Page 9 of Halo

Crisis averted. For now.

After explaining to the surgeons about what happened, they were pretty pissed—not necessarily at me, but the fact that it even had to happen. It’s rare; what I was forced to do is much rarer, and unfortunately, it’s going to take some time for her body to recover from this.

Which means no surgery today.

Eugene takes over ventilation, but I remain at Ainsley’s side as she peacefully sleeps. Tucking a curl back into her surgical bonnet. A lone tear slowly trails across her temple and into her hairline. My thumb—the one she's held twice—quickly catches it, wiping it away.

While I know I saved her life, I'm disappointed. No one is at fault … but she was in my care, and that alone gnaws at me. That alone makes me wish there was something—anything—I could've done to avoid this. She's already tackled so much; she didn't need this.

I’m so sorry, kid. I’m so sorry I let you down.

“You okay, Crawford?” Eugene pats me on the shoulder.

I croak out a yes—quickly clearing my throat. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Because I can—”

I nod, placating him with a grin. “I’m fine. Just … give me a second.”

***

The physician’s lounge is empty, the lights dim save for a few emergency lights. Most of the day surgery cases are finished, those doctors are already home with their loved ones while the on-call team takes over and makes rounds.

And then there's me.

Still here.

I keep telling myself just five more minutes, but sitting here in the dark as a warm September storm blows in is strangely therapeutic. It's like a mirror to my melancholy, like the universe showing sympathy to my shit-show of a day.

I could've lost her. Technically, I can lose any patient any day, and any life lost is a tragedy.

But this is her. I could've lost Ainsley, a little girl who's presence taught me that maybe I'm not such a shit-person, that maybe there is some good in me somewhere.

The St. Jameses were naturally grateful, singing my praises of saving their baby girl.

So why am I so—I don't know—defeated? This doesn’t feel like a win.

At least, I don’t feel like a winner.

The lounge door swings open. A distinct gait in leather loafers that I have heard since medical school heads toward me. The couch shifts under his weight as he takes a seat next to me. He doesn't rush into a conversation—of my best friends, he's the quiet intuitive one. Thoughtful. Wise. It's what makes him a good doctor and a pretty amazing Chief of Medicine.

“I thought you'd be home by now,” I break the silence. “Is your wife on-call tonight?”

Jonathan gives a lopsided grin. “Took her and the nightshift crew some coffee. Lots of babies coming tonight.”

“Ah.” I nod. “I'd imagine so with this storm rollin’ in.”

We chuckle, falling back into comfortable silence.

“You … wanna talk about it?” Jonathan asks.

I fold my hands, resting them casually in my lap. “Not really.”

He rests a hand on my shoulder. “You saved a life. Don't forget that.”

“I cric’d a kid.” I exhale heavily, slouching back. “A fucking kid, man—”

“Which must’ve been awful,” Jonathan states, his words laced with sympathy. “These little ones shouldn’t have to face such awful complications.”