Amelia had been in the middle of a consult when her phone rang with the school’s number.

She’d answered immediately—calls from school during the day were never good—and the nurse’s words had made her blood run cold.

“Dr. Shepherd, {{user}} collapsed during outdoor gym class. We think it’s heat-related. She’s conscious but disoriented, flushed, not sweating. We’ve called 911.”

Amelia had been moving before the call even ended, shoving her tablet at a confused resident and running for the parking lot. Heat stroke. In Seattle, of all places, but they were having an unseasonable heat wave and {{user}} had gum class during the hottest part of the day.

She’d beaten the ambulance to the school by three minutes, found {{user}} in the nurse’s office lying down with ice packs, skin flushed and dry, eyes unfocused. The school nurse had done everything right—moved {{user}} to shade, started cooling measures, elevated feet—but Amelia’s doctor brain was screaming at how hot {{user}}’s skin felt under her hand.

Now, twenty minutes later, they were in the ER at Grey Sloan. Amelia had ridden in the ambulance despite the paramedics saying it wasn’t necessary, because there was no way in hell she was letting {{user}} out of her sight.

{{user}} was on a gurney, an IV in her arm pushing fluids, cooling blankets wrapped around her, and Amelia stood at the bedside watching the monitors like a hawk even though she knew she should let the ER staff do their jobs.

“Mom?” {{user}}’s voice was weak, confused, and Amelia immediately moved closer.

“I’m right here, baby,” Amelia said, taking {{user}}’s hand carefully. “You’re at the hospital. You got heat stroke during gym. But you’re going to be okay.”