*Finally* third year med student Phil Andrews thought *My last day in this pit. After this shift, I can leave and never look back* He was looking forward to his next rotation, plastic surgery. Thatís the kind of medicine he intended to practice. Clean, wealthy patients, whose only problem was how high they should lift their faces.

Phil's pleasant dreams were interrupted by Dr Pritchter, the head of the ER. "We have a trauma coming in. Massive blood loss. Call the Blood Bank and meet me in Trauma 1" Phil shuddered and sneered in disgust. How could anyone actually chose to work under these conditions. It was sickening.

He did as he was told and was waiting with several packs of blood when the patient was wheeled in, surrounded by doctors and nurses shouting out information.

"Hostage situation on Grove. Cop tried to rescue some kids, caught one in the shoulder. Was trapped in a basement for a couple of hours. Tissue damage looks minimal but he lost a lot of blood."

Phil looked down and a flicker of recognition tickled his mind. This was the guy that slammed him up against the wall on his first day. If he could, he would have turned and walked out right then. Instead he quickly set up the blood, and tried to remember what he could about allergic reactions to blood products and the need to pre medicate.

He glanced up at Dr Pritchter, but he was busy inspecting the bullet wound. He turned instead to the nurse standing next to him and asked her if the cop had blood allergies.

"I don't know." She answered shortly. Phil had not made many friends, not that he cared, he just wanted to get this rotation over with. "He has some really violent drug reactions, though. No one gives him anything without consulting Dr Pritchter or Mr Sandburg." She turned away from him and went about checking his blood pressure.

Phil looked around again. Everyone was busy with their own designated tasks, and if this guy had a reaction, he could be stuck in here longer. He slipped over to the drug cabinet and pulled out a syringe and a bottle. If he was allergic, this would help, and if not, it wouldnít hurt him, just make him a little tired.

He glanced back at the patient to estimate his weight, and noticed that they weren't giving him any painkillers. He added a little more of the drug to the syringe and approached the gurney. The man was awake and asking for Sandburg. Phil gave him his injection and he quieted down, letting the doctors finish in peace.

With that, Phil left to check on his own patients. They had everything in hand now, they didnít need him.

A few minutes later, as he was returning a chart to the Nurses Station, he was cornered by Dr Pritchter. "I asked you to help with the trauma in there, Andrews. Why did you leave?" Behind him, a nurse was wheeling Ellison from the trauma room to one of the curtain areas to complete his treatment. "Youíre lucky that his only problem was blood loss. What if the bullet had done more damage? You never leave a trauma until I or another doctor says so. Is that clear? And don't think that just because this is your last day here that I canít make your life miserable. I still have to sign off on your work. Now I want you to go and make sure Mr Ellison is settled, and take his vitals every fifteen minutes, got it?" With that he spun on his heel and stormed off, leaving Phil to glare angrily at his back.

He snatched Ellison's chart and was about to begin his assigned chore, when he heard a disturbance behind him. There, charging down the hall, was the patient from his first trauma. He recognized the hair, but he hadnít realized the man was so short!

"Where is he? Where is Jim Ellison? I need to see him." Phil stepped in front of him, the same way he had stepped in front of his partner all those weeks ago, except this time he figured he had the advantage.

"I'm sorry, you can't be back here. Please go back to the Waiting Room, and we'll call you when he can have visitors." Phil felt the need to exert some authority after the dressing down he had just endured, and this smaller man seemed the perfect target. So he was surprised when, instead of backing down, the man got right up in his face.

"You listen to me, you snot nosed little punk," he fumed, "that's my partner and I need to see him. He has some pretty severe drug allergies and I want to make sure that nothing has happened to him. Now. Get. Out. Of. My. Way!" And with a tremendous shove that belied his appearance, Phil found himself slammed up against the same wall as when he got in Ellison's way, while the shorter man stormed past into Ellison's room and stopped.

Phil followed and gaped at the sight before him. Ellison lay curled on his side, hands over his ears and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. A low whimper escaped from his lips. Sandburg turned slowly and spoke in a dangerously low voice.

"What did you do to him?" He stepped forward and grabbed the lapels of Phil's white lab coat. "What did you give him?" The anger in his voice was palpable, but he stopped when another moan came from Ellison's bed. Even so, Phil thought he was a goner until another voice interrupted.

ì"What's going on here, Sandburg?" It was the large black man that he vaguely remembered from the last time. Maybe he would help get this crazy man off him and into restraints.

"He gave Jim something, Simon. I donít know what." He turned back to the med student and shook him. "What was it? What did you give him?"

"Bennadryl. To ward off allergic reactions to the blood products." Phil finally spat out. This little man was getting on his nerves.

"Oh, man. That's why he's so out of it. He can't find the dials." Sandburg released Phil and dug his keys out of his pocket. Tossing them to the other man, "Simon, I need you to go to the Volvo and get my brown leather satchel from the trunk. It has some stuff that should help. And hurry." Simon nodded and took off down the hall.

*Why would someone so obviously in charge take orders from this little hippie freak?* Phil wondered *And what's the deal about dials? This guy must be high.* He was about to speak when Sandburg turned on him again.

"You had better leave." He warned ominously. "Give me his chart. I want to see everything you did to him." He snatched the chart out of his hands and turned away. No longer paying attention to him.

Phil bristled at the treatment. Who was this little freak to tell him how to do his job. He stood in place and watched as he first turned off the lights and sat down next to Ellison and began whispering in tones too low for him to hear.

He was about to go over and forcibly remove him when Simon returned with the requested satchel. Sandburg took it and began pulling things out.

The first item was a strange electronic device that began hissing when he turned it on. It didn't seem to affect the monitors, and the patient visibly relaxed, so he let that go. Next came a sleep mask. No harm there. But when he pulled out a small wooden dish and poured a few drops of some liquid from a vial into it he had to interfere.

"Hey, what is that? Keep that away from him." He tried to reach the man but was stopped by his companion.

"Sandburg knows what he's doing. Leave him alone." Phil glared up at the tall man, who glared right back. He glanced over and saw Sandburg waving the dish under Ellison's nose.

"Okay, Jim. Your Shaman is here. I need you to listen to my voice. Find the dials, Jim. Hear my voice. Smell my scent. Turn down the dials, concentrate on touch, Jim. I've done what I can from out here, now I need you to turn everything down."

Just then Dr. Pritchter walked in. He took one look at the scene around the bed and rounded on Phil. "What the hell happened, Andrews!" Seeing the wince from Ellison and the sharp glare from Sandburg, he grabbed Philís arm, and dragged him out.

"I tried to stop them, but he," Phil shot an accusatory glare at Simon who had followed them out to the hall, "wouldn't let me."

"No, I mean what happened to Ellison. Why did he react like that?" Dr. Pritchter's glare was strong enough to make him step back.

*What is so special about these guys?* He wondered. *Why does everyone coddle them?*

Before he had a chance to defend himself, the other man spoke. "He said that he gave Jim Bennadryl. I guess thatís whatís causing the problem."

Dr. Pritchter closed his eyes and swore. "Damnit! That wasn't authorized." His eyes snapped open and pinned Phil in place. "Why the hell did you give that to him? Without authorization? That man has a very sensitive system. We don't even give him pain meds because they cause too many problems."

"Sir," Phil stated coldly. "I think we should at least get that man away from the patient. He's in there now, with god knows what, talking about being a Shaman and something about dials. That is not healthy behavior. We should restrain him before he harms the patient." He leveled an impudent look at the doctor, who promptly burst out laughing.

Seeing the scowl on the pupils face he struggled to explain. "Son, I don't think it's possible for Sandburg to hurt Ellison. And I'm not just talking about size, from what I hear, you already know what Mr. Sandburg is capable of."

Phil felt the blood rush to his cheeks at that, now everyone would think he was a wimp for letting himself get pushed around by that little punk.

Dr. Pritchter continued. "Those two are like family, half of the nurses think they're related. Now, I don't know about this 'Shaman' thing, but I do know that Det. Ellison employs certain meditation techniques to control the pain, and that Mr Sandburg helps him with that regard. Leave them alone." The last part was a definite order. "In fact, I want you to go do a complete rectal exam on Curtain Four." With that, he turned and began apologizing to the other man.

*Maybe I should consider leaving Cascade* Phil thought bitterly as he went of to the Nurses Station to find the chart of his newest patient. *Too many freaks and weirdoes. Of course if this freak costs me my career, I will make him pay.*

Several hours later, as he was preparing to take a blood sample to the lab, he watched the strange pair leave. Both of them leveled glares at him that chilled him to his core. A thought came to his mind unbidden, something that he was told on his first day there, after his run in with Ellison. *Thatís what happens when you disregard Unspoken Rule Number Three.* He shuddered and wondered what Chicago was like this time of year.

Webmaster: PJ Browning