lesliethompkins: (neutral inspection)
Through the scrapes and the bruises, the broken bones and tears, she's cared for him. When answers escaped him, when the gentle hand of a woman was needed, Leslie was there. Now as he struggles in, bleeding and wounded, she's ready once again to receive him.
lesliethompkins: (Default)
Japan is a beautiful country. Or so she's been told. She herself has never visited. Perhaps Bruce will tell her about it over dinner. She used to think of four months as a long time. In terms of his other trips, it's but a blink of the eye. Each time he returns, they gather over Alfred's cooking and speak of the days gone by. Of things missed and things enjoyed.
lesliethompkins: (clinic)
Life in the pursuit of service. Her father had laughed out loud. No attempt was made to hide his bemusement. When he realized she was serious, it mutated into anger. No daughter of his was going to throw away promises of a profitable life. Leslie Thompkins was his little girl. She could have had anything she wanted. But medical school?! Why?!

"So you can waste your time on those who can't pay for your services? Leslie. Think about it."

She did. She thought about it out of respect for her father. Her mind once it was made however would not be dissuaded. Her father in turn respected her desire. The East Side Clinic was born half a decade later. Patients trickled in and bills accumulated at an alarming rate. Her determination dwindled. Finances darkened. She told no one at first, determined to find the elusive solution herself. She could go to others in the medical community. Charitable foundations. Her family. Friends. She didn't.

Had her father been right? Had her overabundance of idealism overshadowed her good sense? Would the dream die before it rose to its full potential? After months of deliberation, she recognized not idealism but pride would be her downfall.

She sought funding, anyway and every way she could.

Five years later, the clinic blossoms under the care of the Wayne Foundation. No other present can compare. Now or then.

She's readying to leave for the night when an unfamiliar visitor arrives.
lesliethompkins: (damn)
There isn't any time for tears in the middle of an operation. The brain is focused entirely on the hands. The hands are occupied with the patient. This patient, Leslie knows somewhere in the back of her brain, doesn't have a chance. She's too stubborn though to admit it.

Hours pass. The bleeding is stopped. The slugs are removed. The wounds are stitched. There's nothing else she can do. Leslie looks sideways at the readouts. Blood pressure is low. Pulse is weak. Her professional judgment battles with her stubbornness.

Stephanie doesn't have that long to live.

Leslie's eyes move to the assisting nurse. "Don't move her."

The nurse glances up in surprise but Leslie is already moving away. Towards the sink. To strip the blood covered gloves from her hands. They hit the biohazard bin with force. She doesn't even bother to wash before she leans heavily against the wall. Fingers tighten involuntarily. She strains her neck, trying to wipe her face on the sleeve of her scrubs.

She wants nothing better than to collapse. There's one last duty she has to perform before the tears can come though. She has to find a phone.


lesliethompkins: (Default)
Dr. Leslie Thompkins

February 2017

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