10:30 AM
February 22nd, 2018
Santa Cruz, California, United States of America

Life was normal in the Caduceus Memorial Hospital. Nurses, doctors, lab techs. They were all busy doing their part in the ecosystem of the hospital. Sarah Rossi, the head of the CMH Trauma Department was incredibly busy at work in nationally renowned Caduceus Memorial Trauma Center. Home to some of the best doctors and medical technology in the nation, it wasn't hard to see as to why so many came here to get themselves treated.

"Listen, I know you have your own desires to satisfy, but you can't just keep putting things where they shouldn't be!"

Sarah was looking at some X-Rays that had just come in from the techs. The gentleman that she was treating at this particular moment was very notorious not only in the CMH Trauma Center, but among the entire hospital. As soon as his name popped up on the patient list everyone and their mother knew what exactly he was in for. Everyone called him the "Serial Shover". For those that were new, they were going to catch wind of this patient and his shenanigans very, very soon.

"I don't even know how you managed to get a light bulb stuck up there. But you sir, you've gotten yourself in a very delicate situation. It looks to me that we have to contact other departments to get yourself sorted out. There is absolutely no way we can take it out of your body without ruining your insides."

"Doctor Rossi, I've been over this many times. You and I both know the drill. It's just practice."

"Practice for wha- you know what?" Sarah turned off the x-rays and put them back into the folder that they came in, "I don't want to ever know what it is you're practicing for. I'll call up the surgeons and have you taken up and taken care of, okay?" Sarah flashed a smile and walked out of the little booth for the patient, before going up to reception and talking to the nurse that headed the reception table. "Could you do me a favor and find a general surgeon to take care of the gentleman in Room 3B? I'd much appreciate it."

Glancing up at the patient list, there was only one more patient left in the emergency room. Since she was free right now, it wouldn't have hurt to go check them out. Grabbing a clipboard and walking into the corresponding booth, she encountered a patient who wasn't really a patient. Just from glancing at them and the clipboard she could already tell that they were faking. Everything presented as normal. But just to be very sure, Sarah had to perform a physical examination.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Rossi! You've come in complaining about pain in your chest and abdomen, correct?"

The patient nodded, quickly clutching their stomach and leaning over. Sarah looked at their EKG and it showed nothing. Sarah sat down on a stool and snapped on a pair of gloves, before closing in taking a closer look. The patient looked very skittish, almost like they were anxious about something, but for whatever reason their EKG wasn't reflecting it.

Sarah went through the motions and did a full physical exam. Now was time for the maker-or-breakers. "On a scale from 1-10, 1 being nothing 10 being the worse thing you've ever felt"

"10"

...okay. Pain was subjective but with their demeanor and all of the vitals, it really wasn't adding up. "Okay in that case, I think I'll just prescribe you with some corticosteroids and see how you feel after a few days."

"No, no. I've had that. It doesn't work. I need oxycodone."

Bingo. This was clearly someone looking to get their fix. But at the same time, the pain they were feeling was definitely real. Problem was, she didn't want to feed into their drug addiction. Pulling the prescription pad out, she figured out a solution.

"Okay. I think I'll prescribe you a little stronger version of ibuprofen instead, and refer you to Dr. Lopez." Dr. Hector Lopez was one of the hospital's psychiatrists. Sarah tore out the prescription and handed it to the patient, before smiling and standing up. "We're all set! Have a good day." Sarah walked out of the booth and walked out to a completely vacant emergency room. She shuffled over to the receptionist, the news quietly chattering behind them as she chatted her up. "Serial Shover strikes again." She laughed, before another nurse came up and joined the conversation, "I heard! We've had a pretty chill day today, haven't we? Nothing big!"

Sarah and the receptionists all stopped and looked at the clearly green nurse. What had she done?! You NEVER talk about a chill day. It was like mentioning a perfect game in baseball. It was a well known jinx and now this nurse had just about ruined everyone's day. The doctors, the nurses, and the inevitable patients. Suddenly, the news had chirped up with the BREAKING NEWS. The receptionist turned the TV louder to see what was happening.

"This just in, a very severe multi-car pileup has just occurred on Highway 5. We now tune to our eyes in the sky. Jim?"

"Thanks, Bob! From what I'm seeing from up here, it looks like thirty cars at least! Obviously many emergency vehicles are going in and out but with all the traffic it's difficult for them to get out! The entire highway has been clogged for miles and miles back. I think it's the deceivingly damp road causing this, Bob!

"Well now look at what you've done!" Sarah snarked the nurse, before turning to the receptionist. "We're gonna need a couple teams to go out there and help out. Set up triage and whatnot." Sarah pulled out her phone and accessed the Emergency Coordination app that the hospital used. Within a few presses of a button, a text was gonna be sent to every available doctor to assist with the situation that had just unfolded.

Soon, the mass text was sent out.

ALL HANDS ON DECK IN THE TRAUMA ROOM.

TRIAGE TEAMS:

TEAM 1: IVANOV, ALANAELI, KIM, ARCHER

[...]

Those were not listed in the triage teams list were meant to stay behind. Sarah grabbed her yellow emergency garb and put it on, running outside to greet the incoming ambulances. They were coming, for sure. "It's go-time." She muttered to herself.

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Laser focus, one of the major components to being a great surgeon. If you wanted to win an award you needed focus and precision: two things that Alexander Ivanov prided himself on. The scene was set, Alexander having sweat accumulate on his wrinkled forehead. His eyes focused with the utmost determination, never flinching nor blinking; had this been a staring contest he’d have won by now. His hands had been rotating in constant movement, never in the same place more than once. What kind of surgery could the Cardio God be attending? Septal Myotomy perhaps? Or maybe a Thoracic Aortic Dissection Repair? Oh my! A Coronary Revascularization?! Except he wasn’t in the O.R. or wearing a surgical mask…In fact he wasn’t in anything at all! The scene had panned out to show a naked Alexander Ivanov glistening in the afterglow of his sweat. His breathing was hard and heavy, not because of a difficult surgery, but something much more decisive. Skin on skin contact could be heard as Alexander coalesced with Emmy in a passionate act of lust.

“No wonder why you’re the best peds surgeon, you were made for this”, Alexander said in a half moan half grunt.

Meanwhile, Dr. Emilia Carter was trying her hardest to keep her usually high-pitched tone down to a discrete minimum. So far it was working, but in typical Emmy fashion, there was the occasional slip-up. The right side of her face was pressed against the bed of the rep room, wavy blond hair a wild, tangled mess around her. They say God works in strange ways, and Emilia couldn’t help but agree. She was supposed to be fast asleep, taking advantage of the free period between patients to take one of her routinary naps. However, after a text from the ridiculously attractive cardio surgeon asking to ‘go over some files’, she’d found herself right in the middle of the scene unfolding at the moment, calling out to said God to have mercy on her wicked soul.

“Thanks, babe,” Emmy replied breathlessly, eyes tightly shut as she continued to focus all of her attention on the task at hand. “So are you. I don’t know how I’ll be able to walk after this. Lord have mercy on me.”

There were a few women who had such a profound effect on Xander, while he was surrounded by swooning women and the pick of the litter, Emily was… well, different. There were flares of solace when he gazed into her eyes as her hair managed to stick to her sweaty face. A natural painkiller, a soothing substitute to the hard stuff he was used to. In fact, Xander was surrounded by gorgeous women with the intelligence to boot. Having such overwhelming options, it was hard for Alexander to not believe he was in a slice of life harem T.V. show.

Anyway, the man hoped Emily believed in polytheism, since he was a God at more than just Cardio. Just as in surgery, Alexander was the same in the on call room: precise, nimble, and with every intention to satisfy his patient. The unspoken chemistry the two had developed was soon coming to its exposition. They had been in the room for quite a long time now… It would have been a surprise if their colleagues hadn’t known what was going down by now.

Her sharp tongue had made him laugh. “I’m sure we have some crutches here somewhere, if not I have a wheelchair with your name on it” Just then, the whim of the man began to reach ignition. “I…I…I think I’m ready to push one of EPI” his voice beginning to strain.

Emmy giggled at his cheeky comment, but his next words were enough to quickly sober her up. “Oh God,” Emilia cried out, voice taking on a higher pitch as the anticipation of what what coming next began to build up in her body.

Like an IV Drip, the fluid was about to hit the opening into the body, all preparations complete…it was time. Life comes at you fast though and just as he pushed one of EPI his phone started to ring and buzz as loudly as ever. Muffled groans and curse words mixed with the ringtone, creating destructive interference. All his strength had been sapped out of his body as he fell backwards onto the bed and reached over to his loose scrubs. On the other hand, Emilia had fallen down right next to him, trying to catch her breath and regain composure. A satisfied smile was plastered on her flushed face.

Sifting through his pockets, Xander reached for his phone and looked over to the message greeting him on the home screen: ALL HANDS ON DECK IN THE TRAUMA ROOM. TRIAGE TEAMS: TEAM 1: IVANOV, ALANAELI, KIM, ARCHER.

Alexander sighed as he rolled over to face Emily in all her radiant glory, “Looks like I can’t hang around to cuddle, I’m needed in the trauma room.”

“Oh nooooooo!” Emmy whined, faded red lips pressed together in an annoyed pout. The intense session with the resident Cardio God had proven to be a tough competitor for the woman’s liquid lipstick, ultimately leaving the lower half of both their faces with smears of bright red. "Comes with the job, I guess. You go do what you need to do."

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you on one of these cases” he replied, stealing one more glance before moving in for a small kiss, promptly following his dance to get his clothes on.

Emmy remained motionless on the spot, twinkling brown eyes watching Alexander as he got dressed. “I guess we’ll just have to see,” she replied in a bright, singsong voice. “Oh, and by the way, remember to take a trip to the bathroom before you show your face in public. The lower half of it is covered in lipstick.”

It wasn’t that Alexander didn’t want to cuddle, but he truly had to go. Leaving a pouty girl to herself was never on list of to-do’s. This girl was dangerous: she might have been the only one to get this close to the heart of the King of Hearts.

As he adjusted himself and made his clothes presentable he had almost forgotten about his face. “I almost forgot. I’ll have to get you back for that one.”

The blonde woman smiled mischievously. “I’m sure you will,” she said cheekily, shooting him a suggestive wink.

"Don’t wait up for me, okay? I don’t know how long it’ll take me. But I’ll see you around. Promise.” Alexander said, shooting Emilia a parting wink as he left the room. The brown-haired man made his way to the bathroom, where he gave himself a quick rinse to get rid of all evidence of his sins before he was off to the trauma center. As he was the first one on the scene, he waited patiently, hoping to meet the rest of his fellow entourage and for them to appear with some information.

---

"Shit."

An overreaction, for sure, but the punishment fit the crime.

In her right hand was a chocolate chip muffin. Said muffin was supposed to be a no-no--Victoire had been eating way too much junk food the past week--and in her gluttonous devouring, she had smudged a chocolate chip on her chin, just under her lip. Her left hand was covered in a mix of dark red lipstick and chocolate, where she had absentmindedly decided to wipe it off. In her annoyance she had also accidentally crushed the muffin, further perpetuating her annoyance and ruining her snack. And so there she was at her desk, a mess of crumbs and chocolate and lipstick. It was really trivial, but the daunting amount of paperwork on her desk meant she had wanted something to pep her up before she would dive in.

Placing the crushed baked treat down, she pushed herself away from her desk and brushed the crumbs off her suit. Clucking her tongue, she grabbed her purse as she walked out of her office. Things were never quiet in a hospital, but today was rather calm. She was grateful as she only passed maybe a handful of people as she made her way to the bathroom. Pushing the door open, she placed her purse onto the counter and turned on the faucet. Taking out some wipes, she began to scrub her chin and hand, the wipe turning from white to red in seconds. Once she was finished, she began to wash her hand, though the door opening let her know that someone else had arrived.

Turning her head, Victoire's eyebrows raised high as she watched Emmy walk in, her hair disheveled, and a just-fucked expression on her face. Looking back down at her hands, she shook her head at the blonde. "Someone's had a good morning," She said as she finished, drying her hands on the cheap paper towels close to her. "You know that means the rest of the day will probably go to hell, right?"

Cold waters cascaded upon his body, the cool fluids breaking upon his shoulders as the rush of water descended from the spewing showerhead. Flowing down the wide expanse of shoulders, cut across half down his back, the other down his chest. His arms opened up to grasp his short chocolate hair, wetted fingers pulling back his temple to massage the cool sensation into his scalp. Running the digits back even more as his breath deepened at the pleasure of relief. The breaking waters rinsing down his forearms, dripping upon tiles as trails of water slid down his axilla before down his sides. His head thrown back into the running falls, the cold baptism washing away the day's work into the drain below. Eyes closed in bliss, bodywash squirted into the palms as the figure lathered up his chest, cleaning the scent of a long night from his body. Fingertips running across expanse, swiping to the left and right. The scrub spread across the body, as an anointment of the end of days. What luxury was a simple pour of water, splashing over and over, jetting the continual fountain. The squeaking of the tap, oh to want but a few moments more...

Cold and dripping, toweled then dried, wrapped around the waist to see the grey eyes staring at him. Elbows leaning against the counter, splashing the last kiss of water from the running faucet. Comb swept through his damp hair to resemble the form it did coming in, meticulously landscaped as he examined himself in the silver mirror. An edge of stubble, above the lips and on the chin, the growth of the hours passed away which would be trimmed away at his resident apartment only a stone's throw away from the hospital campus. Caduceus Memorial was a large institution, fully equipped with its own satellite hubs to form the medical block of Santa Cruz over the crossing of the two major roads. A powerhouse of science, healthcare and medicine on the West Coast, complete with its own medical education center and student-resident housing. And yet despite the billions invested into the constant upgrades the hospital sees, thousands pumped into service staff and doctor education, EMR revisions with imaging integration, and uncompensated patient care, all the research grant money could never buy the residents showers in the on-call rooms. So here he was on the 5th floor, preening himself over the mirror in the men's locker room. Each floor of the hospital had its own division, intricately designed and redesigned to provide excellence in patient care and logistics.

It was the vision of Jack Marshall that built the foundations, the man who's bronzed-cast face solemnly regards all visitors to main entrance. A state placed in memorium between the sliding glass gates to the outside world, and world he built, the founder resides embedded in the spirit of the hospital's entrance hall just before the main lobby. The engraved years of his life meaning far less than the lengthy paragraph of his plaque explaining who the man was to generations of patients, doctors, and visitors. From that entry point was the was main lobby, the center of the hospital with a grand atrium that stretched up the spiraling stairs the seven floors. The circular nature of the hospital was key to its design, a trinity of three wings placed in three of the four cardinal directions. The 6 floors of the West Wing was home to the internal medicine floors, two floors of general medicine, and four floors devoted to the common specialties. Floor 3 of the West Wing was ortho and PM&R, 4 housed nephro, urology, 5 was cardio and pulm, and 6 was strictly neurology. The East Wing was home to the Surgical services and Emergency department with direct access to the main roads for EMS to rush in sirens blazing. The ER receiving and Trauma bays were found on the ground floor of the mirrored East wing to triage patients as required, and the Pathology and inhouse Labs on the second floor for STAT access. Floor 3 of the East Wing was devoted to surgery holding two dozen Operating Rooms, with pre-op holding and PACU, 4 was OB/GYN for births and deliveries with their own ORs, 5 was the first ICU units divided into NICU-PICU, ICU and NeuroICU, and 6 housed the Surgical ICU. Combined these two wings on either side served as the power units of the hospital bridged together main pavilion which connected both sides to the heart of the hospital.

The Admin Pavilion, as the central building was called, was the place where the arts of surgery and medicine met, the ground floor being the elegant lobby for visitors to grander at the awe of Jack's Legacy. There was a small cafe to the side, a lounge with many chairs to relax, visitor's information desk next to the eight elevators which served all seven floors. These Eight Elevators served the main elevators to the hospital, although each wing had their own series of elevators as well as the volume of traffic and patient beds required at least eight elevators per building. A lush greenry and a garden was maintained in the lobby area, off towards the hallway into the East wing to give the illusion of a tranquil place despite the chaos of the ED just a few paces beyond the secured doors. Opposite the garden was the gift shop, as a place to give your loved ones a token gift to aid in their recovery at exorbitant prices but in a pinch a plush teddy bear was always a comfort to an ill patient. Visitors were allowed to enjoy the lobby, and even venture up to the second floor where the cafeteria was built, mingling staff and visitors alike in a public area. There was even an exercise gym stocked with weights and machines opposite the mess hall, and a interfaith chapel for spiritual and religious needs. The 3rd floor however was Observation, for patients not critically ill, and the 4th floor was devoted to technology and radiology department although the machines were found in the basement floor running beneath the hospital, 5th floor were the grand conference rooms for big presentations and administrative offices for legal and Records, the 6th floor was the administrative offices for PR, HR, R&D, and most important Finance.

And finally overlooking the hospital was 7th floor, where Jack Marshall's former office was, home to the board and leadership offices for the entire practice. And if one should look outside Jack Marshall's window, across the street overshadowing the Admin Pavilion was the 21-story building that emerged from the North. The North Tower was the clinic building for outpatient follow-up, organized by specialty, which served as the compliment to the hospital. Connected by a glass overpass on the send floor to the main hospital, cars cruising down the road which cut between the inpatient and outpatient grounds could see the many busy employees travelling through the walk way from their rounds to their clinics. Additional parking from the North Tower with the parking structure found on the North side. There was also a connection unseen by the underground, below the security, pharmacy administration and research division dungeon, two levels below both buildings a network of tunnels connected all the buildings composing the campus providing both patient and staff transport.

It was through these tunnels he could reach the resident apartments, finally reaching his little room to relax after the busy night. The medical students and residents were unfortunately not segregated by floors, although they ought to be given call schedules and study schedules, yet it mattered little to a man who could never sleep easy. His hours gave a tired pout to his appearance, nearly nineteen hours since he started, only now to be going home after his cold shower. He was the senior night float for the neurology floor, and they currently had thirty patients on the list. A mix of chronic and acute problems, and some psychosis no doubt he'll need a psych consult to accept to their end. It was a common joke for neurologists to become encephalopathic at the end of their day, and yet he still planned to trudge along, planning to go stay up a few hours until noon or so to stream something in bed before the insomnia finally died down. And of course the process repeats itself again at 1600, when his alarm goes off and he prepared to come back to the floors by the hour, seven days a week. This was the daily life of Dr. Zachary Sinclair MD.

Zach never complained about it, this was the standard life of a neurology resident, and this was his third year working under the thumb of all the attendings. He was expected by the department to be chief, if he could show a little more leadership beyond his impressive memory and dedication. He never was the type to take the center stage, his polite soft-spoken attitude made him seem far more passive than most. And he was okay with being the second man, judging himself in the mirror with a slight nod to the other man who came into the shared locker space who asked if he was calling it a day. But today was a special day, for the curse was invoked, a taboo as old as time by the will of the gods above. Do not take the blessing for granted, for such things can be easily remedied out of sheer spite.

CODE TRIAGE EXTERNAL - PREPARE FOR CASUALTIES - ALL AVAILABLE STAFF REPORT TO TRAUMA BAY

Announced twice more on the overhead, to the follow up of dozens of beeping pagers. Neurology had their own floors to worry about, and the team need to care for West Six, meaning that they were considered unavailable staff. The West Wing wouldn't be needed as they managed their floor patients, but the code being called sent the lockers into a frenzy, the bang of metal doors and swinging of doors. Surgeons, emergency doctors, nurses, and techs alike went to answer the call as was their duty. The reports were surely coming in from the dispatch to charge, the East Wing sent into a situation as OR's set on standby were frantically prepped for inbound trauma patients from the massive crash on 5. What triggered the accident? How the dominoes fell in place to create it all? Was it just normal Santa Cruz Traffic? Or was there something more? In a sense it was just like medicine to find the root cause of the problem, surgeons were more than happy to solve the problem blindly, but alas a neurologist wanted the source. An explanation for the findings, closure of the case before closure of the body.

"Bloody Balls Up." The Britishness of Zac, coming full colours, as he sighed and pulled up his scrubs drawers and knotted the drawstrings. Duty to serve, the oath to do all he could to save another human being. Scrub top thrown overhead, shoes stumbled into as he ran out the door toward the Trauma Bay which erupted into the usual chaos one would expect. White Coats standing around waiting for the wave of dying folks to cut into for the Trauma surgeons, and to resuscitate for the ED's, and to butcher for the Orthopods. "Neurology's here, team assignment?" Waving his badge to the charge nurse bracing for the massacre beyond those glass doors being fixed open by the security team. Waved off and directed by another nurse over to where Trauma team was on standby to assist in neuro checks and Glasgow's.

And the reports were already trickling in...

1) Pt - MVA - LOC - Possible Traumatic Brain Injury
2) Pt - MVA - AMS - Traumatic Chest Injury
3) Pt - MVA - HYPOvolemic - Laceration of RUE
4) Pt...

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TICK. TICK. TICK. TICK. Lying in bed. Staring up at the ceiling. Listening to the seconds passing by. The small hours of the morning poor company for a restless mind.


PING. The door of the microwave springs open and the smell of overcooked scrambled eggs wafts out with the smoke.


POP. The reek of burnt toast assaults the nostrils as the toaster launches its contents in to the air. With a solid thud it lands on the worktop: blackened and charred.


PLUNK. Steam seeps out from the spout of the kettle. The bubble of boiling water is surprisingly soothing in the madness of the morning.


BANG. The front door slams shut; a barrier between two worlds. Footsteps stride away from it towards the street. The faint smell of burnt toast following them.

***

"Next stop: Caduceus Memorial Hospital"

Tamara Hayes jolted out of her reverie, gazing blankly out the window as the bus pulled away from its latest stop. The events of the previous evening, namely the conversation she had tried to have with her husband, were running around her head like an irritating fly that wouldn't go away. She'd hardly slept; the result being a chaotic morning where she'd managed to ruin her breakfast and forget all about her flask of tea she usually brought to help her through the day. She shook her head, trying to break the repetitive cycle of her thoughts and turned her focus on to her reflection. Dark, heavy eyes stared back at her, pinched at the corners with pale, waxen skin full of advancing wrinkles. She scowled, rummaging around in her backpack for a moment before pulling out her make-up bag. Digging around for her concealer she hastily slapped it on under her eyes, working furiously to rub it in.

A faint screeching of sirens reached her ears and she instinctively looked up, peering down the road as far as she could to see where they were coming from. Just at that moment, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She jumped, cursing under her breath as her make-up bag went tumbling to the ground, spilling its contents across the shuddering floor of the bus as it rolled to a stop. Scrambling, she tried to multi task; scooping up as many of her cosmetics as she could and fumbling about in her pocket to pull out her phone.

"Oh come on!" She hissed, almost dropping the make-up bag again as she squinted at her phone to read the message which had popped up on her screen.

"CODE TRIAGE EXTERNAL - ALL AVAILABLE STAFF ON HAND TO ASSIST CASUALTIES"

Tami gasped, her head snapping up to look back out the window as the noise of the sirens grew louder and louder. She leapt to her feet, stuffing her phone back in her pocket and wrestling her make-up bag back in to her rucksack. She stumbled out of her seat, rushing down to the front of the bus.

"Please, let me off here, I work at the hospital. I'll run over, it's not far. There's an emergency!" She stammered wildly. The driver hesitated for a moment but seeing and hearing the ambulances driving by seemed to make his decision for him. He nodded, pushing the button for the doors and as soon as they opened Tami sprinted on to the street, making a beeline for the hospital. She wasn't triage and she wasn't a surgeon but the hospital would need everyone it could get to help with the flow of patients, the worried relatives who would no doubt arrive soon after and the patients already at the hospital needing to be cared for. She could help in her own way, even if it meant holding herself up in the cafe to make tea for everyone.

As she rushed in to the auditorium after darting between the waiting ambulances and the beginnings of the coordination effort she couldn't help but chuckle to herself. Make tea. How very British. Meanwhile, the hands of the auditorium clock swung round to the hour and if one strained their ears above the wailing sirens...

TICK. TICK. TICK. TICK

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When the alarm went off in the pre-dawn hours, Tom Mitchell knew that a very long and very tiring day lay ahead. It wasn’t unusual for OB/GYNs to frequently take on 24-hour shifts, and today was Tom’s turn in the cycle. Even his senior status as the department head of Women’s Care at Caduces Memorial did not grant him amnesty in that area. He had to pull his weight just like everyone else, much to the older man’s chagrin. At his age, he felt he deserved a little leniency, but by that point, he might as well admit defeat. Despite being one of the best in his field, the hospital had already taken a gamble by extending such a prestigious position to him at age 57 – only five short years ago. He liked to refer to it as borrowed time. If he started to stir the pot too much, they were liable to hand him a severance package and show him the door. Out with the old, in with the new.

He wasn’t quite ready to accept the inevitable, and so, he soldiered on. It might make him miserable, but he couldn’t say that he didn’t enjoy the work itself. That was the only payoff. At least on this morning, things would start out slow. He was scheduled to begin downstairs in the clinic for routine gynecological cases, such as annual exams and infections, which meant he would actually have time for a quick breakfast – a bagel, fruit, and a cup of coffee.

Looking ahead, he had a C-Section scheduled at noon on a 26-year old in her third pregnancy; she had requested tubal sterilization, which required additional prep, but it was nothing too strenuous. Hopefully that would be the only real ‘challenge’ for the day. But as usual, his job was unpredictable.

By the time 10:00 a.m. rolled around, Tom was on his final appointment of the morning, and his third cup of coffee, long after his body had dispensed of the initial energy from his pitiful breakfast. He was running on pure caffeine when he entered the sterile room and immediately sat down on the stool to check the computer terminal in the corner. According to the records he pulled up, the young woman, who was six weeks pregnant with her second child, had some concerns about spotting and occasional abdominal cramps. It sounded routine enough.

“So, you’re having some discomfort?” he asked coolly as he turned away from the computer screen and swiveled the stool to look at her. The woman only nodded. Tom took note of the worry lines etching her face. Was there something else he missed? Or was she just easily distressed? “Where about?”

As she stretched and pointed to her left side, Tom grabbed a pair of gloves from the box on the counter and snapped them to his wrists.

“It’s not all the time,” she started to explain in soft tones, “but when it comes, it’s pretty sharp.”

“And this is when you notice the spotting?” he asked, now pressing firmly around the area she indicated.

“I would say it’s pretty consistent.” She trailed off and involuntarily flinched as his fingers probed an area directly below and to the left of the belly button. He immediately stopped and pulled back to look at her.

“Did that hurt?”

A quick shake of her head. “No...no. I’m sorry,” she bit her lower lip and turned away to focus on a spot on the far wall, “I’m just worried, that’s all. I’m really jumpy. I’ve been doing some research on my symptoms and…” She closed her eyes briefly, clearly hesitant. “I found some information about ectopic pregnancies? You know, where the egg implants outside the uterus?”

He nodded, waiting her out.

“Well, I think--I think that’s it.”

Tom exhaled softly, not even bothering to suppress his relief. He could see where this was going. “You think you’re having an ectopic pregnancy?”

The woman studied him for a long moment, then nodded meekly. “Yes…”

“Well, I have to say, that’s very rare, if so,” he stated evenly, now leaning back as he pulled off his gloves. “About 1 out of 50 pregnancies. Where did you get your research from?”

She smiled in spite of herself; he could tell she was suddenly unsure of her answers. “I found this website...WebMe--”

And there it was, just as he suspected. A self-diagnosis courtesy of the world wide web. He held up a hand to stop her and merely smiled. He was used to this; this happened more often than he’d like to admit. The internet was a powerful tool, but it served as a real detriment to health professionals everywhere. “You’re fine, Sharon,” he soothed, addressing her by her first name to make this more personal. “Next time call the office instead of going down that rabbit hole. There’s too many self-proclaimed doctors out there who think they know everything.”

He wheeled back to the computer, but paused as he rested his hand on the mouse. “Of course, there are some doctors here who think they know everything as well, but at least we have the credentials. We’re not hiding behind a screen.” His smile widened in jest, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “That should count for something, right?”

She leaned forward and chuckled softly, her worry lines starting to fade.

“As for your symptoms, I wouldn’t worry,” he turned serious once more, his fingers now tapping against the keyboard. “It’s fairly common for someone in their first trimester to experience some bleeding and cramping, but just to be sure, I’ll go ahead and schedule an ultrasound for early next week. We’ll take a peek and rule out any problems then. Sound like a plan?”

“Yes, thank you, Doctor Mitchell,” she nodded with enthusiasm. “That’ll put me at ease.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you next week…” He stood, extending his hand to her in parting. As he gripped her palm, he noted that she was noticeably more relaxed than she was when he had first entered the room. Another crisis averted.

And with that, his morning in the clinic had come to a close.

Passing off some last minute memos to his receptionist, Tom grabbed his last cup of coffee of the morning – number four – and headed up two floors to the lounge and the adjoining locker room. From there, he would change into scrubs in preparation for his afternoon in the OR and his rounds in the maternity ward.

---

"I don't think you understand, son. There's an emergency. It's probably an absolute ruckus up there. Do you think my ears can handle that kind of noise? No, precisely. So you'll have to deliver the flipping blood samples yourself, won't you?"

It was common knowledge among interns that you do not want under Dr Christopher Freeman. Ever. He would work them hard and use them for menial tasks that are too dull for him. This one was impressive, he had been working under Christopher for three weeks and his spirit hadn't been broken. Christopher liked the young man's spunk and determination, and therefore felt the need to work him harder than usual. As the boy ran off with the blood tests, Christopher moved quickly to the young man's work station in the lab. He seemed to be working on some equation he couldn't get the hang of for school. Topher was also known for being helpful towards those who he respected, so sticking to that image, he wrote out the hardest part of the work for the young man, and left him a note telling him that he just earned a 30 minute coffee break.

He returned back to his desk, cleaning up various test tubes and watch-glasses. This was the menial part of his job, cleaning up his mess. He truly adored his work, but it could be a bit tiresome. Nonetheless, without him the entire hospital would collapse. He was one of the best lab techs in the U.S., and everyone knew it, including himself. What he was doing was important research for the sake of the country. Or something like that, the usual spiel his mother gave him whenever she visited him.

He nodded at the intern as he came back. "Right then, I'm off on my break. I think I'll go and help with the ambulances. You'll know where to find me." His voice was unnaturally slow and he meticulously pronounced each syllable, a trick he learnt from speech therapy.

"Are you sure, Dr Freeman? I mean, you just said you wouldn't go up there... And you look exhausted..."

"Calm down, Lucas. I'll be just fine. What's the point of working in a hospital if you can't help 24/7."

As he entered the auditorium, the wailing sirens screamed over his thoughts. It almost hurt him, sending him into a state of panic. He was tired, and his sensitive ears were getting the better of him. He needed to get out, but he wanted to help. That was his job.

That being said, he never usually had to deal with this kind of noise. Taking a few deep breaths, he prepared for the worst. If distressed relatives needed help, he'd be there. If an impromptu blood test was needed, he'd be there. He looked around the room, spotting Tamara Hayes standing around, presumably as determined to help out as he was. He didn't think she was particularly bad company, so he walked up to her, coughing to make his presence know.

"Well hello there. Someone looks tired today. Were you working all night or...?" Small talk was, clearly, not his forte.

@TudorRose92

---

They day started like any normal day that he would have had coming back from his one free day off. Saleh got in an early morning work out at the gym followed by a stop at his favorite coffee joint for a dark coffee with no sugar. The darker the better as it helped energize and fuel his body for whatever was going to come next during his shift. Things were always unpredictable at Caduceus Memorial Hospital, something Saleh secretly enjoyed. Sure he was a man who favored routine, but being a doctor there never really was a routine, just rituals one did before the day would begin. That's what kept him sane, having rituals to keep his thoughts aligned on the straight and narrow.

Being at CMH for a little more than a year, Saleh was still trying to integrate himself more into the community. Sure he was well liked by most of his superiors and the interns, but his other colleagues he needed to find more time to get to know. That was one thing he knew that he was lacking in as he was always throwing himself onto a case rather than getting to know those around him. His father would have been proud of all the work he has been doing, but his mother on the other hand would have bickered that he didn't have any friends to keep him company while he was there.

As he pulled up into the Caduceus Memorial staff parking lot his phone's emergency text vibrated and rang. There was a colossal mess of an accident and his name was on team one of the triage. Without hesitation he bolted out of his car and rushed inside, leaving most of his belongings in his car other than his badge and scrubs. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it into his car, swapping on his scrubs as he entered the hospital lobby, making his way to the trauma center.

Saleh hadn't read who else was on the triage team as it never really mattered, the only thing that mattered to him was that he was summoned so he was going to do his job. But, it did ease his mind at who he was teamed with as all the doctors at CMH were competent enough, he knew with confidence those who stood before him were some of the best there.

"Dr. Kim, Dr. Ivanov." He said with a respectful greeting bow. "Glad to be working with you today." Sure Saleh sounded like a kiss-ass with his good morning's, but it was how he was raised and it stuck on him like glue.

---

---

Once Xander had left the room, Emilia decided it was her turn to depart the premises as well. Sighing, she got up from the bed, stretched and glanced around the room, trying to locate every piece of her clothing. Once every item was accounted for, Emmy began her treasure hunt, taking the opportunity to do some retrospection about her life -and what she’d failed to accomplish in it so far.

At the tender age of eighteen, right after graduating high school, young Emmy had decided to make a 10-year life plan for herself. Said plan consisted of the top five things she was dead-set on accomplishing in the next ten years: get her Pediatrics degree, land a job in one of the top medical facilities in the country, afford the car and home of her dreams, get married and have at least one child. Out of five, she’d managed to accomplish three of her goals. But for the blonde, the two goals she’d failed to reach were the ones the held the most significance to her. Not only had she not done so in the time period established, but she was also three months shy of that dreaded 30th birthday… And no sign of settling down in sight.

Dressing herself, Emilia tried to pinpoint the exact moment in which things had gone wrong. Had it been when she’d decided to part ways with Wilfred Thompson back in her senior year? They’d been such a serious, stable couple for the best part of two years- until their career choices had taken them down different paths. Maybe if they had found a way to make it work, he could possibly have been the one to grace her with the blessing of marriage and children…

Or had it been when she’d refused to take back Julius Kennedy back at the end of her sophomore year of college? Sure, he’d been a serial cheater and an overall douchebag. But what if her love was the key to him turning his life back around? What if, by neglecting to save Julius, she’d really lost her one opportunity at making her two biggest dreams a reality?

Or had it been back that last December, when she’d ended up in Dr. Alexander Ivanov’s bed after having one too many martinis and margaritas at the Christmas staff party? Had it been then, when she’d failed to hold her ground in her search for her soulmate and instead had consented to what would end up becoming a sting of meetings for casual sex?

No matter how hard she thought about it, Emmy would never know which had been the second in which she’d fallen down this pit of despair; the one that had turned her into the kind of woman to hook up in broad daylight at her own workplace.

Sighing, Emilia would take one last glance at the scene of the crime before making her ‘Walk of Shame’ to the nearest staff bathroom. She’d secretly prayed that the room would be empty on her arrival to save herself the judgemental looks. However, said prayers went unanswered, because as Emmy opened the door she found herself staring at none other than Victoire Bailey.

Emmy died a little inside at the disapproving look Vic shot her as she washed her hands. "Someone's had a good morning," the raven-haired woman had commented, drying her hands on the cheap paper towels close to her.

“You could say that…” the blonde sighed, taking up a spot on the first sink. She took a paper towel, wet it a little and began to wipe the mess that was her mouth and jaw.

"You know that means the rest of the day will probably go to hell, right?"

“Well, you know what I always say: when life gives you lemons, you just have to make some sweet, delicious lemonade.” Emmy replied in her usual bubbly fashion, rummaging in her purse for her makeup bag. She quickly touched up the bottom half of her face with some powder foundation, put on a fresh coat of lipstick and fixed up her disheveled hair before turning back to Victoire. “Actually, Vic, I was heading down to the lounge for some coffee…” she trailed off, having second thoughts about what she was going to do but deciding to take a shot anyway. “And I was wondering if you wanted to come down with me? I kind of want to talk to someone about something, and I thought that maybe you could be that someone…?”

Both women were making their way out of the bathroom when a familiar voice greeted them. Looking up, Emilia realized it was Abraham Cross: Victoire’s partner in crime and resident hotshot lawyer with which the blonde had a story with… More news at 10.

“Hey, Abe!” she happily replied to the man, shooting him the brightest of smiles. When asked about the haircut, Emmy giggled and waved a hand. “Nope, no new hair! Just same old me.”

---

The literal ray of sunshine wanted to talk to her? Saying it was a surprise to Victoire was a complete understatement, her eyebrows raised in fascination as Emmy asked. The way she saw it was that the golden retriever puppy wanted to play with the vicious Rottweiler. Not that Victoire disliked anyone in particular, her general discontent for humanity doing that for her, but it was just...weird. Yeah, the woman must be desperate to go to her to talk. Maybe it'd be a good thing. Abe was always telling her that she was much too grouchy, that she needed to 'socialize' more. Or something.

Speaking of the devil, before she could give Emmy a response, Abe himself seemed to pop out of nowhere. Go figure, he would show up right after she considered his words. Victoire couldn't quite respond the same way Emmy did, that is with a general cheerfulness and good natured thanks, but she figured she couldn't be a complete dick. She figured she should be as polite as Ms. Sex Hair, so she tried (and failed) to put on a convincing smile.

"Impeccable timing as always," Victoire replied, silently berating herself. So much for trying to be nicer. Clearing her throat, she looked at Emmy, giving her a slight shrug. "Uh...and sure to...what you said." It was like her brain had been turned off or something. Hopefully coffee would help, or wake her up, or something.

Dr. Tiffany Archer was roused from her sleep as her phone blared. The annoying, but ominous alarm echoed throughout her empty office. The young Chief of Staff had fallen asleep on a stack of papers that she was supposed to get signed off and delivered to her secretary by the end of the day. But apparently, the hospital had different priorities for her at this moment. Whatever had happened was severe enough to trigger the alarm on her phone, and she was at the highest position a doctor could have at this hospital. She rubbed the bridge of her nose before pushing herself off of her mahogany desk.

She was lucky she had scrubs on. It would've saved herself some extra time. Glancing down at her phone once again, she saw that she was picked to be on one of the external triage teams. Wonderful. A change of scenery was great for her. Looking at the coat rack in the corner of her office, she snagged her hospital jacket and made her way down to the trauma bay. Hopefully there was an ambulance for them right when she got there. She didn't feel like waiting around, especially in a situation like this where it was essentially all hands on deck.

Taking a walk, she headed into an elevator and was going down to the floor the trauma bay. Taking a quick moment to observe her environment, the sea of eager looking nurses and doctors had basically told Tiffany that every single person in this elevator had the same idea. Now would be a great time to get an idea of what exactly had happened just. She nudged the nurse right next to her and leaned over to her.

"Hey, do you know what just happened? I just got called after some rest and I have no idea what's happened."

"Oh, I think it's a really big car accident. Over forty cars involved, I think. All of the hospitals in the area are being filled with patients."

Tiffany nodded and thanked the nurse for being so informative and helpful, even to a Chief of Staff that was supposed to know what was going on in the hospital. Once the elevator arrived, everyone in there poured out and made their way to the trauma center. Watching patients rolling in past her, the severity of the situation hit her like a punch in the gut. Luckily for her, the rest of her team had arrived just as she did, which was great. Slipping on her jacket, she pinned her ID on the outside and grabbed the triage bag which had been conveniently set up by some extra staff.

"Come on, people. Let's get moving! There's a ambulance outside waiting for us."

Walking outside, there was an ambulance waiting for their particular triage team. The paramedic in the ambulance had urged them to get inside quickly so that they could start treatment sooner. Once everyone was inside, the ambulance took off like a bat out of hell. Tiffany had her hands folded on top of her triage bag, looking outside the little window just to see how fast they were going. The more she saw, the more she understood the severity of this event. Seeing all of the cars pulled over to the side made her feel like she was Moses, parting the red sea as they made their way to the scene.



Stopping in a diner parking lot, the paramedic sitting closest to the door opened it and revealed a scene that was pure, organized chaos. Firefighters, policemen, paramedics, and even other doctors and nurses were all running around trying to treat patients. Some doctors would be going off to the treatment areas to treat those with higher priorities, some would stay in the triage area and assess patients instead. Treatment was not up Tiffany's alley as she was a doctor, so she would be coming to assess patients and place tags on them as necessary.

Getting settled in, Tiffany got set to start triaging. She walked up to a patient on the ground. It was an older male, probably late 50s early 60s, in fairly good shape. However, just by looking at him, she could tell he was at LEAST a red tag. Kneeling down, she took out her stethoscope and began examining the patient. With her examination, she was quickly determining that he wasn't going to make it. He looked whiter than snow, and he was cold to the touch. Taking her tag, she tore off the green, yellow, and red sections before scribbling in his vitals. Placing it on the patient, she took one last look at him before moving on. Hopefully he was able to go peacefully.

The next patient, looked like they were in better shape. Hopefully she was able to designate this person a green tag. A female, late teens, looked like to be in perfectly good shape as well. Taking her assessment yet again, everything about her seemed perfect, save for a few scratches and cuts here and there. She was going to be fine. This was a green tag. She grabbed a tag from her triage bag and scribbled her vitals on there, before handing the green tag to her. Thank goodness she was okay.

Getting up, Tiffany took a look around and realized that she, Eugene, Saleh, and Xander were going to have their hands full for quite a while.