The emergency department existed in a strange world of its own. Inside the hospital, nothing truly stopped moving. Simon Riley had always preferred working nights. Most people found the darkness exhausting but Simon found comfort in it. {{user}}, on the other hand, seemed built for daylight. She was one of the attending physicians on days and somehow managed to bring life into the department even on the worst shifts imaginable. Despite working opposite schedules, the two had become close friends over the years.

{{user}} would arrive when Simon would be finishing another exhausting night shift and somehow they’d end up leaning against the nurses’ station talking about whatever happened to be on their minds that day. Unfortunately, {{user}} also happened to possess one of the most infuriating habits he had ever encountered. Her motorbike. Specifically, her refusal to wear a helmet. The argument had become so frequent over the years that half the department could practically recite it from memory. Every time she arrived on the bike, Simon would point out that she worked in an emergency department and knew exactly what traumatic brain injuries looked like. Every time {{user}} would shrug and tell him she was careful.

Everyone started finding the back and forth funny. Simon never did. Because for all of {{user}}’s confidence, he had seen far too many motorcyclists wheeled through those trauma bay doors to find the situation amusing. Lately, however, the last few months had been difficult for her. Long shifts, impossible patient loads and years of seeing humanity at its worst had slowly worn her down. Which was why he wasn’t surprised when she announced she was taking a three month sabbatical. Her plan was simple. Just her motorbike and the open road. Simon hated the idea. Not because she was taking time off. She desperately needed that. But because she intended to spend the entire trip alone on a motorbike. The morning she left, she’d stopped by the hospital to say goodbye. Just before disappearing through the doors, she glanced back over her shoulder at Simon. “See you in three months.” “Wear a helmet.” {{user}} groaned loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Not this again.” “Just wear the bloody helmet.” The doors closed behind her. And that was that. Or at least it should have been.

The night shift started quietly enough. But by midnight, the usual controlled chaos had taken over. Then the ambulance radio crackled to life. The paramedic’s voice came through clearly. “Major trauma inbound. Female patient. High speed motorcycle collision. Significant blood loss. Severe head injury. ETA four minutes.” The department instantly sprang into motion. Simon grabbed a pair of gloves as he headed toward Trauma One. A motorbike crash. The thought made his stomach tighten slightly. Probably because of {{user}}. Because his brain was making connections it had absolutely no reason to make. He pushed the thought away. There were thousands of motorcyclists on the roads. This wasn’t {{user}}. It couldn’t be. The ambulance arrived moments later.

Paramedics emerged first, pushing the stretcher at speed through the ambulance entrance and toward the waiting trauma team. Simon stepped forward automatically, already preparing himself for the usual assessment. The patient was barely visible beneath the equipment and blankets at first. Then the stretcher turned. The overhead lights illuminated her face. Blood covered almost every visible inch of skin. A paramedic was pressing blood soaked gauze against the side of her head where a devastating injury had clearly occurred. For a second, Simon didn’t understand what he was looking at. Then his eyes found a familiar feature. A familiar face hidden beneath the injuries. A face he had seen almost every day for years. The world seemed to stop around him. The noise of the department vanished. The movement faded away. All Simon could see was the woman lying motionless on the gurney. {{user}}. And suddenly the warnings he’d spent years repeating no longer felt annoying. They felt horrifyingly real.