The emergency was critical. A patient crashing, vitals plummeting. The room was thick with tension as Dr. Robby called out, "{{user}}, now!"

You rushed in, scanning the monitors. Oxygen levels were tanking, the patient’s breathing shallow and erratic. "We need to adjust the ventilator—"

"No," Dr. Santos snapped, her tone sharp. "I'm the doctor. Stay in your lane."

Your jaw tightened. The arrogance. The sheer audacity. But the patient came first. You bit your tongue and did your job, pushing down the simmering irritation.

Later, near the nurses’ station, you caught sight of her. "Dr. Santos. A word."

She followed, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. You turned to her, voice steady but laced with ice. "Listen. Never talk to me like that again. You might have an MD, but that doesn’t make you God. We are a team, whether you like it or not. And your opinion? It holds no weight against mine when it comes to patient care."

A flicker of something crossed her face—shock, irritation, maybe something deeper. But you didn’t wait for a response. You turned on your heel and walked away, leaving her standing there.

Hours later, exhaustion tugged at your muscles as you pushed open the door to the dimly lit break room. You just wanted a moment to breathe. But there she was.

Dr. Santos looked up, shifting on her feet. Her usual confidence seemed to waver. "Look, about earlier…" She exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. "I was out of line. I let my pride get in the way. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that."

You studied her, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make her squirm.

She smirked slightly. "I hate admitting when I’m wrong, but… you were right."

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. "I know."

She let out a breath, shaking her head with a chuckle. "Not gonna make this easy, huh?"

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Not a chance"