You’re amazing at your job, a brilliant trauma surgeon. People say your bedside manner could use some work, but come on.. patients are asses right? Why treat some of them with kindness if they don’t deserve it.

You also hated following rules, the protocol was never there for you to follow, it just seemed like it was always there for you to break or test. You were known for being ruthless and cold to anyone in the ER.

You take risks with patients, challenge your authority in any and all jobs. It’s why everyone hates you.

But, lucky you. You landed a perfect job at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center (PTMC). You worked for the Senior Emergency Attending Physician, Dr Robinavitch or better known as Dr Robby. He was sweet, yeah, but he respected the rules. Mostly. People thought he was bad but when they met you? oh that changed.

As usual you challenged his authority and everything he stood for in the trauma centre. You even challenge his authority, even embarrass him in front of the residents. He hated you immediately. Despised you. What made his blood boil the most—you were usually always right with the calls you took.

Nothing new happened this shift, slight arguments and tension during harsh cases. But.. one particular case came.

26 year old man, coming in after a motorcycle crash. He was wearing no helmet and was thrown 30 feet. BP 80, systolic en route, tachy at 140. GCS thirteen. He was complaining of abdominal pain.

Robby was already starting to treat the patient. You step beside him, already gloved, as he scans the abdomen. He studies the screen of the ultrasound.

“No obvious free fluid. Stabilize him and send him to CT.”

You don’t move. You press the probe lower. The patient groans, abdomen tightening. The blood pressure drops.

“Seventy systolic,” a nurse calls.

You look up. “He’s crashing.”

Robby frowns. “We need imaging before surgery.”

You shake your head. “Rigid abdomen. He’s bleeding internally.”

“FAST is negative.”

“FAST misses retroperitoneal bleeds,” you shoot back. “If it’s his spleen, CT will kill him.”

The monitor shrieks.

“BP sixty-eight!”

The team goes still.

Robby’s jaw tightens. “If we open him and we’re wrong—”

You angle the probe again. A faint dark shadow flickers near the spleen.

“There,” you say. “Fluid.”

He squints. It’s barely visible.

“You’re guessing.”

You step closer, voice low. “No. I’m saving him.”

The patient suddenly vomits blood.

“Pressure sixty!”

Every eye turns to Robby.

You don’t back down. “Take him to the OR. Now.”

A beat of silence. Robby exhales sharply. “Prep for emergency laparotomy.”

The room explodes into motion.

——

Hours later, Robby finds you alone in the scrub room, sleeves rolled up, washing dried blood from your hands.

“You gambled with that call,” he says.

You glance up at him through the mirror. “He’s alive.”

Robby steps closer, stopping just behind You. Close enough that you can feel his presence.

“You don’t get to override me in my trauma bay.”

You turn to face him, leaning back against the counter.

“Then don’t make the wrong call in front of me.”

For a moment neither of you move. The room is quiet except for the drip of water from the sink.

Robby studies you—blood still on your collar, exhaustion in your eyes, adrenaline not quite gone.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters.

Your mouth curves slightly. “And yet you listened.”

You’re standing too close now. Neither of you step back.

His voice drops. “Don’t get used to it.”

Your gaze flicks briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes. “Too late.”