On Call

Author’s note: In terms of the crossover show, this is set post-series but not that far post-series. Jigger the timelines. Disclaimer afterwards.

X X X X X

Their first recruit was going to be a doctor. Slayers were pretty good field medics, but there were a lot of injuries they couldn’t treat on their own. Not to mention getting access to the necessary drugs. Willow could do something, but healing took a lot out of a witch, even one as powerful as Willow.

The destination was a bit of a surprise: a rundown clinic in the Bronx. A bit out of the way, but their research had shown that this man A, knew about the supernatural, and B, was an excellent doctor with a strong code of ethics.

Who greeted Kennedy when she opened the door was also a surprise. It was a woman she’d met in the Hamptons one summer a few years back and had quickly developed a huge, purely physical and decidedly unrequited crush on, despite her being ten years older and the definition of scatterbrain. Had her family fallen on hard times?

It had been a couple of years, but the minute the woman saw her she squealed, “Jackie!” and ran out from behind the counter to hug Kennedy.

“Hi, Linda,” Kennedy said once they pulled clear of the hug. “How are you doing?”

“Terrific!” Then, to the heavyset black woman behind the counter, she said, “Margaret, I’m taking a break.”

“Linda,” Margaret said, “We’ve got a half dozen patients here.”

“Well, they’ll be here when I get back,” Linda said, and pulled Kennedy towards the back of the clinic and into a supply closet. Then, a bit seriously, she said, “How are you since that guy died?”

“Guy?”

“Yeah, you know, your,” and she stage-whispered, “Watcher.”

Kennedy couldn’t have been more surprised if Linda had sprouted wings and flown to the moon. “How the hell did you know that?” She knew Linda hadn’t figured it out. She wasn’t quite as dumb as her scattered nature implied, but deductive reasoning was not Linda’s strong suit.

“Okay, here’s the thing,” Linda said. “I was a potential Slayer when I was growing up. Man, I hated that. Blah blah blah demons, blah blah blah vampires, blah blah blah swordplay, blah blah blah imminent death. I was so glad when I turned 20 and was able to forget all about it. Don’t get me wrong; it’s something that has to be done. But I wouldn’t have been very good at it. And the idea of dying young is no fun at all.”

Well, that much was true. “Well, I am a Slayer now,” Kennedy said.

“A? I don’t remember much but I thought there was only supposed to be one at a time.”

“Not anymore,” and then she gave Linda a thirty-second summary of what had happened in Sunnydale.

“Oh,” Linda said.

There was a pounding on the door. Margaret’s voice came through it, yelling, “Linda! Get your skinny white butt out here and start in on this paperwork. The patients are revolting!”

“That’s not very nice,” Linda shouted back. “Sure, some of them may be smelly but that’s no reason to insult them.”

“Look, Linda –"

“I know, I know,” then to Kennedy, “I have to get going.”

“Hey – finding you here was just a bonus. I really need to talk to your boss.”

“Don’t you have enough money to find a specialist?”

“No. I just want to talk to him,” Kennedy said. “I’m not sick.”

“Okay,” Linda said. As soon as she opened the door – which stopped short of the wall with a thump and a muffle curse – Linda yelled, “Dr. Becker!”

“I’m right here, Linda,” came an irritated voice from behind the door. “Though now I need a handkerchief because my nose is bleeding.”

Kennedy stepped out, and Linda closing the door, said, “Oh my gosh, Dr. Becker, I’m so sorry. You want me to get you a handkerchief?”

“No,” Becker said sarcastically. “I’d rather stand here and bleed.”

Linda shrugged. “Your choice,” and walked back out to the clinic’s waiting room.

To Kennedy, Becker said, “Sometimes, I swear that woman sold her brain for medical research years ago. And if she got more than two dollars for it she ripped them off.”

“Yeah, that’s Linda, all right,” Kennedy said. “You’re Dr. Becker, right?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I’m Kennedy. I have a job offer for you.”

“I like working where I do just fine, thanks.”

Kennedy shook her head. “I wouldn’t expect you to close your clinic. Can we talk privately?”

“I can give you two minutes,” Becker said. Once he’d closed his office door, he said, “Okay, Miss Kennedy, what do you want? I warn you, if you’re a friend of Linda’s, I don’t do private physicianing for the rich.” He spat out rich like it was a dirty word.

“I wasn’t going to ask –“

But Becker was on a roll. “That’s the problem with this country,” he said. “Too damn many rich people who didn’t earn it. Don’t get me wrong. If you earned your money, I have no problem with you. At least you had to do something right. But there are too damn many people in the world who simply got lucky what parents they happened to be born to. And these are the people who think they can buy whatever the want. Justice, fame, people. Let me tell you something, Miss Kennedy. It stinks.”

Kennedy nodded. “You’re right. I didn’t earn my money. I also don’t act like Paris Hilton, either. I’m trying to do something with my life.”

“Oh really?’ Becker demanded. “Let me guess. You’re here collecting funds to save the lesser goldenthroated warbler. Well—“

“No,” Kennedy said firmly, surprising Becker. Kennedy guessed he must not get outshouted that often. “I’m here because I’m a Slayer.”
“A what?”

“Don’t bluff me, Dr. Becker. You know what a Slayer is. You dated one for a brief time back in the 1970’s, before you went to medical school.”

“Nikki,” Becker said. “Right. And you work for the same people who got her killed? Then my response to your job offer is not only no, but hell no, and if I see you in my office again, I’ll call the cops.” He stood up as if to shoo Kennedy out of the room.

“No,” Kennedy said. “I don’t work for them. None of the Slayers do. There’s more than one now and the old men who ran the place are long gone. We run it ourselves now and we’d like to make sure that what happened to Nikki doesn’t happen to anyone else. That’s why we want to hire you. To watch us, medically. Watchers and Slayers might know something about field medicine, but that’s about it. And we need an option between makework and local hospitals. Someone who won’t feel an urge to report seeing young women come in cut up, bruised, and battered – and who won’t see those things and jump to the wrong conclusions.”

“Here’s a good way to make sure it doesn’t happen: don’t send young girls out to kill things.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Dr. Becker. Someone has to. And we were the ones drafted.”

Becker said, “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Okay, look. I’ll give it some thought. Do you have a card?”

“Yeah. Here,” Kennedy said. “Thank you for your time.”

X X X X X

Two days later, there was a knock on the front door of headquarters. Kennedy opened it and found John Becker. As it was daytime, she felt safe telling him to come in.

“I accept your offer,” Becker said. “But I have some conditions.”

“Name them,” Kennedy said.

“One. My clinic always, and I mean always, comes first. If you can schlep an injured Slayer over there, I’ll try to fit her in. Otherwise, I’ll see you when I can see you.”

“Understood and granted,” Kennedy said.

“Two,” Becker said. “I’m a GP, not a specialist in emergency medicine. If someone’s bleeding out or breathed in some deadly poison, take them to the ER.”

“Of course,” Kennedy said.

“And finally, I don’t want you to pay me.”

Kennedy blinked. “You don’t?”

“I’ll take expenses,” Becker said. “Travel, supplies. Nothing beyond that. But when I said I wouldn’t be bought, I meant it. I won’t take one red cent above and beyond what I need.” After a second, “Of course, every now and again I may need a courtside seat at the Knicks game.”

“Deal,” Kennedy said. “You want to come pick out a room?”

“I’m not going to live here,” Becker said.

“No, but we don’t want you having to operate out of a black bag, either,” Kennedy said. “The rooms on the top floor and the basement are taken care of. Pick one of the other rooms and we’ll set it up as your clinic.”

“Fair enough,” Becker said. They shook hands. “One more thing. You seem to know Linda. Any chance you can get her a job here?”

“Nice try. The deal’s already in place.”

“Aw, hell. I knew I forgot something. Ah well. Lead on, MacDuff.”

X X X X X

Becker was created by dave Hackel.