COFFEE GRINDS THE DOUBLE SHIFT || CLOSED
He doesn’t want to ADMIT it because it feels like unforgivable surrender … but he’s t i r e d . Exhaustion weighs down his bones , pricks at his eyes , makes his fingers fumble as he searches the cupboard for what he’s been looking for for the last several minutes ( his head feels fuzzy , like he’s walking on clouds up high where the oxygen is thinner than usual & & can’t exactly sustain human anatomy … but he knows that’s all in his head ) . What will fix is is the usual grinds : COFFEE , his saving grace on nights like these where he’s agreed to work yet another double shift ( really , he only has himself to blame ; can never say no — not when it’s for the greater good ) . Most people will wonder : how many surgeries can a HEART surgeon do in one day ? But what they don’t seem to understand is that though he might specialize in the cardiovascular system , he’s a DOCTOR first & & treating patients is his first priority . The compassionate nature that’s bred a large & & bleeding heart compels him to work more than he should , to help more than is possible , keeps him headstrong & & stubborn when others have been JADED& & WEATHERED by this work that plucks & & tears at the soul .
So lost in his thoughts , the carousel of mundane musings that have taken root inside his mind after many hours of uninterrupted TOIL , he doesn’t even notice that his movements have been automatic until a hand halts him , light touch upon his own to gain his attention . Head shifts , neck muscles flex to turn UMBER onto familiar feminine countenance .
❝ Oh , Dr. Tancredi . ❞ Polite smile tirelessly graces handsome jaw . ❝ Would you care for some coffee ? ❞
she’s midway through her shift, six hours down, six more ahead of her --no end to the revolving door that is the emergency department. breakfast never makes it past the third hour & her power bar only contains so much energy. it’s been hours since imbibing her last mug of hot liquid energy & exhaustion is a weight felt with every step as she walks toward the break room. someone has beat her to the machine, the scent of a fresh pot dances down the hall & her hopes rise by being a little closer to coffee heaven.
the usual pleasant frame of dr. palmer gives sara a dreadful shock --as does his usual pot of coffee. where he excels in the cardiovascular system, he is lost when it comes to coffee brewing. forgoing formalities or polite silence, sara chooses to approach carefully, gently placing her hand on his, as if to say, no, let me.
tired brows raise as he speaks & her attention is drawn to the already brewed pot. internally there is a sigh --maybe it slips out, fatigue makes it difficult to be diplomatic. instinct tells her to refuse; that she’s just come in for a snack & some water, but her bones ache for a fix that can only be soothed by her favorite form of caffeine. she offers her colleague a small shrug & a nod.
“of course, dr. palmer.” she reaches into the cuppbord for a mug, “did you just make this?”
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