Disclaimer: I do not own The Night Shift.

Note: For the first story I will be doing a slight rewrite of season 3's "Unexpected' (aka the bomb episode). When I first read the episode description before watching it I was hopeful for some whump! Sadly it didn't deliver, but that doesn't mean I can't rewrite it! Enjoy!

TC went to show Mr. Neville where the restroom was, as he was wandering aimlessly in confusion, not sure where to go. While he was a regular he was also elderly, and likely suffered from an early form of Alzheimers, as he always ended up getting himself lost. The orderly had stopped to ask Kenny's friend if she had seen the woman. TC was just passing by the entrance when everything lit up into bright, scorching red. The wave slammed into him and he was hurled through the air, backwards. He was only partially aware of Mr. Neville being thrown to the ground beside him, Kenny, somewhere behind him, also falling. The glass had shattered, shards shooting out like bullets. Hot air crashed over him, smoke choking the air. His head bounced off the floor from the impact, hot pain flared across his body. He raised one arm over his face, the explosion ringing in his ears. Like a missile had struck, except this wasn't in a warzone, and it wasn't a missile, and there were innocents everywhere.

The shock faded as he rolled onto his side, trying to push himself up. He looked around as he did so, squinting into the smoke, coughing. At the nurse's station he saw Jordan rising, looking unhurt. Topher putting out flames with an extinguisher. Drew rushing forward to help a patient who was caught in the blast. Kenny was dazed, bleeding from his head, holding one arm in pain. TC staggered to his feet, pain sharp in one leg, coughing harder.

He turned towards the area of the explosion, where the orderly lay motionless on the ground with smoke rising from his body. He limped over to the kid, dropping down beside him to check for a pulse. It was hopeless, he knew, but he had to check anyway. He could see the shreds of the red backpack on the ground near the kid, and slowly pieced it together. The backpack was the bomb, and he had sent this kid out to die. TC closed his eyes for a moment, furious with himself, before he grabbed a white sheet and placed it over the body. Behind him he heard Kenny calling for his help, and he forced his leg to move despite the burning.

Lauren was badly injured, skin stripped from the bone of her lower leg, bleeding heavily. "Get me something to tie this off," he said, his voice hoarse from smoke, coughing again. Kenny grabbed him a tourniquet from a fallen shelf, and he quickly tightened it around her leg to slow the bleeding. She was in immense pain. "Get a gurney, we need to get her leg to the OR," he said, then starting coughing again as though more smoke had rushed into his chest.

Both he and Kenny struggled to move the gurney forward, through the glass debris. Blood was soaking through his pant leg, and he hadn't really been able to check why he was bleeding, or why his leg wasn't working properly. As he staggered awkwardly over the change in the floor, Scott rushed to help them. He couldn't keep up, he didn't need to when Topher stopped them saying that SWAT was covering the entrances and they couldn't go up to the OR. TC pictured the red backpack again, and the new orderly's dead body lying on the ground. He felt a surge of guilt again, because it had been him to tell the kid to bring out the backpack instead of doing it himself. He imagined what would have happened if the backpack had been left there to explode at the nurse's station - how much worse it could have been.

"You two stay out, you're both injured," Scott said when he and Kenny tried to enter to help take care of Lauren. Kenny argued, because she was his friend. TC found himself distracted by Mr. Neville who was being pushed by on his own gurney, bleeding from glass injuries on his head and side. He distinctly remembered being right next to the older man when the bomb had gone off, and not actually having checked if he was okay. Jordan and Sharron were taking him in.

"How is he?" He asked, following them and helping to push the gurney. While Mr. Neville did seem okay, still talking jovial and explaining how he had been through worse earlier in his life, TC still wanted to make sure. Especially with the shock of the blast.

Jordan glanced up at him. "Glass embedded in his cuts, so we need to get that out before it gets infected." She then peered at him more closely, as if suddenly noticing something. "You should sit down and get checked out." They entered the room. TC limped stubbornly on, because he had seen in Shannon's eyes the look of fear. He had seen it many times before in war, on the faces of fresh soldiers who had just gotten their first taste of war. But this wasn't a war, and Shannon wasn't a soldier, and regular people should not have to experience a terror in their own place of residence, their own workplace. She was always tough, stubborn. Didn't always get along with everyone, but who did? TC sure didn't, so he could sympathize a little bit with that.

"We can't change what happened but we can do the best we can to help these people," he said quietly. Shannon glanced at him, eyes slightly red as if trying not to tear up.

"I hope so," was her response.

Accepting Mr. Neville would be okay he stepped out into the chaos of the bomber being brought on with two gunshot wounds. His patient. She met his eyes for a brief moment as she was pushed through, and they were sharp with pain and... sadness? It was as if he were looking into the eyes of someone who had lost everything and no longer had anything to lose, nothing to live for, and it left him feeling as if there would be no satisfactory conclusion to what had happened.

TC caught sight of an elderly lady stumbling down the hallway, dazed, a small trail of blood coming from the side of her head. Everyone was distracted, dealing with their own patients, with the swat teams, with families who were visiting and trying to find their loved ones. He approached carefully, ignoring the stiffness beginning to radiate from his aching leg - he would have time to deal with it later, once everyone was helped and all was figured out. "Ma'am, are you alright?" He spoke gently so his words wouldn't startle her, and the older lady only looked around in confusion, watery eyes barely focusing.

"I can't find Adam," she said in a whisper of a voice. "He was just here... I don't know where he went," she repeated herself a few times, confused and forlorn.

TC gently steered her toward a trauma room, speaking gently. "We'll find him, I promise. Let's get you in here and you can sit down and rest, okay? Is Adam your husband or someone else?" The older lady simply nodded, allowing him to guide her to the table and lie her down.

"He's my husband. He was right beside me, I thought..." She trailed off, staring into space. Her head injury wasn't extremely serious but she was likely in shock. He carefully wiped away the blood to reveal a shallow cut, stepping out only to find someone who could help find her husband. The unfortunate scenario was that the memory wasn't always clear, especially considering her age.

He approached Topher, who was trying his best to sort through patient files to get some semblance of order established. Who was there, who was missing, account for everyone who had come in. It wasn't very efficient. Off in the distance he noticed the orderly's body - he didn't even know the kids name - being moved. The nurse's who had been on strike came running in, somehow managing to establish some sort of calm with their presence, and with Molly's quick wit. He quietly interrupted Topher. "I have an elderly lady looking for her husband, Adam, in Trauma 3. If-" he trailed off at Molly's pointed glance.

"Frail old lady, looks confused?" At TC's nod she continued. "Her husband died a few years ago. Sometimes she forgets. I'll talk to her." She gave TC a once over. "You should sit down."

He stared after her in confusion. She was the second person to tell him that.

His leg and side were starting to itch, a minor annoyance compared to the throbbing that mainly originated in his leg. "She's right. Why haven't you gotten checked yet?" Topher asked, as people began moving down to a larger area.

"I'm fine. And there's still too much to do," he pointed out.

"You're not fine. I'm going to patch you up," Topher ignored his protest, "and then you can keep helping. I won't be able to stop you anyway," he added, giving TC a good-humored glare. He caved, only because Topher would probably follow him around and annoy him until he did so anyway. As he limped after Topher, he could feel the heat in his wounds spreading, like a fire. It was likely just his imagination, and there was likely a few good chunks of shrapnel that needed to be dug out. Still, as much as he kept his expression straight it was slightly unnerving.

He broke into a cough, reminding him of the burn in his throat. He sure didn't miss being out on the warzone with bombs going off in every direction, breathing in smoke and dust and debris with every breath.

Easing himself carefully onto the very edge of the table he felt an immediate surge or relief with his weight off his leg. He looked down at it, noting holes in the scrubs and a dark stain of blood covering a moderate area. A smaller patch of red had soaked into his shirt on his side, with a few holes in the fabric that marked the entrance of shrapnel. It probably consisted of glass and strips of metal from the damaged walls, and that, he reasoned, was the cause of the burning sensation. The moment's reprieve gave him time to check over himself, at least mentally. A minor pain in the back of his head reminded him he had smacked it off the ground. A dull ache in his back from the hard hit with the floor, and general aching across most of his body. The effect of the shock wave would probably leave him sore and bruised, but not seriously injured given that he wasn't right next to it.

He had to pull down the scrubs to get to the wounds, revealing many deep wounds with reddened skin. Topher frowned at it, at the blood that still oozed sluggishly from the deepest of injuries. "You shouldn't even be walking," he said, starting everything out with some lido. "Some of these are very deep. Your skin's also starting to react to it." That might explain the burning and tingling he had been feeling.

"It's been burning for a bit. Probably just irritation," he said with a shrug. Topher glared at him and he grinned sheepishly. His friend carefully pulled a long shard of glass from one of the deeper wounds and he flinched violently when it broke away, the anesthetic not quite having the depth to numb the pain fully.

"I know you feel the need to help everyone other than yourself but if you have a serious injury you can't help anyone," Topher said sharply, lying the blood-soaked shard on a tray and pressing a fresh towel against the wound. With the shard no longer plugging the wound it was bleeding freely once more. "And we have no idea what kind of bomb that was, or what kind of things were in it," he said, his voice even more frustrated. TC considered that and realized that he had neglected to think about a very important part. Bombs weren't just flames and shock waves that shattered glass. Sometimes people added objects to them, like nails or metals, to maximize injuries.

"Your're right," TC began, interrupted by another sharp pain as something long but not glass-like was removed from another laceration. "But there were too many people who needed help."

For several moments they were arguing back and forth, arguments punctuated by another piece of shrapnel being dug from his leg, before moving onto his side which had taken much less of the hit. By the time it was over he felt shaky and cold, breaking out into a sweat. His wounds burned when washed out, but fortunately the stitches barely registered in his mind. When his brain caught up he saw that Topher had moved on and was checking his head, feeling at the hard lump that had formed when he hit the ground. He flinched away, the lump throbbing, but being nothing more than a hard knock it wasn't really that bad.

"I can't make you take it easy but I'll still advise you too. Before you leave I need to give you a tetanus booster and an antibiotic just to be safe," Topher said, sighing slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But if anything gets worse, say something."

TC agreed to do as told, if only to stop stressing out his friend. He remained still for a few minutes, letting the pain recede to the back of his mind and his body to recover. When he did finally stand he found himself unable to put much weight on his leg without it shaking dangerously, so he waited a little longer to adjust. In the background he could hear people talking, people yelling, people arguing. Rushing feet, the sounds of pages over the intercom. He hobbled forward, half his leg numb from the lido, along with his entire left side. It was awkward to move, and even more awkward to to walk out of the room with blood-soaked scrubs and a barely functioning limb.

He went around a bit, helped stitch people up, checked on Mr. Neville who was nicely bandaged and seemed to be relaxed. He checked on the older lady, Mrs. Owell, who simply looked around with sad, confused eyes.

And as the numbness from the lidocaine faded he was aware of a very disturbing sensation. It first it was an itch, minor, with burning and tingling. But the more the numbness wore off, the worse it got. The itching was so severe he had to stop, leaning himself against the wall and dug his fingers into edge to keep himself from ripping the bandages off and scratching his freshly stitched wounds open. His leg and side were simultaneously on fire while being ravaged by an itching that made him sick to his stomach.

Over the speaker came an announcement letting people know they could evacuate if unhurt. No. Something's wrong, he thought, but before he could say anything he broke into a series of painful coughs. He winced as he breathed in deeply, catching his breath. Around him people were moving, all trying to leave. But they couldn't leave because something was terribly wrong. Topher had approached him, his face sharp with concern. "Tee, you okay? What's wrong?" He asked, He felt a hand on his back, rubbing gently, easing the knot of pressure in his chest. From the corner of his eye he saw Sharon and Paul rushing up, both looking worried.

"You need to lock down the ER," he rasped. "There was something in the bomb." And he couldn't explain what it was, coughing again, because he hadn't checked to see what his skin looked like now.

Topher didn't need anything other than that to tell the SWAT officers to lock down the building and not let anyone in or out. Before he could say anything else Paul and Shannon came up, eyes flicking between the two doctors. "Our patient has cutaneous anthrax lesions all over his body," Shannon reported.

Anthrax. He released a breath, because it could have been so much worse. Anthrax was treatable. It was a bacteria that only needed antibiotics. Not something extremely hard to treat, or hard to recognize, that could wipe out anyone who had gotten into contact with it. Sure, it wasn't ideal, but it was better than some of many alternatives that had been going through his head.

"Anthrax? Are you sure?" Topher asked. TC could feel his friends hands on his scrubs, privately moving up the shirt to pull the bandage away. He could see the lesions, swollen, red, blackened. Weeping oozing from the edges of the wounds. His hand twitched as he fought the urge to scratch. Topher placed the bandage back, lowering the shirt. "The bomb was a dispersal system," he said quietly. "Everyone who was here could be infected. I'm going to get you on some antibiotics. Someone get Kenny, he also had a shrapnel wound," Topher said more loudly. TC found himself getting steered into an exam room, where he had he grabbed his own arms in an iron grip, so as to stop himself from digging at his skin.

"You okay?" Topher asked, readying an IV to begin antibiotics.

"Just feel like scratching my skin off," TC responded, teeth gritted slightly. His burning skin wasn't making the sensation any more tolerable.

"I'll get you something for that in a moment," Topher said, forcing TC's arm down to put the IV in. The needle going in, followed by the tube, barely even registered compared with everything else he had been feeling. The antibiotics would kill the bacteria, but it wouldn't be immediate. He forced himself to lay still as Topher pealed away the bandage again. "This will numb the area without irritating any open wounds," he said, about to apply the blocker when the door opened.

Scott entered, looking confused. "What's going on..." His eyes flickered to TC, and the painful, blackened lesions on his side. "Is that..."

"Anthrax. It was in the bomb," Topher said dismissively. "Everyone should get a dose of antibiotics just to be safe, there may be spores," he added. Scott nodded, glancing around once again before leaving. The numbness of the cream as instantaneous, soothing the itching and burning. He felt himself relax, just slightly.

"You need to stay here. Let the antibiotics work," Topher said.

He nodded, coughing again. He realized now he had pushed himself a little too far. His body felt exhausted, weak, fatigued.

He let himself rest, at least for a little bit.

End chapter note: Alright, that took off, longer than expected! But, beautifully, wonderfully, whumpy. Also I did some reading on anthrax and saw it took days rather than hours for symptoms to occur but since that's how it went in the episode I decided to leave it that way. So this is how it'll go - chapters will be random length. They can be rewrites (RW) of certain episodes, or original stories (OS) made up. I'll try to mix them up, so next episode will be an original! Also, I will be fully open to ideas from you guys as well (though I may not do a story for every idea, I can only write what I'm interested in, and I want to 'try' and keep everything rated T!). Let the whump series begin!