WHO: Charlie West and Rory Everett WHAT: Doctoring WHERE: Library infirmary WHEN: Afternoon, February 13 RATING: Medium? STATUS: In Progress
There were very few surgical procedures that Rory actually did before the world ended. She had only started her residency, and while she learned a thing or two about using a scalpel, there were days when she felt fucking gypped. She'd removed a bullet a while back, took out a kid's appendix, but her entire academic career had prepared her to be a scalpel junkie, strung out on the high of surgery, and now?
Now she was a glorified seamstress.
It wasn't like she minded helping people. As a doctor, it was second nature to want to help. But the part of her that remembered how she was supposed to be performing cool surgeries on a daily basis felt a little peeved when an entire morning went by and her most intense medical moment involved placing a Hello Kitty band-aid on a kid's forehead after she took a tumble while playing. It was ridiculous, really, when she thought about it. Seven years of school, and, for the most part, she was either kissing boo-boos or stitching up the proof of other people's recklessness.
Something about a New York winter seemed to be making it more difficult to deal with all this apocalypse bullshit. Too much drinking, too much fighting, too much general stupidity.
Maybe it was having a kid, maybe that kept her from getting stir-crazy as the days got shorter and the air got more and more bitter. They were living in a wind tunnel of a city, and it was downright raw more days than now. Whatever the reason for her firm grip on reality, Rory was tired. She wanted a break from stitches, Jesus Christ, but that was too much to ask for, and she knew it. All the same, once she ushered away a grown man with the sniffles, Rory hopped onto the makeshift exam table and stubbornly stretched out, eyes closed.
If someone wanted her, they could bleed on her for attention, just like Liam had.