DISCLAIMER: ER is the property of Constant C Productions, Amblin Entertainment, and Warner Brothers Television.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
If the Cast Fits
By BadTyler
Linda Farrell had avoided Cook County's ER since her break-up with Doug Ross. There were plenty of other departments eager to deal with her: she was one of her company's most successful reps. Most of the deals she'd made with the Emergency Room hadn't gotten past Kerry Weaver and with Doug out of the picture, there wasn't much point in putting out all that effort. But after a nasty slip on the icy sidewalk outside Marshall Fields one Sunday afternoon, she found herself experiencing the ER for the first time as a patient.
Huddled in her fur coat, she sat uncomfortably in the slippery plastic chair, waiting to be seen. It had been almost two years and there were quite a few unfamiliar faces. But Jerry was working the front desk, greeting her with enthusiasm and after getting her settled in the waiting room; he conferred briefly with a doctor that Linda didn't recall. She was tall, athletic and attractive; not really Doug's type, but Linda knew better than to assume his 'type' hadn't changed. Basically, Doug's type was any woman with a pulse. It was none of her concern, anyway—a few painkillers and she'd be back in her warm living room, fireplace blazing, foot propped up—maybe a small snifter of expensive brandy and she'd be good as new in a day or so. Linda's only real concern was that her toe might be broken. She was planning to attend a conference on Wednesday—all cardiothoracic surgeons—and stiletto heels seemed to sell the expensive statin drugs more easily. She'd have to re-think her sales strategy if she couldn't fit a bandaged toe into a pair of four inch Manolos. Damn it.
The tall brunette doctor squinted past Jerry's shoulder, nodding. In a short time, after a few x-rays, Linda was sitting in a wheelchair that an unfamiliar nurse had rolled into an empty examining room. It felt strange, being a patient. Linda didn't have control of the situation, and that made her uncomfortable. Exhaling impatiently, she checked her watch.
The door swung open and Maggie Doyle walked in.
"Linda Farrell? I'm Dr. Doyle. You took a spill on the ice? Must hurt… here are your x-rays." She placed them in the light box. "It's not broken, but it seems to be a bad sprain. There's not much I can do. Let's see if you can get up and walk." She extended a hand, helping Linda out of the chair.
"Oh, Christ! That really hurts!" Linda hobbled back to the chair. "How long is this going to take to heal? I'm on my feet a lot."
Maggie looked at Linda sympathetically. "It depends. I can tell you for sure; you're not going to be on your feet much in the next few days. The best I can do is bandage the second toe to the sprained one. I can give you something for the pain," she added. "If you can get those pantyhose off, I'll get you on your way."
Linda had been coolly appraising the attractive doctor during this last speech. If she couldn't walk, she might as well enjoy herself a little. Though she tended to prefer men, she wasn't opposed to a romp with another female, particularly a female doctor. She'd been working with physicians for years, and could easily talk shop with them. Flipping her long hair out of her eyes, she leaned down and swiftly removed one stocking. Tossing it aside, she held out her bare foot. "I don't wear pantyhose."
Maggie was kneeling in front of the wheelchair, carefully taping Linda's toes. Slowly, the woman let her knees spread a few inches. Her skirt was short enough for Maggie to figure out that apparently, Linda Farrell wasn't a fan of panties, either. Caught unaware, she fumbled with the tape. Forcing herself to speak naturally, she gazed up at Linda.
"You used to date Doug Ross, didn't you?"
"That seems like a very long time ago… Maggie."
"How—how did you know my name?"
Linda grinned. "You've been working too hard. I can read your name tag pretty clearly."
Maggie blushed. "Right. Well, you're good to go. I'll get your discharge papers and aftercare instructions." The color slowly left her face as she walked briskly down the hall.
Linda Farrell pulled her fur coat tightly around her. She reached over and picked up the file Dr. Doyle had left behind. Reaching into her handbag, she found one of her business cards. Scribbling a note on the back, she slipped it into the chart and waited for Maggie Doyle to return. She entered the room just as Linda was putting the chart back where she'd found it. "Ask one of the nurses to get you a taxi," Maggie mumbled. "There should be one here in minute or so, to help you outside."
"Thank you—for everything," smiled Linda. "Perhaps we'll meet again soon."
Maggie sputtered something unintelligible and fled down the corridor. Locking herself in one of the rest room stalls, she read the note and felt herself blushing all over again.
Several hours later, she waited at Linda Farrell's front door, after the doorman had announced her. A few minutes later, she and Linda were on the couch having drinks.
Twenty minutes later, their clothes were on the floor of Linda's bedroom.
A few minutes after that, Linda Farrell was moaning Maggie's name.
By midnight, they were half asleep, exhausted, entwined together in the tangled sheets. Maggie shifted slightly, awakening Linda, who stretched like a cat and ran her hands down the length of Maggie's body, eager for more. Maggie returned the embrace and bit Linda's lip, delicately, teasingly.
"That's nice…" Linda was almost purring with contentment. "I have to say, you're truly a dedicated doctor. Very talented at putting the patient's needs first… bed rest. Doctor's orders…" She took Maggie into her arms. "Don't stop, I've got plenty of surprises for you."
Maggie gave herself up to the feelings flooding her senses. "If this is what it takes to keep you off your feet, Linda, I'm happy to help out."
A pale winter sun was just beginning to rise when the two women fell asleep. Linda's last conscious thought before drifting off was, somewhere, Doug Ross's head is exploding…
The End