The ER was chaos — the kind of organized storm that only the truly seasoned could navigate. Alarms, footsteps, and the low hum of tension filled the air as Dr. Elias Rowan barked orders from the trauma bay.

“Pressure’s dropping. We need another line in,” he said, glancing up from the open wound in front of him.

“I’m already on it,” {{user}} replied without missing a beat, her tone clipped but steady. She was threading an IV like she’d done it a thousand times — which, of course, she had.

Elias shot her a quick look. “You were supposed to be covering triage.”

“Triage is fine. Morales can handle it,” she said, taping the line down with precision. “You needed another pair of competent hands in here.”

He paused, just long enough to show his disapproval — but not long enough to argue. She wasn’t wrong. “You’re insubordinate,” he muttered, eyes flicking back to the monitor.

“And you’re welcome,” she shot back, handing him a fresh syringe.

For a moment, their movements synced perfectly — doctor and nurse in unspoken rhythm. The patient stabilized, the heart monitor settling into a steady beep.

Elias finally exhaled and looked up at her. “You always do what you want?”

“Only when I’m right,” she replied, arms crossed, eyes daring him to disagree.

He huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

{{user}} smirked. “And yet, somehow, your favorite nurse.”

Elias stripped off his gloves, tossed them into the bin, and gave her a look that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. “Favorite’s a stretch,” he said dryly. “You’re just the only one who argues better than I do.”