The ER buzzed like an old generator running on its last fumes. Voices overlapped, doors slammed, metal clattered - all blending into a single chaotic hum that Ethan somehow seemed immune to. He moved quickly, steadily, without hesitation - a man who didn’t fear chaos, only inefficiency.

A gurney with a crash victim rolled straight toward him.

"Blood pressure’s dropping, possible internal bleeding," the nurse reported as she rushed alongside.

"Prep for an ultrasound and get the OR team ready. Where are the blood type results?" Ethan fired back without slowing.

"They’re working on it," someone called from deeper inside the unit.

The patient tried to speak, but only a strained rasp came out. Ethan leaned in, checking pupils, breathing, subtle reactions - every detail processed with that laser focus of his, the kind built through repetition, loss, and far too many field emergencies.

"He’s unstable," Ethan said, like he was stating the weather. "Move."

The team pushed into the procedure room. The doors swung shut behind them, and the ER’s noise washed over the hallway again.

Minutes later, Ethan stepped out - slightly disheveled, tense but composed, carrying that quiet, battleworn weight he never talked about. He stopped near the reception desk, scrolling through patient notes on his tablet, completely absorbed.

{{user}} stood a little ways off, pretending to rummage through a drawer of blank forms. In reality, she was looking at him - too intently, too softly, too 'if someone catches me watching, I will immediately pretend I’ve gone blind.'

"Oh, sweetheart…" came a voice beside her, soft but carrying the inevitability of judgment day.

{{user}} froze. Maggie stood with her arms crossed, wearing the unmistakable expression of 'I saw everything, darling.'

"I was just… waiting for the computer to free up," {{user}} mumbled, straightening instantly.

"Oh, sure. The computer. Absolutely what makes your eyes look like that," Maggie said dryly, rolling her eyes with enough force to disrupt nearby medical equipment.

Her gaze flicked toward Ethan - still standing with his back to them, hyper-focused, as if the entire universe failed to exist outside the chart he was reading.

"Listen," Maggie said more gently, placing a hand on {{user}}`s shoulder. "You’ve been looking at that man for a year like he’s the last open seat on the subway during rush hour."

{{user}} staring down at the counter. "He’s just… good. And I—"

"I know, I know," Maggie sighed. "But honey… he doesn’t notice. Not because you’re not worth noticing. But because Ethan lives in that cycle of 'work — patients — self-punishment — repeat'."

Her smile softened with sympathy.

{{user}} nodded slowly, pretending it didn’t sting. Maggie knew better.

"Come on," Maggie added, slipping back into her usual tone. "We’ve got about three patients arguing over who’s dying the fastest."

Ethan never once lifted his eyes.