"I have been busy," Maxwell says. "The merged office has increased my caseload as I’ve benefited from exposure to the Trauma ward.”
"Excuses are for interns, Maxwell," she snaps. "And look at you. You look tired. Are you sleeping? Or is the noise from...thatkeeping you awake?"
She points at my desk again.
"Dr. O'Connell is very quiet," Maxwell lies.
"Please," she scoffs. "Look at him, Maxwell. He is unpolished. He is cluttered. He is exactly the kind of distraction you cannot afford right now. I will speak to Anthony. We will get you moved to a private suite on the Neuro floor. You shouldn't be down here in the mud."
I stay silent. I want to see what he does.
In the Sim Lab, he took control. In the supply closet, he lost control. But here? In front of the architect of his neuroses?
Maxwell looks at his mother. Then he looks at me.
I’m standing there, covered in another man’s blood, holding a bag of spicy chips, looking like the antithesis of everything the York family stands for.
Maxwell straightens his tie. He takes a step toward me. Not away. toward.
"I am not moving," Maxwell says.
Catherine freezes. "Excuse me?"
"I am staying in this office," Maxwell says.His voice is gaining strength. It’s the voice he uses in the OR. "And Dr. O'Connell is not a distraction."
"Maxwell, be serious. He is?—"
"He is the finest Trauma surgeon in this state," Maxwell interrupts.
The silence that follows is deafening. Even the vent seems to stop rattling.
Maxwell looks his mother dead in the eye.
"The mess you see is a byproduct of saving lives that no one else could save," Maxwell says. "Dr. O'Connell does the work that keeps this hospital running. I am lucky to work with him. And I would appreciate it if you showed him the respect he has earned."
I stare at him. My heart does a slow, heavy thud against my ribs.
He defended me. He stood up to the Ice Queen and defended the messy, broken soldier.
Catherine looks like she just swallowed a lemon. Her mouth opens, then closes. She realizes, perhaps for the first time, that her control is slipping.
"I see," she says coldly. She picks up her purse. "Well. If you are determined to wallow, I suppose I cannot stop you. But don't expect me to visit this... kennel... again."
She walks to the door. She pauses, looking at me one last time.
"Do try to wash, Dr. O'Connell," she says. "You smell like a butcher shop."
And then she is gone.
The door clicks shut.
The silence stretches out.
Maxwell sags. The steel leaves his spine, and he drops his head into his hands. He looks exhausted.
"I need a drink," he muffles into hispalms.
I put the chips down. I walk over to my desk. I open the bottom drawer—the "Exclusion Zone" drawer. I pull out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. One is a chipped mug that saysWorld’s Okayest Doctor. The other is a clean, crystal tumbler I stole from the Admin lounge.
