Part 1 Part 2 Archive Of Our Own
Warnings: mentions of war, panic attack, arguing, quarantine, medical stuff
Four hours after quarantine.
Appendicitis? Are you sure?
all the tests confirm it. we're planning on removing it soon.
Do you have enough supplies for a safe removal? Blood, the right medication?
the cdc is gonna get some more blood (we're a bit low with what we can access), laparoscopy equipment, and everything else we can think of that we don't have through the quarantine, but it might take a while. we only just got dinner.
turkey sandwiches or pbjs, oranges, chips, and water. a few special dishes for a muslim couple and someone with a nut allergy.
Are you in quarantine or at summer camp?
Quiet so far. Traffic's cleared out. Emile's playing the Spiderverse soundtrack. It's actually pretty good. Everyone ok down there?
Patton sent Virgil a thumbs-up emoji, followed by a smiling cat face. He sat on an unused bed sitting near the isolated observation room. His head leaned against the window looking into the room. His legs dangled off the bed, softly kicking back and forth. A brown paper bag laid beside him, its contents spilling onto the covers. Patton stuck his hands into the small chip bag and stuffed a handful of chips into his mouth.
"Is our knight in dark armor doing well?" Roman asked through a mouthful of turkey. He sat criss-cross on the floor across from Patton. His lunch sat in his lap. Nate sat beside him, staring at the ED behind his sunglasses. One hand tugged at his long hair while the other peeled his orange. Logan had pulled up a chair from his desk and ate using the bed as a table. Most of the ED's patients and visitors had tried to get some sleep, but everyone woke up for a chance at a meal. The Ceballos twins pelted each other with orange peels. The Yakimovs and McCallums, released from their makeshift cell, crowded around their daughters.
"They're on their way," Patton reported, setting down his phone.
"Patton, Roman, after you finish eating, perhaps you should find a place to sleep," Logan suggested. He spun the cap off his water and took a long drink. "I can awaken you when the situation develops." Patton hid a grin with another mouthful of chips. Logan had finally let go of the professional titles he was so strict about using at the hospital. It probably wouldn't last long, but Patton would enjoy it for however long it did.
"And miss the drama?" Roman scoffed, juggling his orange. "I would rather volunteer as tribute in the Hunger Games."
"I need to keep an eye on Jessie," Patton sighed. "If her appendix gets any worse, we'll need to speed up her surgery."
"There's something I don't get," Roman huffed. "If the CDC is making sure you've got what you need for the surgery, what's the big concern?"
"A surgery is never a guarantee, Roman," Logan sighed, fixing his glasses with his classic Teacher face. "We are slicing open a person's body and putting our hands around their organs. When doctors discuss surgical risks with their patients, they discuss every detail, no matter how unlikely. We can prepare as much as we can, but without a proper operating room, there's the chance that one of those risks will occur and we will lack the proper tools. We are not a trauma center, and many of the doctors and nurses in the quarantine have not done surgeries like this in a long time. Hospitals don't operate like medical dramas. We are not all skilled in every aspect of medical care."
"I bet this isn't how you thought Virgil's birthday planning would go," Nate chuckled, tossing an orange slice into his mouth.
"Virgil!" Patton gasped. Nate choked on his orange, coughing and hitting his chest. "Oh my goodness! How did I forget about his birthday? He's going to spend his birthday on the road!”
"Perhaps we can think of something to do here for him," Roman mused, rubbing his chin.
"Wouldn't a quick 'Happy Birthday' text suffice?" Logan asked.
"It won't, and you know it," Patton huffed, smiling.
"We can do a grand show!" Roman declared, holding his half-eaten sandwich high like a sword. "Surely even he would smile at a fun music video!"
"Perhaps something more grounded," Logan sighed, rubbing his shoulder.
"A long drive is a great way to spend a birthday," Nate said, having finished choking. "Just you, some music, and the open road. And your GPS blaring directions in your ear every time you stop at a gas station.”
"We just gotta think- what would Virgil like?" Patton hummed.
"Some peace and quiet?" Logan muttered. He took a drink from his water bottle. Something slammed against the window behind Patton. Patton and Logan jumped, water spilling onto Logan. Ms. Lakin looked through the window, both hands on the glass. Dots of blood sprinkled the rash on her arms.
"Hello, uh," Ms. Lakin stammered, voice muffled behind the glass. "I know you told me there was a call button or something but I don't know where it is, I was sleeping, and I woke up and there was blood on my arms and my chest hurts, I might be having a heart attack? I think it's a heart attack, it sounds like what my uncle told me, but I'm freaking out, and-" Ms. Lakin leaned her head against the glass. Her quick breaths fogged up the glass.
"Ms. Lakin, try to get back to your bed," Logan declared, bolting up. "We'll be right in. Dr. Foster, Mr. Christopoulos, come with me."
"Right!" Patton stammered, hopping off the stretcher. Nate pushed himself up and the trio hurried into the decontamination chamber. Patton scrambled into the biohazard suit, his cardigan making odd lumps in the suit. His sticky hands wouldn't slip into the gloves. The rubber kept rubbing red patches into his hands. Logan, suit already on, grabbed Patton's hands. He held Patton by the wrist and slipped the gloves on with one swift motion. Patton smiled up at his husband. He stuffed his feet into his boots and entered Ms. Lakin's room with Logan and Nate.
She was still leaning against the window, panting like a wild beast. Small blood smears coated her arms. Her hands ran up and down her body, rubbing the blood away. She'd dragged her monitors across the room, which were now beeping wildly as her heart rate went up. Her IVs pulls against her wrists. Crazed eyes looked up at the newcomers.
"Hello," Ms. Lakin panted. "I- I'm sorry." Her hands pulled on the collar of her hospital gown, revealing the blood sprinkled rash on her chest.
"Nate, help her to the bed," Patton said, taking a step towards Ms. Lakin.
"No!" Ms. Lakin gasped, backing away. She held a blood-stained palm out. "Don't, don't come near me."
"Ok," Patton whispered. He held his hands over his head. "Ok. We'll stay right here." For a moment, Patton wished Virgil and Emile were there. He threw that thought into his mental trashcan.
"What's happening?" Nate asked.
"Ms. Lakin, I believe you are experiencing a panic attack, possibly some paranoia" Logan explained, stepping next to Patton. "They are common symptoms of Pinto's."
"I'm dying, right?" Ms. Lakin stammered. "I- this is just what I expected, this is death."
"Try to breathe with me, Ms. Lakin," Logan said. Patton saw movement in the corner of his eye. Nurses scurried into the decontamination chamber. They would be in soon. "Calming your breathing will help you feel better. Can you sit down?" Ms. Lakin whimpered, leaning back against the window. "Breathe in for four seconds. One, two..." Ms. Lakin gasped, chest lifting as Logan counted. "Three, four. Now hold the breath for seven seconds. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven." As soon as Logan stopped counting, Ms. Lakin let out a long, shaky breath.
"Let's go back to bed," Patton said softly. "You can sleep."
"I looked up Pinto's," Ms. Lakin gasped with a death grip on her gown. "The bleeding, I'm getting worse, I'm going to die."
"You won't die," Patton assured her. He took a careful step towards her, then another. "We're taking care of you. I'm sure some sleep will make you feel better." Patton held out his hand. The death-grip of Ms. Lakin's right hand began to relax. She moved her shaking hand towards Patton. The observation room doors creaked open. A pair of nurses used the only suits left and stepped into the room. Ms. Lakin pulled her hand back.
"No, you need to leave!" Ms. Lakin stammered, shaking her head. "Leave!"
"We're here to help you," Patton said. As soon as he took another step towards Ms. Lakin, Patton knew he had made a mistake. Ms. Lakin's leg shot up and hit... a very uncomfortable spot, to say the least. Patton stumbled back, groaning. Logan's hands steadied him. Nate charged past the couple. Ms. Lakin flailed her hands and Nate grabbed her wrists. He pulled her arms behind her as the monitors went crazy.
"Don't touch me!" Ms. Lakin shouted. Nate dragged her across the room as the two nurses swarmed Ms. Lakin. Nate shoved her onto the bed and with the help of one of the nurses pinned Ms. Lakin to the bed. The other nurse hurried to the cabinets bathed in dull yellow light. They grabbed a small vial and a syringe while Logan joined in the efforts to hold Ms. Lakin down. The patient thrashed against her captors, her eyes resembling a wild animal in a cage. Patton hadn't realized just what an 'endocrinal dysfunction' meant until that moment.
"You're keeping me in here with a corpse!" Ms. Lakin growled. The nurse filled the syringe with what was in the vial and rushed to Ms. Lakin's IV. They pushed the syringe into the IV. Slowly but surely, Ms. Lakin's thrashing calmed down. Her limbs relaxed. She didn't push against Nate and Logan. Her body laid limb on the bed, heart rate going down. Her eyes drifted closed. A collective sigh of relief filled the room.
"Didn't know she was this bad," Nate huffed, stretching his arms overhead.
"If she was asleep, she wouldn't have known when she started bleeding," Logan huffed, crossing his arms. "From there, she moved onto the more emotional stages of the disease."
"You good, Patton?" Nate asked. Patton leaned with his elbows on his knees. He gave the group a thumbs-up and groaned.
As a theatre kid, Roman could never resist the call of musical cast recordings. If he heard the proper notes, he was like a bloodhound- he'd hunt down the source and indulge in melodramatic singing and general narcissism. How could he not? Theatre was basically magic, after all. It could always keep him entertained. So as he listened to Thomas, Joan, and Logan gabber on, he hummed the Waitress soundtrack under his breath. He leaned against the door to the small room where they'd set up Thomas's TV.
"Be honest," Thomas huffed. His face bounced on the TV screen, showing his office in live time. A desk lamp lit up the papers littering the desk's surface and Thomas's droopy face. His eyes were looking particularly Virgil-like that night. "What are Ms. Lakin's recovery chances?"
"Considering Nurse Lawson and Dr. Picani are only about halfway to Atlanta," Logan sighed, fixing his glasses. "The chances are in the lower range of probability. We have everything we need to keep her comfortable and stabilize her mood swings with some accuracy."
"What's the progress on Jessie McCallum's surgery?" Thomas sighed, running his hands through his hair.
"We're still waiting on the CDC to get the stuff through," Joan explained. "She's stable for now. We've started her on ampicillin. Since Patton's stuck down here, he's gonna help with her case."
"Hey, you guys are low on blood, right?" Roman said, raising his hand. "Maybe we can do a blood drive or something with the folks we've got here? Would that help?"
"Good idea," Joan said, looking back at Roman. "Could you handle that?"
"I'm on it," Roman chirped. He gave the group a little salute. "I'll leave the medical junk to the doctors." Roman slipped out of the room, closing the door with his foot. His hands fiddled in the pockets of his letter jacket. He got this. He could do a blood drive. He'd organized plenty of blood drives in normal situations. In fact, Roman promised himself he would be the first person in the ED to volunteer his blood for Jessie (he was O-, after all, and in perfect health, not to brag or anything). Perhaps it was a bit more stressful when he was collecting blood for a person with a face instead of expressionless statistics on a page, but that wouldn't change anything! He finally had something to do!
"Ok, when the doctor started using phrases like 'you'll pass away', what could I say?" a quiet voice sang from somewhere in the ED. "I said Doctor, in plain English, tell me why I was chosen, why me of all men?" Roman would recognize a Falsettos song anywhere! But who was singing it? He was certain it wasn't the Ceballos, even though the sound came from somewhere near their bay. He padded across the ED, checking each bay he passed. Most of the patients were fast asleep. "Doctor, here's the good part, at least death means I'll never be scared about dying again." Roman walked past Jessie's bed. The teen was safely asleep, but her face was squished into a frown. When he moved past her bay, he saw Milena, her bed pulled up so she could sit straight.
"Let's get on with living while we can and not play dumb. Death's gonna-" Milena looked up at Roman. "Crap. Was I singing too loud?"
"You're alright," Roman chuckled, shaking his head. "I heard the call of my people."
"Are you a Falsettos fan?" Milena asked.
"I am an everything fan, hon," Roman scoffed, whisking a hand past his face like he was flipping long hair.
"I'm in the drama club at school," Milena admitted. "If I wasn't so busy with sports, I'd probably audition for the school musical. Then again, I don't think I'll be playing sports for a while, so I might get the chance."
"I say go for it," Roman said. "Musicals are amazing."
"Yeah," Milena muttered, nodding softly. "That song's a bit of a vent song for me right now.”
"I'm not a doctor, but I don't think you're in danger anymore," Roman said. He moved to the edge of Milena's bed and leaned his hands against the plastic railing.
"I know," Milena huffed. "But with my parents this close to murder and Jessie..." Milena crossed her arms. "I just can't believe them. They can't even come see me now. They're probably freaking out about me, though. Parents, huh?"
"Yeah, that's pretty normal," Roman sighed, absentmindedly nodding. His Dad would have flipped if Roman was in a car accident. Then again, he probably wouldn't have cared if it was Rem- "Your family really hates the McCallums."
"That's an understatement," Milena grunted.
"I suppose you've got more of a reason now," Roman muttered.
"Hey, it's not Jessie's fault," Milena snapped. "We just didn't see the car coming." Roman looked up at the teen. He cocked his head a bit.
"You don't hate her?" Roman asked. Milena shifted.
”I tolerate her,” Milena muttered. “But that doesn’t mean it’s fun to have her family fighting mine.”
”You seem to do more than tolerate her,” Roman snorted, glancing at Jessie’s bed. “You looked worried when Jessie puked.”
”Well, who wouldn’t be?” Milena snapped.
”Let’s not wake anyone up, Whizzer Frown,” Roman chuckled.
”A grown man insulting a teenager,” Milena snorted. “Is that a new low for you, or is that how you spend your nights?”
”I just...” Roman searched for the right words, waving a hand around. If his creativity meant anything, it needed to work now. “I know sometimes in life, you become close to someone that you wish you didn’t know, for whatever reason. People don’t approve of you or that person is disliked or they’ve done things to you or others... but when it comes to Jessie, I don’t think you should be ashamed. Your parents may not agree, but with time, there could be a great future before ye!”
”Even after I crashed the car?” Milena snapped. Roman stood straighter, removing his hands from the plastic railing. “Her parents were right. It was my fault. I distracted her. I was crying, she tried to comfort me, and she took the eyes off the road. I don’t think anyone will want us to be friends after that, especially not Jessie.” Milena pushed the bed controls. Her bed unfolded, laying her down flat.
”It’s late, I’m tired,” Milena grunted, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t even know who you are. Leave me alone.” Roman lingered at the edge of the bed for a moment. Then, he shook his head and padded away. He had a blood drive to organize.
"At the end of the day, all they can Scooby-Dooby-Doo is accept Ms. Lakin's mood swings as they come and keep being patient," Emile sighed. Virgil typed every word into his text to Logan, leaving out the cartoon references. "Patton did a fairly good job, he just spooked her."
"And sent," Virgil muttered, sending the ridiculously long text. He yawned softly, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He glanced out the window to the dark swamps beyond. "Are you sure about this backroad?”
"You said it yourself, we'll never get through that accident on the highway," Emile sighed. "I've taken this road a few times. It's pretty in the daylight!"
"Uh-huh," Virgil sighed. "You ever get kneed by a patient?"
"I haven't had too many violent patients," Emile admitted.
"Lucky man," Virgil scoffed. "I once had a terrified twelve-year-old chomp down on my wrist. I still got a little scar." Virgil flipped his hood over his head and curled into the space between the car door and the seat. "Wake me up in, like, half an hour, and we can swap spots."
"I've got a playlist of calmer songs I can play," Emile said. "I've got Here Comes a Thought, Everything Stays, A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes..."
"I'd rather you have your upbeat songs than fall asleep to a lullaby and crash the car," Virgil mumbled, closing his eyes. His mind hopped down rabbit holes, traveling along strands of thought he could only brush past. He was vaguely aware of the peppy songs coming from the radio. His hoodie was a warm hug wrapped around his arms. His hand rubbed the stitched purple flannel.
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Virgil, happy birthday to you!" Mom's giant, muscular arms wrapped around Virgil in a giant bear hug from behind. Her fingers tickled his chin.
"Mom!" Virgil whined, smiling. He tucked his arms under hers and tried to push her off.
"Hey, it's not every day my kid turns seven!" Mom laughed. Her hands ruffled his messy brown hair. Virgil smoothed it back down as Mom crouched next to his chair. "I'm sorry we don't have a cake this year, kiddo."
"Cake isn't healthy, anyway," Virgil said, shrugging. "I don't want either of us to get some disease from bad store cake."
"My little worrywart," Mom chuckled, shaking her head like she always did whenever Virgil amazed her. "I've got some chicken strips, ramen, some soy sauce, and some veggies. So, for your birthday treat, I'm going to make proper ramen!" Mom stood straight, hands on her hips like a superhero.
"Isn't the ramen we have proper ramen?" Virgil asked.
"Ours is going to be like ramen you'd find in Japan," Mom declared. She walked around the kitchen table towards the fridge. "I've got a recipe printed out and everything. Head into the living room, you've got your pick on the TV." Virgil hopped off the chair and scurried across the apartment to the carpeted section. He settled down on the matted brown couch and leaned over the armrest to the DVD shelf. Maybe Mom would let him watch one of her horror movies! She had so many cool movies. Virgil reached into the bottom of the shelf and pulled out The Birds. This was going to be so cool!
Gunshots echoed in the street, muffled beyond the brick walls and murky glass of the apartment. Virgil's gaze drifted out the windows. Mom's rules about gunshots were always to stay inside away from the windows. Did other kids spend their birthdays in gang riddled neighborhoods? Virgil put the movie on the armrest and scurried back into the kitchen. Mom stared at a crumpled piece of paper, muttering under her breath. Her puffy dirty blonde hair cascaded against her dark purple flannel.
"Can I just cut off the breading?" Mom muttered. Virgil scurried into the kitchen, socks slipping on the tiles. He barreled into Mom and hugged her leg. Mom yelped, jumping a little. "Hey there, stormcloud! Is something wrong?"
"I love you, Mom," Virgil muttered. He buried his face into Mom's flannel. It smelled of antiseptic, Green Soap, and ink, the wonderful smells of Mom's tattoo shop. That flannel could stop bullets.
Virgil's body slammed against his seatbelt, burning against the fabric. Emile's neck jutted forward, just caught by his own seatbelt. The headlights shone back into the van, lighting up Virgil and Emile's faces.
"WHAT THE HELL, PICANI?" Virgil shouted, rubbing his sore shoulder and trying to breathe. Emile groaned and looked up.
"Gator," Emile groaned. Virgil followed the glare of the headlights. Sitting in the middle of the gravel road was the biggest alligator Virgil had ever seen. Its dark green scales were littered with scars. The light reflected in its giant round eyes. It stared at the van, not blinking. Its tail slowly swished the gravel behind it. Virgil locked his door.
"Crap, crap, crap," Virgil shouted. "Lock the doors!"
"Virgil, don't panic," Emile said, rubbing his neck.
"I'm not a native Florida dude, I'm from Atlanta, I've never seen a wild alligator before!" Virgil snapped. "It can't be happy with us!"
"Well, he's not asleep," Emile muttered. "He was probably just crossing the road before we showed up. He's not that different from the marsh crocodiles I saw in Pakistan. He'll move when he's good and ready."
"Wait," Virgil huffed, shaking the nerves out of his hands. "You've been to Pakistan?"
"I was in the Army, stationed near the Waziristan region for a time," Emile explained. Virgil blinked, eyes wide, dumbfounded.
"You were in the Army," Virgil repeated. "Emile Picani, lover of every cartoon in existence, who most likely owns a dozen onesies, was in the Army? In Pakistan?"
"And Afghanistan," Emile added. "I saw a few marsh crocodiles in my time there. I'm not as well versed in reptile knowledge as the folks in Amphibia, but I know some things." Virgil leaned against his seat, staring at the ceiling.
"How did I not know that?" Virgil muttered. "Are you pulling my leg?"
"It's not something I joke about," Emile admitted, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "I usually only talk about it when I believe it can help me connect with my patients. They aren't all cartoon fans, after all."
"I-" Virgil stammered. "Ok, I can't get over this. Can I ask you some questions? Is that a problem?"
"That's alright," Emile sighed. He folded his hands in his lap.
"You won't even hurt a fly," Virgil stammered, flipping his hood down. "Why join the Army?"
"I joined out of high school," Emile explained. "Back then, I wasn't quite sure what I wanted to do with my life. All I really liked to do was watch cartoons. There were a lot of army recruiters at my school, so I thought serving would be a good place to start. It's not an uncommon phenomenon. There's been a bit of social psychology devoted to the study of soldiers and why they join the army, and many join not out of patriotic duty, but to find a purpose. Kind of like Hercules in his movie! He didn't train to be a hero to help people, but so he could have a strong identity." Virgil searched his brain for appropriate questions. Roman had organized a Veteran's Day thing for the kids, where they could ask some of the veteran patients currently at the hospital some questions. Virgil tried to remember what questions the kids were allowed to ask.
"What was your job?" he asked, hoping it wasn't offensive.
"Mostly grunt work at first," Emile sighed. "Keeping tents clean, gun maintenance, guard duty. I picked up the language pretty quickly. Eventually, folks looked to me when it came to talking to the locals."
"Not too surprising," Virgil muttered. "You're about as threatening as Kirby."
"Kirby can absorb people! I'd say that's pretty threatening," Emile chuckled. "In a way, I did absorb the ability to speak Pashto from them."
"Are you still in the Army? Like, are you one of those doctors who got the military to pay for their college?"
"Ha! No! I got discharged after a few years. I got plenty of scholarships for my service, though." Emile rested his hands on the wheel. "My squad leader, Sergeant Takeichi, had a gator wrestler for a brother. So, he tried to take on a marsh crocodile. He did a good job, even if he almost lost his hand."
"Were they a good squad? Wow, that sounded like I'm talking about a high school band."
"It was good, all in all. No one minded when I came out. Sergeant Takeichi had nicknames for us all. Mr. Rooster, Track & Field, Earthquake. I was the Animaniac."
"How long did it take for them to find out about your love of cartoons?”
"About ten minutes." Virgil grinned, holding back an eye roll. Emile leaned back and tucked his hands into his lap again. "I'm the only one left, now." Virgil's grin dropped.
"Oh." Virgil picked at the stitching on his hoodie. "War is hell, huh?"
"Actually, we all survived our time in Pakistan. Oh, there he goes." Virgil looked just in time to see the alligator's tail slip into the murky waters surrounding the gravel road. "See? He was just crossing the road."
"Alright, doc, hop out," Virgil huffed, unbuckling. "My turn to drive." Virgil unlocked his door and jumped out of the van. He and Emile crossed in front of the van, long shadows dancing on the gravel. Virgil crawled into the driver's seat. He unplugged Emile's phone and plugged in his own. The phone light burned Virgil's eyes. It was exactly midnight.
"Happy birthday to me," Virgil muttered, adjusting the side mirrors. "Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, dear Virgil, happy birthday to me." By the time the van was once again cruising down the gravel road, Emile was slouched against the shotgun door with his eyes closed. Without looking, Virgil hit shuffle on his phone.
"Hello darkness, my old friend," the car radio muttered. Virgil sighed and let the road blur in front of him.
The observation room door creaked open. Mr. McCallum slowly stuck his face out, like an animal scanning for predators. Patton stood by the desks, fiddling with the spare doctor's coat he'd found. Logan had suggested it- if Patton was going to care for Jessie, he might as well look the part.
"Folks are sleeping, so don't be loud," Nate muttered, leaning beside the door. Mr. McCallum nodded. Mrs. McCallum held his hand as the two slipped out. Mrs. Yakimov pushed the door open fully and left the room with her husband. Both couples looked around the ED, and their eyes settled on their daughters. Milena was wide awake, pulling her bed up.
"Jessie," Mrs. McCallum gasped. The McCallums raced across the ED, hands held tight. Mr. McCallum cupped his daughter's face. Jessie groaned softly and opened her eyes.
"Dad?" Jessie muttered. Mr. McCallum smiled and leaned his forehead against Jessie's. Mrs. McCallum wrapped her arms around her family.
"Milena, are you feeling ok?" Mrs. Yakimov asked, hurrying to her daughter's side.
"I was wondering when they'd let you out," Milena scoffed. "Hey, Mom."
"We're here, sweetie," Mrs. Yakimov declared. She grabbed Milena's hand and squeezed it tight. Joan slipped past Patton into Jessie's bay. As they started explaining Jessie's condition, Patton's gaze drifted up to one of the ED clocks. It was past midnight! It was officially Virgil's birthday! How did he not notice? He stalked around the desks towards where Roman slept. The public services director had finally given in to sleep after donating blood for Jessie's surgery and organizing a blood drive from all the healthy residents of the quarantine. He laid sprawled out on the stretcher underneath the isolated observation room window. His letter jacket laid over him like a blanket, arm tucked under his head.
"How 'bout you shut up, man," Roman grumbled, rolling onto his side.
"Roman," Patton whispered, shaking Roman's shoulder.
"Huh?" Roman groaned, jutting up. His sleepy eyes scanned the room before settling on Patton. He gave the doctor a goofy, half asleep smile. "Hey, Pat."
"It's Virgil's birthday," Patton explained.
"Oh, yeah," Roman yawned. "I guess it is." Roman blinked and suddenly shook his head like a dog. "It's his birthday!"
"Exactly!" Patton chirped. "We need to do something!" Roman rolled off the stretcher, stumbling onto the floor. He jumped up and grabbed Patton's hand. Roman raced down the halls, Patton scrambling to keep pace. He almost got to the quarantined doors when he turned into a half-open laundry room. Patton rubbed the walls until he found the light switch. The laundry room had an older washer and dryer stuffed in the corner. Shelves lined the walls, filled with cleaning supplies, spare blankets, pillows, and a few extra casting materials.
"Ok, you film me, and I'll do the birthday song," Roman said, padding over to the shelves. Patton scrambled for his phone and pulled up his camera. "I finally figured it out. He's going to hate this."
"Three, two, one," Patton said. He pressed record.
"It's your birthday!" Roman sang to the tune of Welcome to the Black Parade. "It's your birthday! And though you're stuck on the road driving, we didn't forget, it's your birthday! It's your birthday! I hope you know that you've made friends here, so I hope you find some happiness!" Roman stuck a vibrant pose at the end of the song, flinging out his arms. His hands slapped a shelf full of detergent. The bottles tumbled off the shelves with a loud clatter. Roman stood frozen, still smiling.
"Crap," Roman said. Patton put his phone away.
"It's ok!" Patton assured him, hurrying over. "We'll just pick these up, no harm done!"
"Hold on," Roman said, thrusting a hand in front of Patton. He squinted through the shelving unit towards the wall. "I think there's something back here."
"Like what?" Patton asked. He grabbed an armful of bottles and set them on the washer. Roman grabbed the shelving unit. The unit grinded against the floor as Roman pushed it away from the wall. Patton grabbed the other side and helped balance out everything still on the shelf. Roman squeezed into the space between the shelves and the wall.
"Patton, there's a hole back here!" Roman gasped. Patton scurried around the shelving unit and squeezed in beside Roman. Sure enough, there was a hole in the wall with rusted metal climbing upwards. Roman stuck his head into the chute. "I can't see anything. I think this is a laundry chute!" Roman pulled his head out. Dust clung to his hair. Something clicked in Patton's head. He gasped, covering his mouth. "What? Do I have bugs in my hair?"
"I just got an idea," Patton gasped. "You know how we were talking earlier about Jessie McCallum's surgery? All that stuff about things we can't predict, stuff we might need but won't be able to get?" Patton squirmed past Roman and stuck his head into the hole. "I think this is our answer!"
"I've got the blueprints you asked for," Thomas sighed. His face bounced around Patton's phone, which was propped against a dusty bottle of detergent. Logan and Joan joined Patton and Roman in the laundry room, watching Thomas make his way through the hospital. "If I'm reading them right- and that's a pretty big if here, guys- that chute starts in here..." Thomas stepped into a dark room. He flicked on the lights, the phone going white for a moment.
"Hey, hey!" Roman stammered, hitting the wall. His head was deep into the chute, jacket tied around his waist. "I see light! Thomas! Tommy boy! Thomathy! Tomma-lomma-ding-dong! Thomas the dank engine! Can you hear me?" Thomas moved through the new room- another laundry room, from the looks of it. Metal groaned off-screen.
"Roman?" Thomas called. His voice echoed twice; once through the phone, once down the chute.
"It's us!" Roman cheered. "Hi!" Metal groaned again from floors above. Thomas wrung his hand through his hair.
"I'm on the third floor," Thomas muttered. "This room is pretty dusty, guys. This washer is ancient. I don't even think there's a dryer in here. We have been vastly underusing space on this floor!"
"I don't understand how the CDC missed this," Logan huffed, arms crossed. "This chute is a break in the quarantine."
"It's not on the modern blueprints," Thomas explained, shuffling the rolled-up papers stuck under his arm. "I guess we just forgot about it over time."
"This is perfect," Patton declared, clapping his hands together. "If we need something during Jessie's surgery, we could toss it down the chute and bypass the quarantine!"
"Wait, Patton," Thomas stammered. "The CDC's strict about their protocols. They'd want us to report this chute so they can seal it off."
"Thomas, if we do that, we're denying ourselves the tools we need to help Jessie!" Patton groaned.
"We're playing in the world of probabilities," Logan huffed. "Who knows if we would even require this chute? I don't believe it's worth the risk of the CDC finding out. We could possibly face charges for keeping this from them."
"If it means saving a girl's life, I'll do whatever I can," Patton declared.
"It's a pretty steep drop," Roman muttered, looking back into the chute. "How would we get stuff down without it breaking?"
"Egg drop," Joan said. All eyes turned to the medical director. "What? Like you guys didn't do egg drops in middle school. We put whatever we need in some packaging and drop it down. It'll be fine."
"You can't be agreeing with this," Logan snapped. "This chute is a danger to the whole hospital!"
"The only person with Pinto's so far is Ms. Lakin, and she's double quarantined," Joan huffed.
"Oh, we can get a giant fan up there and have it blow into the chute," Roman chirped. "All the infected dust would just fly back down here!"
"Roman, now's not the time," Logan grunted. He stalked up to Patton. "Patton, I don't understand why you're so insistent on using this chute and risking your career."
"I need to make sure Jessie's gonna be alright," Patton huffed.
"You're risking criminal charges for something you might not even need!" Logan snapped.
"I can't understand why you always do this," Logan grumbled, hands flying in front of him. "You're willing to break hospital regulation at the drop of a hat for the chance to help someone."
"Logan, that's what doctors do!" Patton huffed.
"Doctors also need to have a job to help their patients, which you'll lose eventually if you continue in this fashion," Logan hissed.
"Logan," Thomas said, this time a little harsher.
"You never listen to your own common sense!" Logan shouted.
"Logan, I love you, but can you please stop?" Patton snapped. "I, I hate this conversation."
"Logan!" Thomas shouted. "Logan, look at your coat!" Everyone's gaze drifted to Logan's white coat. Faint red dots covered Logan's sleeves. Patton stopping breathing. Very carefully, Logan peeled his coat off. He let it fall at his feet. A red, scaly rash marked with small dots of blood covered his arms.
Seven hours after quarantine.
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