflexively leapt towards the wall, barely avoiding
being mowed over; Dave was startled into tripping over
his feet, and ended up on the ground. No one noticed.
The only thing Benton noticed was that Carter wasn't
there. But he had been there. Or someone badly
injured had been there, not long ago. Medical waste
lay strewn across the floor: emptied units of blood,
wrappers from hypodermic needles, chest tube trays,
intubation kit... The crash cart had obviously been
utilized recently.
I'm too late, thought Benton, looking at Mark's tense
features, then at Abby's pale face and Dave's stricken
expression. Carter was dead. God, I'm too late. How
could they have given up on him already? It had been
less than twenty minutes! Twenty minutes - I
should've been here. I could've been here. What did
it matter? Carter was dead. And where was he? Did
they just drag him out into the hallway and leave him
there for the morgue to pick up? Could they have
really done that: left him out in the hallway alone?
Had he passed anyone on the way in? Oh God, Carter
was dead. Twenty fucking minutes, and Carter was
dead...
Thoughts, accusations raced through Benton's head as
he fought to get his breath back. All that he managed
to say was "What? Where?"
It was obvious to Mark what conclusion the surgeon had
drawn, the tired look transformed into one of
reassurance. "Carter went up to the OR - "
Benton didn't need to hear anything else.
So single-minded was the surgeon that he plowed
directly into an arriving gurney, causing the patient
on it to squeal in pain and nearly unbalancing the two
paramedics beside it. He drew in a breath to mutter
an apology, then he realized who the patient was and
he stopped. For a long moment he stared at the
writhing man, eyes dark and narrowed and hateful. The
paramedics exchanged worried glances with the
attendant policemen; they couldn't move forward, the
surgeon effectively blocked their path.
For a second, Benton seriously considered standing
there until the gunman slowly bled to death. A part
of him wanted to watch. If Carter had been dead, the
policemen would have eventually been forced to bodily
move the surgeon. As it was, Benton paused only
momentarily, then he shook his head and stepped aside,
heading for the stairs in a run.
Half way up the second flight, he had a second
collision.
"Hey, watch where you're going!" Her voice was highly
indignant; he recognized it instantly.
"Cleo..." Again the apology died before it could
begin. "Where are you going?" There was an element
of suspicion in his tone.
"ER called me down for a multiple gunshot," she
explained coolly.
Multiple GSW. She was going to work on the shooter,
thought Benton, his expression hardening.
Dr Finch had been around long enough to know the
situation, and she knew Benton well enough to read his
thoughts this time. "I didn't ask for this guy,
Peter. They called me."
"I know," he said flatly. He knew that the gunman had
a hell of a better chance at living, even with only
Cleo taking care of him, than Carter did, with
probably the best surgeons in the city working on him.
Stung by his lack of understanding, she took hold of
his arm. "Peter, you can't blame me for doing my
job!"
"I'm not blaming you!" He shook her off brusquely,
ignoring the look of hurt on her face. "I don't have
time for this now, Cleo! Go! Do your job. I don't
care. I have to get upstairs."
Dr Finch said nothing further, standing motionlessly
on the staircase. She watched him hurry away from
her, and mentally shrugged. Let Elizabeth handle him,
she thought, before a stab of jealousy reminded her
that Dr Corday was probably the only person aside from
Carter who had any capacity to deal with Benton. She
had never been able to before, and after this, what he
probably saw as a betrayal, she had the feeling her
chances were gone. With a sigh, Cleo resumed her way
to the ER.
****
It was like a replay of the last time Carter had been
hurt - there she was in the corridor, waiting for him,
waiting to keep him from knowing what was going on, to
keep him from helping.
"Peter."
Benton shook his head at her, frustration and denial
evident on his face. "No way, Elizabeth. There is no
way Romano is keeping me out here."
"It's not Robert," she said, as though that made all
the difference.
"Anspaugh?" demanded Benton, looking over her head at
the door.
"Peter, listen to me."
"No." He didn't care what she wanted to say.
"Yes!" Reaching up, she firmly gripped his chin in
one hand and forced him to look at her. "Peter, I
know this is hard for you, I understand that. But
your anger and your fear are not going to help John
right now; they would make you careless and get him
killed, and I am sorry I have to say this to you but
you know that I'm right."
He merely gazed at her, his eyes unreadable.
Elizabeth watched him cautiously, as though she felt
he might make a sudden dash for the OR if she let her
guard down. "Now if you want to help, you could get
in contact with his family."
"No one's called his grandmother?" Benton asked,
disbelieving. They wouldn't let him into the OR and
they had waited for him to make that phone call? He
felt as if he'd stumbled into some parallel universe.
"Mark tried earlier, but she's away on business. In
Australia."
Benton nodded, remembering. "Yeah, she left me her
phone number - in case of emergency." He started to
laugh, but choked on it. Dr Corday squeezed his arm
sympathetically. "I guess this qualifies," he said
softly.
"Yes."
A short silence fell between them. Elizabeth thought
she should get back to the OR, but Anspaugh was in
there with Romano, and her presence was little more
than as a spectator. And they already had Luka Kovac
fulfilling that role. The Croatian doctor had not
asked permission, had simply scrubbed in with the
others and was currently watching over the proceedings
as if vigilance itself could save the resident. Dr
Corday suspected she had been called in for this: to
contain Benton as peacefully as possible. So she
waited.
"You know, I told her I'd look out for him," Benton
continued, with a smile so grim it made her inwardly
shudder.
"John's a grown man. He looks after himself."
Benton snorted, shaking his head.
"You are not responsible for him, Peter. And you are
sure as hell not responsible for this."
"I know," Benton nodded, as though to make up for the
lack of conviction in his tone. "I know that." The
surgeon screwed his eyes closed, bowing his head.
"How bad is it?" he asked, his voice quiet.
"Well, we've got his pressure up and they're repairing
the damage to his lung right now - "
"Is he going to live?" Benton cut her off almost
rudely, needing the bottom line.
"Peter, you know I can't - "
"Elizabeth!" he practically yelled. Then, catching
himself, he lowered his voice. "Please."
She gazed at him steadily. "I think there's a good
chance he'll make it through surgery. But after
that..."
"The oxygen deprivation." Benton said it for her.
She nodded wordlessly. "So, you think there might be
brain damage."
Elizabeth could see the effort it was taking Benton to
keep his voice level; part of her wanted to reach out
and embrace him, but she had the feeling that would
set off a reaction that even she was incapable of
containing. It was better to keep this impersonal, to
not say Carter's name again. "There might be. We
can't know for sure until he wakes up."
"If he wakes up," the surgeon corrected her roughly.
"Peter - "
"Don't do that," he snapped, glaring at her. "Don't
look at me like that! Don't say my name like you're
trying to calm me down!"
"Well, you need to calm down!" she glared back at him.
"You need to be reasonable, Peter."
"How am I not being reasonable? I said it, didn't I?
I said brain damage, didn't I? Didn't I?" he
challenged angrily. Then he realized what he had
said, and whom he was talking about, and was brought
to an abrupt halt in his tirade. "Oh God."
Elizabeth's expression was so sympathetic, Benton was
torn between wanting to hug her and wanting to shout
at her. She solved his dilemma, closing the space
between them and wrapping her arms around him. He was
rigid, almost unresponsive, his arms like leaden
weights around her waist.
"I should have let him go," he muttered after a
moment. "On the train, I should've just let him go."
She shook her head, unwilling to give him any false
hope but equally unwilling to admit defeat. "We don't
know that, Peter. He could be perf- "
"Don't say it, Elizabeth." Benton's voice was
strained. "I can't..."
She nodded, her chin digging into his shoulder. Hope
was sometimes just another four letter word. She
squeezed him tightly before releasing him and stepping
back.
They regarded each other silently. Then Benton said,
"You should get back in there." He paused, shifting
his gaze from hers to look at the ground. "And I have
to call his grandmother." His reluctance was
palpable; Elizabeth almost moved in for a second hug,
but there was a distancing resolve in his eyes that
held her in place.
"They don't really need me," she said hesitantly, an
unspoken offer to stay with him.
Benton smiled at her, a brief and half-hearted
attempt, but a smile. "I'd feel better if you were
there."
She patted his arm lightly. "All right. You'll be
okay?"
"I'll be waiting."
It wasn't actually an answer to her question but she
nodded understandingly. Benton watched her disappear
into the scrub room, then looked away. With a deep
breath he turned towards the nearest telephone. He
really did not want to do this, but there was no one
else. He had seen the look on Elizabeth's face when
she said he needed to be reasonable; he knew why she
had said it. If Millicent had to make an informed
decision, she would ask his advice and in all
likelihood, she would follow it. In the end, it would
be his decision.
****
"Mrs Carter?"
"Yes?" Her voice was pleasant but business-like.
"This is Peter Benton."
"Oh, yes." She obviously thought this was a check-in
call; she sounded pleased to hear from him. "And how
are you today, Peter?"
"Uh..." Benton found himself lacking the words to
describe his day.
"Peter? What's wrong?" There was no longer any
pleasantness in her tone, only worry. "What's
happened to John?" she asked.
"He's been shot."
There was a pause as the elderly woman tried to
process the information. "How bad?" she asked, fear
plain in her voice.
Benton shook his head, despite knowing she couldn't
see him. "You'd better come as quickly as you can."
"Dr Benton." She hadn't called him that since the
first night they met; Benton had forgotten how
intimidating she could sound. "I need to know. How
badly is John hurt?"
"It's... It doesn't look very good," he said, staring
at the floor, not wanting to admit this to her or to
himself. "He stopped breathing for a while, and
they're going to have to run some tests." And you're
going to have to decide whether it's better to keep
your grandson alive like a vegetable, or to let him
die, he added to himself. Aloud, he only said,
"They're going to need you here."
"I'm on my way." The business tone was back, though a
slight quiver belied it.
"Mrs Carter, I'm so - " Benton stopped. She didn't
need his apologies now; she didn't need to hear his
guilt. "I'll be here."
"I know you will, Peter. Thank you." She hung up.
Benton held the phone for a moment longer. Then he
replaced the receiver with an almost exaggerated
gentleness and dropped into the nearest chair,
hunching over and lowering his face into his hands.
For some reason, he could still hear Millicent
Carter's "And how are you today, Peter?" echoing in
his head. It was so cheerful, so unsuspecting, so
ordinary... So unlike the day he had been having, and
so unlike this day that was far from over.
Part 8