The Exception by Lauren H. Mae
Seven
8:01. Precept is punctual… No.
Sonya checked the box on Ben… Trav’s evaluation form and allowed herself a satisfied smile. She took no small amount of delight in handing the liar his first official demerit. While she abhorred lateness, she did enjoy having her instincts proved right. If this was how he kicked off the first full day of his internship, failing him was a forgone conclusion.
His first half day hadn’t been much better. Trav was hands down the cockiest, most mansplaining know it all she’d ever met, and she worked with doctors. Between him questioning everything she did and telling her about a better way he’d learned in the army, she’d been one more “why not do it this way” away from making him wait for a space in ED to open up. She’d been so tense after her shift that she’d gone directly to the hospital gym to put in five miles on the treadmill and she still had to stress clean when she got home.
If the first six hours were any indication, she’d probably be able to perform surgery in her living room and run the D.C. Marathon by the time his rotation was over.
She’d just taken another sip of her very necessary hazelnut latte when she spotted her wayward intern strolling toward the nurse’s station. He seemed nonplussed as he made his way down the hallway, smiling at everyone he passed like he’d known them his entire life. He moved like the fact that he was now three minutes late was no big deal, and the sugar and caffeine flooding Sonya’s bloodstream couldn’t counteract her annoyance.
When he was standing less than a foot away from her, wearing that half grin that plucked her last nerve, she frowned and didn’t give him a chance to speak. “You’re late.”
That grin didn’t falter and she wondered if it was just his nature to be unbothered.
“Good morning to you too,” he joked, but when she narrowed her eyes in the universal sign of not having it, he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “There was a delay on the yellow line and...”
While she was well aware of how the DC metro system could be fine one minute and ten minutes late the next, it wasn’t her problem. Cutting him off, she stated, “Your excuses won’t make you any less late.”
He just stared at her, his navy scrubs making his eyes appear so much more blue than she remembered them being, and she internally kicked herself for noticing that detail before filing it away in her mental repository of unimportant information. It didn’t matter that he had pretty blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. All that mattered right then was that he was late, he didn’t seem to care that he was late, and both of those things were unacceptable.
Those midnight eyes traced across her face like he was trying to figure her out before his expression sobered and he nodded.
“It won’t happen again,” he promised.
She nodded once, glad that whatever he’d read in her features had stopped him from challenging her further.
Tucking the charts of the patients they’d be seeing that morning under her arm and grabbing her coffee with the other, she started moving toward the patient’s rooms. Eventually she heard his heavy footsteps as he rushed to catch up before falling into step next to her.
“As you know, this is the psychiatric floor and your curriculum requires a little bit more than what we typically handle. I’ve worked it out with the powers that be to allow us to spend mornings up here so I can attend to my patients and our afternoons will be spent assisting other wards,” she explained.
An unexpected bright side of babysitting a paramedic intern was the diverse experience they were required to have. She was a psychiatric nurse, but the NP after her name meant she was qualified to work anywhere in the hospital and this gave her the opportunity to see different kinds of patients experiencing issues that she hadn’t handled since her own internship. This had her excitement ready to bubble over at the deal she’d struck with hospital administration.
It was unorthodox and getting it approved had taken a little bit of arm twisting, but after reading through the preceptor paperwork, it was the only way to make sure every box was checked. She was nothing if not thorough.
“Sounds like I’ll get some excitement on this rotation after all,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“I signed up for an emergency rotation and you have to admit that psych is about as far away from that as you can get.”
Ugh. She should have known that’s how he’d see it.
“Is that why you want to be a paramedic? Excitement? Because we don’t need another hero complex roaming these halls.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” he argued with a little more bite than she’d anticipated. Regardless, it was her job to nip that kind of attitude in the bud.
“I have a knack for reading people and you’re an open book,” she countered. “I’m not here to make sure you have a good time, Intern Travis. I’m here to make sure you learn how to be a good paramedic so that you are able to save lives. It may not be as flashy as ED, but our psych patients can teach you a lot about what it takes to truly help people.”
To his credit, he looked chastened. “I know what you do here is important and I didn’t mean to imply otherwise,” he stammered.
Ignoring his half-ass apology, she said, “I need you to understand that psych takes priority no matter what is going on anywhere else. We’ll come back here if I’m called, no questions asked. Got it?”
“Got it.”
She stopped just outside of the door leading to the room where their first patient was waiting to be seen.
“Alright then. Let’s see what you can do when you’re not pretending to be a doctor.”
He groaned. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
She had to grin at his discomfort. “You only get one chance to make a first impression and unfortunately for you, that was yours.”
* * *
“Where the hell did you get this kid? You find him wandering the streets and decide to give him a needle?”
Sonya stifled a triumphant grin and glared at the back of Trav’s head. “He used to be an army medic, Ms. Wesley. I assure you he’s qualified to put in an IV. Right, intern?”
Trav answered through gritted teeth. “I’ve put in a hundred of them at least. While taking fire,” he mumbled.
The elderly woman let out a dramatic groan. “Wouldn’t know it from the way he handles that thing. Like a kid with a crayon.”
Trav’s jaw twitched as he prepared to stick Ms. Wesley for the third time. It was true that he was totally sucking at this, but Ms. Wesley had a reputation for dramatics. A lot of their patients did, but this one could be especially insulting on her bad days.
Sonya watched a bead of sweat form on her intern’s brow, taking far too much pleasure in the way the woman’s heckling got to him.
That will show him to come in here cocky as the star quarterback at homecoming.
“Ouch! You’re gonna blow my vein, kid.” Ms. Wesley swatted at him, and to his credit, he dodged her frail hand without dropping the IV. “How long are you going to let him torture me, Nurse Pope?”
Sonya shot her patient a gotcha look. The woman had been an inpatient there on several occasions. She suffered from schizophrenia and substance abuse, and each time she was admitted, she pretended she didn’t recognize any of the staff who knew her well. But she always lost the ruse by accidentally calling them by name.
Ms. Wesley turned away and began having a conversation about Intern Travis’s “slippery hands” with someone only she could see. That seemed to rattle him more.
Sonya stepped to her intern’s side, lifting Ms. Wesley’s arm, rail thin and wrinkled. “They’re not all twenty-something dudes who’ve recently passed a fitness test. This is a whole new ballgame, whether you admit it or not.”
He nodded, looking for the first time like he might be ready to admit defeat. “Her vein is rolling,” he said.
“And your angle is wrong.” She took the IV from him, showing him. “Thirty degrees or less. Always.” He nodded and reached for the needle, but she shook her head. “Sorry but three times is my limit. You’ll get another chance.”
“Thank God,” Ms. Wesley huffed. She turned to her invisible friend and pointed to her head. “He’s handsome, but not too quick.”
“That’s enough,” Sonya said, releasing the tourniquet and taping the IV line in place.
Trav pulled off his gloves and ran a hand through his hair.
She gestured for him to clean up the IV kit, patting his shoulder as she left him. “Better luck next time, soldier.”
* * *
Well, that went worse than he anticipated. Trav dug a pair of running shorts out of the gym bag he’d shoved in his locker this morning, before Nurse Pope had started his day with an ass-chewing. It’s not that he expected it to go well, given the rocky start to their relationship, but it was clear to him now that when he’d reminded her this was her opportunity to pay him back, she’d taken it seriously.
He folded his scrubs, laying them neatly on the top of his locker, and sat on a bench to lace up his sneakers. The hospital had a series of trails behind it that a lot of the staff used for running, and he needed to break a good sweat to work off some of this tension.
He’d hated running before boot camp. Funny how the different phases of your life change you. Now he looked forward to the chance to push himself to his limits, the only competition being his own discomfort.
He was pulling on a t-shirt when the other student intern on rotation came into the locker room, dropping his backpack with a huff.
“Hey, man.” Trav raised a hand over his shoulder. “Rough first day?”
Elliot was late-twenties, a few years younger than Trav but older than the rest of the barely-legal kids in his class. Trav had made a mental note at orientation to introduce himself. Maybe they could grab a beer or something. Bond over the shared misery of being the two old guys.
Elliot raised an eyebrow and gave a chuckle Trav wasn’t completely sure wasn’t meant to be condescending. “This isn’t the first day of kindergarten,” he said. “I didn’t expect it to be easy.”
“Yeah. Of course.” Trav ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. It was a habit he’d all but broken when his hair was buzzed, but it seemed like that nervous tic was back full force. “How’s your preceptor?”
“Professional.”
“Cool.” So Elliot wasn’t a conversationalist. That was fine. He’d dealt with his share of stoic grunts that passed for replies. He’d never had a problem carrying a conversation. That was partly how he’d climbed the ranks so quickly—his ability to relate to the other guys, get them to open up.
“Mine’s a hard ass, man,” he said, whistling. “I’ll be lucky if I make it through the semester with my balls intact.”
Elliot opened his locker and pulled out a light jacket, shrugging it on while he looked Trav up and down. “Look, I don’t know if you were hoping for a pal to gossip with, but I didn’t make it this far to get dragged down by someone else’s unprofessionalism. If you want to vent, call one of your girlfriends.”
Okay, so Elliot’s a dick.
“I wasn’t gossiping—”
“This is a competitive internship. If you can’t hack it, maybe bow out so someone else can take your slot.” Elliot closed his locker and slipped on his back pack. “Good luck,” he said, leaving Trav alone.
What the fuck was that?
Adrenaline pumped through him. Part of him wanted to follow that little shit and give him his own speech about not being an asshat, but another part wondered if Elliot was right. Maybe he couldn’t hack it. He was standing in the locker room, chest tight and hands shaking because of what amounted to a bad day at school.
Wouldn’t that be something, to come home from a literal warzone only to be taken out by a pretty nurse and a tough course load?
No. That was just his dad getting in his head. And Nurse Pope PMHNP. And some weird, juvenile response to misreading the room and being embarrassed. He had a lot to learn. Readjustment wasn’t always smooth, he knew this, but it still made him feel unprepared and like his flank was exposed. He slammed his locker shut and rolled his shoulders.
“Shake it off, Trav.”
He was a likeable guy, damn it. Today he was going to run until he puked. Tomorrow he’d work on winning hearts and minds.