Ant can eat your cancer (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} doyouasolid) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} musingslogs,@ 2011-03-08 15:15:00 |
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What: FLASHBACK(ish) - A chance meeting of two people who are much older than they look.
When: Ages ago (okay, a few years. At least 8)
Where: The ICU at a hospital back in Musings
The halls were mostly dark when Ant slipped out of the trauma ward under the pretense of a cup of coffee. As if he needed another cup; one more and his hands would be shaking so badly he wouldn't be able to get a line in an incoming, let alone keep them steady enough to do what he planned. Nerves, he knew; he always got twitchy beforehand, as if his conscience felt the need to protest just to clear itself. It steadied once he was there, since he knew what he was doing was right, but it seldom happened that he wasn't a bit of a mess beforehand. Easily dismissed this late though; it was a rare nurse who wasn't a little on edge in the wee hours.
He found his way easily enough, winding down the labyrinth of hallways that after four months he knew like the back of his own hand until he finally arrived at a set of doors adorned with a simple green stripe. ICU. A light press against metal and they swung open to admit him; security had been harping for ages about putting in a card reader, but the status had remained quo on this particular issue, the older doctors pitching a hissy fit and steadfastly refusing the advance of technology. Which was ironic given the fit they'd thrown over the department chair's refusal to get them a top-of-the-line MRI to replace the model they had (5 years old and works like a charm, if it ain't broke don't change it, he'd said), but that was doctors for you.
Some more wandering brought him to the bed of a small, shrivelled man buried in tubes and whining machines, clinging to life through rapidly waning determination. The Arrangement had been made earlier in the week, so there was nothing to do now but follow through. The lanky man, though he looked little more than a boy even now, reached into the pocket of his scrubs and withdrew a small syringe before leaning over the bed. He gave the man a tap on the shoulder, disturbing him from whatever sleep he may have finally managed, and presented the instrument for his inspection. He nodded in confirmation, haggard expression contorting into a semblance of a relieved smile. It was all Ant needed; comforting pat, then needle to IV line and plunger depressed; there was no need to check the room, or the hall, the unit was empty except for beds filled with patients who had more important things to do than worry about the nurse who wasn't supposed to be there. Or it had been last he'd checked, anyway.