Benton hated the waiting game almost as much as he
hated the what-if game. At the moment, he was being
forced to play both.
He had sat as long as he could, then paced as long as
it took him to realize that pacing wasn't helping. He
couldn't think. Or he was thinking too much. It was
hard to determine which was the case - the thoughts
were jumbled, broken, unfinished and uncertain. There
were too many ways this bad situation could get much,
much worse and every time Benton tried to think
rationally, his mind veered off on a tangent of
possibilities. Interspersed with the multitude of
'what-if's were visions of what had happened. Flashes
of the blood-splashed traincar would sporadically fall
over his eyes: the baby's vacant, dead gaze, the
mother tugging on his shirtsleeve, Carter lying in the
narrow aisle, pale and unmoving. And Benton had done
nothing, had been unable to do anything. Triage was
not even a memory; all Benton could remember was
everything he had not done.
And there was nothing he could do now. Sit, wait,
hope: three things he had never been much good at. He
needed to do something; he needed to act in some way.
He ended up in the scrub room, watching the surgery
through the windows. He knew the moment he stepped
foot into the OR, someone would usher him firmly out
again. He couldn't help Carter.
Maybe he could help himself.
****
"Sorry it took me so long to get here," Kerry spoke
over her shoulder as she hung her coat in the locker.
"Traffic was unbelievable. It took me ten minutes to
move half a block. Completely insane. Was there an
accident round the corner or something?"
Mark had paused when she came in; now he put down his
file and looked at her carefully. "Haven't you seen
the news?"
Kerry shook her head, her expression clouding with
suspicion. "No. Why?"
"You didn't even listen to the radio?" Mark pressed
incredulously, amazed that she had somehow remained
unaware of the incident.
"No, I - Mark, what's going on?"
"Look, Kerry, I think you'd better - " he stopped
suddenly, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of
something through the door window. "Damn." He
pointed a finger at her with an unintentionally curt
"wait", then rushed into the corridor.
He caught Benton's arm just as the surgeon leant
against the door to trauma two, pulling him back a few
paces. "Peter, what do you think you're doing?"
"I want to talk to him." He sounded almost
reasonable.
"That's not a good idea," Mark understated.
"Why? What do you think I'm going to do? Think I'm
going to try to kill him?" demanded Benton, shrugging
off Mark's grip.
"Well, what would you do? If you went in there, what
would you do? Try to help? Try to inflict more pain?
Try to beat him up? What?" Mark looked at Benton
helplessly. "What do you want from him?"
"I don't know." There was a long moment of silence.
Benton stared in through the windows, not really
seeing anything. The gunman was completely obscured
from view by the numerous policemen; he couldn't
locate Cleo past the crowd either. "An explanation, I
guess. I want to know what he thought was worth it."
"You want this to make sense?" Mark asked, his voice
gentle. "Because I can tell you right now, that man,
in there, he can't help you. Talking to him is just
going to piss you off."
"I'm already pissed off," Benton said with more
weariness than anger. But he made no move to open the
door.
Mark hid his surprise at the surgeon's defeated
demeanor; he expected a lot more ranting and raving
from Benton. The surprise turned into worry. "How's
Carter doing?"
Benton shrugged, then shook his head. "They won't let
me near him."
Dr Greene had figured out that much from the surgeon's
presence in the ER. "Well, we could use a hand here.
We're down a doctor - "
"Why are we down a doctor?" Kerry interrupted sharply,
surprising both men. Neither had noticed her
approach. "What's going on here, Mark?"
Benton frowned at her, but addressed Greene. "She
doesn't know?"
"Know what?" demanded Kerry.
"There was a situation on the El," Mark began to
explain.
"Carter got shot," Benton cut him off bluntly.
"What?" Kerry looked from Mark to Peter, as though
expecting one of them to say 'just kidding'. "I don't
understand. Carter should be at home; I sent him home
early..." Her expression pleaded for some kind of
explanation.
"He doesn't have a car!" Benton wasn't shouting
exactly, but his voice was strained and it was clear
that shouting was imminent.
Mark hastily resumed recounting the events of the
afternoon. Kerry listened, paling as the account
progressed but never interrupting. Behind them,
Benton paced, throwing occasional glances into trauma
two.
"What's John's condition now?" Kerry asked when Mark
finished.
Mark cast a look at the surgeon before replying, “He’s
in surgery."
"That doesn't really answer my question, Mark.
Exactly how badly is he hurt?"
"Pretty badly. Actually very badly." Benton's voice
was harsh.
Kerry's eyes narrowed. "Peter, I know you're worried
but - "
"You should've known he didn't have a way to get
home."
Startled at the sudden accusation, Kerry glared up at
Benton with a disbelief that quickly gave way to
anger. "And you should've realized he wasn't ready to
come back to the hospital. He was so tired, he could
barely focus his eyes, Peter. Didn't you notice he
was overworked?" she asked.
"I didn't hear any disagreement from you guys," Benton
snapped.
"I sent him home, didn't I?"
"Great job, excellent idea."
"Okay, cut it out!" Mark interceded before Kerry could
respond; he was almost as angry as they were. "Let's
just get this straight: some psychopath takes
twenty-two people hostage, shoots ten of them,
including Carter, kills five, including a baby, and
you two are trying to blame each other?" Kerry and
Benton separated their gazes guiltily. "I know you're
not stupid, but you're both doing a really good job of
pretending to be right now."
Without looking at one another, Benton and Weaver
muttered apologies. Mark knew he couldn't expect any
more emoting from the individuals before him and
decided to move on. "Good. Peter - "
"Yeah, I'll stay." Anything to distract him from his
thoughts. "Why is he still down here?" Benton asked,
tilting his head at the door.
"I... don't know," Mark admitted. "Maybe - "
"No!" Cleo yelled suddenly, her voice carrying easily
to the three doctors in the corridor.
Before they could react, a bullet splintered one of
the windows, embedding itself in the wall just above
Mark's head.
"Everybody down!"
A second shot rang out. Benton unexpectedly found
himself flat on his back on the ground.
It took him a second to realize that the swinging
doors had knocked him over, and that a uniformed
policeman lay motionless before him. A rapid
succession of gunfire halted him in his move towards
the cop.
Then there was silence.
After a moment, Mark released Kerry, stepping away
from her, a little embarrassed at how quickly and
perfunctorily he had grabbed her and shoved her in the
corner. "You okay?"
"Yes." Her voice was shaky; she cleared her throat
before she spoke again. "You?"
"I'm fine."
"Good. Thank you," she said, with a sincere smile.
It instantly faded as she caught sight of the surgeon
on the floor. "Peter?"
"Yeah, I could use a little help here," Benton
growled, trying to staunch the blood flow from the
policeman's shoulder.
"Dr Benton!" Malucci called.
Benton frowned up at the door, wondering what they
could possibly want from him inside.
"Go ahead, we got this one," Mark assured him, taking
over the surgeon's pressure hold with one hand while
motioning to Malik for a gurney with the other. The
male nurse, who had ducked behind the admit desk at
the first shot, hurried out to help.
"What?" demanded Benton, as he struggled around the
cluster of policemen surrounding the now-dead
hostage-taker. He tried to care about the gunman's
death and found that he couldn't. There was not even
the vague sense of vengeance or relief. Nothing.
Once he had circumvented the crowd, his gaze lit on Dr
Finch was standing, rigid, in the corner, staring
fixedly at the dead man.
"I think she's wigging out," Dave told him quietly.
"She won't say anything to me. I don't know."
Benton nodded at the resident, approaching his lover
cautiously, as though afraid of frightening her.
"Cleo? You okay?" he asked her softly. There was no
response. "Cleo, are you okay?" he asked, more
stridently this time.
Still she said nothing, wide-eyed and panicky. She
didn't meet his gaze, staring past him to where the
gunman lay sprawled on the ground.
"Are you hurt?" Benton resorted to shouting at her.
She shook her head, still shocked.
"Okay, good." The surgeon sighed deeply in relief,
smiling at her. She didn't smile back. "All right,
it's all right." Benton enveloped her trembling frame
in a fierce hug. "Everything's okay."
It took her a few minutes to relax, to reciprocate the
embrace. He maneuvered them so that her back was to
the dead criminal; all she could look at were medical
supplies. Benton could practically feel her heart
racing against his chest, and pulled her closer,
resting his cheek against the top of her head.
"Dr Benton!"
Benton lifted his head, searching for the source of
the call. His gaze found Haleh, standing in the
corridor. She didn't say anything, just pointed
upwards with her index finger.
"Cleo, I have to go."
"What? No." She tightened her grasp around his
waist.
Benton tried to disengage himself gently, but
discovered he couldn't: she was clinging too
tenaciously. After a few seconds of struggle, his
voice hardened. "Cleo, I mean it, I have to go."
"Why?"
"Carter is - "
He didn't get to say anything more; she dropped her
arms and stepped away, her eyes blazing. "I can't
believe you. You're going to leave me for him. You
know, that man could've killed me two seconds ago - "
"But you're fine," Benton reminded her, trying not to
let his impatience show.
"Peter - "
"Cleo." His tone precluded argument. "Not now."
She laughed a sharp, bitter laugh. "Not now. I
could've been killed and you say 'not now'." She
shook her head. "Fine. Just go. Be with Carter."
He had already left.
****
Benton sprinted up the stairs. It hadn't been enough
time; Carter couldn't be out of surgery already.
Which could only mean something had gone wrong. This
isn't happening, he thought. It's not happening.
Except that it was.
He could tell even before Elizabeth spoke; it was
plain in her expression.
"Peter, there's been a complication."
Part 9