“It’s not fair” Jack said, sitting at the nursing station with his arms crossed, staring straight ahead like the world had personally betrayed him.
Dana didn’t look up from her tablet. “Life isn’t fair.”
Jack sighed heavily. “Maybe if I’d noticed sooner…”
Dana’s eyebrow lifted.
“Or maybe I pushed too hard. Or maybe… the hit didn’t help.”
“Jack” Dana warned quietly.
He ignored her. “Maybe if I’d kept trying. Or used the right instrument-”
Dana sighed and started walking away. “I’m not standing here listening to this.”
“You don’t understand!” Jack called after her. “You didn’t have to pull the plug!”
Princess walked up, pausing mid-step. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked quietly. “Did he lose a patient?”
Dana snorted. “No. The fax machine died.”
“Oh.” Princess nodded slowly, trying - and failing - to hide her smile. “I see.”
Jack stared at the counter mournfully. “They said I could keep it until it broke. And now it’s gone. And they won’t replace it. Too old-fashioned, apparently.”
Princess patted his shoulder with exaggerated sympathy. “Sorry for your loss.”
She turned and walked away before he could answer.
“I heard that!” Jack called after her.
She stopped and looked him dead in the eye. “Good.”
Dana laughed. “Get over it. Trauma One needs you.”
Jack stood offended. “I’m allowed to grieve.”
“Sure” Dana said dryly. “Grieve on your way to the patient.”
He grumbled but walked toward Trauma 1.
The second he disappeared behind the door, Dana glanced around.
“Jesse” she called quietly. “Get that broken machine out of here before Abbot comes back. I can’t take another speech.”
She looked back down at her tablet and shook her head.
“This place is an asylum.”
