Chapter Text
At 2:27 a.m. on July 5, Baran Al-Hashimi started composing an email to [email protected]. Something inside her told her that he would be more understanding than Robby had been. And even if he wasn't, it didn't seem to matter much anymore. She included all the info that she had given Robby and attached a copy of her medical file. She re-read the email three times. At 3:07 a.m. she finally hit 'send'.
'Tonight they're really gonna be crawling.' Jack had been right. The guy with half his face blown off who had come in shortly before 10:00 p.m. had just been the start of a cascade of patients. Over the next 5 hours, they had seen every type of booze- and drug-related injury imaginable. At 3:11 a.m., when he had just finished suturing what felt like the 53rd head laceration of the night, Jack got up from the swivel chair, took one step and felt a very familiar twinge. Fuck. As he was walking over to central every step felt like someone was stabbing his residual limb with a little pocket knife and cruelly twisting it. He sat down at one of the computers. Henny, the charge nurse whom Dana had convinced to cover Lena's shift, looked at him and raised her eyebrows.
"Don't," Jack said, when he saw her look.
"I wasn't gonna say anything, cap," Henny replied. She placed a blister of Tylenol and a water bottle on the counter. Jack popped one of the pills and washed it down with a sip of water. It wouldn't do that much, but it would take the edge off the pain and get him through the remaining four hours. Even if he deducted the three hours he had spent napping at home, it didn't change the fact that he had now spent 17 hours of the last 20 mostly on his feet. Which was incredibly stupid. He was a physician who had been an amputee for more than 20 years. He should have known better. He would pay for it for the next couple of days.
"If it's any consolation, apparently you made quite the impression at Presby yesterday," Henny said with a smirk.
"Yeah?" Jack looked up from the computer.
"My friend who works in their ED told me the group chat was blowing up the moment you walked in, wait, I quote 'wearing fatigues and a tight black shirt that shows off his sexy physique.' Someone even snapped a picture of you, look," Henny said and showed her phone to Jack.
"I don't see what's sexy about that," Jack said.
"I'm not even into dudes and I find that sexy."
"What's sexy?" Parker asked.
"This!" Henny showed her the picture.
Parker whistled. "Dayum, chief, I missed you in uniform?"
"Don't you have any charts to finish?" Jack asked.
"I do, but this is a lot more fun." Ellis grinned.
Jack rolled his eyes and proceeded to check his email. He had several new emails, but one in particular stood out. It had been sent only a few minutes earlier by [email protected] and included an attachment. He read the email. "Fuck," he muttered. He clicked on the attachment and read through the file just like Robby had done earlier. He sighed. He re-read the last sentence of Baran's email: Dr. Robinavitch wants me to let admin by Monday or he will do it himself. I would be grateful for any advice. So that was what their argument had been about. Jack could tell that Baran was desperate. Why else would she write an email in the middle of the night after having worked a 15-hour shift to a fellow physician she had only met briefly that day? He wondered whether Robby or anyone else had told her that he had a disability, too, and she had concluded that he would be able to relate. Jack briefly considered asking her to meet him for breakfast in the café across the street, but then decided against it. He really needed to go directly home after his shift, take off the prosthesis, get some sleep. He composed a reply, suggesting dinner at 7:00 in one of his favorite restaurants, which also happened to be accessible. He also added his phone number to the email. Only a minute later, his phone buzzed. An unknown number: 'Thank you. Baran' He saved the number and replied: 'Try to get some sleep.' He then started composing another text: 'just a heads-up: don't be surprised if I show up on crutches or in a wheelchair. Spent too much time on my prosthesis today.” He sent the message and it showed up as received, but not as read. Jack figured that Baran had now finally gone to bed.
Jack woke up on Sunday just before 4 p.m. after seven hours of uninterrupted sleep, which was remarkable for him, but also showed how tired he must have been. He closed his eyes again and tried to gauge how his body was feeling today. There was a slight throbbing in his residual limb, which was expected, but the muscles in his left thigh also felt sore. He must have compensated more than he had been aware. As usual, he could clearly feel the parts of his right leg that no longer existed, but today, at least, there was no phantom pain. He had thoroughly checked the condition of his stump before going to bed and luckily there had only been some redness, but no breaks in the skin or blisters. Still, Jack had absolutely no desire of using his prosthesis today. He picked up his phone. There were a few new messages. None from Robby, but two were from Baran, sent this morning shortly after 9 o’clock. ‘Thanks for the heads-up.’ Then a minute later, she had sent another message: ‘I hope you’re okay?’ Jack typed a reply: ‘Yeah. Just sore. I’ll live. See you at 7.’