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------------------------------- Chapter Five: So Lost -------------------------------

I stand around at American weddings

I stand around for family

At my best when I'm terrorist inside

At my best when it's on me

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"One-hundred-forty patients, twenty-seven admissions," John marveled while standing at Admin, his jacket and satchel hanging over his arms, as he was just about ready to leave. Today had been a very hectic shift, and he was glad that it was finally over. "That has to be a record."

John was especially glad because Dave was working tonight, and he was glad that they hadn't had to work the same shift since "the incident;" John wasn't sure if he would be able to face him yet. He could pretend that everything was the same, that nothing between them had changed, but that would be a pure lie. Things between them had changed, and they had changed drastically. One moment they had been coworkers and barely friends, the next they had been...they'd been something more.

At least they had been for a few hours. In those few hours, John couldn't explain what had happened to him. He tried to convince himself that he'd just been caught up in the moment, that that was all. And in that moment, he'd stupidly thought that maybe there was something between the two of them, that maybe he wanted there to be something between them, but then in the light of day it seemed to change again.

But now he was faced with one major dilemma. How was he supposed to act towards Dave? He didn't even know what to expect from the junior resident. Was he angry? Upset? Disappointed? Would he tell people? Maybe he wouldn't even work today. Maybe he'd take the day off or call in sick. But that'd only momentarily impede the inevitable. And Dave had seemed pissed when he'd left the apartment two days ago...

"I got a record for you," Frank said in his usual brusque manner, bringing John back to reality. "A guy in Exam four swallowed fifty hot dogs in nineteen minutes."

"Well that's not my problem," John said, a fake smile plastered on his face, "because my shift is over."

"John, did you take care of my kidney-stone patient?" he heard Abby ask as she moved towards the time clock, her card in her hand, her jacket and purse already with her. They were leaving together today, but would go to different homes. John suddenly found himself wondering where his feelings for Abby had gone. Since she and Luka had broken up last spring for reasons he couldn't understand, they'd constantly been seeing each other, both flirting and willing but neither taking the chance to ask for something more. Then yesterday, when Abby and he were walking on the pier together, she had taken the chance and told him she wanted something more, John had told her that he basically wasn't interested anymore. What the hell was up with that, he wondered to himself. It couldn't possibly be because of Dave, could it? "John?"

"I admitted him to Urology," he quickly answered. He silently thanked Abby for breaking him from his previous thoughts before he could answer his own question. And he wouldn't think about it now, he would *not* think about it. Another plastered smile. "Come on, Abby. One more minute in this place and I'll burst!"

"Give me the beer!" he heard Haleh bellow as Abby rushed past her to get to the clock out. John smiled to himself, slightly amused, as Haleh tried to get a six-pack of beer away from the ER's beloved Pablo. She looked up and called out to Abby, who only glibly brushed it aside. John knew that when Abby was off, she was *off*, and never let anyone tell her otherwise. John wished he had her sense of self-confidence sometimes. "He's drunk, combative, and he won't give up his beer! I need help!"

"I need to pee!" the man growled, still clutching his beer tightly, unwilling to give up probably the only thing that could make this homeless man's problems diminish, or so he thought. John used to know what it felt like to be dependant on something like that, and he knew now that it was the biggest mistake of his life. He hoped that he would never end up like that again, and vowed to help anyone who he thought might.

John turned towards Abby and saw her punch out with a grin, then quickly turned to see Haleh's reaction, who looked like she wanted to punch *Abby* out right now. He almost let out his first laugh in two days.

"That's gonna cost you," Haleh warned, as Abby joined John and the two of them began to leave the ER. John smiled and waved at Haleh, whose glare showed that Abby, indeed, was going to pay for what she'd just done. And maybe some of it would rub off on John for that fresh smile.

"Where's Mark?" John turned to see Elizabeth with her baby Ella strapped to her chest, obviously looking for her husband, but Abby just asked: "Who?"

"Mark Greene," Elizabeth snapped. "Your Attending."

"I think he quit," Abby said as she and John left the ER finally, and he shook his head as he smiled. Abby suddenly turned to him as they walked quickly away from the hospital. "You know you've only got about six weeks left of your residency, and you haven't asked Weaver about the Attending position for Dr. Chen yet."

"I know," was the only reply she received. He knew he'd promised Jing-Mei he'd talk to Weaver about it in hopes that his personal closeness with her would help the Asian doctor get the job, but he'd been procrastinating due to the fact that if his personal closeness did help Jing-Mei, then that would mean she didn't really deserve the job.

"Abby!" They turned to see Chuny, who was looking so desperate John knew if what she was about to ask was addressed to him he couldn't have said no. She indicated her patient, who was being wheeled in. "Please help me with this case?"

Abby, however, simply waved her off and refused to do it. God, right now, John was *so* wishing for her self-confidence. She and John soon parted company, but Abby decided to try one last time with: "Talk to Weaver!"

John paused momentarily, taking a deep breath, but then smiled. Oh, hell, what did he honestly have to lose? he asked himself as he turned to go back inside.

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I was there when they took all the people

I was alone in a mental ravine

You breathe life when you break the walls down

You breathe life when you set me free

-------------------------------

Dr. Dave Malucci had arrived at work in a very bad mood yesterday, and it had only worsened once he had actually started working. He had been snapping at his coworkers, the desk clerks, and even sometimes his patients. Twice Weaver had to remind him to keep his attitude in check, and still after that he was very terse with everyone. Life sucked for him, why couldn't he make it suck a little bit for everyone else too?

When he'd finished his shift, he'd gone out to a bar and gotten blind drunk. He'd gotten home on his bike somehow, and then went to bed. But it figured that the one time he actually wanted to sleep he couldn't. All he could think about - even in a drunken stupor - was John Carter, who was, thank God, already off of his shift and probably at home sleeping comfortably in bed. John was definitely the last person Dave wanted to see because he's surely only remind him of his unlearned mistakes.

But Dave couldn't help but wonder what had gone wrong. John and he had arrived at his apartment. John and he had kissed, and God, what a kiss that had been! And Dave had even asked him if John was sure he wanted to go through with it, and John had told him he wanted to. Had John just been caught up in the moment? Maybe Dave had moved too fast. Maybe he shouldn't have kissed him in the ambulance bay. But how else was he supposed to get it out there that he wanted John in that way? Dave wasn't good at subtle...he just wasn't.

So now, as Dave arrived at work sleep-deprived and answer-deprived, he was still generally pissed off and very hungover. Yesterday he'd been terse and snappy, but today, he certainly didn't feel like talking to *anyone*. If everyone just left him alone and let him do his job, then everything would be fine and -

"Dr. Malucci!" Just fucking great. He turned to look at Dr. Weaver, who had already found him guilty of something, and he hadn't even gotten on shift yet. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"I didn't even get on yet, Chief," he snapped as he instinctively glanced down at his gray T-shirt and jeans.

"It is seven o'clock, when your shift begins!" she yelled, and his jaws worked against one another as he bit back words of pure hatred that he would probably later regret if he said them. "You should be dressed and ready by that time!"

"I just got in!" he barked angrily as he headed towards the lounge. It was just his day - two days...hell, it'd been his fucking week! He angrily stormed into the lounge, slamming the door open loudly, but stopped dead in his tracks as he saw who was at their lockers, getting ready to leave. Dave stood there, in the middle of the lounge, staring at the stained tabletop, waiting...

"Hello, Dave," Luka said.

"Hey, Dave," Dr. Chen said as she pulled out her stethoscope and ID badge, having just gotten on. Glancing up, she noted that Dave had suddenly fallen silent and seemed to be frozen in place. She remembered hearing something about bad air between the two men from the nurse's rumor mill, and at first hadn't believed it. The two had barely ever interacted, and there hadn't been any sort of reason behind it - one that the nurses could provide, anyway. Now she could see that it was obvious, and wondered why she hadn't noticed it before. She also wondered what had happened.

"Hi," he said quietly, slowly and carefully approaching his locker, which was located near Dr. Kovac's. He suddenly veered off, heading towards the coffee machine, deciding to make himself a cup before his shift started.

Luka stayed where he was, knowing Dave was waiting for him to move so he could get to his locker. He wanted to be alone with Dave so he could talk to him, since seeing the junior resident outside of work was obviously impossible due to the fact Dave wouldn't even return his phone calls. Since two days ago, since what had happened in the shower and the supply closet, he needed to know if there was still a chance for them. He knew that Dave had felt something towards him before - when Luka hadn't - and now that he did have some sort of feelings towards the younger man, somehow Dave didn't even care anymore. How could he have let Dave slip through his fingers like that? And how could Dave just shut off his feelings like that?

Growing impatient, Luka was about to ask Jing-Mei to leave when she suddenly closed her locker and left, excusing herself as if she had intruded in on something. She must know that something between them was wrong - but then again, everyone did. Dave silently moved towards his locker, opening it and pulling on his scrub top quickly, pulling his stethoscope and ID badge out as well.

"Dave," Luka said as he stepped closer to the junior resident. Dave instinctively took two steps back, but Luka quickly stepped forward and took him by the hand, keeping a firm grip on it so Dave couldn't get away. "You've been acting strange lately...I just want to know what's wrong."

"Why? Since when to you care about me...for me or what happens to me?" Dave asked as he tried to get out of Luka's grasp. He felt Luka's thumb brush gently over his knuckles. He would've killed to have Luka touch him like this a few weeks ago. Now it seemed more like an invasion than an intimate gesture.

"Because I care," Luka replied. Dave still wouldn't look at him, but instead looked at Luka's hand, which was holding his tightly. There was a pause. "Do you still care, Dave?"

Dave suddenly looked up at Luka, his eyes searching the attending's eyes. How much Dave had wanted this nearly weeks before. And a part of him...a part of him had wanted it so badly that he still wondered...he still wondered...what if...?

The door pushed open hastily, and Jing-Mei rushed back in. Dave quickly pulled his hand away from Luka's once his grip faltered, and exited the room before he could hear the excuse that Jing-Mei produced for the intrusion. He heard Luka call out to him in an attempt to talk to him again, wanting a reply. Even if Dave went back, he doubted he could find his voice to give him one. He doubted that he even had one.

He moved through the ER hastily, knocking into Haleh, but not bothering to excuse himself even when she did remind him that he should. He pushed open the door to the men's room, needing to be alone for a few minutes to regain his composure, but immediately left before he could take two steps in after seeing Dr. Greene washing his hands while speaking with a young black doctor - maybe a medical student - that he didn't recognize.

Dave turned on his heel and crossed the hallway to the first door that he saw, unaware of the puzzling glances he left behind in the bathroom. He crossed the threshold, made sure no one else was inside, then closed the door behind him, keeping his hand on the knob and his other on the doorframe. After a moment, he slumped against the door, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against the heavy wood. When he opened his eyes, he realized he'd walked right into the drug lockup.

He could see the shelf of amphetamines and benzodiazipines in his peripheral vision. He lifted his head off of the door and looked at them, biting his lip and creasing his brow. Someone had left the key in the lock. It would be so easy for him to just open it and steal a couple, then leave everything as if it hadn't been touched... He clenched his jaw and screwed his eyes shut, leaning his head against the door again and slamming his fist into the wall, only remembering that his hand was already bruised from smashing it into the wall the two days ago when he felt the sharp sting.

"Fuck!" he yelled, cradling his wounded hand in his other. He turned away from the enemy shelf, then placed his elbows on the opposite counter, burying his face in his hands. He swallowed hard and let out a breath that was as shaky as his hands, and then glanced at the shelf behind him, biting at his fingernails - a habit he had lost somewhere between high school and college only to be found again recently. He, once more, turned towards the door, placing his hand on the knob. But he couldn't will himself to open it. He glanced towards the pills again...

-------------------------------

Where is my head?

Where are my bones?

Why are my days so far from home?

-------------------------------

The door flew open, crashing against Dave's skull. A scream of horror could be heard from whoever had opened the door and realized what they had done as he hit the floor.

"Oh, God, Dave!" Jing-Mei said as she knelt down next to the doctor, who was cradling the left side of his face in his hand. She tried to help him sit up, but he waved her away with a bruised hand. Shoot, had she done that too? "Dave, I am so sorry! I didn't know anyone was in here! I left the key in the lock, and I..."

"It's okay," he grumbled, getting to his feet with her assistance. He waved her away again as she tried to move his hand away from his face. He could remember being hit with a door in that exact same manner before only the circumstances were much different, but pushed that thought to the back of his mind before it could get any farther than that. "Jing-Mei, stop it, I'm fine."

"Let me see," she said, brushing his hands away from his face. He finally relented with a sigh, dropping his hands to his sides. "Oh, God..."

"What?" he asked, looking at her worried expression. He tried to look at his reflection in the glass of the cabinets, but couldn't get a clear image of himself. He turned back to Jing-Mei. "What did you do?"

"I think I gave you a black eye," she relied sheepishly. She cupped the left side of his face in her hand and used her thumb to push on the bone. He jumped back with a yelp, followed by a scowl. "I'm just trying to see if I broke anything."

"Jing-Mei, it's fine," he replied, rubbing the spot she'd pushed on. She kept her concerned expression as he tried to shrug if off. "I've had worse."

She narrowed her eyes, wondering exactly what he meant. "I think we should get some x-rays. I could've broken something."

"You didn't break anything, don't worry," he said, quickly leaving through the open door. He was glad she had entered the room, even if she had given him a black eye. Not that he wouldn't have eventually left without taking more pills. He wasn't some sort of drug addict...right? Taking two pills didn't make you a drug addict. If he had left *after* he'd taken them, then he'd have himself a problem. Jing-Mei hadn't stopped him from doing anything, she'd just barged in on him before he could make the right decision, that's all.

After icing his eye and hand in the dark empty lounge for several minutes and hearing Dr. Weaver bitch and moan some more about how it was half-past seven and he wasn't working yet, Dave threw the gel-packs back into the freezer angrily, then stormed into the ER, heading directly towards admin so he could get to the next patient as quickly as possible in hopes that it would somehow make his shift go by faster.

"Excuse me," he heard from next to him. Dave stopped and turned to see the same young black intern or medical student, and he was looking quite lost. "Are you Dr. Carter?"

Dave let out a silent sigh. He really didn't need this right now. "No," he said, then started walking towards the admin desk to sign himself up for a few patients before Dr. Weaver really chewed him out.

"Then could you perhaps tell me where I could find him?" The kid just didn't get the hint.

"He left hours ago," Dave said, finally turning to face the young man, a puzzled expression on the resident's face.

"See, they accidentally told me that Dr. Malucci was my resident, so I came in now," the young man said. He suddenly stuck out his hand. "I'm Michael Gallant, by the way, his third-year medical student. I talked to Dr. Weaver, and she said he was still here and that my help was needed anyway."

Dave wasn't sure how well a new medical student would blow over with John. He could remember what had happened with his last one, and felt something in the pit of his stomach. Was it worry? But it wasn't worry for Gallant, it was worry for John. Wait, he was supposed to be pissed at John, wasn't he?

And wait...John was still here?

"I'm Dr. Dave Malucci," he replied, smiling politely as he shook Gallant's hand, glancing around the ER to see if he could spot John. "If you wait in Chairs, I'm sure Dr. Carter will come and get you as soon as can."

"Dr. Malucci," Connie called from a few feet away. "You're patient in Three's oxygen level just dropped to 89. Should we prepare for an intubation?"

Patient? He didn't have a patient! Shit, wait - hadn't the Chief told him something about signing off a patient of Luka's to Dave? Damn it, he really should start listening when she talks to him instead of nodding or shaking his head when he thought it was necessary.

"Yeah, I'll be right there," Dave said after some contemplation. He glanced down at his bruised and now swollen knuckles. He'd never be able to intubate with it. He suddenly looked up at Gallant with a smile. "You ever intubated before?"

"A couple times...on a cadaver..." Gallant replied sheepishly.

"Want to try one for real?" he asked, wrapping an arm around Gallant's shoulders as he led him towards Curtain Area Three. Gallant's eyes lit up and he nodded his head with a smile. "See, we've got this thing called the Intubo-Cam, and it lets us doctors see exactly what the med students are doing..."

-------------------------------

Where is my head?

Where are my bones?

Can you save me from myself?

-------------------------------

"Mom, listen, I'm really sorry, but I just got stuck in the ER," John said as he set his patient Dianna's arm in a cast, Nurse Yosh holding his cellular phone to his ear. He heard his mother's voice droning disapprovingly over the phone, and held back the urge to roll his eyes. Hell, she wouldn't see it anyway. He rolled his eyes. John hated Abby right now for convincing him to go back into the ER, because now he was stuck with several patients that various doctors and nurses had passed onto him. Wasn't he saying something earlier about the self-confidence to say no? "We could always reschedule. No, not tomorrow night, I have to work from twelve-noon tomorrow until twelve-midnight. What about Friday night?"

"Hey!" one of Touching Wood's roadies called from his seat in a nearby curtain area. Tonight had certainly been a night full of roadies and druggies from that concert they'd decided to hold in Chicago for Metallica, the opening act being Touching Wood, and Carter having been stuck with the worst of the patients. First Dianna, the girl's only problem at first being drug-induced idiocy, but now she had a broken arm, and now this roadie, who'd been waiting to have his toe sutured for hours. "Can I get this fixed up before it falls off?!"

John glanced around the ER for someone, anyone, who could help him out and suture this kid's toe - even if the only reason was to get him to shut up - but the only person who he could spot from here was Dave Malucci, who's fleeting form was escorting a young black man to Curtain Area Three. John's eyes immediately moved towards the clock. Shit, it was already that long into Dave's shift? John had been stuck here for that long??

"Yo, Carter," Malik said as he breezed past him, holding a pack of gauze in his hands. "Abby's kidney stone patient finally got set up to Urology. She said to give him GENT, but it wasn't charted, so should I give him a dose?"

"Not if she gave him one," John replied, his eyebrows raised at the should-be rhetorical question. Malik gave him a blank stare, and John sighed in response. "Call her up and make sure."

"And if she's not home?" he pressed, pausing momentarily.

John suddenly got an idea as he leaned back in his seat and smirked, pulling his cell phone out of his pants' pocket. "Know what? I need to yell at her anyway." John dialed her cell phone number, which he had committed to memory over the course of the summer, and then waited for her to answer. And when she did: "Having fun? Having a good time?" Pause. "Well guess what I'm doing? Setting the broken wrist of an LSDiva. You know, this is your fault that I'm stuck here after you pressed me to talk to Weaver about the Attending position! I got sucked into the ER vortex!"

"Since things seem to be dying down, John," he suddenly heard from next to him. He looked up from his seat where he was clearing up whether or not Abby administered GENT to her patient to see Dr. Weaver, and immediately narrowed his eyes as he saw she had her jacket and purse on her. "I'm going to head over to Doc Magoo's."

"Things aren't dying down!" he hissed incredulously. "I've got five patients, and I'm not even on!"

"Then sign out and leave!" she snapped angrily as John noted a familiar-looking man standing by the ER bay doors, obviously waiting for Kerry. He couldn't place the face of the pony-tailed man, didn't care to, and then angrily told Abby he had to go and hung up. Kerry suddenly turned. "Oh, and one more thing, John."

"Yes?" he asked with as much politeness as he could muster, putting on a fresh pair of gloves as he prepared to suture the roadie's toe.

"Your medical student is looking for you."

"I wasn't aware that I had one," he replied, a sneaking suspicion crawling inside the back of his mind that told him it was just the way Dr. Weaver had wanted it. She didn't reply, but was instead seemingly engulfed by the very interesting cast that the LSDiva was sporting. John sighed again, standing and ripping of his fresh gloves. The toe-lac patient would just have to wait a little longer. "Where is he?"

"I think he's with Malucci in Curtain Area Three," she replied, and John's throat closed up. He suddenly couldn't find his voice, and felt a wave of panic wash over him. Dave was with his medical student? What were they doing? Were they discussing a patient? Performing some sort of procedure? Why would Dave be with his medical student in the first place? "Is everything okay, John?"

John snapped out of his sudden onslaught of questions at himself and smiled. "Yeah, sure. I'll just go and introduce myself, I guess, and get everything started."

"Oh, and congratulations on your Chief Residency," she said casually before she left.

"Thanks, Kerry," he replied with a smile, though he wasn't acting Chief Resident until another few weeks or so. Kerry had given him the news on the telephone yesterday, and he'd already thanked her plenty for allowing him to get it. It had to have been due to some of her doing, otherwise he would've never gotten past the first cut.

John approached Curtain Area Three with more apprehension than he usually did, but when he listened from the hallway, he could only hear silence. Dave was usually...loud. If he were in there, surely John would've been able to hear him...unless he was by himself. Well, standing out here certainly wasn't going to get him anywhere, so John steeled himself and quickly entered the room.

Upon entering, he immediately noted that Dave was not in the room, and then he suddenly found religion and thanked God. There was however, a young black man standing next to an intubated patient, reading the different numbers on the monitors and noting them on the chart he was holding.

"Excuse me," John said, startling the young man slightly. He then realized that he hadn't gotten his medical student's name from Kerry. Damn it. Just another thing that'd gone wrong today. "I'm Dr. John Carter."

"Oh!" he said, recognition crossing his face even though he hadn't seen the man before. He immediately stuck out his hand. "I'm Michael Gallant, your third-year medical student."

"Nice to meet you," John said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. He suddenly looked towards the door, remembering that Kerry had said Dave was with him and wondering if he was coming back. "What are you doing in here?"

"I just performed my first intubation," he reported proudly. "I hope you don't mind that I intubated with Dr. Dave. I was early and I guess I just wanted to help out...right now, I was just monitoring Mr. Steinbeck's oxygen levels."

"That's quite all right," John said, smiling. "Why don't you come with me, and we can work on some patients together, and then you can take some of your own. Say...where is Dr. Dave now?"

"A trauma came in," Gallant stated as they exited the room together, John pausing briefly to check the hallways for the junior resident before traveling to Admin. "He's taking care of him now in Trauma Two."

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Free-thinking renegade social

Mr. Moon Man now

In a slipstream of my possibilities

I got the boat so we don't drown

-------------------------------

"Paul, can you hear me?" Dave called loudly into his patient's ear, who had been unresponsive to anything thus far, including the Narcan he'd been administered due to his high pulse of 110 and chest pain. Paul's heart rate suddenly dropped to 98, the EKG beeping wildly. Dave soon realized that they would have to intubate. What the hell was wrong with this guy? "Has he been doing anything unusual to his schedule or anything like that?"

"Paul's first art show opens on Monday," Paul's brother, Glenn, explained, "so he's been an insomniac all week. But I didn't think it'd result in *this*."

A thought suddenly stuck Dave, something he hadn't even thought of before now; I would explain everything. He looked up at Glenn. "Does he do drugs?"

"No, I don't think so," Glenn said, shaking his head. "This is the first time I've seen him since he moved to Chicago."

Haleh passed Dave the EKG readings, and the resident took a moment to absorb the information he was seeing before his eyes. He glanced at the monitors, and then back to Haleh, who was looking at him with raised eyebrows, wondering how much further the patient's stats would have to drop before the resident diagnosed the patient.

"Let's get a tox screen," Dave said, and Haleh immediately wrote down the orders. "Jesus, his ST elevations are off the chart! He's having a major heart attack!"

"At twenty-seven years old?" Glenn asked, stunned, as he clutched his coat in his hands.

"It's pretty common among cocaine users," Dave said, "because the drug can constrict arteries."

"Oh, God," Glenn said, a look of horror on his face.

"Let's get 40 ccs of tenecteplase," Dave said, setting his jaw. "We gotta bust the clot."

"I'm not giving him thrombolytics until an Attending or Chief Resident signs off on the procedure," Haleh reported, crossing her arms over her chest for emphasis.

"Come on!" Dave barked, incredulous. He indicated the monitors, which were beeping wildly as if to agree with him. "Time is heart muscle!"

"No," Haleh insisted, shaking her head. "I'm not doing it until you run it past Carter or Dr. Weaver!"

"Then get one of them!" he shouted, praying to God that she'd get Dr. Weaver instead of -

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These are the days that I'm split down the middle

No words to calm me down

Be sure that what you dream of

Won't come to hunt you out

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"Carter!" he heard the unmistakable voice of Haleh Adams yell as she entered the small exam room where he was helping a patient's mother calm her nosebleed. He turned to face her after instructing his newest patient to keep pressure on the bridge of her nose. "Dr. Malucci needs you in Trauma Two, his patient's crashing!"

"So why can't he handle it?" John asked, placing his hands on his hips as she led him out of the room. He didn't think he could face the younger doctor - not today, maybe tomorrow but not today, definitely not today.

"He needs you to sign off on thrombolytics," she reported, rushing towards the trauma room, John following close behind. John sighed as they neared the trauma room, took a deep breath to settle his nerves, then entered the room, his stride much more confident than he actually felt.

"Hello, Dr. Malucci," John said, and the junior resident looked up from their intubated patient. John immediately noticed Dave's black eye, wondering how it'd happened. Did a patient get too hard to control? Maybe he had gotten into a fight at a bar or something. He hoped that everything had worked out okay in the end. Wait, he wasn't supposed to care. Well, you could care about your friends, couldn't you?

Upon seeing John, Dave wondered if being upset was the right course of action. What would it gain? He and John would stop being friends all together...he and John would end up just like he and Luka, and Dave didn't want that, he didn't want that at all. Maybe he could just show John that nothing between them have changed. If he couldn't be his lover, then he could at least be his friend.

"Hi, Carter," Dave said, then indicated the patient, who was lying unconscious on the gurney, the monitors beeping and indicating a sense of palpable panic in the air. "Twenty-seven-year-old man, acute MI, possible cocaine user. I'm ready to push TNK but I need you to sign it off."

"Did you get a tox screen?" Carter asked as he glanced at the x-rays, which were hanging behind Dave.

"Yeah, but he's killing myocardial cells while we wait," Dave said. "There's no recent surgery and the blood draws say there's no disorders, so can I push the TNK?"

"Yeah, sure," John said, nodding. He looked from the x-rays to Dave. "If you want to kill him."

Dave looked up at John, then instinctively at his patient. He, once more, looked up at John, a confused expression on his face. "What?"

"He looks Marfanoid," John reported, nodding towards the x-rays. "See for yourself."

Dave peeled his eyes away from John, slowly turning away from the Chief Resident to look at the x-rays. He fully turned away from John, approaching the light box that the x-rays were hanging from. Then, finally, quietly: "What do you mean?"

"Marfan's syndrome," John explained, joining Dave at the x-rays, glancing at the junior resident in his peripheral vision, though the younger man was studying the x-rays intensely. "Tall stature, pectus excavatum, loose joints. Didn't you ask for a family history?"

"I did," Dave said, stricken. He would've killed this patient because he was careless, because he thought he had all the answers, because he thought he was smarter than the process. "The family didn't say anything," he said, though he even sounded defeated to himself.

"Maybe Glenn didn't know," John pointed out logically. He turned to Dave to remind him not to assume, that assuming could result in something so extreme as death, but when he saw the expression on Dave's face, he saw that he had already learned that lesson. "Look, see? They have weak connective tissue in the aorta. He's dissecting."

"I was going to give thrombolytics to an aortic dissection?" Dave asked himself quietly. If he had done that, the drug would've worsened Paul's condition, creating ultra-thin blood that would've flooded the aorta and bathed Paul's chest in fluid. His patient would've bled out; his patient would've died - no - he would've *killed* his patient.

"So what should you do?" John asked, trying to pull Dave out of the daze he was in. John gently placed his hand on Dave's shoulder, slightly turning the younger man so he would look at him. Dave's eyes slowly looking up away from the floor and into John's, the junior resident's eyes portraying the horror at his almost-mistake. John felt a sudden pull at his chest and recognized it as worry; this had obviously affected Dave greatly. "Dave, what should you do?"

"I..." Dave started. God, he would've killed his patient! He would've killed his twenty-seven-year-old patient! Paul was younger than he was! And all because he assumed! "I don't know..."

"Yes, you do, Dave," John said gently, aware of Haleh's eyes on him, but uncaring. "Dave, what would you do to any other patient who was dissecting, who didn't have Marfan's?"

"I, uh..." Dave said, shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts. He blinked hard and looked at his patient. "I'd check the aorta for a rhythm. And get him up to surgery. He has to go to surgery. Page Dr. Benton."

Dave moved away from John, taking over the situation once more. Satisfied that he'd rectified the situation, John crossed his arms over his chest and watched as Dave worked on the patient, every order careful and doubly checked by the junior resident to make sure he didn't make the same mistake again. If Dave was anything, then he was a fast learner. John smiled as left the trauma room, unaware that he had one on his face until he caught his own reflection in the glass of the trauma room doors.

-------------------------------

Where is my head?

Where are my bones?

Why are my days so far from home?

Ghostman

-------------------------------

Dr. Weaver stared at Paul's x-rays, which were still hanging from the light box inside the trauma room where, moments earlier, Paul used to lie. He was currently in the OR with Dr. Corday, who was desperately trying to save his life, though from what Dave had heard, was having a hard time. He silently hoped that the young artist made it through, and that the delay in a diagnosis because of his error didn't affect the outcome of the surgery.

"You don't know what Marfan's looks like?" the Chief of the Emergency Department asked, turning towards Dave.

"He's an artist, he was up all week," Dave said, offering the only explanation he could come up with, sticking with what he knew. But it was what he didn't know that had mattered in this case. "I was thinking cocaine."

"Did you check the blood pressure in both arms?" Kerry asked expectantly, her temper obviously running short today. Dave muttered something under his breath, looking down. "Did you or didn't you?!"

"No," he spat, snapping his head up to look her in the eye. He immediately looked away again, feeling Dr. Weaver and John's gaze, who was also in the room. He didn't need this, he didn't need to be chewed out right in front of the one person that mattered the most to him. He *couldn't* be chewed out right in front of the one person that mattered the most to him, he realized. If he did, he was pretty sure he'd burst into tears.

"It's a good thing Dr. Carter here checked out the x-rays, which *you* indicated were clear, Dr. Malucci, or your patient would've died!" she said through clenched teeth. "I can't even imagine what you were doing when you looked at the x-rays."

"He was crashing!" Dave tried to argue, tried to save the last bit of respect he had from Dr. Weaver. "I had to make a quick decision or else he was going to die!'

"Know what? That's your job. You make quick decisions based on the information available," she snapped, her anger warping the usually pretty features of her face. "You had the right information, but you didn't bother to look at it."

He was utterly and bitterly embarrassed. If she was going to do this, couldn't she do it in private? She had to make a fucking ass out of him in front of John? He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks as anger overtook his emotions. "And you've never made a bad call?"

"Dave," John said, trying to warn him before he treaded too far into the deep waters that he was heading for. Continuing in the direction he was going would surely be suicide.

"Not as lethal and stupid as this one could've resulted in!" she raged, looking up at him with pure disgust in her eyes.

"Well, guess what, Dr. Weaver?" Dave asked sarcastically. "This isn't a perfect world, where every doctor can correctly diagnose patients!"

"In a perfect world, Malucci, I wouldn't even subject patients to your care!" she yelled. "If you knew your ass from your elbow, or even gave a damn...!"

"I do," he choked. "I *do* give a damn!"

"...then this man would've made it up to surgery without his doctor almost killing him!" she finished, yelling over his deep voice to be heard.

"Paul could die in surgery anyway," John said, trying to take Dave's attention away from Dr. Weaver before the young doctor said something that could endanger his position here at Cook County.

"He would've definitely died had Dr. Malucci given him thrombolytics," Kerry concluded, staring Dave right in his eyes. Dave suddenly moved, heading towards the door. "Just where do you think you're going?"

"I need to tell Glenn that his brother has Marfan's," he said, hoping that this act of professionalism would show them - particularly John - that he *did* give a damn. "And the family needs to be screened."

"I'll do it," John offered.

"No, *I'll* do it," Kerry snapped, pointing to neither of them but rather to finalize her instruction. She turned to leave, but paused at the door. "No one talks about this case! Is that clear?"

"Yes," Dave hissed, John complying with a calm, "Yes, Dr. Weaver."

She left the room, leaving Dave and John alone. Dave crossed his arms over his chest, his breathing becoming ragged as he felt the rage boiling inside him. Fuck Dr. Weaver, he thought angrily, his hands clenching into fists. Fuck her for chewing him out like that! he thought as his jaws worked against one another. Fuck her for chewing him out like that in front of John! he thought as he heard the Chief Resident call his name in an attempt to calm him down. Fuck her for being right! he thought as he turned and knocked a metal instrument tray to the floor in mute fury.

"Dave..." John repeated as he reached for the junior resident, who was crossing the room to the door quickly, his strides long and angry. He touched the younger man's arm, but Dave pulled away roughly, startling John.

"Get the fuck away from me!" he shouted, his face contorted in a sort of rage the older doctor had never seen before. John glanced at him in surprise, but the other doctor just left the room, leaving John, once more, alone.

-------------------------------

Where is my head?

Where are my bones?

How could we get so lost?

Ghostman

-------------------------------

Careening out of control, Dave stormed out of the trauma room, heading, for no reason he could think of, towards the elevator. He stepped inside, angrily jabbing at the button to a random floor several times until the doors closed, and rode the empty car until it stopped on his floor. He slid out of the elevator and quietly moved down the hallway.

His pace slowed, but he did not stop as he saw the medication room to this floor was completely open and unattended. He kept moving, but then his body would no longer listen to his mind, and he stopped completely. He glanced around, then turned and found himself inside the room, searching...searching...but searching for what? he wondered, but could easily answer his own question. He was searching for something to take the pain away. And sitting there, on the third shelf from the top, were the Percocets and Klonipin. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed the two bottles and hastily shook out a few pills from each into his hand before returning them to their proper shelf. As a doctor, he knew that taking them together was dangerous, but he desperately needed something to mellow him out and help him to forget, if only momentarily.

"Hey," he suddenly heard from behind him, startling him. "What are you doing in here?"

"I was checking to see if this room was unattended," he said as he crossed his arms over his chest, the pills concealed in his hands as he turned to face a pretty young nurse. He raised his eyebrows, turning the tables. "And, apparently, it is."

"I...I left it unlocked by mistake," she said, looking down at the ground as she realized that a doctor had just discovered her error.

"That's one hell of a mistake, don't you think?" he asked, the coating of the pills melting in the heat of his palm, making his hand sticky.

"Yes, Doctor," she said, nodding. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading with him. "Please don't tell my nursing supervisor. I'm new, and I don't want to get into trouble..."

"You need to be more careful," he reprimanded. "You never know who will come along and steal something." Yeah, he thought to himself, gripping the pills tighter, feeling his fingernails digging into his skin. Someone like me.

"Yes, Doctor," she repeated softly. "I'm sorry..."

"Mistakes happen," he said, equally soft. "Trust me, I know. I make them all the time."

She suddenly narrowed her eyes at him, her expression turning to one of concern and worry. "Are you okay, Doctor?"

He shook his head slightly as he cleared the thoughts from his mind. "Yes, I'm fine, just a long shift. Thanks for asking. I'll see you around."

Dave moved out into the hallway, feeling the pretty nurse's gaze on his back as he quickly walked down the corridor. He could hear soft crying, and when he glanced inside a waiting room, he saw Glenn holding, presumably, his crying mother. He felt a knot in the pit of his stomach, his eyes darting to the sign on the door, indicating just exactly which waiting room this was: the surgical waiting room. Dear Jesus.

Bolting from his spot in the hallway and to an alternate exit of this floor, running down the back steps, his whole body trembling and his heart ramming in his chest. He needed to calm down or else he would lose his mind. Reaching a patient floor, he quickly moved into the men's room, slamming the door closed behind him and locking it, making sure there was no one inside first. Once he was sure he was safe and alone, he opened his palm, revealing the pills. He counted several of them; he'd taken more than he thought he had. He took one of the Klonopins and Percocets and swallowed them, following them with a handful of water from the tap.

Oh, God, what had he just done?

He caught his reflection in the mirror, the ghastly figure staring back at him almost startling him. Was that him? That pale, trembling person in the mirror was him? He touched his face just to make sure, and lo and behold, it *was* him. Lord, how had he managed to get into this sort of state? How had he managed to succumb to...to *this*?

Dave placed the rest of the pills in his pocket and sighed; he would save them for the next time he couldn't deal with life, which were moments that were coming more and more often. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dave knew that he was spiraling out of control, but was helpless to stop it - and maybe he didn't really want to.

He splashed water on his face, finding comfort in the coolness and, moreover, in that feeling he got every time he took pills. Usually, he didn't like the way he felt when he took pills, but today was different, because today he was doing it not to get through a shift, not to help out his mood, but to forget. What would happen if he took all the pills and found a nice, quiet place, and "forgot" forever? Would anyone care? Would anyone look for him? Probably not. No one had the last time he'd tried to make things "better."

Soon, Dave found himself back in the ER, ready to start treating patients again. He walked to the Admin desk only to be met by Randi, who shoved a chart into his stomach.

"Where have you been?" she asked. "Weaver's been looking for you. She's pissed that you haven't answered your pages."

"What?" he asked, the drugs taking hold of him. He should've grabbed some Dexedrine, he realized now, as he felt sleepy, almost as if he was walking in a dream. Everything had a sort of surreal effect, movements were slow and hazy, and little halos surrounded the lights. He was almost surprised, because he'd never had this kind of result from the drugs, but then again he had never taken them together before.

"Dave...?" Randi asked, looking him over. He looked like shit run over twice, and he looked like he *felt* that way too. "Are you okay?"

"Why?" he asked slowly.

"You seem out of it," she whispered, leaning closer to him so no one else would hear. "Have you been drinking?"

"No!" Dave snapped, surprising Randi and himself. "I'm just tired...and, uh...a little sick."

"Well, you'd better start treating patients before Weaver puts you out of your misery," Randi warned.

"Malucci!"

"Too late," Randi muttered under her breath as Dr. Weaver approached them, fury written all over her face.

"Yes, Dr. Weaver?" Dave asked softly, not daring to make eye contact with the Chief of the ED. Randi glanced at him quizzically; he almost seemed like a scared child, not the defiant man that she knew. Something was definitely wrong here.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Uh...I..."

"Uh, I - you *what*, Malucci?" she snapped, mocking him. He startled visibly, causing Dr. Weaver's eyes to narrow in concern.

"I went up to surgery," he sputtered, looking down at the floor. "To see how Paul was..."

"I thought I told you to stay away from him and his family?" she asked, once again angered by the junior resident's inability to follow directions.

"I did," he whispered, feeling suddenly dizzy as he was overcome by emotion and the drugs. "I just looked through the window...I...I didn't bother them."

Dr. Weaver was about to say something else, but there was something about Dave that just didn't settle right with her...he was off...he wasn't his smug defiant self. She glanced at Randi, who was looking at Dave with a worried and slightly puzzled expression of her own. "Are you sick, Dr. Malucci?"

"No..." he said. "Dr. Weaver, I just...I didn't bother them, I just..."

"Go sign out, your shift is over," she said, taking the chart from the young doctor. She'd never seen Dave so upset. Angry, yes. Anger was an emotion that she had seen from him many times, but nothing like this...

"No, I have another two hours," he said, suddenly desperate. "Don't suspend me again, please?"

"You've..." she started, unable to finish the statement of vehemence that she was about to deliver. She was still very upset with him, but even *she* couldn't kick him while he was this down. "You're not suspended, Malucci. Just think about what I said, and come back next shift."

"Okay," he responded, walking away without looking at either woman.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" Dr. Weaver asked Randi once Dave was out of earshot.

"Don't you know?" Randi asked, almost accusingly, looking at Dr. Weaver with a sort of abhorrence in her eyes.

"What is that supposed to mean, Randi?" she snapped.

"Whatever you think it does."

-------------------------------

I stand around at American weddings

I stand around for family

At my best when I'm terrorist inside

At my best when it's on me

-------------------------------

"Hey, Carter," he heard as someone grabbed his arm. He turned to see Dr. Edson, a grin on the surgeon's face. "I scheduled your bleeding-nose patient for a septoplasty next week."

"She had a nasal defect?" John asked, feigning surprise. He wasn't really into the conversation, his thoughts traveling to Dave, a person who seemed to be present in his mind often these days.

"Two grams of coke a day will do that," Edson said, smirking. Where was Dave now? He had at least an hour left of his shift... "You look pretty tired. Must be having a long shift."

"I'm not even on," John said, adding something to his side of the conversation.

"Go home!" Edson exclaimed incredulously. Maybe Dave was up on the roof. He'd heard that that was the spot Dave liked to go to lately, to be alone and gather his thoughts. Would he mind if John joined him? He had seemed upset, specifically when he cussed at John before leaving the trauma room.

"I can't," John said. He wanted to stay and look for Dave, maybe reconcile with the younger man. But why would he want to do that? Because they were friends - at least they had been before... - and that's what friends did. They got into arguments and they reconciled, and were back to being friends again. He looked up at a confused surgeon. "I mean, I might as well stay and nap at County; my next shift is at noon."

"Bad idea," Dr. Dale Edson warned, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "You know what they say: 'The longer you stay, the longer you stay.'"

John managed a smile as he shook his head, turning and heading for the roof. He could at least try it, and if he wasn't there then he could head over to Doc Magoo's before asking anyone anything. Passing the trauma room, he paused momentarily as he saw Randi taking down Paul's x-rays and slipping them inside the manila envelope they had been sent down from radiology in. Deciding that maybe asking would help him find Dave quicker, John entered the room, pushing the door open and leaning against it.

"Have you seen Dr. Malucci, Randi?" John asked, and the young desk temp turned around, the films at her side.

"He went home."

"Home?" John asked, puzzled as Randi approached him and joined him in the wide doorway. "Why would he go home?"

"Dr. Weaver sent him home," Randi said, and John let out a sigh of disdain. "Don't worry, she didn't suspend him again, she just told him to go home for the day because he was so upset."

"Tell me about it," John said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I think I got the brunt end of his anger after she left the trauma room."

"No, not angry..." Randi stated, shaking her head. John tilted his head, a sign of his confusion, telling her to elaborate. "He was *upset*...like, I don't know...he was acting weird. I asked him if he was drinking, and he said no, that he wasn't feeling well. Then when Weaver asked him if he was sick he said no, but...I don't know. Whatever, you'd know better than I do, I don't even know what happened in here today. I'll see you later, Carter."

John watched her leave the trauma room and head back towards admin, his mind absorbing what she'd just told him. Dave was upset? He'd only seemed angry last time John had seen him, which only left him with one question...

What had happened between the last time John had seen him and when he'd left work?

-------------------------------

Ghostman, how could we get so lost?

Ghostman, where is my head?

Where are my bones?

Can you save me from myself?

-------------------------------

A scream emerged from deep within his throat, echoing off of the walls like a cacophony of the dying, his cry of death the loudest of them all. Sitting straight up in bed, his throat raw, it took David Malucci a few moments to realize where he was, even in the morning sun that had managed to creep through the blinds of his bedroom, casting shadows on the walls and in the corners of the room.

He took a few moments to catch is breath and gather his thoughts, trying to erase the memories of his nightmare. It hadn't been the worst one he'd ever had, but it was right up there with the best of them, with the ones that remained so vivid in the back of his irises he never thought he would be able to close his eyes again.

Pushing the covers back, Dave stepped out of bed, his bare feet touching the dirty carpet that, no matter how hard he tried to clean, always remained that ugly shade of beige. He crossed the room, heading towards his small bathroom, closing the bathroom door behind him as if he were afraid someone might witness the act he was about to perform.

He glanced at himself in the mirror, running his hands through his tousled hair and then scrubbing his face with them. Bringing his hands to rest on the sink counter, Dave stared at the dripping sink for a few moments in an attempt to calm down, his breathing shaky. He suddenly opened the mirror cabinet, and saw them sitting on one of the textured glass shelves: the four pills, two of each kind of drug.

He grabbed one of each without the slightest bit of hesitation, and immediately placed them in his mouth, swallowing them dry. He stood at the sink for a moment longer, then slammed the mirror closed so hard the glass actually cracked. Unable to look himself in the eye after what he'd just done, Dave turned to exit the bathroom, ready to start forgetting.

But how much further was he willing to let this go? How much longer was he going to continue to do this? How many more pills until his problems went away completely because he was dead or, even worse, a babbling gork in a nursing home?

Suddenly, abruptly, he turned sharply on his heel before he'd even gotten two steps out of the bathroom and moved back inside quickly. He knelt down on the floor before the toilet and opened the lid, sticking his fingers down his throat. After a couple more tries and a few more dry heaves, the two pills were floating in the water.

Dave placed his hand to his forehead, a pained expression coming to his face. His hand slid down over his mouth, almost as if that alone would stop the sob from escaping his throat. The hot tears spilled down his cheeks and onto his fingers, and he started shaking as he buried his face in his hands. He reached blindly out to the back of the toilet, and very soon the two pills were swirling down the toilet drain, just like his life seemed to be doing.

-------------------------------

Where is my head?

Where are my bones?

Can you save me from myself?

-------------------------------
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