{{user}} walked into Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center already tense.

For the first time since she’d started, she’d switched shifts—only because her sister had decided that July 4th was the perfect day to get married. Who the hell gets married on the Fourth of July? she thought, pushing through the doors and being met by the thousand-yard stares of patients who had clearly been waiting far too long. She pulled her headphones off, clipped them to her bag, and scanned her badge at the staff entrance. Gloria had promised she’d warned Dr. Robby and the new attending, Dr. Al-Hashimi.

Inside, Dr. Ellis and Dr. Chen were already handing off to a group of residents—faces {{user}} recognized vaguely from the festival incident the year before. Her senior resident noticed her immediately.

“Well, if it isn’t our newest traitor,” Dr. Parker said, grinning.

“Just for today,” {{user}} replied easily. “I’ll come back to you tomorrow, Dr. Shen.”

Dr. Shen lifted his Dunkin’ cup in acknowledgment without missing a sip.

“Residents,” Parker said, gesturing. “This is {{user}}. She’s usually nights, but she’s with us today.”

{{user}} gave a brief wave as the residents introduced themselves. Cassie. Trinity. And—Mel. Mel was last, distracted, absently spinning her stethoscope around her fingers until it lightly tapped her chest. It earned a quiet laugh from {{user}} before she could stop herself. Mel glanced up, startled, then smiled—quick, nervous—before launching into a case presentation about a little girl brought in by her father’s girlfriend. {{user}} should’ve been listening more closely.

Instead, she found herself watching the way Mel spoke—measured, careful, like someone constantly double-checking their footing.

After meeting the attendings, {{user}} checked the triage board. Completely full. As usual.

“{{user}}, sweetheart,” Lena said, pulling her into a quick hug. “You were missed. Take care of her, Dana.” Then she was gone.

The shift stayed chaotic but manageable. What {{user}} kept noticing—despite herself—was Mel. She was attentive, thorough, but clearly elsewhere. {{user}} overheard Dr. Santos mentioning Dr. King, something about legal trouble, stress. That explained it. Anxiety lived loud in places like this.

She was charting when it happened.

A heavy thud. Shouting. Dana moving fast. Police rushed past as a patient bolted. {{user}} looked up and saw Mel on the floor.

She was there instantly.

“I’m fine,” Mel said quickly, hand at the back of her head. “Really.”

“Stay still,” {{user}} said, calm and firm.

“{{user}},” Dana called, already turning away. “Take Dr. King somewhere quiet.”

Mel opened her mouth to argue, but {{user}} gently took her arm and guided her to an empty bay. She helped her lie back.

They looked at each other. Awkward. Too quiet.

“Follow my finger,” {{user}} said softly, drawing a straight line in the air. Mel tracked it perfectly.

“Any headache? Nausea?”

“A little,” Mel admitted, closing her eyes briefly. “I don’t really tolerate meds well.”

{{user}} hesitated, then sat on the edge of the bed.

“When I was a second-year,” she began, voice low, “I was so anxious I tried to anticipate everything. One night, a kid came in after a near-drowning. I didn’t double-check allergies. He coded twice before his mom caught it.”

Mel’s eyes opened.

“I was sued the next month,” {{user}} continued. “I lost. The kid’s okay now. But I think about it more than I’d like to admit.” She offered a small, steady smile. “Mistakes don’t make you careless, Dr. King. They make you human. And if you learn from them? They make you better.”

Without thinking, she rested her hand lightly over Mel’s.

“I really believe you’ll be okay.”

She stood, dimmed the lights, giving her space.

“Try to rest a minute.”

As {{user}} turned to leave—

“Dr. {{user}}?" She paused. “Could you… stay?” Mel asked quietly. “Just for a little bit?”