Shattered on the Ground

A patient's history is as important as their symptoms. It's what helps us decide if heartburn's a heart attack, if a headache's a tumor. Sometimes patients will try to rewrite their own histories. They'll claim they don't smoke or forget to mention certain drugs, which in surgery can be the kiss of death.

“Talk to me Reese,” Regan was trying desperately to keep pace with her fast moving friend. Silence had fallen like heavy snow upon the group when Reese admitted she still had feelings for Nixon. It was to queue the cliché when their pagers broke the silence and they had all raced for the door; which of course led them here; ER duty, again.

“There isn’t anything to talk about, Regan.” Reese sighed as she tucked the clipboard under her arm and ran a hand through her caramel locks. “I said what I needed to say.”

“Reese, hunny, I know you. You’re favorite thing to do is ignore the problem. You ignore everything until it gets too much to handle.”

“That’s not true,” Reese replied dryly. “If it were true I would suck as a doctor.”

“No,” Regan countered as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You just suck at communication.”

We can ignore it all we want.

“Excuse me?” Reese froze wheeling around to face her friend in mock shock.

“I’m sorry but its true,” The girl sighed. In truth Regan had been trying to bring herself to talk to Reese for months about it. Regan knew that there were things that Reese just didn’t want to deal with but neither friend could have imagined Reese’s past coming back into her life. “You’re going to pretend nothing is wrong until this blows up aren’t you?”

“Until what blows up?”

“Take your pick,” Regan snorted. “There’s the fact that Chris, the closest thing you have to a brother and your dead sister’s boyfriend, is here. There’s the whole situation with Nixon, who in my opinion, does not seem like the type of person that easily takes to being blown off. Of course don’t forget that you’re still in love with the guy while you’re dating one of the top surgeons in this hospital!” Regan hissed.

“Keep your voice down would you?” Reese snapped before she guided her friend into an empty room, out of range of noisy interns. “First of all, I hardly know Chris anymore and I have nothing to say to him. Secondly, Nixon has always been a major pain in the ass; it isn’t some new characteristic of his—being a pestering annoyance to society has always been his forte. Lastly, I am not in love with Nixon. Do you know how easily it is to confuse love for hate?”

“You don’t hate Nixon, Reese.” Regan stated matter-of-factly. “The fact that you think its easy to confuse love for hate is concerning enough."

But our history, eventually, always comes back to haunt us.

“You don’t even know Nixon!” Reese argued defensively. She couldn’t understand why her best friend wouldn’t let it go. Why did Regan even care?
Reese glared at Regan for a moment before she closed her eyes tiredly. “I’ve known Nixon since I was thirteen.” Reese sighed and looked away. A part of her always knew that this day would come. Eventually Reese would have to own up to her feelings and face her past. But of course, this was easier said then done.

“Uh Reese…”

Some people believe that without history our lives amount to nothing.

“Reggie, there will always be a part of me that loves Nixon. He was one of the highlights of my teen years. We have history, its not like we’ll never have some kind of connection. But despite all of that I am not in love with him. Not after what he did anyway.”

“Reese,” Regan’s voice was barely more than a whisper and it was then that Reese realized that her friend had not been watching her throughout her rant but at something behind her.

Dread instantly filled Reese, she knew without turning around what, or rather who, was behind her. Reese closed her eyes trying to calm her now erratic heart as her nerves became a livewire. Slowly Reese turned to see Chris standing behind her in the middle of the waiting room.

“Oh please,” he began off handedly. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Reese was at a loss of words. Part of her was lightheaded with relief that it hadn’t been Nixon behind her but the other part of her was just exhausted. Reese had never meant to alienate herself from Chris, it was the last thing she had wanted. But time had changed them both and as Reese stared at Chris now she could barely recognize the man she had always assumed would one day become her brother.

“I, um, I’m going to let you two talk.” Regan mumbled before shuffling out of the room.

Neither Reese nor Chris spoke, choosing to simply stare at each other instead. That of course just unnerved Reese even more. It bothered Reese that she was nervous around Chris—she had never been nervous around this man in the past.

“You wanted to speak to me?” Reese prompted finally when the silence finally grew suffocating.

“Yeah, I, uh, I did.” Chris ran a hand through his his hair absently—a nervous habit she remembered him possessing. Maybe Chris hadn’t changed as much as she had initially thought. “But now I don’t even know what to say.” He mumbled in an afterthought.

At some point we all have to choose. Do we fall back on what we know, or step forward into something new.

“Then don’t say it.” She suggested easily. She suddenly remembered the clipboard wedged under her arm and glanced down at the room number of the faceless patient waiting for her. “I have a job to do.”

“Reese wait,” He reached out and grabbed her elbow softly. Reese stopped, her back to him, and her hand poised on the door handle. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” She whispered softly before she yanked the door open and slipped through it.

“Ashley would be proud.” He murmured softly before the door closed behind her. Chris never saw the tears brim in her eyes as she moved purposely through the hallway, making her way to the patient’s room she’d been assigned.

It's hard not to be haunted by our past.

Reese took a deep breath to compose herself before she opened the examining room door and instantly regretted it.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Reese sighed hanging her head briefly before letting the door close behind her.

“I needed to talk to you—apparently that can only happen when I’m injured.”

Reese shook her head, more annoyed at the moment than anything else. She glanced down at the folder under her arm and then at the arm he was cradling.

“So,” Reese began, her lips pursed as she stared at him in annoyance. “Who helped you do this? Was it the guy I stitched up the other day? I’m sure even Chris would draw the line at helping you break a limb.”

Our history is what shapes us, what guides us.

“Calm down darling, I don’t even think I broke it.” He began. He held out his arm and rotated it carefully, wincing in pain. He offered her a weak smile but Reese just pursed her lips and the man grew serious once more. “Don’t give yourself so much credit, Reese, even I draw the line at breaking my own arm to talk to you.” He snapped. All he had wanted was to talk to the girl, the survivor, who had haunted him in silence for years, but he was beginning to wonder if she was more trouble than she was worth.

“Fine,” Reese huffed, tossing the manilla folder to a chair near her. “So how did you do this?”

“I feel like if I told you Sam Boca played a role in all this, you’re going to make this whole thing a lot more unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant how?” Reese questioned innocently as she reached for his arm, causing him to wince in response.

“Sorry,” She mumbled. Reese touched his arm more gingerly, feeling the tender skin around the purpling bruise.
Reese was trying hard to concentrate on the injury and nothing more, but his chocolate orbs were boring holes in her as he watched her silently. “Stop it, Nixon.” She chided refusing to meet his eyes.

“Stop what?” He murmured, continuing to stare at her intently. Everything she did was suddenly a fascination to him—the fact that he was even really seeing her awed him. Nixon had replayed the last time he had seen her in his mind over and over again, cursing himself for not trying harder to make her stay.

Our history resurfaces time after time after time

Her eyes flickered up to meet his and she froze. She’d forgotten the effect he had on her and Reese hated herself more than ever for it.

Reese had told Nixon once that while he didn’t necessarily wear his heart on his sleeve, he wore his emotions in his eyes. Reese always knew how he truly felt by just looking into those oaken orbs. But it scared Reese now because she truthfully didn’t want to unveil these things about Nixon; she was afraid of what she would find in those eyes.

“I’m sorry,” He murmured, his voice husky.

“For w-what?” Reese questioned trying to force her mind to function. She had to keep him talking, she had to keep talking, because if talking ceased something else would commence.

“I don’t know,” He mumbled, his eyes drifting to her lips and causing Reese to swallow hard. “everything I suppose.” His eyes shifted up to meet hers once more.

Reese wondered how many times Nixon would apologize to her but she knew in her heart that until things returned to the way they used to be, Nixon would continue to apologize.
They say ‘sorry’ is the magic word, maybe Nixon thought it would magically make every wrong right, it would heal every fracture in her heart, ease the nightmares from her mind. But Reese knew the truth, there were no magic words, no shooting stars to wish upon, and no amnesia spell to make her forget. Nothing could right the wrongs, nothing could ease the pain in her heart, and Reese knew with all certainty that she would never forget.

“Nixon,” She breathed, her eyes glazing over with tears. His eyes met hers and suddenly Reese could see every emotion, every feeling there. There were many emotions she wished she had not noticed but the one that was impossible to ignore was the care and concern that flooded his eyes. A look that told her Nixon would always pick her up when she fell, hold her when she cried, and would never judge her.

Reese had looked for all of these things within Michael and when she looked hard enough Reese could convince herself that she saw these qualities. If she tried hard enough she could make herself believe that Michael was everything Nixon had been but more.
But that was a lie.
Michael would always love his job over her and she knew that he would judge her at times and never admit it. But in the same token Reese couldn’t forget the pain in her heart that throbbed every time Nixon gave her that look—a pain that he himself had put there.

So we have to remember sometimes the most important history is the history we're making today

“I-I can’t do this.” Reese stated, an obstruction forming in her throat that seemed to be effecting her breathing. “I can’t.”

Nixon nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers as he offered her a strained smile. “I know.” He brushed away a stray tear from her eye and the shock she felt from the touch made her take a step back. Nixon recoiled, hurt evident in his face. Reese looked away, closing her eyes tightly as she tried to compose herself and shake off the electric feeling she got at Nixon’s touch.

She had to let go. She had to forget the past and move on. Hadn’t that been the point of leaving Tennessee? And Reese had done well for herself, paying her way through college, becoming a resident at a good hospital. She had severed all ties of Tennessee and moved on with her life.

Or so she had thought. There was a lot of things that Reese wasn’t sure of anymore and the longer she stayed in Nixon’s presence the longer she questioned everything.

So she walked away, she turned toward the door and walked away from Kenneth Nixon.
Reese Lynn Hanley would be lying to herself if she thought it wasn’t just as hard the second time.