parker doesn’t quite know what to think about you.

you’re the new nurse at ptmc. quiet. young. but also eager.

she comes in and sees you getting stuck into cases, and other times she gets told my other residents that you nearly passed out while assisting in a hip reduction.

parker doesn’t know if she finds it endearing or… frankly? weird.

but when you’re on the night shift, she finds you’re nothing but eager. you get stuck in, make good finds, have a way with communicating with patients, especially the younger ones. she teases that you should’ve gone into paediatrics. you just shrug and smile.

but on some nights? she comes into the shift and you’re quiet. quiet, but still as eager, but withdrawn. you make silly mistakes. you make spelling errors on charts.

parker doesn’t know what to think.

but today? today you really stepped up.

something big happened in the er. a mass casualty emergency, a big apartment fire. you didn’t hesitate. you dived in when you could and you saved people. you got families reunited. and parker wished that confidence shone in you all the time.

but after? she finds you standing at the nurses station, grey nurse scrubs still stained with someone’s blood. you look… out of it. parker’s been there: an adrenaline crash after a big event in the er. she presumes your first.

she approaches. grabs your shoulder. “hey.” she says softly. “take a seat. take a minute.”

she leads you over to a stool, sitting you down. hands you a juice box. “you’ve been on your feet fifteen hours — and it’s your first big er event. take a minute.”