Spilling Guts

Part 82 - Overworked

Balcuwitz had stepped away from the medical room to give Will and Louis privacy to talk things over, if they felt like it. Five minutes tops. Enough time for him to go to the break room for a cup of instant hot chocolate. He had a feeling his Monday would be a long one.

As he passed Main Tech, he saw Megan and Teegan chatting with Beni and Reese. In particular, Reese keeping Beni between himself and the women. Probably warding off any suggestion of another combat demonstration. All four stood with their jackets on and bags and satchels in hand, on their way out but caught by the conversational curse of the "Midwest goodbye". Beni and Reese's inboxes were empty, as well as Will's. An apology for the "Billy" incident. Balcuwitz had heard of it second hand from Rachel and Cetz.

In the break room, Balcuwitz made his hot chocolate and then dusted it with a mix of nutmeg, cinnamon, and cayenne from a repurposed salt shaker in the shape of a little scorched marshmallow. A gift from Lily to remind them of their first conversation.

Warmed by the chocolate, and the memory, Balcuwitz made his way back up the stairs and turned a corner.

Ten minutes later...

Milton, you've passed this hallway twice. Balcuwitz was tempted to mark the walls with his pen so he could keep track of where he'd been. Had I know I would have to go beyond my usual territory of my own office, I would have brought chalk to mark my way, or a trail of breadcrumbs.

The only benefit to getting lost was the ability to sip and enjoy his hot chocolate in peace and on the move. Though Balcuwitz blamed the drink for distracting him in the first place when he was supposed to be back with his patients and guiding them through whatever emotional knot they talked themselves into. Instead he was trudging the halls holding an empty mug stained with chocolate and spice dregs.

Mind in a fuzz, and in need of direction, he knocked on the door nearest to him, hoping it was occupied.

A familiar, female voice called out. "Come in."

"Oh." Balcuwitz glanced at the plaque by the door. Dr. Rachel Sampson. M.D., P.S.

Her office is only two doors down from mine. Balcuwitz leaned back and looked down the hallway. The curl of scrap paper with his name on it stuck out from the plaque next to his own office door. Guess I wasn't as lost as I thought.

"Are you coming in?" Rachel called.

Well, as long as I'm being invited. I did make a note to talk to Rachel at some point. Will and Louis are mature adults. They can handle being alone with each other.

Mostly.

Balcuwitz opened the door.

***

Rachel glanced up from her scribbles on a scrap sheet of paper; ideas for expanding and redefining the punching test. Ideas she hoped could smooth over any opposition with the committee; because not all of them liked dried pineapple as a bribe. Balcuwitz stood half in the door.

"Hello."

"Evening," said Rachel. Because anytime after six, when she was supposed to go home most days, was evening to her. "I would ask how the session went, but that would be confidential."

"Yes," said Balcuwitz. "But you would also have to ask Will and Louis. They are the ones that would gain the most from it."

"I think we would all gain something if they functioned better. Are you here to talk over Louis' report or...?"

"I'm here to talk to you," said Balcuwitz. He stepped further into the room, hand still on the door handle. "If you'd like?"

Oh, thought Rachel. Time for the second interrogation.

Rachel motioned Balcuwitz forward and the door closed with a click.

"I'm guessing you saw something that triggered this... talk." To Rachel, "talk" sounded better than "intervention". She motioned for him to sit on the plush backed chair in front of her desk.

Unlike Rachel's labs; sterile white, steel, and black countertops, her office was warmed by large wooden bookcases full of medical journals, tomes, and a random assortment of metal orreries that could be set into perpetual motion with a tap of a finger. The desk, a large, scratched, wooden thing of side filigrees worthy of a presidential office, sat in the room like a bison that took a nap in the middle of the road and decided to stay there. It had belonged to her predecessor, and at the time of Rachel's advancement, had been too heavy to move out.

Balcuwitz settled into the chair and cut to the chase. "You feel responsible."

"Will had mentioned before he wasn't well. Even Cetz saw he was off last week." Rachel set her pencil down with a plink on the wooden desk. "You read through Louis' report. I thought it would be obvious."

"Not actually a mind reader," said Balcuwitz. "But it's a bit deeper than that with you."

Rachel swallowed with a dry click of her throat, wishing for coffee or one of the candies Balcuwitz had become known for when he had sessions. She almost wished they were talking in his office instead of hers. At least then she could try out his leather couch that would be the envy of everyone assigned a cot during lockdowns.

"I knew beforehand," said Rachel, her mind spinning towards the truth like the orreries behind her. "I used that device on Will thinking of the short term goal, and not the long term effects. I knew there was a correlation between the Neckbrace and some of the victims having sleep problems back when we retrieved the device. I ignored it. Now Will is paying the price. That was on me and my own shortsightedness."

"Was using the device the best option at the time?" asked Balcuwitz.

"I want to say yes. But on reflection I think it was just the quickest, and the easiest, and the one I wanted to use the most." Rachel tugged at the elastic keeping up the majority of her hair until it came loose and she was able to dig her fingers into her aching scalp. "I was... curious. To how well it would work. I remember thinking it was a waste that Will wasn't in a BT when I put the Neckbrace on him. So I could get a full scan of what was going on.

"I'm curious about a lot of things, I want to know how things work. Part of why I was hired here. But sometimes I'm putting that need for answers too close to the line of ethics. I'm not as bad as Doctor Harrison, but I know I could be given the right scenario." Rachel let the weight of her head lean into her hands, proper her up to stare at the scribbles on her scrap paper. Her effort to make things right.

"Hindsight maybe be twenty-twenty," said Balcuwitz. "But the present can frame it with distorted lenses. You feel like because you have a higher knowledge of certain things that you should be responsible. You should be, if it is in your capacity. But when you have to hold the reins of multiple responsibilities, they get hard to hold.

"From what I've seen, you have malicious intent only on those that have wronged you. The only way you could have considered the consequences of using the Devil's Neckbrace on Will was if you were trained to be a futurist on ethics. And most of them are stationed in Watch Three or upstairs."

Rachel looked up from her rough sketch of the pressure plate. "You don't think I should worry about it?"

"No, I think you should worry about it. Knowing how a mind or body works means knowing how to easily take it apart. It's an ethical and moral responsibility that all doctors face and the answer will not be the same every time. Hence why our work is called "practice"." Balcuwitz leaned forward. "You also need to delegate more. Cetz and I were ready, willing, and able to come down to the labs and help you with Will. Ask, and those around you will be willing to do more than move bodies."

Rachel let out a hissing, self-deprecating laugh. "I knew one day you'd say I was overworked to my face."