Disclaimer: I do not own Venom.

So, here again with another story. This one will primarily be from the perspective of a doctor; an oncologist to be precise. However, I am no major in medicine and I am no doctor myself, so the intel you will find in this story comes from information I have looked thoroughly for on the internet. Apologies in advance if something is inaccurate or wrong.

Chapter 1: The Doctor

She was a proficient physician; that much could not be denied, even as much as her colleagues despised her. One of the best doctors the general hospital of San Francisco could offer, but only in terms of medical expertise and overall performance. Emotional support or consolation could not be categorized as one of her strongest suits, much less an existant one.

However, that did not make it any less of a predicament for her whenever she had to tell the family members of a patient that death would be the inevitable outcome of their loved one's condition, no matter what they had done to try to prevent it from occurring. Crying and signs of denial was a common reaction for her to become the witness of, if not occasional acts of violence or threats as well, but that did not change the circumstances.

The patient in question this time was nineteen-year-old Amanda Sawyer; one of the state's top swimmers and loved for her excellent performance and achievements; going national if not for the tumor that had been growing in her brain for the past couple of years.

The tumor has already spread to her central nervous system and to her cerebellum. Even if she was to somehow survive, the damages her body suffered might have rendered her permanently incapable of functioning properly. Any further exposure to radiation would be too dangerous to attempt.

And as such, she told the mother the news in the hallway; notepad in her hand showing the results of the diagnostics they had run that morning on the patient. As anticipated, the mother did not handle the news very well, and burst into tears in the middle of the corridor with her husband trying his best to comfort her despite his own evident torment.

Rather than to share their pain and offer them her sympathies with tear-filled eyes, the Doctor only stood there with an expressionless countenance, watching the couple as they expressed their unbearable grief in unison. What little she could offer them, however, was the knowledge that their daughter's death would not be a painful one.

Such was the life of Dr. Evelyn March, the doctor everybody knew to hate and respect with mutual contempt. Excellent and skilled within the required field yet underdeveloped in the field that most people demanded of her as a caregiver for the unfortunate.

But the world was no playground.

Its inhabitants were not children.

Therefore, it was not required of her to play the role of the doting parent.

Her job was to keep people from dying through whatever meant necessary.

The cream swirled in the black substance as she poured it into the cup. Personally, she was not particularly fond of the sweetness, but the sugar tended to increase her energy a little further than just the caffeine alone did. It was beneficial, as much as she loathed the flavor.

"Ah, Dr. March. Good day."

That voice was recognizable from even a mile or two away, though she preferred it if it was the latter. Dr. Lewis's voice snapped her out of her fog of thoughts as he entered proximity, approaching her from his office further down the hall. Under ordinary circumstances, Dr. March would have been less than enthusiastic about entering a verbal conversation with one of her colleagues.

However, she respected Dr. Lewis in particular. Though he was more of a people-person than she could ever claim to be, he showed far more competence within the field of medicine than half of the rest of her colleagues did. He had been her senior during the time she attended John Hopkins' University, so that added up to her favoritism towards him.

"Dr. Lewis," she greeted him in a neutral tone, though not with hostile intent.

As he reached up to her, the first thing he did was to pat her on the shoulder. "Must we always be so formal, Evelyn? How many times must I tell you that Dan will do?"

"If you say so, Dr. Lewis."

He sighed and remained disgruntled with her apathy, though not without giving her a reassuring smile. "You're not making it better. Anyways, shift's almost over and I'm going out for the evening. You should do the same sometimes. You're always working your head off."

"Only to keep someone else's head intact, mind you." she retorted and took a sip from her drink, allowing the bitterness to captivate her taste buds. The sweetness stood inferior to the acidity to the flavor, fortunately for her, but that didn't mean she couldn't detect the overly sweet aftertaste she so despised.

"Double cream today?" Dr. Lewis took note of her drink, much to her dismay, and offered her a rather sympathetic look; something she seldom received – and never solicited – from others. "Long day?"

"Nothing I won't be able to get through, again." She answered curtly, not sparing a single moment on lingering on the prospect of a good day.

"What happened?"

"Anaplastic astrocytoma; grade three astrocytoma. Spread to the rest of her brain and the cerebellum and affected the patient's nervous system as well. Her parents insisted on the use of radiation therapy shortly after it was revealed that the surgery failed to remove the tumor entirely. I warned them of the risk, but they insisted. Chemotherapy was the last option, but the patient grew tired of the medication. Already by then, the diagnostics showed less than pleasant results."

"It wasn't your fault, Evelyn. Don't blame yourself."

Like always, Dr. Lewis was the first one to offer his condolences. The way he was able to empathize with others and offer his compassion to them, she almost envied him for it. Perhaps it would have made her days easier if she properly understood the pain some people underwent during situations such as these.

Even so, compassion did not warrant success in most cases. Only efficiency did, and if she did anything less than that, then she was a disgrace to the occupation she had spent years of her youth aiming to achieve. Countless nights spent up studying instead of sleeping, countless months spent working instead of friends and associates; she had discarded her bodily needs in order to obtain the goal she had set back when she was a child.

But she wasn't a child. Not anymore. She had not been one for a very long time.

"I'm a doctor, and as such, it's my responsibility to take care of my patients. Failing to do so does not say a lot about my competence,"

He shook his head, evidently distressed. "You can't save them all, even as much as you try. We're only human. We have boundaries."

She spared him a cold look to the side, successfully shutting him up just as he was about to open his mouth and add something else to his statement.

"Then I will continue to work and make progress until these boundaries are no more. Whatever it takes."

Everybody knew that it was foolishness to go against one's own nature, as well as to question it. She knew so as well that what she was saying could not be achieved, not yet, but that did not mean she would not be willing to do anything achieve it.

However, Dr. Lewes must have thought her to be joking when she said it, because he began to laugh a delighted – genuine – laugh. It was not an uncommon occurrence for him to smile; in a place filled with blood and death on a daily, he always somehow managed to find a light to exploit, something to help ease the tension that more than often rendered the rest in despair.

Perhaps that was the reason behind why Ms. Weying found herself swayed with him. Eddie Brock, that failed imbecile of a journalist who had not only managed to bring himself to ruin but also her, was doubtfully one she wished to return to if she had any wits about her.

She was fortunate that she found someone like Dr. Lewis; someone whose smile was enough to brighten the darkest of days.

And as such, Dr. March found herself smiling as well, despite herself. It wasn't exactly noticeable, hardly earning the designation "a smile", but it was there nonetheless. Somehow, Dr. Lewis must have seen it, for his own smile turned wider and he let out another laugh, genuinely surprised to see the stoic colleague reveal some sense of humor.

But then he glanced down at his watch, his smile fading slightly as he realized how late it was. "Well, I'd better return home now. I promised Anne I would take us out today to celebrate our anniversary."

"Yes, I take it you must celebrate every month you have spent together." Despite her cynic words, there were no ill intentions as Dr. March spoke. "How long has it been now?"

"Six months."

"You have my congratulations."

He inclined his head towards her. "Thank you."

For someone to thank her was – in fact – an uncommon occurrence. Whether it was dissatisfied patients or obnoxious colleagues, gratitude was not something that was easily granted – nor solicited. Even hearing those words aimed at her made her feel slightly strange.

But no matter, she shook her head and took another sip from the cup in her hand, feeling the warmth beneath her fingertips. "No matter, my shift isn't finished until nine o'clock, so I wouldn't waste any time here if I were you."

"That late?" His eyes widened a few inches, but he didn't question it further. It was preferable that he didn't.

Dr. March nodded in affirmation. "Yes. I have work to finish before I call it for the evening."

"You're always working so much. It wouldn't kill you to take some time off once in a while, you know?"

She narrowed her eyes at him with heavy scrutiny. "It might just kill someone else."

"Mrs. Nora Woods in room 54D requires a change of IV fluid; Mr. James Denborough in room 36C has just undergone to a gastric bypass and may be given Opioids should the pain not disappear over the next few hours. Should you have any question about the accurate amount required for that, you may ask Dr. Renfield."

"Understood, Dr. March."

The young nurse, despite having started working there at the general hospital for less than a month, showed a prominent skill in regard to precision and time. She followed her orders to the letter and rarely made mistakes; but few were inevitable, which was only anticipated.

Dr. March cast a solemn glance at the clock hanging on the wall, imagining that it would soon be time for her to call it an evening. It was already fifteen-past-nine, so it was already appropriate for her to end her shift. Quite frankly, merely standing there in that empty hallway, listening to the silence and occasional coughing coming from one of the rooms nearby, granted her a sense of quietness she seldom got to experience.

One she seldom had the liberty to enjoy.

Until that quiet was abruptly interrupted and she was snatched out of her enjoyment by a voice she could not recognize, but by a man she did not deem a staff member or a patient.

"Dr. Evelyn March?"

She shifted her head to the side and made sure that no facial trait made itself visible to the external perspective. That task alone was no a challenging one, seeing it as she was far too accustomed with performing it to find it difficult.

Approaching her from the left hallway arrived a man, but one that did not seem like he belonged in a place filled with death and illness unless he was a patient. His hair was dark and held up quite extravagantly with what appeared to be some kind of expensive hair-gel like he was supposed to enter a vital meeting whilst looking his best for the occasion. She could smell its scent from a mile away.

His face contained few wrinkles but the visible growth of a beard (late thirties? early forties?)

His clothing didn't strike her as particularly common either; black suit, three-piece, alabaster-colored shirt, and an overall prominent stature (Surgeon? Professor? Bureaucrat?). Height was approximately five feet and seven inches. Weight? One-hundred and forty pounds. A dark bag hung over his shoulder, looking as though it contained something significant.

"May I help you, Sir?" she asked, making sure to keep all traces of her suspicion out of her tone.

The man inclined his head towards her and displayed a smile; the kind you would expect a gentleman whose intentions was to sway an entire courtroom to have. "Charles Marley, Chief Operating Officer of the Life Foundation."

The Life Foundation? Her eyes narrowed as she heard this, but with no less distrust than earlier. He was dressed the part, that was for certain.

She inclined her head to him in return. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Marley. What could someone from one of the most prominent corporations in all of the state of California want?

His smile remained unwavering, yet it was the way he constantly kept tugging on his back which caught her attention.

"I come on the behalf of Mr. Carlton Drake with a proposal." He glanced around the vacant area of the hospital they were standing in, but he seemed somehow discontent with it. As he turned back to her, he tilted his head towards the way to the exit. "May we find somewhere more private to speak?"