Chapter Text
Breathe in, breathe out.
The click of a pen, the squeak of a gurney wheel, the beep of a pump, the hum of the florescent tube over head, the cry of a baby.
Breathe in, breathe out.
The stack of paper on a shelf, the over flowing in tray, the blurred figures in scrubs rushing past, the light reflecting off a recently mopped floor.
Breathe in, breathe out.
The sharp smell of disinfectant, the musty tang of sweat, the sickening waft of cheap cologne.
Breathe in, breathe out.
The soft cotton of scrubs that have been washed a hundred times, the cold metal of a necklace chain.
Breathe in, breathe out.
The taste of mint.
Breathe in, breathe -
Shit.
The beep of a pump.
Lena's eyes snapped into focus, and she jerked upright in her chair. There was a steady beeping coming from the other end of the busy ward, from a bed space she knew she'd meant to check ten minutes ago. She swore under her breath and pushed herself upwards, the chair squeaking in protest at the rough treatment. Without a backward glance, Lena made her way quickly towards the source of the noise. Not too fast, she didn't want to attract attention, but not too slow, she didn't want to delay. Patients, nurses, doctors and cleaners whirled around her like flurry of snowflakes, yet she cleared a path easily as she crossed the busy emergency department floor.
As she reached the curtain and started to pull it back, she quickly arranged her face into a smile which was half apologetic. The man lying behind the curtain was a regular customer, and she needed to make sure to stay on his good side. She'd learned quickly that people who came in with prior knowledge of which veins had best access were also the sort of people that could be quick to anger. In the case of Mr. Bucknell, he was usually co-operative until the effects of whatever narcotic he'd injected had worn off, at which point he would be either happy to be in a warm bed, or angry that his trip had been interrupted and reversed. Lena was well aware of how expensive the sort of habit he had was, and the lengths that he probably went to for it.
Fortunately for Lena, whose emotions were already frayed from a morning of dealing with an irate mother who had objected to being told her daughters "deadly pneumonia" was in reality a "common cold", Mr. Bucknell was smiling contentedly at her. His face, which was only twenty-five according to his chart, was deeply lined with wrinkles and his sunken eyes had a look of lifelessness to them that Lena was used to seeing in the morgue. But the curve of his mouth was hesitant and spoke of an immaturity that made all but the hardest hearts soften towards him.
"Hello doc." he murmured.
"Mr. Bucknell." Lena responded in her usual, slightly clipped tone.
The man in the bed was plucking at the sheets absentmindedly, a repetitive motion that Lena doubted he was aware of. She tried to ignore it as much as she could, as she knew it was an unfortunate side effect of his current lifestyle. A passing nurse paused, noted the beeping pump, silenced the alarm and turned to Lena with a questioning look.
"Want me to start the discharge papers?"
Lena hesitated before answering. She knew Mr. Bucknell needed help, but she also knew that he'd declined the offer in the past. Sadly, he was a victim of circumstances outside his control and was coping the only way he knew how. She'd often wondered how it was that she was born into the life she had, and other people were born into lives that led here. To a hospital bed in the free clinic emergency room of the poorest area of National City. Fate was the only thing separating her from him, an invisible curtain that she pulled aside for a few hours each day as she peered into his life.
"Doctor Luthor?"
The nurses voice pulled Lena back to reality and she turned to look at him. He was looking at her expectantly, his brown eyes vaguely reminding her of a puppy eager to please.
"I want to have a talk with Mr. Bucknell about his options before he discharges."
The nurse nodded, understanding what Lena was getting at.
"Want me to grab the pamphlets?"
Lena contemplated for a moment, made her decision, and nodded curtly.
"Yes please -"
She quickly looked at the badge on his chest, kicking herself that she still hadn't been able to learn the names of everyone who worked here yet.
"Winslow?"
Realizing too late that she'd said the name so questioningly, she quickly tried to cover up the social faux pas. It was no good though, but the nurse seemed to take it in his stride.
"Most people just call me Winn. I'll go get the stuff."
He turned on his heel and walked off to the main reception area, where Lena knew he'd find a wall of brochures about various topics relating to health and wellness.
Sighing mentally to herself, she looked back to Mr. Bucknell. He was looking at her with the eyes of someone who knew he was about to be asked to make a difficult choice, and the outcome would be one of life and death. Lena pulled up a chair, usually reserved for family members as there was usually little time to sit down as a doctor, and sat down close to the head of the bed. She remembered from her years of medical school that it was always best to sit for these sorts of conversations. The voice of her lecturer echoed in her mind.
"Get on their level. If you stand over them, they will never understand you're trying to help. They will only ever see you as an authority figure trying to get them in trouble."
She leaned forward as she sat, resting her elbows on her knees so she could look Mr. Bucknell in the eyes.
"Phillip, we need to have a serious talk."
Phillip Bucknell grinned at her sheepishly.
"Shit doc, I know it serious when you use my real name. Most folks just call me Buck."
"Would you prefer if I called you Buck?"
She could see the cogs in his brain turning. Clearly it had been a while since someone had given him a choice like this.
"Nah, Phillip'll do. Reckon if it's good enough for my ma, it's good enough for anyone."
This was the first time Lena had heard talk of a mother. In her previous dealings with Phillip Bucknell there had been mentions of various friends who would come kill her and the other nurses, or girlfriends that he would sob the names of when he thought no one could hear him. The mother was new.
"Where is your mother Phillip?"
Phillip shrugged.
"Dunno. Could be dead for all I know."
Lena swallowed hard. Her thoughts flashed back to her own mother, Elizabeth. She'd only been four when she'd lost her twenty-three years ago, but whenever the topic of mothers came up she had to fight to maintain her composure. Especially, when like today, she was already close to loosing control of her emotions. Fortunately, this was the point where Winslow (Winn, Lena reminded herself) appeared brandishing a pile of paper and some leaflets. He hung back, seeming to sense that Lena and Phillip were in the middle of something, but it was enough of a distraction that Lena was able to bring herself back to reality.
Clearing her throat, she turned her attention back to Phillip, who was once again plucking absentmindedly at the bed spread.
"Look Phillip, I'm going to give it to you straight. You have two options right now. The first, is you leave here and go to a facility where you can get clean, get back on your feet, and try to make something of your life. The other, is you leave here, go back to the street, and then end up back here or more likely dead."
Behind her Lena heard Winn take a deep breath, like he was gearing up to say something along the lines of "What Doctor Luthor is trying to say is-" but he was beaten to it by Phillip.
"I know doc."
He said it so quietly that Lena almost missed it against a back drop of talking, phones ringing and muffled screaming (Screaming? She'd have to investigate that). But he said it. That was her in. Her moment to pounce. So she did.
"We have information here about a clinic we can arrange to send you to. It's free, set up by the city to help people like you. But you should know that if you agree to go you can't just leave. You have to complete the course or there is no second chance of going back."
Phillip nodded his understanding, avoiding looking Lena in the eyes. There was a pause, and Lena forgot to breathe, waiting in anticipation for him to decline, to say it was too hard, that he was beyond saving.
But he didn't.
"Where do I sign?"
Winn handed Lena the paperwork as she pulled a pen from her pocket. The pen was a refillable fountain pen, the kind usually reserved for wood paneled business rooms and large desks that even larger men sat behind as they made life changing decisions. It was fitting, Lena mused, that such a pen would indeed be making a life changing decision. Not in the halls of power or a corner office of a prestigious hospital as her father had predicted, but instead in a small, tucked away corner of a hospital where people came as a last resort.
Phillip Bucknell held the pen gingerly in shaking hands, and signed a wobbly signature onto the dotted line. He gave Lena a thin lipped smile as he handed the pen back, and then sank into the pillows with his eyes closed.
Lena walked back to the ward hub with Winn to file the paperwork and call the relevant numbers. First the intake doctor at the rehab, then the nurse who saw to patient transfer, and finally to the ward clerk who would manage the file transfer. Each person just a cog in the machine, yet it was a machine that would hopefully save Phillip Bucknell's life.
Paperwork sorted, Lena turned back to Winn, only to find he'd been replaced by yet another nurse. This one Lena recognized at least. Jess was looking harried, which was not unusual seeing as she was the charge nurse. This often meant she was running (briskly walking when the health and safety representative was present) all over the emergency department, making sure none of the doctors accidentally killed any patients, and making making sure none of the patients killed any of the nurses (accidentally or otherwise).
"We've got incoming from a house fire. Sounds bad."
Jess was grim faced, not surprisingly as her long term girlfriend was a firefighter and tended to end up going into buildings just before they collapsed. Lena wondered whether Jess knew her girlfriend was involved, or if she just suspected. She hoped it was the latter, though too often it seemed to be the former.
"I'm sure she's fine." Lena tried to be reassuring but she wasn't sure if she came across that way. Expressing her emotions had never come naturally and there had been times in her childhood where it had been discouraged. Jess gave her a tight smile, before bustling off to make sure the intensive care intake bays were prepared. As this wasn't a full scale hospital, they wouldn't be able to keep anyone who was truly injured. Their job was to triage, treat those who could be treated, and the transfer out anyone who needed more care.
Lena watched long enough to make sure she wasn't needed to do anything, before walking to the ambulance bay to wait for the incoming rigs. She could hear the sirens in the distance getting closer, and towards the west a column of smoke indicated the location of the fire. Lena hoped nobody was too hurt. She knew the borough over that way was full of multistory townhouses that had once been opulent and the height of modernity. But the years had been unkind to the buildings, which some of the older residents of the area called "The Dames". Their once flawless plaster facades were now cracked, moss and ivy forcing their way outwards like pus from a wound, hinting at the hidden rot deep within. Those houses were so damp, Lena wondered how they'd ever managed to become dry enough to catch light.
Lost again, as she so often was, in thought she didn't hear the shout of warning, the screaming of brakes, the siren wailing.
She did feel the ambulance hit her though.