Free Code Blues by Melissa Yi

She rubbed her
arms.
    Robin knelt by Alex. He bent his head over
Alex's nose, surveyed his chest, and announced, "He's breathing."
He pressed his index and third finger against his neck. "And he has
a pulse."
    Mireille clucked her tongue. "Robin, we know
that!"
    He ignored her. "Alex. Can you hear me?" He
rubbed his knuckles against Alex's sternum and was rewarded with a
groan and twitch of the right shoulder. "Well, that's reassuring.
He squeezed his eyes shut—I'll give him a four, and a groan, that's
two..."
    Dear God. He was calculating the Glasgow
Coma Scale. I said, "Robin, it's over eight, you don't have to tube
him, okay?" But I felt guilty. I hadn't calculated the GCS, and I
probably should have, even though he'd just been talking to me a
few minutes ago.
    Robin didn't look up from Alex. He forced
Alex's eyelids open, checking the pupils. "Do you have a
stethoscope?"
    Mireille gave an exasperated sigh and
retrieved hers from the hallway. Robin lifted Alex's shirt and
listened to his chest and heart. He even lifted his shirt to
examine the abdomen. I was embarrassed to see the brown chest hair
that ran to below his belly button, and even worse, his small, pink
nipples. Then Robin checked his reflexes.
    It was very weird to see him do a physical
exam on one of our colleagues in the middle of a supposed party.
Tucker shook his head, but none of us interfered.
    At last, Robin lifted his head. "He seems to
be stable. We could probably just observe him. But I'd feel more
comfortable if I could check his glucose to make sure it's not an
insulin coma."
    I hadn't thought of that,
even though it was Dr. Radshaw's presumed cause of death. Guilt hit
me again, until Tucker said, "For God's sake, Robin, the guy was
just drinking! He has enough sugar on board. And he's not diabetic.
He's just drunk ."
    "He could have an insulin-secreting tumor,"
Robin insisted. He turned to Mireille. "Do you have an
Accucheck?"
    She rolled her eyes. "No. I am not diabetic.
Look, Robin. Let's use some common sense. I know Alex, and he's
only ever passed out after drinking. He does not have an
insulinoma!" Her French accent was more pronounced now.
    "I'm just saying that I would feel more
comfortable," he said evenly. Hmm. I'd worked with guys like this
before—very good at the books, can recite recent studies and
guidelines until the consultants nearly faint with pleasure, but
not very sensible. Still, they tended to get excellent evaluations.
Except from their peers.
    Tori and I exchanged a look. She said,
"Robin, you did the right thing. We all feel more at ease, after
your exam. But like you said, we can probably observe him."
    Robin squinted at her. He was still on the
floor with Alex, while the rest of us were looking down on him. He
rose to his feet and dusted off his knees. "All right."
    We all relaxed, marginally.
    He said, "I'm going to get some orange
juice. We can rub it on the inside of his cheeks. If he wakes
up—"
    "He's not going to wake up!" Mireille burst
out, but she followed him to the kitchen.
    Tucker and I looked at each other. He
sighed, and we grinned at each other for the first time.
    Tori said, "Robin is
very...conscientious."
    "You can say that again," I said. Medical
robots are very good at following algorithms.
    Tori glanced back toward the kitchen. "Maybe
we should take him to St. Joe's. It's not fair to leave him here
for Mireille to follow him."
    Tucker grunted assent.
    Anu checked my expression. "Hope? Did you
want to take turns observing him?"
    Not really. I hesitated, she went on,
"Because it would be really embarrassing for him, if we brought him
to St. Joe's."
    "Good," said Tucker. "Maybe that'll teach
him to lay off the EtOH."
    Fortunately, Alex chose this moment to stir
his legs and snort. As if that was his cue, Robin raced in, nearly
spilling his glass of orange juice, while Mireille called at his
back, "I said I'd do it!"
    Robin stuck two fingers in the o.j. Then he
bent down to lever Alex's mouth open,