Page 4 of Clinically Awkward

“You’re on your own, mate,” I said cheerfully.

“Cowards,” Fitz muttered, standing up. He swayed slightly, caught himself on the table, and then followed Winnie out of the room with all the enthusiasm of a man walking to his own execution.

The door closed behind them.

We waited exactly three seconds before Gabriel said, “He’s going to die in there.”

“Probably,” Nathan agreed. “Should we send flowers to his funeral?”

“I’m not paying for flowers,” Hayden said. “He brought this on himself.”

“Administrative competence,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s going to haunt him for years.”

“If he survives the next ten minutes,” Gabriel said.

Julien, who had been standing frozen at the head of the table during the entire exchange, slowly sat back down. He looked at his tablet. Then at us. Then back at his tablet. “The schedule,” he said weakly.

“Right,” I said, taking pity on him. “What else have we got this week?”

Julien looked at me with something that might have been gratitude. Or possibly just exhaustion. With Julien, it was hard to tell. “Wednesday,” he said, pulling up his notes. “Potential emergency surgery. Subdural hematoma. Patient is being transferred from Massachusetts General.”

“Time?” I asked.

“TBD. Depends on the transfer.”

“I can cover if you need backup,” Gabriel offered.

“Appreciated.” Julien made a note on his tablet. “Thursday and Friday are relatively light. Just the usual appointments and follow-ups.”

“Any interesting cases?” Nathan asked.

“Define interesting.”

“Anything that’s not a routine physical or a prescription refill.”

Julien scrolled through his notes. “I’ve got a consult for a possible meningioma. Hayden’s got a patient with early-stage Alzheimer’s. Gabriel’s doing a developmental assessment on a three-year-old with speech delays.”

“Riveting,” Nathan said. “I’ve got a guy coming in who thinks he has lupus because he read about it on WebMD.”

“Does he have lupus?” I asked.

“He has anxiety and too much internet access.”

“The modern plague,” Hayden observed.

From the conference room down the hall, we heard Winnie’s voice rise to a volume that suggested Fitz was not, in fact, going to survive the next ten minutes.

“Should we intervene?” Gabriel asked, though he didn’t sound particularly concerned.

“Absolutely not,” I said. “He made his bed. Now he has to lie in it.”

“While being verbally eviscerated by a woman who could probably kill him with a stapler,” Nathan added.

“It’s what he deserves,” Hayden said.

Julien looked at all of us, his expression somewhere between exasperation and resignation. “You’re all terrible people.”

“We’re doctors,” I said. “It’s in the job description.”