Chapter Text
Rain droplets hit your window as the wind quietly hummed along. A storm was picking up outside the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Your clock ticked on the wall, it was nearing 11 pm as you read through patient files. The same old, same old always.
Your workday had already ended hours ago but you couldn’t seem to get up and leave your office. Nobody was waiting for you at home anyway, what was a few more minutes? The sad, grey apartment could wait for you. You wondered if you even had groceries in your kitchen, most likely not.
You had a stack of patient files in front you and now given your new position, Dr. Cuddy deserved to know you were grateful for the opportunity. You had been made head of the psychology department at PPTH mere days ago due to the role opening up all of a sudden. Time had been limited so you had only gotten a crash course on how to work as the leader of such group.
But so far everything had been going swimmingly. You had gotten used to your life at Princeton-Plainsboro quickly despite never having been here before. Back at your old hospital, you had worked hard to rise in their psychology department and had shadowed many superiors. On paper, you were qualified. Your subordinates are hardworking, gracious and kind, …still psychology majors though. You couldn’t help but feel the curiosity radiating off them because of their new, bit odd superior.
You were nice, at least you’d like to think so, but quite introverted. You didn’t like to use the words socially anxious but . . . it fit. You avoid contact with people when possible but were sure you could, . . . hopefully . . . , assert your authority if needed. Being a department head, you had to be ready for it.
With your ink pen in hand, you wrote down important dates in your calendar, such as a department budget meeting with Cuddy and the committee. Though your hand and thoughts started to wander as time ran by. Soon enough it just turned into sketching people and places you’d seen. New Jersey as a state was a whole new place for you as a native New Yorker, much to draw.
Though you hadn’t had much of a chance to see the city apart from apartment hunting, it seemed okay enough. Nothing special but definitely calmer than New York, which is ideal. The loud scene of the million city wasn’t exactly a calling for you. There were no actual reasons to even stay there despite the job, sometimes you wondered why you had stayed so many years extra —
oh. The ink ran out.
You look up and see that it’s already midnight. The storm outside had quieted along with the hospital. All workers have most likely filed out by now. You look down and see a nice, detailed sketch of your new office on the page of your calendar. Along with it you had black smudges, your pen’s warnings of it soon running out. You could barely make out the intended dates.
You sigh and finally push yourself up and off your chair. You brush the sweat off your forehead that had formed at some point. On the way out, you could throw the ink pen out and grab a new one from the reception.
As you made your way the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro, you pass through the oncology suite as a shortcut. You see all the patients sleeping patiently and it feels sort of… calming. They all know what’s possibly coming and yet are able to sleep peacefully. Meanwhile you weren’t even dying but stress about everything anyway. Funny how life is.
Your low heels quietly click against the hospital’s tile flooring as you make your way through the quarters. Quiet snoring filled the halls, the occasional cough startled you at times. Suddenly you stop as you think you hear mumbling. You blink twice. Is this a horror movie?
You turn your head and see a boy, all alone, standing behind you. He’s young, maybe 8 years old with blond hair that caught the iota of light that seeped through the windows. He looked… distressed.
“Hello? Is something wrong?” You ask the boy. He responds by suddenly hugging you, squeezing your legs hard as his head is only to your waist. You hear him sniffling. He feels very cold to the touch, almost freezing, which makes you want to rush and get him back to bed quickly. You brush your fingers through his hair, soft as silk.
When he lets go, you crouch down to his level. His blue, ocean eyes glimmering with the tears shed. “Can you read me a bedtime story?” the boy asks quietly. You look at him. You don’t know what he’s dignosed with, how long he may have left. This wasn’t a question.
You end up at his bedside. His name is Weston Myers and it turns out he’s actually 9 years old. You had to search the cabinets for a storybook to read, after all, you were neither a pediatric doctor nor an oncologist and had no idea where everything was kept. In addition to the aforementioned, you were new at this hospital so rummaging through others’ belongings wouldn’t look too good.
You eventually found a children’s book tucked away in a dresser and return to his side. He weakly smiled as you turn on the low lamp sat on his nightstand. You read quietly in order not to wake anyone else up, which made you realise how alone this boy truly was. There were no other children here, only people older than him. There were no playgrounds here, no sandboxes to build castles in. Nothing to make him feel as young as he is.
You keep reading until you hear his breathing slow down. You turn off the lamp.
You try to move but realise he has his fingers tangled with yours and it makes your heart warm. It was way past midnight now. You feel your eyes shutting and try to resist but to no avail. You were tired too. The cold floor beneath you knees as you kneeled next to his bed hardly bothered you anymore. He slept peacefully as you held his hand and the book with your other, lightly sleeping. He clearly didn't want to be left alone like this, alone at a hospital, no less an oncology suite.
---
“Hello, Dr…?”
You jump up as the lights flick on. Is it morning already? You couldn't immediately remember where you were. The figure places a hand on your shoulder since you probably looked frightened.
You had fallen asleep at his bedside, back against the nightstand and with the child holding your hand. Your white lab coat was still on so that’s probably how the voice knew to call you doctor. The coat had acted as a blanket well enough.
“Carrington,” you respond and open your eyes. Looking like a deer in headlights as your eyes adjust to the light.
Leaning down to look at you stands a brown-eyed brunet man with a long white lab coat. Another doctor, great. He looked somewhat concerned as he rightly should be. This is surely an amazing first impression. Hear the sarcastic undertone.
He offers his hand, which you take. A warm smile blossoms onto his face.
“Thank you, Dr.. ?” You steal an awkward glance at him. He looks about your age, tired and definitely not wondering why you’d been sleeping at the bedside of this patient... probably his patient.
“Wilson, James Wilson,” He answers, imitating James Bond.
“Okay, hi . . .” You wanted to escape this interaction quickly but had to explain yourself, “I was here overtime and he asked me to read a bedtime story. Here’s the book i stole,” Awesome.
“Oh!” He takes the book and while he looks down at it, you slip away.
You get a few steps out before he turns around. You hear him turning on his feet.
“Oh! Bye then!” You look back and see him waving, smiling. His smile was so warm, the world stilled for a second. You make eye contact and smile back briefly but keep going. You take another look back when he’s no longer watching you. You turn your gaze towards Weston, who . . .
His ECG has flatlined.
---
You step outside the hospital, trying to recover the memory of where you parked your car. Thank god today was a day-off, you’d been working hard your first days on the job so there was no need to be present unless something difficult came up. After digging in your bag for it, you push the button on your carkeys and it lights up in the distance. You stride over to it, the weather now nice and sunny, no evidence of last night’s storm. The wind flowed calmly and the birds had come out.
Your mind recalls back to Weston the night before and as you’d concluded then and now confirmed, he had been at the very end of his life when he came to you. You’d never been more grateful to have no time limit. You got to hold his hand into the afterlife and he got to go peacefully. Even though you had just met him, it felt good to not let him go alone. Still, he did die with a stranger.
He had been ice cold to the touch, voice weak and strapped to the machines. You wondered how much of his strength he used to talk to you, hug you. You wish you could’ve done something for him. Maybe if you were someone else, you could’ve helped.
Hopefully his family is alright.
You start to wrangle your car door open, it wouldn't budge. Why did you even pay this much for a car this dysfunctional? A moment of wrangling the handle passes before you jump a little as you hear another car door shut behind you.
“Hey, nutcase!” A man’s voice booming sends chills down your spine. Maybe the storm was back.