Chapter Text
A sense of heavy foreboding hangs over Dr. Edega as he pores over patient intake forms.
His hands are shaking. His hands don’t shake. He’s a surgeon, for God’s sake. The best in the city, approaching the best in the state. He performs life-saving operations without flinching. A prodigy of his caliber is above such weakness. So why are his hands shaking?
He heaves a sigh and runs a hand down his face. The sound turns strangled halfway through, and he has to bite his lip to force it back down. His hands are still shaking. His body is reacting like it’s in mortal danger. He’s in his office, alone, with the door locked and windows shuttered. Every second he spends in such an absurd state of panic is a second damned to eternal insignificance. But instead of taking control and putting an end to this nonsense, as any logical mind would do, the weight of regulating his composure only quickens his pulse.
So what, he’s finally able to reason? So what if his body is betraying him? He can still get his work done. He isn’t so incompetent that a mild stress reaction can put him out of commission. So he grabs his clipboard, and he reads the forms, like he’s done every day for innumerable years of his life, and today is no different.
Except, something’s wrong. His chest clenches, squeezes, and refuses to let go. Someone less educated might describe the sensation as his heart being wrung or twisted. The assertion that an organ could be so flexible is outlandish, but for once, he’s at least able to understand where the misconception could have come from. And every time the patient’s name crosses his line of sight, the feeling jolts through his system again.
The man in that room cannot be Mark Booker. There’s no resemblance. Mark — the Mark he built his career with — has dainty features and bright eyes. He’s uptight about his posture and the position of his glasses on his nose. He lifts any mood with his presence alone. The man in that room looked practically battleworn, and Dr. Edega has seen faces less pale and sunken in the morgue. It’s simply unfathomable that someone could change so much in so little time.
And yet, his familiarity with the records room could only come from a former employee. The primal terror that surged through his gaze when their eyes met could only come from recognition. Does that mean he acknowledges his wrongdoings, then? Has he finally returned to apologize for all the chaos he caused by walking out in the middle of a staff shortage without so much as proper notice?
Feelings of disgust settle into his chest, in seeming rebellion to his desire for vindication. Why? It’s perfectly reasonable to want answers from the man who abandoned him after everything they had endured together. But he isn’t even the only one. Dr. Edega almost had an investigation launched against him, with the amount of employees that left under his management. As if their shortcomings were reflective of his performance. And just when he thought he had finally found the perfect solution…
A faint cracking clears the thick fog in Dr. Edega’s mind. His gaze snaps to its source: the pen he’s holding, bent awkwardly between snow-white knuckles. He hadn’t even realized he tightened his grip. He releases the tension in his body through an exhale, and feels himself slump in his seat like a ragdoll. At least this time, the dramatic display of rage is somewhat warranted, even if unproductive.
He can’t remember the last time a treatment went as disastrously as today. And it could have been even worse, had Ada Paige’s baffling ineptitude lasted any longer than it did. Never in his life has Dr. Edega heard of a doctor falling asleep on the job, especially not someone with such ceaseless drive as her, and she owes it to this hospital to get her act together. Such a sentiment should not be considered outrageous, especially with her already-subpar performance as of late.
So why did the intern take her side?
The intern, who works around the clock, who doesn’t stop until they’ve perfected their treatment. A pinnacle of performance, and more importantly, budding proof that the Rhythm Doctor program will pioneer a new era of medicine. They’re everything Dr. Edega could ask for, and everything the others should look up to. So why would they risk the safety of a patient — of Mark — just to prove some point? When they could have done it in their sleep otherwise? When they only acted out in the face of their coworker looking inferior beside them?
They’re going to leave, too. Them, and Paige, and Ian, and Mark, until his career collapses around him and he becomes trapped beneath the rubble. That much has become clear to him. But he doesn’t know why.
The fear has gripped him so heavily now that he’s resting his head on his hands, elbows on his desk, breathing through his teeth so nobody hears his trembling turmoil. Situations like these are exactly what the rhythm defibrillation method should be for, but it doesn’t work on him. At least, it didn’t seem like it would, because it read his heart all wrong. It only showed five beats instead of seven. It wouldn’t do this for anyone else. It sits on the long list of “bugs” for Ian to figure out, that distract him from his work on the Miracle Defibrillator. If he’s made any progress towards a solution, Dr. Edega is none the wiser.
But Mark, his heart was the same. The treatment went through, but was ineffective. He’s here because something is seriously wrong with him, because he knows he doesn’t have much time left if something isn’t done. And if their situations are so similar, and if he doesn’t get the Miracle Defibrillator working soon, then he and Mark…
A scream bubbles up in Dr. Edega’s throat. Just in time, in complete desperation, he’s able to bite down on the edge of his clipboard before it escapes. A small, high-pitched noise worms its way out, but nothing else. The clenching of his muscles and pressure against his gums bring him back to his senses, enough to lean back in his chair and grumble about the dents he put into the nice masonite.
At least he finally feels like himself again. This pathetic display was nothing more than a momentary distraction. He will resume his work, and he will see to it that the Rhythm Doctor program achieves its fullest potential, because he’s Dr. Gabriel Edega.
He snatches a new clipboard and pen. He signs the intake forms. He turns over to his cluttered schedule pinned to the wall. This week, he will monitor the intern’s performance for any more signs of foul play. He will shift Ian’s main priority to the Miracle Defibrillator. And… he will have to speak with Paige. As much as he already knows what she will say, because her honesty is so predictable. She will push the importance of “patient-focused care”, as if that hasn’t already wasted them enough time. But he’ll find a way to get his point across.
He will see the Miracle Defibrillator to completion, no matter what.