Work Text:
This was all a sick joke.
Normally, after tackling a job, the intern would fall back into their couch, having unconsciously curled towards their rig as the beat went on like a shrimp on the pan. Knowing that they did what they were meant to do.
And it had been fine. For the last few days, it had all been fine. Wonderful opportunity. Ideal for those only just entering the medical workforce.
this wasn't enough.
They couldn't unbend, couldn't understand why. Only reel back, twisting to deliver the most devastating blow to their couch that they could.
it still wasn't much. wasn't enough.
wasn't on the right son of an–
Ugh.
They stood there, fist planted in the cushion, for as long as it took for the strain to coalesce in their back.
Bend back.
Bend back further.
Cra–aa-aaaaaack.
…The rage subsided. The resentment boiled more slowly.
And the intern was left with the powerlessness that just had to be on purpose.
There was no good reason for this, they knew.
No good reason to not have even a keyboard. Just the one button and a trackball. What were they supposed to do, use Morse code? And did anybody even make trackballs, nowadays? This unit must have been cobbled together from whatever they had down there in the basement. This is what they gave to them?
This is what they had to serve the people with?
Absolute farce. They saw her. They saw him. They saw them both.
Before, Dr. Paige and sometimes Ian had it covered. They kept talking. They kept them in the loop. The patient was the patient was the job and it was all fine
except the more they sat here the more they did work they hadn't even gotten their first paycheck yet and holy God everything was coming apart at the seams this was ridiculous!
They had been made sort of aware after treating that idiot Richard. Barging back in, demanding to speak to them–
–at the time, it had bayed their panic. It was a shield. That man couldn't touch them behind the screen, or even see anything but the cute little graphic used to represent the input.
All covered with hearts, like it should have been. Painted on their sleeve. It made them consider putting heart patches on their elbows.
But what couldn't touch them directly still impacted them all. Threatening to cut their funds, when they had already been slashed to the bone.
Like an overgrown toddler.
In public office.
Like so many others that should never have been. The normal accepted when it was not right. The normal that was when it should not have been. Normal wasn't good. Normal didn't mean good. Normal sized button to press.
Just another job.
Just a lost old woman, recovering from a fall.
Just an old man shattered, recovering from a fall.
Same name, similar cadence, they had to have been.
She’d asked, they knew, they said it forgetting it was only one way–
just a finger.
just a finger.
If it wasn't for the rest of their family sharing the house, they would have shattered the ears of any passerby. The lesser sin was to grit their teeth and bellow beneath, sounding like an animal, which was still better than being
just a finger.
They wanted to devour Earth, seep through a pipe, claw out a throat.
This was…a reduction.
A limitation.
A dehumanization.
Reduced to an automaton with skin-colored pixels, unable to let their voice be heard even when it was a simple answer.
They had hoped that as an adult, they would no longer suffer that soft silencing, of being spoken over whenever they tried to bring up something even slightly unorthodox.
And here they were, their cries unable to penetrate. No channel for it to go through. Not even able to input the words.
It filtered through to them that the same applied to the rest.
Unable to tell Ada of any patient anomaly she missed.
Unable to tell Ian of any technical issues.
But most of all…
Unable to ask Edega what the hell he was on.
They’d seen all of this! They were watching Middlesea Hospital’s lows! A single intern alone could not make up for dozens of doctors; why would he ever try to assert that?!
But…was it all to that point?
Of having assistance seen and not heard?
Of not having to hear of any vulnerability of his own design?...
…
Maybe it wasn't that deep.
But then being “just an intern” wasn't going to cut it for why they shouldn't dig.
After all, they’d never been an intern before this.
What they had always been was blamed for problems they simply found.
And the only thing stopping them now
was a new notification from Ada,
requesting assistance for herself.
That probably wasn't good.