My heart,soul and ass belongs to Ethan Ramsey.

Oli

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

I have no idea who’s still in the choices fandom, or open heart for that matter. HOWEVER.

During my yearly (monthly) re-read of open heart, I am curious to ask…how did we all leave things with Louise and Ethan? Did we forgive her? If so, why? If not, why?

I want to know different opinions on this matter, as someone who chooses different options each time she re-reads book 2

Let me know !

(Miss you guys…and Ethan Jonah Ramsey)

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

Chapter Fourteen: Order of Merit

"Dr Rose! Your post-op patient is in distress!"

Danny's voice cracked like thunder across the ward. Elle's head snapped up, heart hammering, the chart she'd been holding slipping from her fingers as she bolted into the room.

Chaos hit her immediately. The air stank of antiseptic and sweat, sharp and acrid, almost suffocating. Machines shrieked in frantic, overlapping beeps. The crash of a metal tray against the counter made her flinch. Nurses moved in a blur — gloves snapping, IV lines tangling, the white sheets pulled down to expose the pale, motionless body on the bed.

Her patient.

The same woman Elle had left breathing evenly, smiling faintly at her reassurance only minutes ago, now lay completely still, lips tinged blue, chest barely rising.

Elle's throat closed. She could barely force the words out. "What happened? I saw her five minutes ago — she was fine!"

A nurse slammed a stethoscope against the woman's chest, pressing hard. "She can't breathe, She's got a build up of fluid in her lungs!'

Elle's hands darted to the chart at the foot of the bed, desperate to anchor herself, to do something. But the paper shook violently in her grip. The words swam across the page, merging into black streaks. Her pulse roared in her ears, louder than the alarms.

Danny's voice cut through it, sharp and relentless. "Her heart rate's in atrial fibrillation! She's spiking one-sixty!"

Another nurse spoke out from the monitor. "Her B.P.'s crashing! She's hypertensive!"

Danny swept sweat-damp hair from the patient's forehead, his touch brisk, professional — then flinched back. "She's burning up. Her temp's climbing fast!"

Elle's chest clenched so tight it hurt. Her lungs refused to draw in enough air. She reached for the defibrillator, fingers fumbling at the knobs, dialing the charge with shaking hands. Her voice broke as she called out, too high, too unsure. "We should defib her, right?"

She waited for someone to agree. For one nurse, one glance, one nod to confirm.

Nothing.

Every pair of eyes in the room flicked to her, wide, desperate, searching for the authority she didn't feel she had.

A nurse shook her head, voice trembling with urgency. "She can't breathe either, doctor! We have to do something! Now!"

The words hit like a hammer.

Doctor.

They were looking to her. Depending on her.

Elle's legs locked in place, as if cement had set around her shoes. Her throat closed tighter and tighter until every breath rasped shallow, sharp. Her hands hung frozen above the defib pads, useless, while the panic crept higher.

"I..." The syllable scraped raw from her throat.

Her mind was empty. White noise. A void where her training should have been.

"Doctor? What do you want us to do?"

"Dr Rose! We need an answer, now!"

The room pressed in on her, the voices crashing down, the monitors shrieking, the heat suffocating. Every second stretched cruelly long. Every eye pinned her in place like a specimen under glass.

Her vision blurred. Her heart rattled against her ribs.

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think.

She was frozen.

--------

"Elle? Are you listening?"

Reality snapped back into focus. Elle blinked, her gaze lifting just enough to find Landry and Sienna watching her during their short walk to the hospital. The air was cool for once, early sunlight spilling down the busy street as morning commuters swarmed past them.

She met Landry's eyes for only a second before dropping her gaze back to the pavement. "Sorry, Landry. I... got distracted."

Sienna slipped her arm through Elle's, the warmth of her friend's touch softening the ache in her chest. Sienna's voice was gentle, sympathetic. "Still thinking about that patient from last night?"

Elle gave a small nod. "Yeah."

Sienna squeezed her arm tighter. "You can't beat yourself up about it, Elle. She survived."

Elle's throat tightened. She shook her head. "Yeah, and that factor had absolutely nothing to do with me. The nurses had to bail me out. She'd just been through an extremely tough surgery. I should have been prepared for any complications."

The words fell heavy, weighed down with guilt. She let out a sharp sigh. "I feel like I'm comfortable now handling something bad happening... but when a million bad things happen at once, I panic. I can't handle when everything's spiralling out of control."

Landry's tone softened. "I replay cases that don't go well over and over in my head, so I know exactly what to do next time. You could try that."

Elle glanced at him, considering, then gave a reluctant nod. "Maybe you're right."

The hospital loomed ahead, glass doors catching the sunlight. The group slowed as they approached, the city sounds giving way to the quieter hum of the lobby beyond.

Landry clapped his hands together suddenly, his grin returning. "Speaking of being right, not to brag but I should be pretty high up in the first ranking for the diagnostics fellowship."

Sienna arched a brow, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "Ooh, that's today?"

--------

The atrium was already buzzing by the time Elle and her friends stepped inside. The space, usually calm and sterile, now pulsed with the anxious hum of voices. Dozens of interns in rumpled white coats jostled for space, trying to push toward the front where Ines stood beaming, clipboard in hand.

"Gather round, gather round!" Ines called, her voice cheerful and commanding all at once. Her curls bounced as she ushered the crowd forward like an enthusiastic teacher about to announce exam results.

Beside her stood Ethan Ramsey.

Even surrounded by chaos, he was composed — the crisp white of his coat stark against the sea of flustered interns. His stethoscope hung neatly around his neck, and the morning light streaming through the glass atrium caught in the dark strands of his hair. He held a folded sheet of paper in one hand, posture straight, unyielding.

When the interns pressed closer, Ethan raised his free hand in warning, his tone slicing through the noise.

"Back! Back!" His voice was sharp, firm — the kind that left no room for argument. "Christ, you're like a bunch of rabid dogs."

A ripple of uneasy laughter moved through the crowd, and within seconds, the mob shuffled back to give him space.

Elle and her friends squeezed through the throng, trying to find a clear line of sight. Elle rose onto her tiptoes, peering over a sea of white coats.

"Wow," she breathed, eyes wide. "It looks like everyone signed up for the competition..."

Landry nodded beside her, his voice brimming with excitement. "Of course they did! It's an opportunity of a lifetime."

Jackie smirked, brushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes. "Only a complete jackass would even think about passing it up."

Elle smiled, shaking her head. "Thanks for that, Jackie."

Ethan stood near Ines, scanning the crowd with that same piercing gaze that seemed to see straight through every single person in front of him. His hands moved with quiet precision as he adjusted the papers, the edges perfectly aligned — a small, unconscious display of his need for order amidst chaos.

Even from a distance, Elle could tell he was exhausted. His tie was gone, the top button of his shirt undone beneath the collar of his coat. A few strands of hair had fallen out of place, but somehow that only made him look more arresting — focused, relentless, but undeniably human.

Ines leaned toward him, murmuring something with her usual warmth. Ethan didn't reply, not right away; instead, he exhaled through his nose, barely shaking his head before answering her in a tone Elle couldn't hear. The faintest tension lingered around his jaw, though his expression remained composed.

Elijah leaned closer to Elle, his voice breaking through her thoughts. "How about this — whoever ranks lowest has to pick up the keg for the housewarming party tonight?"

Jackie clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "I like the way you think, Greene."

"Perfect," Elijah announced, grinning as he adjusted the strap of his bag. "That's music, food, and drinks sorted. I've told everyone to arrive at eight."

Landry's head snapped toward him so fast his ID badge swung forward. "Wait — who's everyone?"

Elijah gave a nonchalant shrug, the kind that always meant you're about to regret asking me that. "You know, other interns. I told a few attendings about it, too."

Sienna's face lit up instantly. "Ooh! I invited a bunch of nurses!" She clasped her hands together, looking almost proud of herself.

Landry's jaw dropped. "You guys, our place is nice, but it's not that big!" His voice pitched up slightly in panic as he gestured wildly toward the hospital entrance. "We've got to keep it small! Like—'people we actually know' small!"

Elle laughed, unable to help herself. She reached out and patted Landry's shoulder, her tone teasing. "Landry, chill. It'll be fine. We can squeeze. It's not like everyone we ask will actually turn up anyway."

Landry grimaced, muttering under his breath. "Famous last words."

Before anyone could answer, a bright, cheerful voice broke through the group's chatter. "Oh! Are you talking about your housewarming tonight? I can't wait!"

They all turned to see Ines striding toward them, her dark curls bouncing and her smile practically glowing. The interns exchanged glances.

Elle blinked. "Wait—you've heard about it?"

Ines nodded enthusiastically, shifting the stack of folders in her arms. "Everyone's heard about it!"

Landry leaned toward Elle, lowering his voice to a whisper. "This is exactly what I was talking about."

Elle's lips twitched, suppressing a laugh, but Ines was already glancing over her shoulder. "I was actually just on my way to tell Zaid about it. You don't mind, right?"

Elle froze for a fraction of a second, then plastered on her brightest possible smile — the kind that could easily pass for confidence if you didn't look too closely. "Of course! The more, the merrier."

Ines beamed, her expression lighting up even more — if that were possible. "Great! I know his sense of humor isn't everyone's cup of tea..."

Jackie cut in, deadpan. "He has a sense of humor?"

Ines gave a good-natured laugh, oblivious to Jackie's tone. "He does! It just takes a while to warm up to it — but he's loads of fun at parties."

Elle tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling politely. "Well, we'll look forward to seeing that."

As Ines waved and breezed off down the hall, already chatting to another group of interns about snacks and playlists, Landry turned to Elle, his expression full of resigned disbelief.

She groaned softly. "What did you want me to say?"

As her roommates chatted, her eyes drifted back to the front.

Ethan was standing tall now — every inch of him composed, deliberate, utterly in control. The paper in his hand caught the light, the list, the one every intern had been whispering about all week. Conversation died instantly. Even from where Elle stood, she could see the faint furrow between his brows, the effortless authority in the way he held himself.

Without ceremony, he stepped forward and pinned the sheet to the board, the tack clicking sharply against the cork. The sound sliced through the silence like a heartbeat.

Then the chaos broke. Interns surged forward, the noise of shuffling feet and quickened breaths filling the air. Ethan didn't so much as flinch — his presence anchored the room, commanding it with nothing more than the quiet, simmering confidence in his stance.

"Now you can stop badgering me with questions about where you stand."

His voice carried over the crowd — low, sharp, perfectly measured. It wasn't loud, but it didn't have to be. There was something magnetic in the way it rolled through the air, smooth yet laced with steel.

He adjusted his tie with one hand, slow and deliberate, the movement drawing every eye. The crisp white coat framed his shoulders perfectly, his sleeves rolled just enough to reveal strong forearms marked faintly by the day's work. His expression remained unreadable, save for the faint tightening of his jaw — restrained irritation, or perhaps the hint of a challenge.

Elle couldn't tear her gaze away. He was all calm precision in a sea of chaos, his every movement taut with control. And when he looked up, sweeping the room with a cool, assessing glance, his eyes caught hers for the briefest second. It was enough to make her forget to breathe before he looked away, facing the crowd once more.

"If you want to challenge your ranking," he said finally, his tone dropping an octave, deliberate, almost taunting, "swing by my office."

He frowned, the look sharp enough to silence even the boldest intern. "I'll disqualify you immediately."

For a heartbeat, the room stayed utterly still — the echo of his words hanging in the air.

Then, with practiced ease, Ethan straightened, the faintest ghost of composure settling over his face once more.

"Good day."

He turned sharply, his white coat flaring slightly behind him as he strode away. The crowd instinctively parted for him, no one daring to block his path. His steps were unhurried, purposeful — the kind of walk that didn't need to prove authority because it already owned it.

Elle's pulse thudded as she watched him go, her gaze lingering on the broad line of his back, the easy confidence in every movement. Even as the atrium erupted into motion again, all she could hear was the echo of his voice — low, commanding, and far too difficult to forget.

The atrium was still buzzing with the low hum of voices — whispers about rankings, rumours about who had landed where — but the sharp click of Ethan's shoes had long faded down the corridor.

Sienna looked to the group, lowering her voice. "Is it just me, or is he even grumpier than usual?"

Elle shrugged, still staring absently toward the hallway he'd vanished through. "He's probably got something else on his mind."

Landry practically glowed, eyes wide with admiration. "Of course he does. He's Ethan Ramsey. He's probably working on a dozen mind-blowing cases right now."

Jackie rolled her eyes, flicking a strand of hair over her shoulder. "Settle down, fanboy. Kissing ass won't improve your ranking."

The crowd around the announcement board began to thin, the noise fading into scattered murmurs as the interns ahead of them filtered out — some triumphant, others muttering under their breath. Soon, Elle found herself close enough to see the list, the crisp white paper still fluttering faintly under the air-conditioning. Her pulse quickened, her eyes darting over the neat rows of names printed in Ethan's unmistakably sharp handwriting.

"Let's see who's number one," Landry said, leaning in with mock seriousness.

Jackie pushed past him, scanning the top of the list. "Aurora," she muttered darkly. Her frown deepened. "That little—"

A smooth, cold voice cut her off. "That little what?"

Jackie froze. Aurora stood right behind them, arms crossed tightly, her expression every bit as sharp as the heels she was wearing.

Jackie turned, forcing a smile that didn't even try to reach her eyes. "That... little colleague of mine whose aunt signs my paychecks."

Sienna, who had been standing on her toes trying to see, waved her arms toward the board. "Jackie! Keep reading! "

Jackie rolled her eyes and scanned further down. "Okay, I'm fourth. Fine, I guess. Landry, you're seventh. Elijah—tenth. Sienna, fourteenth."

She paused, finger trailing further down the page until it stopped. Her lips twitched. "Elle, you're..."

Jackie's smirk widened. "Nineteen."

Elijah let out a dramatic gasp. "Nineteen?! Looks like you're on keg duty, Elle!"

Elle's eyes widened, her stomach twisting before she forced a laugh. "I'm... nineteen?" Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. She blinked once, twice, then straightened her shoulders, forcing her expression into something calm.

"I guess that makes sense. Next ranking, I'll be higher. I've just got to work for it."

Jackie tilted her head, the teasing never quite leaving her tone. "You sure Dr Ramsey doesn't just have it out for you? I mean, you're not as good as me, but you're not that bad."

Elle rolled her eyes, though her chest still felt tight. "Doesn't matter. I need to get better for my own sake."

For a moment, she scanned the room — the last of the interns lingering in small clusters, the faint hum of chatter still filling the air. But Ethan was nowhere to be seen. Only the board remained, fluttering faintly, the weight of his handwriting heavy on every line.

"Actually," she said after a beat, "did anyone see where he went? I need to update him on my post-op patient."

Jackie pointed lazily toward a side hallway, twirling her pen between her fingers. "Down that hall. But maybe you should ask a nurse to do it." Her grin turned mischievous. "Wouldn't want to drop even lower."

Sienna nudged her in protest, but Elle was already moving — keys jangling lightly in her pocket, determination in her step as the teasing lingered behind her.

--------

The air in the unfinished wing was thick with dust and the low hum of machinery. Floodlights cast a harsh white glow over the corridor, bouncing off steel scaffolding and plastic sheets that fluttered faintly in the draft from the ventilation system. The sterile scent of antiseptic mingled with the sharper tang of fresh paint and cement.

Elle's shoes clicked hurriedly against the concrete floor as she jogged to catch up, her voice carrying down the half-empty hall.

"Dr Ramsey! Wait up!"

Ethan's stride faltered. He turned slowly at the sound of her voice, his expression composed but distant — his posture taut, like a man pulled from a thought he hadn't wanted interrupted. The rolled sleeves of his white coat brushed against his forearms as he folded them loosely, his stethoscope glinting under the floodlight.

"Hmm?" His tone was low, almost distracted.

Elle reached him, slightly breathless from the sprint. She tucked a loose curl behind her ear, trying to steady her voice. "I wanted to give you an update on my post-op patient from last night."

Ethan's gaze flicked to her briefly before glancing down the corridor again, as if weighing whether this conversation was worth the pause. "The one the nurses had to intubate?" His voice was calm — too calm. "I've already been updated."

He turned, already resuming his long, deliberate strides. His coat moved with him, crisp and silent.

Elle stood frozen for a beat, watching him walk away. Something in her chest twinged — not just embarrassment, but confusion. She took a hesitant step forward, her voice softer this time. "You're... not going to berate me?"

He stopped. The echo of his footsteps faded.

Slowly, Ethan turned back. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes — dark and deep, catching the light — lingered on her longer than necessary. When he spoke, his tone had softened almost imperceptibly.

"I have business to attend to. And going by the look on your face..."

He exhaled, the sound caught somewhere between a sigh and resignation.

"...I gather you already feel bad enough about it."

Elle blinked, caught off guard. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't cold either. There was something in his gaze, the kind of quiet empathy he'd never admit to offering. For a moment, the distant clang of metal filled the silence between them.

He started to turn again, but Elle's voice broke through before she could stop herself. "Wait — one more thing."

He looked back over his shoulder, his brows raising just slightly, a question in his eyes.

Elle hesitated, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.

"My roommates and I are throwing a housewarming party tonight." She tried for a light tone, though her voice wavered. "You should come. A lot of the staff will be there. It'll be... fun."

For a moment, she thought he might actually consider it. His gaze lingered on her — long enough that she could see the faint shadow beneath his eyes, the exhaustion that came from too many late nights and too few moments of rest. Then, quietly, he sighed.

"I... appreciate the invitation," he said finally, his tone quieter now, "but I'll have to decline."

His voice was polite, but there was a flicker in his expression, regret, maybe, or restraint. The kind of look that said he wanted to, but wouldn't let himself.

Elle nodded, masking the small sting in her chest with a practiced smile. "Understood, Dr Ramsey."

She turned to go, her steps slow, the sound of her shoes echoing faintly in the empty corridor. Behind her, she could almost feel his gaze lingering for a heartbeat too long before—

"Rookie."

His voice cut through the silence. She stopped mid-step, looking over her shoulder.

Ethan stood a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his expression unreadable under the dim light. When he spoke again, his tone had softened, lower, quieter, almost hesitant.

"I could use a favour."

Elle tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "How busy are you right now?"

He didn't look away as he said it, his gaze steady, measured, but there was something in it she hadn't seen before.

The hum of the construction faded behind them, replaced by the quiet, sterile stillness of the hospital corridor.

Elle turned fully to face him, curiosity flickering in her eyes as she tried to read his expression. "All my patients are stable," she said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "What do you need?"

Ethan exhaled,not sharply, but with the kind of weary patience that hinted at a long day wearing him thin. His hand drifted to the back of his neck before running through his hair, ruffling it slightly out of its usual pristine order. The movement drew her attention,not that she meant to look,but the sight of him in that rare, unguarded moment caught her off guard.

"I just came from Radiology," he said finally, his tone measured. "They've got a new fMRI machine, but the technicians haven't tested it yet."

Elle tilted her head, her brows furrowing slightly. "Okay..."

His lips pressed together briefly before curving, ever so slightly, into the faintest ghost of a smile ,the kind that barely reached his eyes but softened the edges of his face. "And I'm growing impatient." He hesitated, just a beat, before continuing. "Can I use you as a guinea pig?"

Elle blinked, caught somewhere between disbelief and laughter. "You want to stick me in an fMRI and scan my brain?"

Ethan's mouth twitched again, a hint of amusement threatening to break through the usual reserve. "It'll be easy," he said, gesturing casually with one hand as if describing something as mundane as a coffee break. "I'll ask you a few questions and see which parts of your brain react."

Her eyes narrowed playfully, suspicion lacing her voice. "Uh-huh. And what kind of questions are we talking about exactly?"

For a moment, Ethan didn't answer. His gaze lingered on her — steady, unreadable — like he was silently enjoying her unease. Then he shook his head, the faintest smile playing at his lips.

"If you'd rather keep your secrets," he murmured, his voice low, "scan my brain instead. I frankly don't care."

He met her gaze again, the blue of his eyes dark and steady under the fluorescent light. "I just want the machine up and running."

'Sure, I'll help.'

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

Chapter Thirteen: Team Player

The crowd's roar felt like it had doubled in Elle's absence, the heat of the stadium thick in the air as she slipped back into her seat. Elijah and Landry were perched forward, elbows braced against their knees, eyes glued to the field as if the outcome of the game depended solely on their concentration. Neither even flinched at her return. Jackie, however, leaned back in her seat, one brow raised, while Sienna lit up with an easy smile the moment she spotted her.

"Where did you go off to?"

Sienna's voice was curious, warm, though not prying.

Elle hesitated, sliding into her seat. She could tell them the truth — that she had spent the last two hours in a luxury suite with Ethan Ramsey, sipping wine and talking late into the afternoon. But the mere thought of how her friends might spin that made her cheeks warm. Not that there was anything to tell. Still, some things were better left unsaid. She tilted her head, feigning casualness.

"Ran into an old friend from Oxford,"

she said lightly, brushing a stray curl from her forehead.

"Did I miss much?"

Before Jackie could so much as narrow her eyes in suspicion, Elijah suddenly leapt upright in his chair.

"It's not looking good! The Nighthawks are down by four runs, and the Stingrays have the bases loaded!"

Elle's gaze darted to the mound. The pitcher — barely older than she was — stood frozen, shoulders rigid under the weight of the entire stadium's hopes. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed thin as he wiped his sweaty palms across his pants, leaving darker streaks of damp fabric behind. The cap on his head sat crooked as he adjusted it, only for his hand to linger too long against his temple.

Jackie leaned forward, sharp-eyed and quick to pick up on what others didn't want to see.

"Uh, he doesn't look so good..."

She wasn't wrong. The kid's skin was pale beneath the harsh stadium lights, his chest heaving too fast. His knuckles whitened around the baseball as if the weight of it might keep him tethered upright.

The crowd roared, chanting his name — "Sandburg! Sandburg! Sandburg!" — urging him on as if volume alone could steady his shaking knees. Elijah cupped his hands again, his voice nearly cracking with desperation.

"Come on, Sandburg! You can do it! Strike him out!"

But the hope didn't last.

Sandburg swayed. Once. Twice. His body lurched forward, and before anyone could react, he vomited onto the mound. Gasps rippled through the stands as the pitcher collapsed, crumpling like a marionette with its strings cut.

Sienna shot to her feet instantly, her hand over her heart.

"Oh no! Did he faint?"

The infield players scrambled, their gloves tossed aside as they knelt by his side. One waved frantically toward the dugout.

"Coach, he's in real bad shape!"

The stadium's energy shifted in an instant, cheers giving way to uneasy murmurs, the buzz of thousands of conversations laced with panic.

The Nighthawks manager barrelled out of the dugout, sprinting toward the mound, his cap askew, his face a mask of pure alarm.

"Our team physician quit on us before the game!" His voice cracked through the tense silence as he whipped around toward the crowd. "Is anyone here a doctor?"

For a heartbeat, there was only stunned silence — as if the entire stadium was holding its breath. And then, almost comically, Elle and her friends moved in unison. They stood, every single one of them, raising their hands high like it was the most natural thing in the world. The gesture drew heads turning in their direction, a wave of whispers rippling through the nearby rows. It felt cinematic. Almost absurd.

The manager's face contorted in disbelief, eyes wide as he squinted up at them.

"Wait... seriously?"

Landry glanced to the others, then back to the man, his usual easygoing grin sharpening into something more assured. He stepped forward, nodding once with complete confidence.

"Yes, sir."

————

The narrow hallway to the Nighthawks' locker room smelled of sweat and damp turf, the walls echoing with the muffled roar of the crowd still unaware of the crisis unfolding below the stands. The team carried Sandburg inside on a stretcher, their cleats clattering against the concrete. The pitcher's lanky frame barely shifted with the motion; his head lolled to one side, mouth slack, his face ghostly pale under the fluorescent lights. He didn't move. He didn't even groan.

The players lowered him gently onto a table at the centre of the locker room. Equipment bags and stray bats had been shoved against the walls in the scramble, leaving just enough space for the stretcher.

Elle stepped closer, her voice steady despite the thud of her pulse in her ears.

"You've called 9-1-1?"

A teammate nodded quickly, his hands wringing together, his face slick with sweat that had nothing to do with the game. His eyes carried the weight of panic, darting between Elle and the still figure on the table.

Sienna was already at Sandburg's side, her fingers pressed against his wrist. She held still for a long moment, her brow creasing before she finally looked up.

"He's got a pulse, but his breathing is shallow."

Landry moved next, his movements brisk but careful. He knelt by the stretcher, pulling his stethoscope from his bag, the tubing coiling like a lifeline in his hands. He pressed the diaphragm to Sandburg's chest, leaning down until his ear nearly touched the tubing. For a few seconds he was silent, his expression sharpening.

"It sounds like fluid buildup. He could be in real trouble if this doesn't get solved fast."

Elijah had wheeled himself closer, his eyes already scanning the room for equipment — anything that could help — before catching the manager's eye. The older man was pacing near the lockers, his hands moving anxiously over his cap before dropping to his sides. Several players huddled near him, shoulders slumped, faces hollow. They looked less like athletes and more like frightened kids who had just watched one of their own collapse in front of thousands. Elle followed Elijah, stepping closer to the group.

Elle and Elijah approached the team manager, who stood stiffly near the lockers, cap crushed in his hands, his gaze darting between his fallen player and the rest of the team.

One of the Nighthawks looked directly at Elle, desperation glinting in his damp eyes.

"Is there anything we can do?" His voice cracked on the last word.

Elle nodded, forcing her voice steady.

"You can give me some background on Sandburg. Has this ever happened before?"

The player shook his head hard, his jaw trembling.

"Not as far as we know, and he had to pass a physical test just recently."

The manager stepped closer, his tone clipped but worried.

"He was called up from the minor leagues just a few weeks back."

Elle turned her gaze back to Sandburg, lying motionless on the table, then back again.

"Has he complained of any pain or discomfort?"

The player flicked a glance at the manager before answering quietly.

"No. He was pretty quiet. Kept to himself. I think he was worried..."

Elle frowned.

"Worried about what?"

The player's eyes dropped to the scuffed linoleum floor. The manager exhaled heavily, dragging a hand across his face. "Look, he's been struggling in the majors. I was in discussions with ownership to send him back to the minors..."

Elijah's head snapped up.

"Did he know about this?"

The player's shrug was helpless.

"You know, guys talk. Rumors. He was kind of freaking out about it, he was sweating and hyperventilating."

Elle's pen scratched quickly across her notes.

"How often was this?"

The player looked at Sandburg again, his expression torn.

"I only saw it happen a couple of times."

Elle let out a slow breath.

"Could be panic attacks..."

The same player added, softer this time,

"He always seemed tired too. Yawning in meetings, like he wasn't getting any sleep."

Elle shifted her focus to the manager.

"Do your players get injured easily?"

The manager's head shook firmly.

"Not with our trainer, no."

Another teammate, who had been silent until now, shifted uncomfortably before speaking.

"Well... I saw Sandburg clutching his ribs and back the other day. He said he was just stretching but..." His words trailed off, doubt and guilt heavy in his eyes.

Elle nodded, her pen hovering.

She asked carefully,

"Do we know if he was taking anything? Medication or other?"

The manager moved stiffly to a bench, pulling open a battered drawer. He rifled through papers, the sound of shuffling files cutting through the anxious silence. At last, he handed Elle a file, his hand trembling faintly as he did.

"The team doctor left his record with us. Sandburg wasn't prescribed anything."

Elle flipped open the folder. The pages were neat, tidy, almost too clean. Routine test results, unremarkable notes — nothing that explained the unconscious pitcher gasping shallow breaths on the table.

She pressed her lips together, her brows furrowing as her pen hovered over the file. Something was wrong. Something they hadn't seen yet.

As she briefly thanked the team for their help, Elle tucked the file under her arm and returned to the others with Elijah at her side. The air in the locker room still buzzed with tension, the low murmur of worried players, the sharp scent of sweat and disinfectant clinging to everything.

Landry adjusted the stethoscope still draped around his neck, his brow furrowed.

"Could it be heatstroke?"

Jackie, arms crossed and leaning against a row of lockers, shook her head immediately. Her gaze flicked toward the unconscious pitcher, her tone skeptical.

"It wasn't even that hot out today."

Elle glanced down at her notes, tapping her pen against the page as her thoughts raced.

"The guy was definitely hiding something from the team. He was afraid of being sent back down to the minors..."

Elijah ran a hand through his hair, his expression tight.

"Panic attacks, exhaustion, soreness, fluid in the lungs? That's a lot to attribute to just one cause."

His voice carried the weight of frustration, as though the pieces should fit but stubbornly refused to.

Before Elle could respond, the squeak of sneakers on tile drew her attention. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a Stingrays player stepping cautiously into the room. She recognised him instantly. The same one who had been in the scuffle on the field earlier.

Elle set her notes down on the nearest bench, standing taller as she moved toward him, her tone sharp.

"Excuse me, you can't be in here—"

But before she could finish, another figure appeared behind her. A Nighthawks player — the other half of that earlier fight — brushed past her shoulder without hesitation. He strode straight to the Stingrays player and, to Elle's shock, pulled him into a tight hug.

The Stingray's hand clapped firmly against his rival's back, his voice low but sincere.

"How's he doing?"

The Nighthawk exhaled shakily, his shoulders sagging.

"We're just praying, man."

Elle blinked, frowning, her confusion etched clear on her face.

"Weren't you two just fighting out there not two hours ago?"

Both players turned toward her. Their expressions, though exhausted, carried a flicker of warmth that contrasted sharply with the animosity she had witnessed on the pitch.

The Stingrays player gave a weak smile, one arm still slung around his opponent's shoulder as though they were old friends.

"Oh, yeah. It gets pretty heated out there. But only because we're pushing each other so hard. Iron shaping iron, you know?"

His words hung in the air, and Elle caught herself studying the sincerity in his eyes.

The Nighthawk nodded in agreement, his jaw tight but his voice softer.

"When we play against each other, our minds are 100% on the game. We both want to win."

The Stingray gave him a squeeze, finishing the thought.

"The competition, the rivalry in the game, makes us compete stronger. "But when it's over, we're brothers again."

Suddenly, an idea slammed into Elle like lightning.

(Wait, competing making each other stronger...oh my god. That's it.)

Her head snapped up. She bolted back toward the group clustered around the unconscious pitcher, her voice urgent, breathless.

"I think it's a drug interaction!"

The others turned, frowning, confusion flashing across their faces. Elle leaned over the table, her hands braced on either side of Sandburg's stretcher.

"His medications are amplifying each other. Two different drugs, harmless on their own — but together, they're magnifying the effects. That's why this doesn't add up."

Elijah's brow furrowed, skepticism clear in his tone.

"But the manager's record says the team doctor hasn't prescribed anything."

"I know,"

Elle shot back, her tone quick, insistent. She gestured with her pen, her notes clutched tightly in her other hand.

"But think about it. Sandburg was terrified of being cut. If the team knew he had a chronic medical condition, they'd see him as a liability. That could cost him his spot. So he kept quiet."

Jackie crossed her arms, her gaze sharp, assessing.

"So you think he was self-medicating? Wouldn't be the first time someone's hidden that to keep their career."

Landry frowned, tapping the edge of his stethoscope against his palm in thought.

"Alright, then, what do you think he was actually taking?"

Elle flipped through her notes, her mind racing, before lifting her eyes to the group.

"First, something for his panic attacks. You all heard the teammates, he was hyperventilating, exhausted, on edge. If he already had an anxiety disorder, the pressure of the majors would've made it worse."

Elijah leaned forward, nodding slowly, his face serious.

"You're probably right. It's possible he started on something like Fluoxetine, maybe prescribed outside of the team. If he wanted to prevent the attacks from interfering with his play, that would make sense."

Jackie tilted her head, cutting in.

"Okay, fine. Let's say you're right. What's interacting with the Fluoxetine? Because something else is tipping him over the edge."

Elle's eyes flicked back down to her scribbled notes, then up again, her mind pulling the puzzle together.

"Something for his soreness. He wasn't just stiff after games, he was sore even on off-days. That means chronic pain."

Sienna leaned against the wall, arms folded, her brows furrowed in thought.

"It could've been inflammation. Maybe something arthritic?"

"Exactly,"

Elle said, snapping her fingers, her pulse quickening.

"Male, early twenties..."

Landry's eyes went wide, his voice rising.

"Ankylosing spondylitis!"

Elle nodded firmly, her eyes flashing with certainty.

"Yes. He could've been taking an NSAID for it — like celecoxib. Combine that with fluoxetine, and suddenly his body is flooded. His shallow breathing, the fluid in his lungs, the fatigue... it all makes sense."

The room went quiet for a beat, the weight of the revelation sinking in. Around the table, the worried teammates watched Elle, hope flickering in their eyes as though she might have just cracked the code that could save Sandburg.

The manager frowned at the group, his face pale with worry, though his tone carried sharp impatience.

"What?"

Jackie straightened, folding her arms across her chest, her voice brisk and no-nonsense.

"It's a form of arthritis that affects the spine."

The manager's eyes darted between the unconscious pitcher and the interns, disbelief tugging at his features. He threw up a hand in frustration.

"What does all of that mumbo-jumbo mean?"

Sienna stepped forward, her tone gentle, careful, like she was speaking to a patient's family.

"So, one drug Sandburg was taking was slowing down the way his body broke down the other. In other words—" she glanced at the unconscious pitcher, her voice softening, "—he was overdosing on what would normally have been a safe dosage."

The weight of her words hung in the air.

Elijah nodded, his expression grave, his voice heavy with certainty.

"It could also be doing irreparable damage to his kidneys. That's why we can't waste any more time. He needs to get to a hospital, now."

The room went still, the teammates exchanging uneasy glances. Jackie broke the silence, her eyes narrowing, sharp and practical as ever.

"Where is Sandburg's locker?"

One of the teammates, wide-eyed, pointed across the room with a shaky hand. Elle didn't hesitate. She strode over quickly, her pulse thrumming as she yanked open the metal door. The scent of sweat and leather spilled out. Inside, shoved carelessly behind a stack of jerseys and cleats, sat the orange prescription bottles.

Elle's fingers closed around them, her heart hammering as she turned the labels over in her hands. Fluoxetine. Celecoxib. Exactly what they'd suspected.

She spun back toward the group, holding the bottles high for everyone to see.

"A-ha!" her voice rang out, filled with a rush of relief and vindication. "We were right!"

Before any of them could respond, the low, chopping roar of helicopter blades cut through the air. The sound grew louder, vibrating through the walls of the locker room until the entire floor seemed to hum beneath their feet.

Elle's head snapped up. Adrenaline surged.

Together, the interns gripped the sides of the stretcher, lifting Sandburg with urgent precision. The locker room doors banged open as they carried him out into the blinding light of the stadium.

The field stretched before them, thousands of fans silent now, their voices hushed in anxious anticipation. Dust and hot air whipped across the pitch as the Medevac helicopter descended, its blades carving the sky, kicking up gusts that sent hats flying and jerseys flapping.

The stretcher jolted in Elle's hands as she tightened her grip, her eyes locked on the helictoper toward them.

They reached the centre of the field just as the helicopter's skids touched down on the grass, the deafening thrum of blades overhead rattling through Elle's chest.

A pair of paramedics jumped down from the Medevac, crouching low against the violent wash of the blades. The downdraft whipped Elle's hair across her face, tugging at the loose fabric of her Nighthawks shirt. She squinted against the grit in the air as the stretcher team pushed forward to meet them.

Her heart lurched in recognition.

"Rafael?"

The taller of the two medics glanced up, his goggles catching the glare of the stadium lights. A grin broke across his face the second he recognised her.

"Elle? What are you doing here?"

Even above the roar of the helicopter, she laughed, shaking her head as she steadied her grip on the stretcher

"Right place, right time. The patient's name is Jake Sandburg, twenty-five years old. He collapsed due to an accidental overdose of celecoxib, interacting with fluoxetine."

Rafael's brows shot up, impressed, as he signalled to his partner to prep the stretcher for loading.

"Wow. You solved this already?"

Elle glanced back at her friends — Her chest swelled.

"We all did,"

she said, her voice certain, carrying even against the thunder of the rotors.

Rafael nodded at her, the grin never leaving his face.

"Well done. I thought you said this was your first week?"

Elle gave a small, breathless laugh, her curls whipping around her cheeks as she nodded.

"It is."

He paused, shaking his head in disbelief as he backed toward the helicopter, one hand steadying the stretcher as it slid inside. Just before climbing in after his partner, he locked eyes with her again.

"You sure don't sound like it."

————

Later that evening, the roommates trudged back into their apartment, sunburnt, sweat-slicked, and buzzing with the high of the day. Elle and Jackie practically collapsed in unison onto the couch, limbs sprawled, their laughter muffled against the cushions. Elijah and Landry lingered by the door, still animatedly replaying moments from the game like they'd just stepped off the field themselves.

Sienna, ever the caretaker, slipped straight into the kitchen, untying her hair as she turned on the stove. The gentle click of the burner and the hiss of oil filled the background. She glanced back at the others with a small, content smile.

Elijah finally wheeled himself into the living room, shaking his head in disbelief, his grin wide.

"What a day! What a game!"

Jackie let out a bark of laughter, tossing a throw pillow at him.

"I can't believe Landry's advice to the manager got the Nighthawks to come back and win. Unbelievable."

Landry flopped down into the armchair with all the smugness in the world, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"All I did was examine the evidence and diagnose the problem." He smirked, eyes darting between them.

"Which is why all of you can kiss that diagnostic team position goodbye."

The room erupted. Jackie rolled her eyes so hard it was audible.

"Keep dreaming, buddy."

Their laughter carried, filling the small apartment with a warmth that made Elle's chest ache. Curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, she watched them — their teasing, their effortless camaraderie. Her mind whispered back her own words from earlier that day, echoing like a truth she couldn't ignore:

Competing makes them stronger.

She sat up slowly, the cushion sighing beneath her, and reached for her keys on the side table.

Sienna noticed first, her brow furrowing as she stirred the pan.

"Elle? Where are you off to?"

The others glanced up mid-laughter, watching her in quiet curiosity.

Elle turned, her hand still resting on the doorknob, her expression soft but certain.

"Something I forgot to do."

For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then, almost instinctively, the group shared a knowing smile — not pushing, not questioning, just understanding.

Elle let that warmth carry her as she slipped out the door, the night air rushing to meet her.

Edenbrook was hushed that late at night, the corridors muted except for the low hum of machines and the occasional squeak of sneakers against polished tile. Elle hurried into the elevator, the fluorescent lights overhead humming, her reflection in the mirrored walls looking pale and determined. When the doors slid open onto the seventh floor, she bolted out, weaving around nurses balancing clipboards and patients shuffling slowly with IV poles.

"Sorry—sorry, excuse me,"

she called, squeezing past them, her pulse drumming in her ears.

Finally, she reached the end of the corridor — an office door glowing faintly under the last of the hallway lights. She raised her hand and knocked.

"Come in."

His voice was low, controlled, but edged with exhaustion.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Ethan Ramsey sat hunched over his desk, sleeves rolled up, forearms taut where they rested against a scatter of paperwork. A pair of reading glasses clung precariously to the bridge of his nose, which he pushed lower as he looked up.

His hair was tousled, as though he'd raked his hands through it more times than he cared to count. The lamplight slanted across the hard line of his jaw, catching in the faint stubble shadowing his face.

Her breath stuttered.

"Rookie."

She closed the door behind her with a quiet click, leaning back against it as though steadying herself. Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "I want in."

His gaze shifted past her shoulder, catching on the clock mounted on the wall. 12:01 a.m. The second hand ticked over with merciless precision.

"I'm sure I made it clear," he said slowly, his voice like ice over steel, "that the cutoff was at midnight."

He leaned back in his chair, peeling the glasses from his face with one hand, setting them down with deliberate care. Then, folding his arms, he fixed her with those piercing blue eyes that stripped through her resolve.

"So go ahead. Tell me why I should make an exception for you."

Elle froze for half a second, her throat tight, before her words spilled out in a rush.

"I... want to help people the way you do."

She took a breath, steadying herself.

"The entire reason I ranked Edenbrook first on my list of residencies was because of you. And the diagnostics team. All I've ever wanted is to fight for the patients no one else will, to help the people everyone else has already given up on. Please. Please give me the chance to prove I'm worthy of that."

For a long, brutal moment, silence hung between them. Ethan's expression betrayed nothing, his features schooled into that maddening, unreadable calm. The only sound was the faint scratch of his thumb along the rough line of stubble on his jaw, his eyes never leaving hers.

Her heart pounded so loud she was certain he could hear it. God, I've ruined it. He's going to turn me away.

Then, finally, he reached for his pen. He tapped it once against the desk, searching for a page in the stack before him.

"You had me worried there," he muttered.

Elle blinked.

He lowered the pen to the paper and, with a quick stroke, wrote her name down. At the end of a very long list.

Her gasp escaped before she could stop it.

"Thank you, Dr Ramsey."

He looked up at her then, his face still impassive, but his eyes glinted with something she couldn't place.

"Don't thank me. Just don't make me regret it."

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

Chapter Twelve: Curveball

Elle woke to warmth. Sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, spilling across her face in glowing streaks. She stretched languidly under the covers, her hand bumping against the silky strap of her eye-mask before she peeled it off. Her eyes squinted against the brightness until her vision adjusted.

The peace shattered when she rolled over and caught sight of the clock on her nightstand.

"Ten a.m.?!" Her voice was strangled with panic as she shot upright, hair tumbling wildly over her face. "Oh my god, I overslept!"

In seconds, she was a blur of limbs. She tore back the blankets, flinging them into a heap on the floor, and yanked clothes over her head in a frantic mess of fabric. Hopping on one foot to tug on her shorts, she wobbled dangerously before toppling over with a graceless thud.

From the next room, Sienna's voice drifted in. "Elle? ...Was that you? Are you okay?"

A moment later, Sienna poked her head around the doorway, her eyes widening at the sight of Elle tangled in cotton and linen on the floor. Laughter bubbled out of her. "Did you forget it's our day off?"

Elle froze, then slumped onto her back in relief. "Oh thank God." She let out a nervous laugh, pushing herself upright. "I almost forgot what a weekend was like..."

Sienna crossed the room and perched at the end of Elle's bed, chin propped in her hand as she watched her friend attempt to wrestle herself into a clean top. "Elijah was talking about us going to the baseball game today, to unwind. Do you want to come?"

Elle smoothed the shirt down and caught sight of herself in the mirror. She grabbed a brush and began teasing curls into her ginger hair, her grin blooming as she met Sienna's eyes in the reflection. "Sure. I've always wanted to get on the Jumbotron."

Sienna's mouth curled into a knowing smile. "I have a spare NightHawks shirt you can borrow. I'll meet you downstairs once you're ready."

By the time Elle came down, she was dressed in the red jersey tucked into crisp white linen shorts, her curls falling neatly around her shoulders. Her sunglasses sat perched on her head, holding her hair away from her face.

Jackie, already at the kitchen counter nursing a mug of coffee, let out a sharp wolf whistle as Elle stepped inside.

Elle burst out laughing, twirling once with mock theatrics. "You like?"

Jackie's eyes lingered a fraction longer than playful teasing might have warranted, tracing the curve of the shirt and shorts. "You're definitely going to draw some attention in that," she muttered, smirk tugging at her lips.

Sienna, grinning beside her, added warmly, "She's right. You look amazing."

The drive to the stadium was short, but as they neared, the streets thickened with fans in team colours. Vendors lined the sidewalks with coolers of bottled water and pretzels, their voices booming above the roar of the crowd. The energy was palpable, like static in the air.

Inside, the stands were already a sea of red and black. The scent of popcorn, beer, and hot dogs wafted over the rows, mingling with sunscreen and sweat beneath the sweltering Boston heat.

Elijah wheeled into their row, parking at the end with a satisfied grin. His eyes swept across the packed stadium. "Isn't this amazing? No lives depending on us, no residents breathing down our necks."

Elle dropped into her seat, lemonade in hand, sinking back against the sun-warmed plastic. "It's nice to just be ourselves."

Their seats were close enough to feel the players' intensity, the crack of bats echoing like thunder.

"These are great seats, Elijah," Elle said, shading her eyes to look toward the diamond.

Elijah puffed his chest. "Right? The Boston Nighthawks are playing their arch-rivals, the Manhattan Stingrays. They absolutely hate each other." He took a long pull of his lemonade, voice bright. "You gotta be close to fully appreciate the bloodbath."

The ceremonial first pitch rolled across the plate, and the crowd erupted as the game officially began.

Elle leaned forward, almost bouncing with excitement. "Oh my god, this is so fun already."

Jackie threw an arm lazily around Elle's shoulders, her grin teasing. "I'm excited for you. First proper baseball game?"

Elle's cheeks flushed with delight. "It is. We only really have cricket back home."

Elijah gestured grandly toward the pitch. "This is the best possible game to ease yourself into the art of baseball, Elle." His grin was boyish, his enthusiasm contagious.

Elle tilted her head toward him. "How long have you been a fan?"

His eyes softened as he watched the players take their positions. "Since always. Playing catch with my dad was one of the few athletic pursuits I actually got good at."

By mid-game, the Stingrays had scraped a two-run lead. The crowd buzzed with nervous energy as a break in play brought a different kind of entertainment: the Jumbotron lit up with pink hearts, the infamous Kiss Cam.

Couples popped up on the screen, the crowd roaring with each kiss.

Sienna clasped her hands against her chest. "Aw, how sweet."

Jackie rolled her eyes, biting into a chip. "Pathetic."

Elle chuckled, sipping her drink — until the camera landed squarely on her. Her eyes went wide. "Oh my god. That's me."

Beside her, framed in the matching heart, was Sienna. Sienna's cheeks flamed pink as she stammered, "Ah, um... only if you want to?"

Elle laughed, leaning in without hesitation to press a playful kiss to Sienna's cheek. The crowd let out a collective "awww," and Sienna, recovering quickly, waved broadly up at the camera with a grin.

Elle pulled back, still laughing. "Guess I got my Jumbotron moment after all."

The game roared back into action, and by the next inning, tension ran high. The crowd surged to its feet as a Stingrays hitter cracked the ball deep into the outfield. Elijah shouted, voice hoarse from cheering, as the batter tore around first base, then second. The shortstop whipped the ball to third, just as the runner slid hard, colliding with the baseman in a spray of dust.

The two men toppled, grunting as they scrambled to their feet.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the runner snarled, his voice carrying across the field.

"Kicking your ass," the Stingrays player shot back.

In an instant, fists flew. The stadium erupted into chaos, half the crowd booing, half screaming encouragement.

Jackie, unfazed, crunched another chip between her teeth. "What a bunch of morons."

Managers stormed the field, yanking the players apart by the collars, each man still hurling insults as they were dragged away. The stands buzzed with electric energy, fans stomping and shouting, the atmosphere more charged than ever.

Elle sat forward, heart pounding from the spectacle, her cheeks flushed from the heat and the excitement, caught up in the fever of Boston baseball.

--------

The line at the concession stand crawled. Elle tapped her nails lightly against the counter, waiting for the bartender to notice her, the chatter and roar of the game still pulsing faintly through the walls. She shifted her weight, adjusting the strap of her borrowed Nighthawks shirt, the cotton already sticking to her from the warmth of the crowded bar.

That's when she caught it. A familiar cologne — warm, sharp, unmistakably expensive — drifting on the air before she even spotted him. Her head snapped toward the bar.

There he was. Ethan Ramsey, sitting alone at the far end, the sharp lines of his shoulders set in deliberate tension. One hand rested on the bar top, the other wrapped around a short glass of amber liquor. He turned the tumbler absently, the ice clinking against the glass as though he were more focused on the sound than the drink itself. His gaze was fixed downward, his brow furrowed.

"Dr Ramsey?"

His head tilted just slightly at the sound of her voice. His eyes found hers — just for a moment. A flicker of recognition, surprise, maybe even something softer. Then, with practiced ease, his expression shuttered. He turned back to his glass.

"...Rookie."

The single word, clipped but not unkind, carried more weight than she expected. Elle moved toward him, heart thudding a little harder than it should, and slipped into the empty stool at his side.

"Small world," she murmured, settling her elbows onto the bar. Ethan lifted the glass, letting the light catch the amber liquid before he took a slow sip. His voice was dry, the faintest edge of amusement hidden under it. "Some may say 'too small.'"

Elle's eyes lingered on him — the grey of his sweater fitted perfectly to his frame, the faint roughness of stubble darkening his jaw, the way his shirt underneath had loosened just slightly at the collar. For once, he looked less like the unshakable attending and more like a man who had been enduring too much small talk.

Her gaze swept the room, noting the empty stool on his other side. He wasn't here with anyone.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, brows lifting.

He exhaled heavily, like even the answer was exhausting.

"Merely doing what all doctors do..." His fingers traced idly around the rim of his glass, his tone bitter. "Delaying the inevitable."

Elle frowned, tilting her head. "Wait — what?"

For a moment he didn't answer, his jaw tightening as if debating whether to say anything at all. Then his eyes darted toward the crowd, scanning for eavesdroppers, before settling back on his glass. He let out another long sigh, heavier this time.

"I was invited here by the executives of Banner Health."

Elle blinked. "The health insurance company? But... why?"

He finished the last of his drink in a single swallow, then signaled to the bartender with a lift of his hand — sharp, controlled, but betraying the impatience in his movements.

"The administration is renegotiating our contract renewal with Banner." His mouth tightened, frustration simmering just under the surface. "Chief Emery insisted I accompany her as they... essentially bribe us in their private suite."

Elle's jaw dropped. "You and Chief Emery are up in a private box? That's pretty cool." His lips twisted, the closest thing to a grimace. "Well, it's just me now. Harper was called back for an emergency, so I'm left fending off the vultures on my own." His voice grew sharper with every word. "They're trying to butter me up with lobster, fine wine, all the ridiculous luxuries they can afford. It's terrible."

Elle smirked, raising her glass for a sip. "Oh yeah. That sounds like real torture."

That pulled a flicker of something from him — amusement, perhaps. His eyes lingered on her longer this time, sweeping over her casually. The Nighthawks shirt tied neatly at her waist, the linen shorts, her curls still faintly tamed from the morning. He caught himself, looking back at his fresh drink as though it had demanded his attention. But his Adam's apple gave him away, bobbing faintly as he cleared his throat.

"It may surprise you to hear," he said lowly, "but I'm not one for... schmoozing." Elle pressed a hand dramatically to her chest. "You? Noooo."

This time the smile tugged more noticeably at his lips, though he covered it quickly by lifting his glass. He looked back at her, and for a heartbeat, his eyes softened — not the razor-sharp blue of her attending, but something warmer, reluctant to be seen.

"As much as it humiliates me to ask a favour of an intern," he said at last, voice quieter now, "would you join me upstairs?"

Her brows shot up. "Upstairs?" His expression was guarded, but his gaze held hers firmly, almost pleading in its intensity.

"I won't keep you long. I just don't think I'll survive them on my own." For a second, Elle just looked at him. The Ethan Ramsey, usually so unreadable and cold, sitting before her asking for her company — not as a mentor demanding a report, but as a man in need of an ally. She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. Tossing back the last of her drink, she set the empty glass on the counter with a soft clink.

"Let's go." Something in his shoulders eased, the faintest trace of gratitude flickering across his face. He inclined his head toward her.

"Follow me."

---------

Ethan led the way with his usual purposeful stride, his shoulders broad beneath the sharp cut of his jacket, and Elle quickened her pace to keep up. They stopped at a velvet-roped elevator guarded by a man in a navy blazer. Ethan reached into his pocket, sliding a sleek V.I.P. pass from his wallet with practiced precision. The guard nodded at the laminated badge, then shifted his gaze to Elle.

Before she could fumble for an explanation, Ethan's hand settled lightly at the small of her back. The touch was brief, measured — but it lit her nerves like a struck match, heat rushing to her chest. His voice was low and commanding.

"She's with me."

The guard stepped aside immediately, and Ethan's hand lingered just a fraction longer before falling away. Elle drew a quiet breath as the elevator doors closed around them, the silence broken only by the hum of machinery.

Their reflections stared back at them from the mirrored walls: Ethan, impossibly composed, adjusting the cuff of his shirt with an air of practiced control; Elle, flushed, tucking a curl behind her ear as though that would steady the racing of her pulse. She caught the briefest flick of his eyes toward her reflection before he redirected them to the glowing floor numbers.

The suite above was another world. Plush leather couches, silver trays gleaming with hors d'oeuvres, cushioned stadium seats lined up against the glass wall overlooking the diamond. Voices of suited executives mingled with laughter and the clink of crystal glasses. Below, the emerald field glowed beneath the afternoon sun, players moving like pieces on a board.

Elle let out a quiet breath, smoothing the hem of her shirt. "I could get used to this."

Ethan shot her a sidelong glance, the faintest twitch in his jaw. He crossed to the bar in two long strides, poured a rich stream of red into two glasses, and returned. Pressing one into her hand, the stem cold against her fingers, his tone was dry.

"God forbid. Here. You'll need this."

She tapped her glass lightly against his, smirking. "I don't know what you're complaining about. Great views, great wine, lobster and steak at a baseball game? This is the life, Ramsey."

He lifted his glass, his eyes fixed on the wine as though it required his focus. "That's what they want. To seduce you. To convince you to think like them." His gaze finally cut to hers, sharper now. "Don't let it become about the money, Dr. Rose."

Her head tilted, curls brushing her shoulders. "Of course it's not about the money. But I can still enjoy the perks, right?"

He breathed out softly, almost inaudible, before answering. "Of course. Milk them for everything they're worth." His eyes lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary before he turned away. "Just... I've seen too many good doctors change their priorities."

Before she could respond, a booming voice carried across the room.

"Ethan! Ethan, there you are!"

Elle turned to see a tall man in a perfect suit striding toward them, his grin slick, his stride confident. A woman in a navy dress matched his pace, her champagne flute balanced effortlessly in her hand.

Ethan's sigh slipped out so quietly Elle almost missed it. Leaning fractionally toward her, his words were meant for her alone. "That's them. Banner Health. Are you ready?"

Her heart tripped at his closeness, but she managed a whisper. "What do we even say?"

"Negotiate a good deal on our contract renewal." His voice was low, controlled — his lips close enough that the warmth of his breath brushed her ear.

Straightening, he smoothed his expression into something resembling polite interest. Elle, watching closely, noticed the stiffness at the edges of his smile.

"You have a terrible poker face," she muttered.

A soft sound — almost a laugh — escaped him before he masked it again. "What do you want from me? I'm a doctor, not an actor."

The executives reached them, hands extended. Ethan's handshake was firm but brief, though Elle saw the flex of his jaw, the restraint coiled in his shoulders.

"We're so pleased you could join us," the woman gushed. "We at Banner Health are big fans of your research."

The man added smoothly, "A lot of monetisation opportunities there, as I'm sure you know..."

Ethan's gaze slid sideways. "Ah, yes."

His hand brushed Elle's back again, guiding her forward. "Allow me to introduce Dr. Eleanor Rose. One of our most promising young doctors. The next generation of medicine, in fact." His eyes caught hers for a fraction, unreadable, before darting back.

Elle's breath caught, but she smiled warmly, extending her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Dr. Ramsey has already told me how invaluable Edenbrook's relationship with Banner has been. I look forward to helping strengthen that bond in a fiscally responsible way."

The pair exchanged impressed looks, and Ethan shifted, the rim of his glass brushing his mouth as though to hide something.

"Well, well," the woman said. "Quite the impression, Dr. Rose."

The man chuckled. "Ethan, if this is who Edenbrook is recruiting these days, this partnership is really going to take off!"

Ethan inclined his head, his gaze flicking to Elle briefly — approval, there and gone. "Yes. I believe it is. Now, about this contract—"

"Wait," the woman interrupted brightly. "I just had a fabulous idea! Why don't you join us for golf, Ethan? We could talk about our long-term future."

Elle's lips curved before he could refuse. "Dr. Ramsey would absolutely love to."

His eyes snapped to hers, sharp as daggers. "Excuse us."

He drew her a few steps aside, his hand firm on her elbow, voice low and edged. "Why did you just sign me up for that?"

Elle lifted her brows innocently. "Our patients need an insurance company on their side. You can't suck it up and play golf for a few hours? For their sake?"

For a beat, his gaze held hers, stern but searching. Then he exhaled, quiet and resigned. "You... may have a point."

When he turned back, his smile was a touch too sharp, but convincing enough. "I can't wait."

The conversation stretched on, numbers and percentages traded back and forth. Ethan's posture was deceptively at ease, but Elle saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped faintly against the stem of his glass when the executives pressed too far.

At last, the man extended his hand. "Great. We'll have legal draw up the paperwork."

Before Ethan could clasp it, Elle's voice cut through. "There's one more provision. Better rates on cardiac services."

Ethan's head turned sharply, surprise flashing in his eyes. He said nothing, but the intensity of his stare burned into her, unreadable but weighted.

"You just said we're thirty-five percent of your business in that field," Elle continued smoothly. "That's all lost if we walk away."

The woman hesitated, then sighed. "Hm. You strike a hard bargain. But fine — an extra three points in reimbursement."

The man nodded. "Done."

Ethan shook their hands firmly. When they drifted away, he leaned closer, his voice pitched low. "Nice job squeezing them at the end."

She gave a small shrug, heat crawling to her cheeks under the weight of his gaze. "We had to get something extra for our patients. It's our job."

His eyes lingered on her for a moment too long before he finally looked away. "You're right. It is."

Elle's voice was softer now. "So... we're done?"

"With the business, yes," Ethan replied, glancing once more at the executives. Then his gaze returned to her, quieter, warmer. "But we could stay. Enjoy the game for a while."

The suite's leather chairs were softer than Elle expected, molding beneath her as she sank into one beside Ethan. Through the glass wall, the stadium opened in brilliant green, the diamond bathed in golden sunlight that was just beginning to slide toward late afternoon. The roar of the crowd came muffled here, distant enough to feel surreal — like they were in their own bubble, cut off from the chaos below.

She turned toward him, still holding her glass of wine, and her lips curved mischievously. "One of our most promising young doctors," she teased, raising her brows as she took a sip.

Ethan's gaze was fixed on the field, jaw tight with the kind of feigned indifference he wore like armor. "Stop."

She leaned into the back of her chair, grin widening. "The future of medicine." Her laughter bubbled out, warm and genuine, as if she couldn't quite believe he'd said it.

That drew him. He turned, finally meeting her eyes, and though his expression stayed sharp, the corners of his mouth betrayed him with the faintest curve. "Well, I couldn't introduce you as a colossal pain in my ass now, could I?"

Her laughter spilled brighter at that, and she ducked her head into her glass, sipping the wine to disguise the heat crawling to her cheeks.

For a moment they watched in silence, the players shifting into their stances on the field, the crack of a bat reverberating faintly through the glass. Elle's fingers traced the rim of her glass idly before she broke the quiet. "So... how do you think the talk went?"

Ethan didn't answer right away. He rolled his glass gently in his hand, watching the dark red swirl before taking a slow sip. "Fair to middling. But work like this..." His gaze drifted back toward the field, distant. "It's not why I became a doctor."

Her brows lifted, curiosity pricking. She studied the strong line of his profile, the way the setting sun struck the edges of his jaw. "Then why did you become a doctor?"

He sat back slightly, shoulders relaxing into the chair as though her question had pulled him somewhere else entirely. His eyes remained on the players, but his mind was elsewhere. "...To conquer. To defeat the mysteries that defeat us."

When he turned toward her fully, the sharpness was back in his gaze — not cold, but focused, assessing. "My turn. Why have you not entered the competition for the fellowship?"

Elle tilted her head, her smile returning, sly this time. "Why, Dr. Ramsey... were you hoping I would?"

The faintest flicker of something crossed his face — a pause, an almost-smile he crushed before it could take shape. "It's unbecoming to flatter yourself, Rookie."

She set her glass down carefully on the small side table between them, narrowing her eyes as though reading a puzzle. "You were hoping, weren't you?"

His laugh was quiet, low in his chest, as he shook his head. "Not in the slightest. It's a mystery, and I cannot resist a mystery. Nothing more."

She rolled her eyes, the movement playful, and tucked one leg beneath her on the seat. "I think you care because we're becoming friends."

That earned her a steady look — cool, deliberate — but she caught the subtle twitch of his mouth as he lifted his glass. "Absolutely not."

She leaned forward, chin resting in her hand, eyes bright with mischief. "You're just delaying the inevitable, Dr. Ramsey."

He lowered his glass, the smirk gone, but his eyes lingered on her, a glimmer of something unreadable in them. "...As all doctors must."

For a while, they simply sat together. The crowd below erupted in cheers, muffled but still electric, rattling faintly through the glass panes. Sunlight poured across the field in ribbons of gold and shadow. Elle stretched her legs out, her shoulder brushing his lightly as she shifted. Neither of them moved away.

The players changed, the rhythm of the game unfolding — shouts from the field, the crack of the bat, the call of the umpire carried faintly upward. Yet inside the suite, time seemed slower, measured instead in the cadence of their conversation, the quiet clink of glasses, the subtle brush of air conditioning against warm skin.

Elle glanced at him, watching the hard line of his jaw ease as he followed the game. He didn't look back this time, but she caught the way his fingers tapped once against the armrest, deliberate, like he was keeping himself tethered.

And as the sun sank lower, streaking the sky with amber and rose, they remained there — two doctors, watching the game unfold side by side, both pretending it was the field that held their focus.

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

Chapter Eleven: One Of Us

Elle stirred faintly at the sound of her name.

"Elle. Elle, wake up."

Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, the world blurry until Ethan's face came into focus, shadowed in the dim light of the NICU. She blinked a few times, realising with a start just how close she'd shifted to him during the night. Her body had curved against his side, her cheek resting on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. She jerked upright, heat rushing to her cheeks as the memory of where she was came flooding back.

Her neck ached from the angle she'd slept in. She rubbed the stiffness away with the heel of her palm, trying not to notice the faint crease her head had left in the fabric of his shirt. Ethan's gaze followed her movements, his arm propped casually on the back of the sofa, his head resting in his hand. He looked maddeningly composed for someone who'd clearly spent the night awake, though his rumpled hair and the shadow of stubble darkening his jaw betrayed the hours.

Elle's eyes shot to the incubator. Relief flooded her chest at the sight of the tiny baby shifting faintly, letting out soft noises as he slept. She exhaled shakily. "Oh, thank God."

Ethan's lips twitched — not quite a smile, but softer than his usual iron expression. "And he's getting stronger." His voice was low, almost reverent, as though even saying it aloud might jinx it.

She glanced down at her phone, the screen lighting up with dozens of missed messages from her flatmates, asking where she was. Her stomach dropped when she noticed the time. "Oh crap." She shot to her feet, stretching the stiffness out of her arms. "I have rounds in twenty minutes. I need to shower."

Ethan straightened slightly, nodding once, his eyes briefly dragging over her dishevelled scrubs before flicking back to the incubator. "I'll sit with him a bit longer."

Elle bent over the incubator one last time, her fingers brushing the glass as she whispered, "Hang in there, little one." The baby stirred faintly, and her chest tightened. She turned to go, but Ethan's low voice stopped her.

"Elle?"

She looked back. He was still sitting on the sofa, his long frame folded into the corner, his head tipped back against the cushion. The light caught his face in a way that made her notice how tired he really was, the mussed hair, the stubble tracing sharp angles of his jaw. His eyes lingered on hers, and for a fleeting second, he looked like a man stripped bare of his armour.

"Thank you," he said simply.

Her breath hitched at the weight in his tone. She gave the smallest nod, unable to find her voice, before she slipped quietly out into the corridor.

————

By late morning, exhaustion pressed down on Elle like lead. She forced herself through rounds, jotting notes, answering questions, doing her best to appear composed when all she wanted was to crawl into her bed. The buzz of voices in the atrium after rounds jolted her into focus. Dozens of interns were gathered, their chatter echoing up the high ceilings.

Sienna spotted her first. "Elle!" She waved, weaving her way through the throng until she pulled Elle into their circle. Her eyes widened. "Where were you last night? You didn't come home..."

Elle folded her arms, trying to keep her expression neutral, though the memory of Dolores hit her hard all over again. "I lost my office fire patient. She was pregnant." She swallowed, her voice thinning. "I stayed up with Dr Ramsey in the NICU all night."

Jackie's smirk faltered. "Jesus, Elle. That must have been rough."

Before Elle could answer, Sienna wrapped her arms around her in a fierce hug. "We're here if you need us, okay?"

Elle let out a shaky laugh, resting her chin briefly on Sienna's shoulder before pulling back. "Thank you, guys. I'll be okay."

Sienna tilted her head, glancing toward the crowd. "So what's happening exactly? Why are we all here?"

Elijah shrugged, fiddling with the strap of his bag. "Dunno. We all got the same page. Apparently Chief Emery has something to announce."

The murmurs swelled as the interns pressed closer together, all eyes turning toward Harper Emery as she stepped forward into view. Ethan stood just behind her, arms folded tight across his chest, his posture rigid, his face carved in stone. Despite looking sharper than he had hours ago, there was still a faint weariness in the shadows beneath his eyes.

Harper cleared her throat, her crisp voice cutting through the chatter. "As you have all undoubtedly heard by now, Dr Banerji has retired. That means the diagnostics team now has one open position." She let the murmurs ripple through the room before continuing, "Instead of filling that role, we will be selecting one of you young doctors to train with the team as a junior fellow."

Gasps and exclamations burst through the crowd. Elle exchanged a wide-eyed look with her friends.

"Did I just hear that right?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

Landry looked like his entire life had just been made. "Oh my God! I've had literal dreams about this!"

The noise built until Harper stepped back and Ethan moved forward, his tall figure commanding the room without effort. He clasped his hands behind his back, his sharp gaze sweeping the sea of faces with cool precision.

"This is an incredible opportunity," he began, his voice even but laced with steel. "One of you will spend your residency facing the most difficult cases imaginable."

The room stilled as his tone shifted, colder now, carrying weight. "Key word: one. We will be ranking you daily. The best performing intern at the end of your first year will be selected."

Jackie smirked, rubbing her hands together as if already planning her strategy. "Ohhhh, game on, guys."

Ethan's gaze cut through the crowd like a blade. "If you want to compete, tell me by tomorrow night, midnight. I warn you, the selection process will be ruthless." His eyes lingered on Elle's face for a fraction of a second before sliding away. "I'd advise you to sit this out. But if you choose to ignore that advice... good luck."

Without waiting for response, he turned, his long stride carrying him through the parting crowd. His shoulders were drawn back, movements crisp, every line of him radiating finality.

Excitement erupted behind him. Elijah nearly bounced on his toes. "This is the coolest thing ever! Oh man, I am so stoked."

But Elle's pulse was thrumming for another reason entirely. She slipped away from the group, weaving through the departing interns, until she caught up with Ethan in the corridor.

"Dr Ramsey! Wait..."

He paused, slowly turning. His gaze landed on her, piercing, unreadable.

"Was this what you were talking about with Dr Emery yesterday?"

"...Yes."

She frowned. "But... you told her we weren't ready."

His jaw tightened, but there was something softer flickering beneath his sternness. "You're not." His eyes locked with hers, unflinching. "But are any of us really ready for anything?"

--------

The day Ethan and Harper announced the fellowship, the interns decided to blow off steam at Donahue's. By the time Elle arrived with the others, the bar was buzzing. Music pulsed low through the speakers, the smell of beer and fried food hanging thick in the air. Interns crowded every corner, white coats slung over chairs, laughter rising in bursts above the clatter of glasses.

Elle paused just inside the doorway, letting the scene wash over her. For once, no one looked exhausted or tense; they looked like young doctors allowed to be young people. Her gaze swept across the wood-paneled walls and the chalkboard specials before Elijah's voice yanked her back.

"Could you even imagine?" He leaned across the table, eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Doing your residency with the most elite diagnostics team in the world?"

Landry's grin stretched wide as he leaned back in his chair. "I keep waiting to wake up and realise this is all just some crazy dream."

Jackie, perched confidently on her barstool, tipped back a shot with one practiced flick of her wrist. She slammed the empty glass onto the table and smirked. "Well, keep dreaming. Because if anyone's gonna win, it's me."

Elle, seated beside Sienna, raised an eyebrow. Her face gave nothing away as she asked, "Did all of you sign up to compete already?"

Sienna's smile was radiant, almost childlike. "Of course! Might as well, right? It would be such an honour."

Before Elle could reply, Bryce appeared, balancing a tray piled high with cocktails and pints. His easy grin seemed to light up the table as he slid the tray down. "Hey! Who wants to celebrate?"

Elijah whooped, clapping him on the back. "Thanks, Lahela!"

Elle couldn't help laughing at the spectacle, watching the liquid slosh dangerously close to the rims. "I'm impressed. Pretty sure I would've spilled half those drinks before I even got the tray off the bar."

Bryce flexed just enough to draw attention. "Told you. Perfect body control." His grin widened as he added, "Also, I worked my way through med school as a bartender. Comes with the territory."

Jackie eyed the tray like it was poisoned. "I'm confused. Why are you buying us a round?"

Elle reached out and snagged one of the glasses, her lips quirking. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Jackie."

Jackie rolled her eyes but raised her glass toward Bryce. "Fine. Thaaaank you, Bryyyyyce."

He smirked at her drawn-out sarcasm, unfazed. "We heard about the fellowship. Just wanted to wish you guys luck—because you're definitely going to need it."

The group lifted their glasses, the clink ringing out before they drank.

Elijah shook his head in disbelief, his words tumbling out quickly. "I still can't believe they're offering it to an intern."

Sienna sipped at her drink, thoughtful. "Training someone from the beginning must be important to them."

Jackie rolled her eyes, swirling the liquor in her glass. "Pfft. You just know Chief Emery is doing this because she wants Ramsey to pick her precious Aurora."

Landry's smile dimmed, uncertainty flickering across his face. "But we still have a chance... right?"

Elle leaned toward him, her voice gentler. "I think she's not as bad as people say. I think she's under a lot of stress."

Jackie snorted. "So? We all are."

Elle exhaled slowly. "I'm just saying, I don't think any of you will have to worry about her."

Jackie choked slightly on her sip, coughing as Elijah's eyes shot wide. "You? Hang on, Elle, are you not going to compete for this fellowship?"

The table fell quiet, every gaze suddenly pinned on her. Elle lifted her shoulders in a small shrug, stalling with a sip from her glass before answering. "Look, the only reason I survived my first week at Edenbrook was because of you guys. And honestly? I don't want to do anything to jeopardise our friendship."

Elijah gave her a sympathetic nod. "I suppose you have a point."

Jackie, however, looked unimpressed. She reached for another glass, her tone sharp. "Suit yourself. Personally, I think that's a dumbass reason not to go for something you want."

Landry groaned, rolling his eyes. "Leave her alone, not everyone wants to be on the diagnostics team."

Jackie swung her gaze back to Elle, unwavering. "But she does. Elle, you told us working with Ramsey was the whole reason you came to Edenbrook—or better yet, the whole reason you moved to Boston."

Elle's jaw tensed as she set her glass down harder than she meant to, the coaster beneath it thudding against the wood. "Yeah, well. I didn't mean right away. I have years to impress Dr Ramsey and earn a place on the diagnostics team."

Jackie shook her head. "But you have the chance to jumpstart your career right now."

Elle pressed her palm flat over the coaster, her gaze snapping up to meet Jackie's. "Why do you care so much, Jackie? If I don't compete, that's one less person for you to beat."

Jackie's smirk curved slow and deliberate. "Because I want to beat you. Duh."

The table went still for a moment before Elle let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Anyway, my mind's made up. I'll be cheering you all on from the sidelines."

The protests started almost instantly, voices overlapping until a burst of warmth entered the room.

"Ines!" Sienna practically sang her name as the older doctor swept toward their table, her smile preceding her like sunlight.

"Inteeeerns!" Ines opened her arms dramatically before descending on them, hugging each one with bright enthusiasm. Jackie nearly toppled off her stool from the force of it, while Elijah chuckled nervously under her embrace.

Trailing behind her was Zaid, his expression as reluctant as ever.

"I saw some of you have already signed up for the fellowship competition," Ines said brightly, eyes gleaming with pride. "I'm so proud of you!"

Zaid cleared his throat, stepping forward with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "And I just wanted to let you know, from the bottom of my heart..."

The group leaned in, warmed by the sentiment—until he finished.

"...whichever one of you wins... will not deserve it."

The table erupted with groans and protests, Jackie rolling her eyes so hard it looked painful, Elijah nearly spitting out his drink.

Zaid just smirked faintly, hands tucked into his pockets, while Ines swatted his arm, horrified.

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

Chapter Ten: Dolores (Extended Part).

The staff car park was quieter than usual, most spaces empty beneath the glow of the floodlights. Elle tugged her coat tighter against the cool evening air, her breath misting as she waited. Then the low growl of an engine pulled her attention.

A sleek black sedan turned the corner, headlights slicing through the dark. It rolled to a stop in front of her, the paint catching the lamps in liquid silver. Even before the driver's side window slid down, she knew who it was.

Ethan.

The door unlocked with a soft click. Elle slipped into the passenger seat, her fingertips brushing supple leather, the faint scent of expensive polish enveloping her. The car cocooned her instantly, warm, quiet, controlled — much like the man driving it. Her gaze was drawn to the centre console, alive with glowing screens and polished chrome.

"This is a... great car."

Ethan's lips tugged into a smirk, not quite looking at her. "What did you expect? A rusted-out jalopy?"

She bit back a laugh, glancing out the window as if to hide the curve of her mouth. The engine purred as he shifted into gear, one hand resting easily on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against it — restrained energy made visible.

Opera swelled from the speakers, rich and unashamed. Of course it was opera. Elle leaned back, letting the music wash through her, but her eyes couldn't help sliding back to Ethan. The glow of the dashboard carved his profile in sharp relief — the strong jaw, the shadow of stubble, the concentration etched into his brow. Attractive didn't even begin to cover it.

Her gaze lingered, deliberately, perhaps longer than it should. She wanted to see how long it would take him to notice.

He did. At the next red light, his eyes cut sideways, meeting hers. For a moment, he held her gaze, the weight of it sending a shiver down her spine. His eyes flicked down, then back to the road, as though reminding himself where he was.

"I doubt you've been able to see much of the city since coming here," he said, voice low.

Elle tore her eyes from him, looking out at the river of lights beyond the glass. "No, I haven't. It's just... so beautiful at night."

His own gaze lingered on the skyline, though his expression softened. "I suppose it is."

The light changed. The car surged forward, silence filling the space between them — but it wasn't empty. It hummed with awareness, charged with everything unsaid. Elle smoothed her palms over her thighs, searching for something to steady the beat of her heart.

"So," she said lightly, "what's up with you and Dr Emery?"

Ethan's head tipped, brow arched. "How long have you been holding in that question?"

Elle laughed softly, tilting her head so her hair fell over one shoulder. "Not that long, I can assure you. I'm only curious."

His grip tightened on the wheel. His profile was all hard lines, gaze pinned forward. "I don't like advertising my private life at work, Dr Rose."

She leaned a fraction closer, feigning innocence. "I'm just trying to figure out the politics of this place if I'm going to survive here, Dr Ramsey."

His jaw flexed once. Then, with a hand dragging through his hair, he relented. "In that case... we were an item. Then only on again, off again."

Elle's brows arched. "And now?"

"Off. As of last year. She's my boss." His eyes slid briefly toward her, sharp, before fixing forward again. "Not that my personal life is any of your business."

Elle traced her lips with her finger, then mimed zipping them shut and tossing away the key. "My lips are sealed."

The corner of Ethan's mouth curved, reluctant, but it was there. For the first time, he turned his face toward her fully, a fleeting smile ghosting across his features. "Good."

The air thickened. Elle leaned back in her seat, unbothered by the silence, studying him openly now. The lines of his shoulders beneath his sweater. The way his fingers curled around the wheel. He was composed, guarded — yet her gaze unsettled him. She saw it in the way he adjusted in his seat, the way he cleared his throat though he hadn't spoken.

"Can I ask you another thing?" she ventured.

He let out a low groan. "Mhm."

"Did Dr Banerji really quit?"

His eyes cut to hers, briefly, almost sharply, before darting back to the road. "I was wondering when you were going to ask me that. Yes. He did."

Her voice rose, incredulous. "But that's huge! Did he say why he was leaving?"

"That's between him and the chief." His tone closed the door.

She studied him, but his profile gave nothing away, every inch locked down. Trying to break the weight of it, she teased, "So you're in charge of the diagnostics team now, right? That's got to be a lot of pressure."

His lips twitched, though his eyes stayed straight ahead. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

She nudged the edge of her seat with her knee, laughing lightly. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"It's more than you can imagine. Naveen built that team from his own blood, sweat, and tears. I can't let him down now that he's moved on..."

Elle's voice softened. "Is this... what you want?"

That pause again, heavier this time. His voice came low, measured, as if rehearsed. "What I want is to confront the impossible mysteries of the human body, and to understand them."

She tilted her head, watching him closely. "Okay, but... back here on earth for a moment. Did you always want to lead the diagnostics team?"

His mouth pressed into a line, then eased. "The team gives me the opportunity to face the questions no one has answered. So in that respect, I suppose the answer is yes."

Boston blurred around them, headlights painting the interior in fleeting streaks of gold. Elle reached for the lever and slid her seat back, settling more comfortably.

Ethan scoffed. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

She reclined with deliberate ease, folding her arms behind her head. "That's so kind of you. Thank you."

He rolled his eyes, but she didn't miss it — the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, quickly hidden.

"You know, I'm actually surprised you were up for this rescue mission," she said, watching him again, letting her gaze trace the line of his jaw.

He allowed himself the smallest smile. "You don't think I want to spend my time searching for stuffed animals?"

"In all honesty? I thought you'd think this is pointless. I mean, it's just a stuffed frog, right?"

A laugh huffed from him, deep in his chest. "You think I'm some emotionless machine, don't you?"

Her grin curved slow. "Maybe not entirely. More of a cyborg? Or Dr Terminator?"

That earned her a look — quick, sharp, lingering. He held her eyes a beat longer than necessary before flicking back to the road. "Even in that case, even a cyborg would cite the studies on how emotional attachment can play a significant role in patient recovery. So not even I, 'Dr Terminator,' think this is just a toy."

Her voice dipped lower. "And Dolores is a friend."

"She's a patient first, while she's in our care. But..." His voice trailed, softer. "Yes, she's also a friend. So if a stuffed frog is going to help her get through this, then I will help her find the damn frog."

Elle rested her elbow on the armrest, cheek propped against her palm, unabashed as her eyes lingered on him. He kept his focus ahead, but she caught it — the subtle way his jaw shifted, the almost imperceptible flick of his eyes toward her before snapping back to the road.

"I think you might be a softie at heart, Dr Ramsey."

His mouth tightened, but she saw the pulse in his temple, betraying the hit. "Far from it. I'm practical."

The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was thick, charged, their awareness of each other filling every inch of the car.

Finally, his voice cut through, steady but lower than before. "And that's enough prying for now. We're here."

The car slowed, headlights sweeping across the blackened skeleton of the fire-damaged building, and the night pressed close around them.

--------

Elle coughed as they stepped out of the car, the rancid stench of burning plastic and plaster filling her lungs. The office building was still partially engulfed by flames, firefighters silhouetted against the blaze as they battled to contain it. Sirens wailed, water hissed against scorched stone, the night alive with chaos.

Ethan stayed close, his shoulder brushing hers as he spoke over the noise. "We can search the perimeter of the office, but if it fell from her purse in there..."

His eyes flicked toward the rubble, jagged shadows of broken walls swaying in the heat. Elle followed his gaze, her stomach sinking. She shook her head, pushing past the lump in her throat as she stepped forward into the smoke-heavy air. "Let's hope it didn't."

Together, they moved slowly along the street, retracing the path Rafael might have taken with the ambulance. Every step felt heavier, their shoes crunching over broken glass, their silhouettes glowing in the pulsing lights of fire engines. They scanned gutters, heaps of ash, discarded personal items scattered across the pavement. The longer they searched, the more hopeless it began to feel, like the little frog had been swallowed whole by the destruction.

Elle bent over suddenly, a coughing fit overtaking her. The acrid smoke clawed down her throat, forcing tears to the corners of her eyes.

Before she could steady herself, Ethan was there — crouched at her side, one hand braced against her back, firm and steady. Even the slightest contact sent her pulse racing, warmth flooding her chest despite the biting chill of the night air. She tried to catch her breath, but it wasn't the smoke that made her chest tighten — it was him.

"Are you okay?" His voice was low, commanding, laced with a flicker of concern he tried to disguise.

Elle nodded quickly, still coughing, her determination outweighing the burn in her lungs. "I'm fine. It's just—" Her words cut short, eyes snapping wide as she pointed ahead with sudden urgency. "In there!"

Ethan followed her line of sight. A storm drain, the metal grate twisted open during the chaos. And down in the shadows, barely visible beneath a film of soot and grime, sat the small green frog.

Her frog. Dolores's frog.

Elle turned toward Ethan, already reading the doubt on his face. She shook her head before he could voice it. "Oh hell no, I am not going down there. Haven't you seen It?"

His brow furrowed. "Seen what?"

"Never mind." She exhaled, exasperated. "We'll have to lower me in. I'll fall headfirst if I try it alone, but not if you hang onto my hand."

His jaw tightened, considering it. Then he gave a single, clipped nod. "Sounds like it's worth a shot."

The world seemed to pause as Elle lowered herself flat against the ground, wriggling forward until her upper body disappeared into the drain. Cold, damp air rushed against her skin, the metal edges scraping faintly against her arms.

Ethan crouched low, his grip closing firmly around her hand — warm, solid, unyielding. He anchored her with a strength that made her heart stutter.

"Can you reach?" His voice carried down after her, taut with restrained urgency.

Elle stretched until her shoulder ached, fingertips grazing the sodden fabric. "Al...most..." She wriggled further, boots sliding against the pavement.

Ethan's grip tightened suddenly, his voice sharper now, echoing with command. "You can't go any further, Elle. You'll fall in."

She ignored the warning, determination burning through her veins. Her fingers brushed the frog — just as her body slipped an inch deeper. Panic flared, but Ethan reacted instantly, abandoning her hand to seize her waist with both hands, his fingers digging into her sides to haul her back.

A shaky breath rattled from his chest. "What did I just say?!"

Elle twisted her head back toward him, laughing breathlessly despite the soot in her lungs. "I got it!"

And she had. Her fist clenched tight around the sodden green frog. Triumph sparked in her chest as Ethan dragged her carefully out of the drain, pulling her upright in one smooth, practiced motion.

He brushed debris from her sleeves, his large hands surprisingly gentle as they plucked a leaf from her hair. The closeness was intoxicating — the warmth of his breath against her temple, the steady rhythm of his touch as though he'd forgotten himself in the moment.

She held out the frog between them like a prize. "Ta-da. Mission accomplished."

His lips curved, subtle but undeniable. He continued pulling leaves and ash from her tangled hair, his fingers lingering a fraction too long before he dropped his hand. "Excellent work. You can give it to Dolores when we get back."

Elle looked down at the soggy toy with a grimace. "After we sterilise this, of course. Otherwise this frog is going nowhere near a pregnant woman."

A quiet chuckle escaped him, rare and unguarded, before he straightened to his full height. He gestured toward the car, his hand brushing the small of her back as he guided her through the smoke. "My thoughts precisely."

The touch was fleeting, yet it lingered on her skin long after he pulled away.

--------

Later that evening, back at the hospital, Elle made her way toward the nurses' station, fatigue heavy in her limbs but determination still carrying her steps. She was stopped by one of the nurses, who held out a file with urgency.

"Dr Rose! Miss Hudson's urinalysis results."

Elle took the folder, flipping it open. Her eyes darted over the numbers, and in the span of a heartbeat, her stomach dropped. The chart blurred slightly as her chest tightened. This wasn't just an abnormal reading. This was dangerous.

Her pace quickened, shoes echoing against the corridor tiles as she searched for Ethan. She stopped just shy of Dolores's room, her hand resting against the cool metal of the doorframe. Through the narrow blinds, she saw them. Dolores was propped against her pillows, laughter bubbling in the room as she cradled the sterilised frog against her swollen belly. Ethan sat beside her, watching the television with a small smile tugging at his mouth, his posture relaxed for the first time Elle could remember.

It was a warm, tender scene — one that twisted like a knife in Elle's chest. She swallowed hard, her knuckles tightening around the chart until the paper edges cut into her skin.

Hesitantly, she knocked. The sound broke the moment. Ethan's head lifted, his expression shifting as his eyes found hers through the glass. Whatever ease had been there vanished instantly, as if a mask had dropped back into place. He rose, setting the chair back neatly before slipping out into the hall, closing the door softly behind him.

But the second his gaze locked with hers, Elle saw it. The flicker of dread. The stillness in his chest, as though his heart had actually stopped beating.

Without a word, she held the results out to him. His hand brushed hers as he took the file, a fleeting contact, but enough to make her breath hitch. He scanned the report, and his expression hardened, colour draining from his face.

Elle pointed to the numbers, her voice barely above a whisper. "She has serious preeclampsia. Her baby is in trouble, isn't it?"

Ethan dragged a hand down his face, the motion slow, heavy. His other hand braced against his knee as he bent forward, exhaling into his palm before straightening again. His features were composed, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him.

"Yes," he said finally, voice rough. "Let's go and tell her."

He reached for the handle, but Elle hesitated, biting down on her lip. Her pulse thundered in her ears. He caught her hesitation instantly, his gaze cutting to hers. For a moment, she saw him raw — the ache in his eyes, the weight of what he carried. But just as quickly, the shutters fell, his voice steady and clipped.

"This is the job, Rookie. Come on."

Inside, Dolores looked up, her laughter fading the moment she saw their faces. The frog remained clutched in her arms, her knuckles white around it.

"What is it? Ethan?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he turned to Elle, giving the faintest of nods. The decision was hers.

Her throat tightened, but she moved forward, lowering herself onto the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight, bringing her close enough to see the hope flicker in Dolores's eyes.

"Dolores," she began softly, forcing the calm into her tone, "I don't want you to worry—"

Dolores cut her off, panic sharpening her voice. "That's what people say when you should be worried."

Elle exhaled, steadying herself, before gently taking Dolores's hand. "Have you ever heard of preeclampsia? It's a serious condition that affects up to one in ten pregnant women. In many cases, it can be managed if monitored. But I'm afraid yours is quite severe."

Dolores's eyes filled with tears instantly. Her voice cracked. "How... serious?"

She turned to Ethan, searching him for comfort, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. He stared at the floor, jaw clenched, shoulders taut.

Elle squeezed her hand tighter. "The blood flow to the placenta is slowing, which could soon deprive your baby of vital nutrients and oxygen."

Ethan moved closer then, resting one hand firmly on the bedframe as though to ground them all. His voice was quiet, but the words fell like lead. "I'm afraid your baby is at risk, Dolores."

Dolores shook her head violently, gripping her belly with her free hand. "But... everything feels fine! I can still feel the baby kicking!"

Ethan forced himself to look at her then, his eyes heavy with sadness. "Dolores, this means we have to deliver the baby early."

"No," she snapped, shaking her head harder, tears streaming now. "Absolutely not. It's too soon."

Elle leaned closer, desperate to reach her. "Babies delivered at twenty-six weeks have a good chance of survival—"

"A chance?!" Dolores's voice cracked with fury, yanking her hand from Elle's.

Elle pulled back slightly, her chest stinging, but pressed on gently. "He will need to stay in the NICU for some time, and yes, there is a risk of complications—"

Dolores sobbed openly now, her whole body trembling. "And some babies don't make it at all! Is my baby in danger right now?"

Ethan's eyes softened, his voice low, reluctant. "Not immediately. No. But—"

"Then my tadpole is staying put!" Dolores's voice rose, breaking with anguish. She pressed the frog tighter against her stomach, rocking slightly as she cried.

"Dolores..." Ethan's tone was quieter now, almost pleading.

She shook her head fiercely, words spilling out through broken sobs. "No, Ethan! Please, just... give me a week. As long as you can. Please."

Something in him hardened at that. His posture shifted, the emotion stripped from his face, replaced by the cold precision of a man retreating into professionalism. He plucked the lab report from the side table, scanning it once more before speaking, his voice clipped.

"I'll give you tonight to come to your senses."

He turned sharply, ushering Elle with him. The door clicked softly shut behind them.

In the corridor, Ethan leaned back against the door, pressing both hands over his face. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, the exhaustion finally showing.

Elle, heart aching, touched his arm gently. "I'll keep checking on her. Maybe we can talk her around?"

His hands dropped, and the moment of vulnerability was gone. His expression was cold, his tone final. "No. Just go home. Your shift ended hours ago."

She hesitated, frustration clawing at her chest. "But—"

He pulled the chart from her hands with one swift motion, his eyes hard. "I'm taking over this case. You're not ready for it."

And without another word, he strode down the corridor, long strides echoing as he disappeared around the corner, leaving Elle frozen in place.

She turned back toward the narrow window of Dolores's room. Through the glass, she saw the young woman curled onto her side, sobbing into the frog pressed against her belly, rocking herself as if it were the only thing keeping her anchored.

Elle's chest constricted, grief and helplessness pressing down on her as the reality of the job finally sank in.

--------

As Elle walked down the corridor, the weight of the day dragged behind her like a shadow. Every step felt slower, her scrubs clinging to her skin, heavy with the lingering scent of disinfectant and exhaustion. Just as she reached for her keycard to swipe out, a voice stopped her.

"Hey, tough day?"

She turned her head to find Bryce leaning casually against the wall, but his eyes weren't teasing the way they usually were. They were steady, concerned.

Elle met his gaze, fighting the burn of tears in her eyes. "Really, really rough, Bryce." Her voice cracked on the words. She raked her hands through her hair, exhaling sharply. "I just... I just really need some good news."

His grin flickered, soft and reassuring. "Well then," he said, jerking his head down the corridor, "let's go and get you some."

She frowned curiously, following as he led her a few doors down. When he stopped at one of the patient rooms, Elle's heart clenched the second she saw through the glass. Kyra, fast asleep, her chest rising and falling in steady rhythm after surgery.

Relief hit Elle so hard she nearly stumbled. "Oh my god." She pushed past Bryce and pressed her palm against the glass, her throat tightening with gratitude. Then she spun back, throwing her arms around him before she even thought about it.

He chuckled, caught off guard, before squeezing her tightly in return. "Careful, Rookie, I might get used to this."

Elle pulled back, smiling damply, her cheeks warm. "Thank you."

He tilted his head, studying her. "When did your shift end?"

She sighed, shoulders drooping as she admitted, "Two hours ago. I wanted to stay with my preeclampsia patient, but..." Her eyes flickered down the hall, the memory still fresh. "...Dr Ramsey dismissed me."

Bryce gave a small, understanding nod. "Get some rest, Elle. Please."

Her lips curved faintly, gratitude still heavy in her chest. "I will, Bryce. Thank you again."

He winked as he headed off, voice light again. "Anytime."

For the first time all day, Elle felt the weight lift just enough to breathe.

A few hours later, her pager shrieked in the silence of the on-call room. She blinked into the darkness, heart pounding as she grabbed for it on the bedside table. Her stomach twisted when she saw the backlog: five urgent pages.

All from Dr Ramsey.

"Shit."

Adrenaline jolted through her veins. She shoved herself upright, yanking on her fleece and tugging her scrubs into place as she burst into the corridor. The hospital blurred around her as she ran, shoes squeaking against the polished floor, nurses stepping aside as she tore past them. Her chest burned, but she didn't stop.

When she reached the birthing ward, the quiet felt wrong. Too still. Too heavy.

Ethan sat in the waiting room, his frame hunched over, elbows digging into his knees, head buried in his hands. His usually immaculate posture was gone, replaced by something raw and broken.

Elle skidded to a halt in front of him. Dropping to her knees, she placed a trembling hand on his arm. "Dr Ramsey? What happened? Where's Dolores?"

He didn't move. Didn't even flinch. The silence pressed in, suffocating. Just as she opened her mouth to repeat herself, he lifted his head.

His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed red, his gaze hollow yet sharp enough to cut through her.

"Dolores had a seizure," he said, voice low, ragged. "Full eclampsia. We had no choice but to deliver the baby early. It's fifty-fifty he'll survive the night."

His voice broke on the last word. His head dropped back into his hands, shoulders shaking once, a sharp shudder wracking through him.

Elle's throat closed, tears springing to her eyes. She didn't want to ask, didn't want the answer, but the words slipped out anyway, strangled. "What about... Dolores?"

Ethan raised his head again, and for the briefest moment she saw him completely undone. His eyes swam with grief, his control fractured.

"She died."

The words landed like a blow.

Elle's hand slipped from his knee to her face, covering her mouth as if she could shove the grief back down. Her breath hitched painfully, her chest heaving. "Dr Ramsey, I am so—"

But before she could finish, Ethan lurched to his feet, brushing a hand roughly across his face. His voice was clipped, hard. "I'm fine."

He turned before she could move, striding down the corridor with long, purposeful steps, his figure vanishing around the corner without a backward glance.

She sat frozen for a moment, the silence deafening.

Later, dressed in her fleece and fresh scrubs, Elle moved on instinct. Her feet carried her to the neonatal intensive care unit.

Inside, the world was softer. Machines hummed steadily, their lights blinking in gentle rhythm. She stepped closer to one of the incubators, and her heart clenched.

So small. Dolores's baby was impossibly tiny, his chest rising and falling beneath the ventilator, every breath fragile, as if the world itself weighed too much for him. Elle pressed a hand to the incubator, her throat closing as she read the tag clipped to the side.

Ethan Hudson.

Her eyes stung as the tears spilled over. She lowered herself onto the sofa beside the incubator, leaning forward, her hands clasped tightly as if in prayer.

She stayed there, watching him breathe, remembering Dolores's laugh, the way she had pressed her hands to her belly and called him her tadpole. The ache in her chest was unbearable.

The door opened quietly, and an attending stepped in. He paused, surprised to see her. "Can I help you?"

Elle wiped her tears quickly with the back of her hand. Her voice cracked as she spoke. "His mom was my patient... She got to name him?"

The attending's expression softened. He nodded gently. "She told me as we were rushing her to the O.R. Poor thing. We'll know more in the morning."

Elle looked back at the incubator, her voice barely a whisper. "Do you mind if I sit here with him tonight?"

The attending gave her a long look, then nodded. "Be my guest."

The door clicked softly shut again, leaving her in the quiet glow of the NICU. She leaned back in the chair, her tears falling silently as she watched the baby's tiny chest rise and fall, her heart aching with every fragile breath.

She whispered a promise only he could hear. That he wouldn't be alone. Not tonight.

Elle held up the stuffed frog, which she had found sitting alone in Dolores's hospital room. The sight of it — so small, so loved — twisted her chest. She smiled sadly, a tear slipping down her cheek as she placed the frog gently in the incubator beside baby Ethan.

"Here you are, tadpole. Mommy will always be with you."

Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. The baby shifted, weakly nuzzling into the frog, his tiny body rising and falling with each shallow breath. Elle reached for a glove, sliding it carefully over her hand, then slipped her fingers into the incubator. With infinite care, she stroked the baby's impossibly small hand, marveling at how his delicate fingers curled instinctively around her touch. The warmth of him — so fragile, so alive — made her throat tighten.

A low voice behind her broke the silence. "What are you still doing here?"

She glanced over her shoulder. Ethan stood in the hallway, framed by the glow of the NICU lights. His arms hung heavy at his sides, his face shadowed with exhaustion. But his eyes — fixed on her hand brushing the baby's fingers — brimmed with something unguarded, something he quickly tried to hide.

Elle's lips curved into a sad smile. She didn't move her hand from the baby. "I'm going to stay with him tonight. I hate the idea of him having to fight for his life alone."

Her voice faltered. She turned back to the incubator, smoothing her fingertip softly over the baby's head. Ethan's gaze lingered on her, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. His eyes glistened, tears threatening. He turned abruptly, clearing his throat.

"There are plenty of doctors working overnight. If something happens, they'll be here."

Elle slowly pulled her hand away, the plastic of the glove rasping against the incubator's rim, then looked back at him, steady. "I know."

The silence stretched between them, taut, fragile. Finally, his voice was low. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Her chest tightened. She gave a faint nod. "Be my guest. There's plenty of room."

Ethan crossed the room, his steps measured, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. He sank down beside her on the couch, the fabric dipping with his weight. His knee brushed against hers, the accidental contact making her pulse race, but neither of them shifted away.

For a while, neither spoke. They listened together to the soft whoosh of the ventilator, the rhythmic beep of the monitor, the fragile breaths of a life just beginning.

Elle curled into her fleece, arms folded over her stomach, her eyes fixed on the incubator. She heard Ethan's voice behind her, soft, almost to himself. "You gave him the frog. Dolores would have been..." His face fell. "...she would have been pleased."

Elle blinked quickly, turning her face away so he couldn't see the tears spilling over. But he noticed. He always noticed.

"The first patient I lost was in my fourth week," he murmured, eyes still on the baby. "I didn't make any mistakes. He had stage four metastatic melanoma. He fought like hell, but... he lost." His voice caught. He paused, forcing the words out. "I knew he didn't have long, but it still hit me hard."

Elle's throat tightened. Her eyes brimmed as she whispered, "...Does it ever get easier?"

His hand shifted, hesitated, then rested gently over hers. Warm. Steady. The contrast of his large, firm hand against her smaller one sent a shiver through her. His thumb brushed ever so slightly over her knuckles, not enough to be deliberate, but not accidental either.

"Grieving a lost patient isn't weakness. Good doctors value life — for itself. I'd be more concerned if you weren't upset."

She turned her tear-streaked face toward him, eyes searching. "You didn't answer my question."

"I know." His gaze flickered to the incubator, his sigh heavy. "Just know this wasn't your fault. Or mine. Or Dolores's. We made the best choices we could with what we knew."

Elle shook her head, wiping at her face with her free hand, but she didn't pull away from his. "But I need to be better. I failed her. I should have seen it coming. And I—" Her voice broke into sobs. "I went to sleep, Ethan. Why did I go to sleep?"

Her hands covered her face, shoulders trembling with quick, uneven breaths. Ethan's hand left hers only to move closer, his palm warm and steady against her back, rubbing small, grounding circles between her shoulder blades. His touch was firm enough to anchor her, gentle enough to soothe.

"It's important to push yourself, Rookie. But you'll take losses. We all do. What matters is how you come back from them. Stronger."

She lifted her head, her eyes bloodshot, his glistening. "Why are you being so nice to me? You're usually so..."

"Demanding?" A faint twitch pulled at his mouth. His gaze drifted upward, thoughtful. "There are doctors with unlimited patience. I'm not one of them. Whatever energy I might use to socialise, or make someone's day better... I pour into the patients. They're who I'm here for."

Elle let out a soft laugh, still damp with tears. "But you're a teacher too."

"One of many. And you shouldn't model yourself after any of us. Idolatry among physicians is absurd. We're here to teach you medicine. But you..." He turned, meeting her gaze, steady and intent. "You need to find your own way."

She exhaled, weary. "How do I do that?"

A rare smile touched his lips. "You already are."

The baby stretched then, tiny fists opening and closing. Ethan leaned forward, offering a finger. The miniature hand curled around it with surprising strength. Ethan stilled, his breath catching at the delicate pressure. He didn't pull away, letting the infant cling, his thumb brushing lightly over the impossibly small knuckles.

Elle leaned back, exhaustion pressing down. Her voice was a whisper. "Ethan... she named him after you."

His head snapped toward the name tag. His Adam's apple shifted as he swallowed hard, his face overwhelmed with emotion. "...I see she did."

"You must have known Dolores for a long time."

His gaze stayed on the baby as he spoke. "Over ten years. When I first emailed, it was just to check in. But she was newly divorced, lonely... insisted on coffee." His voice softened, brimming with memory. "That turned into long emails, then Sunday roasts every couple of months."

Elle's lips curved faintly. "She sounds like a great friend."

"She was." His voice cracked. He swallowed, blinking hard. "I wasn't good at making friends when I first came here. I suppose I was always grateful for her because of that."

His eyes reddened as silence settled again.

Without hesitation, Elle reached for his hand, covering it gently. Her fingers threaded through his this time, deliberate, lingering. His hand tightened instinctively around hers, warm and firm, as though he didn't want to let go.

"I'm so sorry this happened."

His gaze snapped to hers, their eyes locking. His were raw, shining, and for a moment the world outside the incubator didn't exist.

“Me too." His voice was barely a whisper.

The weight of it pressed between them until he cleared his throat, shifting slightly, though his hand remained in hers a moment longer before sliding away. "I think we need coffee."

Elle began to stand. "I can get some—"

"No. I'll go."

He disappeared through the door, leaving her with the soft hum of machines and the fragile rise and fall of the baby's chest. She leaned closer, whispering. "That's it, little tadpole. In and out."

The door opened again, and Ethan returned with two steaming mugs. He handed one to her, their fingers brushing and catching for a second longer than necessary. She sipped cautiously, eyebrows lifting. "This doesn't taste like cafeteria coffee..."

A smirk tugged at his mouth as he drank. "That's because it isn't. I have my own machine in my office. As soon as I got one, I swore never to drink that caffeinated dishwater again."

Elle laughed softly, shaking her head. "Of course you do." She lifted her hand, miming a zipper across her lips. "Don't worry, my mouth is sealed."

He settled beside her on the loveseat, stretching back. She tucked her legs beneath her, blanket pulled over her shoulders, content beside him as they both watched the baby's tiny chest rise and fall.

"He's doing well," she murmured.

Ethan turned his head, watching her more than the incubator. She felt his eyes on her, heavy and unwavering. She glanced up — and didn't look away.

Up close, she saw the green flecks in his blue eyes, the way his stubble shadowed his jaw, the quiet strength in the set of his mouth. Her gaze lingered, shameless, and he let her. His own eyes traced the fall of her hair, the flush in her cheeks, the curve of her lips. Neither of them broke the silence.

Until she yawned, laughing nervously. "Oh god, sorry."

Ethan shook his head, his voice low. "Don't apologise."

"I'm still adjusting to Boston time," she admitted. "Let alone Boston late nights."

He reached for a blanket from the basket, unfolding it before draping it over her shoulders with careful precision. His fingers brushed the curve of her arm as he tucked it in, lingering just a fraction too long before retreating. "Try and get some rest. I'll stay up."

She tugged it closer, curling into the corner of the loveseat. Sleep pulled her under within half an hour, her head lolling softly against the cushion.

Ethan watched the baby, but more often, he found his gaze drawn to her. To the way her hair spilled over her shoulder, to how peaceful she looked at last.

Carefully, almost against his will, he reached over. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. His touch lingered, knuckles grazing her cheek before he pulled away.

His mouth quirked, sad and fond all at once. Settling deeper into the loveseat, he let his eyes fall shut, the weight of exhaustion finally claiming him.

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

Chapter Nine: Between Fire And Smoke

The first thing that reached Elle was the smell. Rich, savoury, and undeniably comforting — the scent of something frying. It wound its way into her dreams, tugging her slowly toward consciousness. She stretched beneath her covers, arms reaching long above her head, before rolling onto her side. Morning sunlight spilled in through the thin gap in her curtains, painting golden bars across her new bedroom. For the first time since arriving in Boston, she felt like the space belonged to her, if only just.

She swung her legs from the bed, toes curling against the cool wooden floor, and dressed quickly. Padding softly into the living room, she slowed to a halt. The counter was laden like a feast: pancakes stacked high, eggs still steaming, toast balanced precariously beside bowls of fruit and jam. The sight made her stomach growl before she could stop it.

"Wow, Sienna, you didn't have to do all this."

Sienna stood over the stove, apron tied neatly, a wooden spoon in hand. She turned with a sly little shake of her head. "I wanted to, so don't even try and stop me."

A plate was pressed into Elle's hands before she could protest. She drifted toward the dining table, where Landry sat hunched over a crossword, pen tapping rhythmically against his lip as though the entire puzzle depended on that one gesture.

"I've never been any good at those," Sienna remarked, setting down another dish.

"I love the challenge of them," Landry replied without looking up. "The way in which all the answers have to fit together as a whole. It's why I love diagnostics too."

His eyes flicked briefly toward Elle, as though she might also recognise the thrill of a neat, clever answer.

The whir of Elijah's wheels against the floorboards drew their attention as he came in, hair sticking up as though he'd slept directly on his face. He piled food onto a plate with abandon.

"I can't wait for Wayne to see this place," Sienna said brightly, carefully folding napkins beside the counter. "He's really going to love it."

"Your boyfriend?" Elijah's eyebrows shot up as he spoke around a mouthful of toast. "Wasn't he supposed to come over last night? And the night before?"

For a moment Sienna's brightness dimmed, like a candle flickering in a draft, though her smile returned just as quickly. "He keeps having to cancel. His work really demands a lot of him..."

"Well we can't wait to meet him," Elle offered. "If he's anything like you, I'm sure we're going to love him."

"He's not that similar to me," Sienna replied with a soft laugh. "But I hope you like him anyway."

Jackie stumbled in then, hair escaping her messy bun, eyes half-shut. She poured coffee into a mug that looked far too large for one hand and collapsed into the chair beside Elle. "Why didn't anyone wake me up? Last thing I remember is reading a textbook and then..." She rubbed the faint imprint still reddening her forehead. "At least it was quiet last night."

"Not for long!" Elijah announced, practically bouncing in his chair. "I hooked up the stereo, and now we're officially ready for a housewarming party."

Landry looked horrified. "But the place is so clean..."

Sienna clapped her hands together. "Ooo yes! I can introduce Wayne to everybody!"

"I was thinking we could invite all the interns, maybe some residents too. It'd be a great way to get to know everybody," Elijah said, already scrolling through his phone.

"No surgeons, please," Jackie muttered into her mug. "This apartment does not need to be christened with a keg stand."

"I think a party sounds like a great idea," Elle said, warmth tugging at her chest.

The group exchanged grins. Jackie stood abruptly, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Okay, who's coming with me early? I want to see if the rumours are true."

"What rumours?" Elle asked, curiosity piqued.

"About Dr Banerji. Apparently he just quit suddenly sometime yesterday."

Landry's pen froze mid-letter. "No announcement? No going away party? Nothing?"

"What about the diagnostic team? Wasn't that his department?" Elle asked, her brows knitting.

"I believe Dr Ramsey is now running that show." Jackie's smirk was quick, knowing.

Elle's stomach sank. A memory surfaced sharp and clear: Ethan's voice echoing down the hall, furious, ragged. You can't do this, Naveen! I won't let you! Her chest tightened.

"Alright, let's get over there," Jackie said, pulling Elle from the thought.

"But you haven't eaten any breakfast!" Sienna called.

"Coffee is my breakfast," Jackie retorted, disappearing through the door.

—

The hospital felt alive in a way that always left Elle a little breathless. She walked briskly, greeting the nurses she was beginning to know by name, her white coat swishing against her legs. Turning down the fifth-floor corridor, she paused at the sound of Ethan's voice spilling from a nearby room.

"This is preposterous, Harper. They're not ready!’

Something in his tone froze her mid-step. She edged closer, heart thumping. Through the crack in the door, Ethan stood taut, every muscle strung tight. Harper Emery, elegant as ever, stepped closer, fingertips brushing his arm with practiced intimacy.

"Ethan..." Her hand slid higher, grazing his cheek as though she had every right.

Elle's heart stopped. She knew she should leave, should look away, but her body betrayed her. Instead, she shifted, leaning against the wall by the door, eyes flicking down to the chart in her hands as though it could disguise her thundering pulse.

"I'm not asking you, Ethan. I'm telling you."

Ethan's scoff was sharp, his frown etched deep. "What else is new?"

Harper's fingers threaded lightly through his hair. Elle's throat ached, jealousy and disbelief tangling into something sharp. She stared harder at the ink on the page, but the words blurred, meaning dissolving.

"I know this is your hospital now, Harper, this is your call. But I'm warning you, I will fight you every step of the way on this."

Harper's laugh rang low. "What else is new?"

A triumphant smile curved her lips before she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Elle's gut twisted as Harper swept past her, perfume trailing like smoke.

She buried her face in the chart, pretending to read, every nerve aflame. Harper didn't so much as glance at her.

A shaky breath escaped her lips—

"Were you eavesdropping?!"

Ethan's voice came from directly behind her. She spun, face burning. His arms were folded, his eyes dark, and the fury there made her chest constrict.

"Dr Ramsey... I—"

He cut her off with a raised hand, shutting his eyes as though he couldn't bear another word. "On second thought, I don't have time for this. Let's save the feeble excuse and get on with our lives, shall we?"

Then he was gone, striding down the hall, his coat flaring behind him. Elle sagged against the wall, lungs burning as if she'd run a mile. Before…

"Hey there, Doc!"

The familiar voice snapped her back. She turned to see Kyra being wheeled toward her, Bryce at the handles. Relief swept her chest clean.

"Kyra! How are you? I haven't seen you since the surgical interns stole you from me."

"You say 'stole,'" Bryce countered with a smirk, "I say 'rightfully took a surgical case.'"

Kyra looked between them, mischief bright in her eyes. "Wait a minute, two hot doctors fighting over me? Did the cancer already get me, because this feels like a 'died and gone to heaven' situation."

Elle couldn't help but laugh, the heaviness from moments ago easing. "You have a very morbid sense of humour, Kyra. So your surgery is soon?"

"It's right now actually," Bryce answered, voice tinged with pride. "A lobectomy assisted by yours truly."

Elle blinked. "Wait—you're having a lobe of your lung removed today?"

"I know, right? It happened kind of fast after the CT results came back."

Her throat tightened, but she forced steady words. "You're strong, Kyra. I know you can survive this."

"Thank you, Elle."

"Sorry, Dr Rose," Bryce said, already pushing her toward the lifts, "but I have to get Ms. Santana to the O.R."

"Thank you, Bryce. Please look after her for me."

"Of course I will, Elle."

Elle watched until they disappeared around the corner, worry pressing heavy on her chest…

"Rose! What the hell are you standing around for?"

Dr Mirani’s bark snapped her from thought. He stood down the corridor, arms crossed, irritation written plain across his face. "Get down to the E.R. and see if they need any patients admitted!"

"Yes, Dr Mirani!"

————

Elle made her way down to the emergency department, her footsteps echoing against the linoleum. The air was cooler here, brisk with the scent of antiseptic and humming with the restless energy of staff between cases. Aurora Emery was already there, her posture sharp, eyes narrowed as if she were already bored by everything around her.

One attending, too eager, rushed forward. "I have a patient with chromhidrosis, if you'd like to assist—it's really cool—"

Aurora silenced him with a single flick of her hand, her voice clipped. "Thanks, but no thanks."

Another doctor jogged toward her, panting, a steaming cup in his trembling hands. "Hi! Dr Emery, I brought you a cappuccino—"

Aurora didn't even glance at the cup. "I drink tea." She breezed right past him, heading toward Elle as if the coffee-offering man had never existed.

Elle leaned casually against the counter, a smirk playing at her lips. "Hi, Aurora."

Aurora snatched a chart from the desk, eyes flicking over the notes as she spoke. "What do you want?"

"Just... saying hi. Is that illegal?"

Her expression didn't change, but her words were dry as dust. "Should be."

Elle ignored the jab, took a sip from her own coffee—stone cold now—and let her gaze drift across the rows of empty beds. "It's pretty quiet down here. That's really good."

Aurora actually paused, confusion momentarily cracking her icy veneer. "What are you even talking about? There's no good cases when it's quiet."

"That means fewer people are seriously sick. That's a win in my book."

Aurora tilted her head, studying her as if she were some peculiar new species. Elle speaks up, "If you're so desperate for cool cases, why didn't you go with that attending?"

For a fleeting second, something thoughtful flickered behind her eyes. Then it was gone, shutters slamming down. "Super not interested in explaining myself to you of all people."

Before Elle could reply, sirens wailed outside, rising sharp and urgent. They exchanged a look—one heartbeat of silent accord—before bolting toward the ambulance dock.

The doors of the vehicle slammed open. A tall, broad-shouldered paramedic jumped down, his presence steady even amidst the chaos. Nurses swarmed, helping him guide out a gurney. A woman lay unconscious, oxygen mask fogging faintly with each shallow breath.

"Dolores Hudson," the paramedic said firmly, locking eyes with Elle. "Office fire. Evacuated in time, but she's pregnant and could not move fast enough."

Elle was already moving alongside the gurney, hands checking vitals, eyes cataloguing every detail of her condition. "How long has she been unresponsive?"

"She fainted in the ambulance on the way over here."

Aurora hung back, arms folded, gaze detached. "How are her vitals?"

The paramedic pushed forward with the team. "Elevated blood pressure, to be expected with smoke inhalation. But both her and the baby have strong heartbeats." He guided the gurney into a trauma bay and exhaled. "Hopefully I got her out before any real damage."

Elle blinked at him, startled. "You got her out? Where were the firefighters?"

He met her eyes, confusion flickering at her tone. "We beat the fire department to the scene. I heard screaming, so I broke in and carried her out."

Danny, one of the nurses, appeared, already inserting an IV with quick precision. "We'll get her admitted. Dr Rose, Dr Emery, which one of you is taking this case?"

Aurora didn't hesitate. "Smoke inhalation? It's all yours. I'll wait for something interesting."

Elle nodded quickly. "I'll take it. I'll meet you upstairs."

Aurora peeled off, her shoes clicking against the tile as she disappeared down the hall. The nurses wheeled Dolores toward the elevators, but Elle lingered, caught by the paramedic still filling out forms at the desk.

She tilted her head, studying him. "So... you ran into a raging inferno to save a pregnant woman?"

He glanced up, eyes dark and steady. "Naturally. Wouldn't you?"

Her lips curved faintly, though her voice was soft. "I'd like to think I would be that brave. But you never really know until you're in the moment."

His mouth tugged into something almost like a smile. "It's just instinct. You're a doctor—I'm sure you wouldn't hesitate." He went back to scribbling on the form, pen scratching. "I haven't seen you around Edenbrook before. Are you new?"

"I suppose you could say that. It's my first week. I'm Dr Rose."

He extended a hand, warm and firm when she shook it. "Rafael Aveiro. I guess I'll be seeing you around, then, Dr Rose?"

"I hope so."

The walkie clipped to his chest squawked to life: Two-car crash at Congress and Franklin!

Rafael sighed, tucking the form away. "That's my cue."

He catches Elle’s gaze before he leaves, smiling briefly. Elle watched him jog back toward the bay doors, then turned for the elevators, the weight of Dolores's case already pulling her mind forward.

—

On the ward, she slowed. Up ahead, Mrs. Martinez was taking her daily laps, small feet shuffling, her hand clinging to Ethan Ramsey's arm for support. But what stopped Elle was the sight of Ethan himself—his expression transformed, softened. He was smiling.

"So what did you do?" Mrs. Martinez asked, voice full of mischief.

"I blamed it on the dog, of course."

She gasped, laughing so hard she slapped his arm. "You wicked thing! Oh, but I'm sure you were a lovely boy."

"More like a loveable scoundrel," Ethan replied with mock solemnity. "I got away with everything."

Elle lingered at the corner, watching the scene with an odd tightness in her chest. Everyone must love Mrs. Martinez, she thought. Perhaps that was why Ethan looked like someone else entirely beside her.

He was still smiling as he dropped Mrs Martinez back into her room, shutting the door gently. But when he spotted Elle, the warmth vanished, replaced by his usual sharp composure. He approached, gaze hard. "Eavesdropping again, are we, Rose?"

Her eyes widened. "No, just... looked like you were having fun."

His face remained stern, though there was the faintest glimmer in his eyes. "I care for the wellbeing of people who've entrusted their care to me, Rookie. That's all."

"Right, okay. Well, I've got to go. Dolores Hudson isn't going to examine herself—"

He stopped dead. "I'm sorry. Did you just say Dolores Hudson?"

"Yes... why—"

He plucked the chart from her hand, scanning it swiftly. "I'm coming with you."

—

In Dolores's room, relief washed over Elle when she saw the woman awake. The oxygen mask had been replaced with a nasal cannula, colour blooming faintly back into her cheeks. Elle stepped forward, ready to introduce herself.

"Hi Dolores, I'm Dr R—"

"Ethan!" Dolores lit up at the sight of him, her whole face transforming.

Ethan's features softened instantly as he sat at the edge of her bed. "Dolores! What have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"There was a fire at my office. I was upstairs filing papers. The elevator was shut down, and I couldn't get down the stairs."

His eyes dimmed, voice quiet but certain. "I'll call your sisters, have them fly in first thing. I'm so glad you're safe."

Dolores exhaled shakily, then let out a laugh. "I'm glad you have a superman on payroll. The paramedic that carried me out was a total hunk."

Elle's brow arched as she set down her chart. "I don't mean to interrupt, but I'd like to listen to your chest."

Ethan glanced up. "Dolores, this is Dr Rose." Then, to Elle, his voice gentler. "Dolores was my very first patient when I was an intern."

Elle blinked in genuine surprise. "That's amazing. It's so lovely that you stayed in touch all these years."

"I don't know what I would have done without Ethan," Dolores said simply, reaching for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

Elle wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm, focusing. "Was he always so... handsome?"

Dolores laughed outright. Ethan froze, colour rising faintly at his collar. "Excuse me?"

"He was super cute," Dolores teased, "but to be honest he's aged like a fine wine." She reached across, grasping Elle's hand warmly. "But you are absolutely stunning, so I'm sure you won't have a problem yourself—"

"Dr Rose, the examination, if you don't mind." Ethan's voice cut sharp, snapping the moment in half.

Elle hid her grin, warming the cold metal of the stethoscope in her palm before pressing it gently to Dolores's chest. "Deep breath for me. And... what brought you in back then?"

"Burst appendix. I was terrified, but Ethan calmed me down. He even kept in touch over the years."

"That's really sweet. Though I've got to say, I'm surprised. Doesn't seem like you to care about a patient once they've walked out the door."

Ethan leaned against the doorframe, gaze distant. "I was young. On hard days, knowing they were out there, living their lives to the fullest because of the care I gave them—it kept me going."

Elle glanced back at Dolores, removing the stethoscope. "Her breathing is short, as expected. I think we should get a chest X-ray."

Ethan nodded, then frowned at the chart. Elle stepped closer, lowering her voice. "What is it?"

"Her blood pressure should be low after smoke inhalation. Let's get a urine sample too."

Before Elle could respond, Dolores spoke, rifling through her purse with growing panic. "Excuse me, Dr Rose? I had my bag when the hunk carried me out. Did they bring it in?"

Elle spotted it on the chair, passed it to her. Dolores searched, frowning deeper until she finally sagged. "It's not here. I must have dropped it outside the office."

"What was it?" Elle asked gently, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Dolores's eyes welled faintly. "It sounds silly, but... I saw this adorable stuffed frog on my lunch break. I had to buy it for my little tadpole." Her hand cradled her belly. "Both of my parents are gone, and the father's... not in the picture. I just want everything to be perfect for him."

Elle took her hands, steady, her voice warm and sure. "That doesn't sound stupid. It sounds like you're going to be the best mom."

Dolores squeezed back, whispering, "Thank you. I just... really wish I hadn't lost that little frog."

Elle looked up at Ethan. Their eyes met, and in that moment she knew exactly what needed to be done. She turned back to Dolores, determination in her tone. "I have an idea. Me and Dr Ramsey will go and find it."

Dolores's face lit up. "Really? Ethan? You'd do that for me?"

Caught off guard, Ethan hesitated. "Er, ahem. Well..." He looked to Elle, who gave him the smallest, certain nod.

"Of course. But first let's get that urine sample to the lab. Dolores, I'll give you ten minutes, then I'll meet Dr Rose in the parking lot."

Dolores snorted. "Ethan, I'm twenty-six weeks pregnant. It won't take me ten minutes to pee!"

A laugh escaped him as he stood, the sound startling in its rarity. He left the room still chuckling, leaving Elle watching him, her own chest unexpectedly lighter.

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

Chapter Eight: A Place To Belong

Elle was halfway down the corridor, her body begging for rest after an endless afternoon of rounds, when a voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Not you, Rookie," Ethan called, his tone clipped but eyes firmly on her. "You've still got one more to present."

She blinked, turning back toward the huddle of interns. They all shrugged as if they knew nothing, though the glimmer of amusement in their faces told her otherwise.

"I do?" she asked, her voice lifting with genuine surprise.

Ethan didn't bother answering. He tilted his head toward a room down the hall and strode in without waiting for her.

Elle followed, heart thumping with a mix of nerves and curiosity. Inside, the blinds filtered in soft strips of light that fell across the bed. A young woman sat propped up against the pillows, her arm cradled in a sling. She couldn't have been much older than Elle, but the brightness of her smile was enough to soften the sterile room.

"Please tell me you're my new doctor," the woman said, eyes sparkling with hopeful mischief.

Elle smiled, caught off guard by her charm. "I sure hope I am."

Behind her, Ethan exhaled through his nose, already opening the patient's chart. "Her usual doctor decided a tee time was more important than his patient. He's off the case. She's yours now, Dr. Rose. Present."

He thrusted the chart into her hands and leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching.

Elle glanced down at the neat black type, her lips moving as she read aloud. "Patient is Kyra Santana. Twenty-eight years old. Fractured radius, requires casting." She frowned, flipping back a page. That could not be it. Not with Ethan Ramsey looming in the doorway.

His eyebrow arched. "That's it?"

Elle hesitated. "Yes...? This feels like a trick question."

Ethan's voice was flat, edged with dry challenge. "Kyra, why don't you tell Dr. Rose what's actually wrong with you."

Kyra's smile faltered, but only a little. "I'm afraid it's cancer, doc."

Elle's eyes flew from the chart to the patient. "What? But—your chart says—"

“Check the cell count on the last page," Ethan cut in. His voice wasn't unkind, but there was no softness either. "Indicative of...?"

Elle's fingers shook slightly as she flipped to the back. Her stomach dropped as she read. "...Large cell neuroendocrine carcinoma." She looked up, almost whispering, "In the lung."

Kyra nodded gently, meeting her gaze. "Left one, yeah."

Ethan pushed off from the frame with a sigh. "The real problem isn't always obvious. If it were, they'd let any idiot become a doctor. Though perhaps they already do."

Elle flushed but said nothing. She turned to Kyra, still processing. "I don't understand. If you're here for cancer treatment, how did you break your arm?"

Kyra's grin returned, wry and playful. "Oh, that. I was heading in for another CT scan. Thought I'd take the subway. But then, on the street, I saw this abandoned bike. Never had one as a kid, so when I spotted it, I figured... maybe it was a sign."

Her laugh was light, like she was sharing a secret. "First corner, I wiped out hard. Crashed straight into a trash can. Broke my arm. Which is ironic, really—since I was garbage at riding a bike."

Elle couldn't help but smile, caught between admiration and disbelief. For someone battling cancer, Kyra radiated an almost reckless joy.

"That's... amazing," Elle admitted softly. "Seizing the day. Though my professional advice would be—no more unsupervised cycling for quite some time."

A cough from the room. Clearly Ethan's way of pulling her back on task. "Dr. Rose. Your treatment plan?"

Elle glanced at him, still gathering her thoughts. "Well, I was going to say cast her arm, but now—"

"Perfect. Do that." He cut her off brusquely and walked out without another word.

Kyra watched him leave, then placed her good hand over Elle's. "Don't worry about him. My cancer treatment's already mapped out. Surgery's scheduled after tomorrow's scan."

Relieved, Elle smiled. "Then I'll make sure your arm is bandaged properly. How does that sound?"

"Perfect." Kyra's smirk was playful again. "Thank you, Dr. Rose."

"Elle," she corrected softly.

Kyra tilted her head. "Alright then, Elle. If you don't mind, could you be the first to bandage my arm? Feels like it should come from you."

Elle's chest tightened at the simple trust in the words. She nodded. "Of course."

Once she finished, she signed her initials neatly at the bottom of the bandage.

Kyra squinted at it. "What's that supposed to say?"

Elle laughed. "Get better soon. You can't read that?"

"All doctor handwriting looks like chicken scratch," Kyra teased. "Do you have to reach a certain level of illegibility before they let you graduate?"

Elle shook her head, still smiling as she rose. "Just... get better soon, Kyra. And stay away from bicycles."

_______

Much later that afternoon, Elle and Landry made their way back to Mike's room. The muffled sounds of cartoon explosions could be heard even before they opened the door.

Inside, the scene was chaotic. Toys were scattered across the linoleum floor — little cars overturned on their sides, plastic superheroes locked in battle. In the center of it all sat Matthew, his small frame tense with concentration as he bashed two figures together with dramatic, explosive sound effects that echoed through the room.

Landry glanced at Elle with a crooked smile, then raised his voice over the clatter. "How are we feeling, Mike?"

Mike grimaced, shifting upright in his bed with effort. His hospital gown was wrinkled, the dark circles beneath his eyes stark against his skin. "Like an animal in a petting zoo. You nurses keep poking and prodding me."

Before Elle could answer, Matthew leapt one figure into the air and brought it crashing down onto another, yelling triumphantly. "You will never win, Nightshade!" The impact echoed as plastic cracked against the floor.

Mike winced, dragging a hand down his face. "Matthew, please, be quiet for the doctors."

But Elle crouched down slightly, her expression warm. She knew the look of an exhausted father when she saw one. "It's okay. We don't mind superheroes."

Mike exhaled, lowering his voice to a near-whisper, just above the noise of Matthew's battle. "Sorry. He has ADHD. I think the hospital's making him a little... excited."

Elle's gaze softened. "It's alright, really."

Landry shifted closer to the bed, clinical professionalism slipping back into place. "Have you experienced any more pain?"

Mike shook his head. "No, no pain. Can I go back to work now?"

Elle and Landry exchanged a look — the kind of look where a dozen words pass without being spoken. Before Elle could reply, Matthew made another BOOM with his toys. Mike flinched, and this time a sharp hiss of pain escaped him.

Elle stepped forward, her tone urgent. "Mike, you have to be honest with us. Where does it hurt?"

Mike pressed a palm to his temple, grimacing. "These migraines. They're killing me."

Elle's expression hardened with concern. "Okay, Mike. We're going to run a few tests. Hang in there."

At the nurses' station, Elle flipped through his notes, the pages soft and smudged at the edges from repeated handling. The hum of monitors and the shuffle of staff moving past formed a backdrop to their quiet exchange.

"Could the car accident have caused the migraines?" Landry asked, leaning against the counter.

Elle's brows drew together as she scanned the file. "I don't see any physical damage from the crash that explains them... unless—"

Landry's eyes flicked up. "Unless what?"

Elle met his gaze, the weight of a possibility forming. "What if the migraines caused the accident? Think about it — a severe migraine while driving could have made him crash. And he doesn't even remember how it happened."

Landry's lips curved into a grin, his nerves forgotten. "Man, I love a good puzzle."

Elle arched an eyebrow at his enthusiasm but turned back to the file. "We need to ask him more questions."

Back in Mike's room, Elle pulled up a chair and sat beside his bed, her tone careful but kind. "Mike, I hope you don't mind me asking, but how long have you been having these migraines?"

Mike rubbed his temple, eyes squeezed shut as if dredging through memory. "A few days. At first, they weren't bad. But they keep getting worse."

Elle rose, moving toward Landry with a lowered voice. "Something must have triggered them. But what?"

Her eyes drifted to Matthew, who had tired slightly, now narrating his play in a softer tone. And then, the memory of Ethan's words that morning surfaced: The real problem isn't always obvious.

Elle's thoughts clicked into place, her heart skipping. "We can't see what's causing the migraines because there's nothing there. The pain isn't from something present — it's from something missing."

Landry frowned. "Withdrawal? From what?"

Elle's gaze lingered on Matthew. "Methylphenidate."

Landry's eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. "ADHD meds. Withdrawal would wreck his dopamine balance... and explain the migraines."

Mike looked up sharply, irritation cutting through his exhaustion. "Could one of you tell me what the hell you're whispering about?"

Elle turned back to him, her tone steady, compassionate but firm. "Mike... we're not here to judge. But have you been taking Matthew's medication?"

His eyes widened, darting between them. For a moment he stammered, then sagged, shoulders heavy. "I... I just... for a little while. To help me focus. I was working nonstop, not sleeping, not eating. With the budget cuts at work, people getting laid off... I had to keep up. I kept taking more and more."

Elle sat forward, her voice gentler now. "But then you stopped?"

Mike nodded, shame etched across his face. "Yeah. A few days back."

Landry spoke from the foot of the bed, his tone matter-of-fact. "That's what triggered the withdrawal migraines. Which then caused your crash."

Elle offered a small smile. "Your brain was out of balance, Mike. But we'll help you get back on track. You'll be back to work soon — but please, don't push yourself so hard again."

Mike let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Easier said than done."

————

Elle and Landry slipped out of the room, the door clicking softly behind them. Relief washed over Elle as she leaned against the wall.

"Another win for the dream duo," she said, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

Landry chuckled. "I can only take about five percent of the credit. That was all you, Elle."

Before she could reply, both of their phones buzzed at once. They exchanged a quick glance before checking the group chat.

Sienna: OMG GUYS! The landlord responded. He was about to close with someone else, but he said if we can get there now and make a better offer, the place is ours! I'm free to go now, can anyone else come with???

Elijah: I can!

Jackie: I'm with a patient. Good luck though.

Elle looked up, torn.

Landry gave her a knowing smile. "Go with them. I'll stay and finalize Mike's treatment. Just... find me somewhere quiet to sleep."

Elle laughed softly, tucking her phone back in her pocket. "Deal."

Half an hour later, Elle, Sienna, and Elijah stepped off the T into the sharp Boston air. The late-afternoon chill carried the scent of damp leaves and car exhaust. They walked down a narrow street lined with tall brownstones and sleek new builds, a mix of old charm and modern glass.

Sienna led the way with her phone clutched tightly in hand. At last she stopped outside a tall building with ivy climbing one side and sleek windows glinting in the fading sunlight. Her excitement was palpable. "This is it!"

Inside, they were greeted by an older man with thinning hair and a perpetual frown. He shook each of their hands with a sluggish grip, muttering, "You must be the medics."

Before Sienna could answer, he swiped his card and gestured impatiently to the elevator. "I'm Farley. Follow me."

The ride to the top floor felt endless, but when he unlocked the door to the third unit down, Elle's breath caught in her throat.

The apartment was bathed in golden light from wall-to-wall glass. The view stretched over the Boston skyline, rooftops glowing under the setting sun. A gleaming open kitchen stood to one side, complete with a marble breakfast bar and a long dining table. The living space was furnished with a wide sectional sofa facing a mounted TV. Everything smelled faintly of fresh paint and lemon polish.

Sienna's jaw dropped. "Oh my god. It's even better than the pictures."

Elijah nodded, eyes wide. "We'll definitely take it, Farley."

Farley bit into one of Sienna's cookies, crumbs falling to the floor. "Cool. Rent's ten thousand."

The interns stared at him, stunned. "What?!" they chorused.

Elle blinked. "That's double the listing price!"

Farley shrugged, licking sugar off his thumb. "Got another offer. Some tech bros want to put a startup here. It's the art of the deal, kids."

Sienna's shoulders slumped, hope draining from her face. "There's no way we can afford that, even between five of us."

Farley offered lazily, "I've got another place. Five bedrooms, garden level. I'll even knock it under asking."

Elijah tried to be diplomatic. "Should we... go look?"

Sienna sighed heavily. "I guess we don't have a choice."

But Elle's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She leaned in, lowering her voice just enough for her friends to hear. "Leave this with me."

Turning back to Farley, she put on her best poker face. "Farley, you don't strike me as someone who supports tech culture."

His brows furrowed. "I don't. But I support the free market. They've got money."

Elle tilted her head, calm and deliberate. "Now, sure. But startups collapse all the time. Did they show you their business plan? Investors? Long-term capital?"

For the first time, Farley faltered.

Elle pressed her advantage. "I'm just saying — they might have enough to cover rent for a month. Two, if you're lucky. But us? You've got five hardworking doctors who'll pay reliably, on time, every month, for years. We're stability, Farley. And stability pays."

Farley studied them, chewing slowly. Finally, he sighed. "Fine. Top floor. Asking price."

Elle turned to Sienna and Elijah, whose faces broke into matching grins.

An hour later, the paperwork signed, Farley shook Elijah's hand and handed over the keys.

"Welcome to your new home."

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

Chapter Seven: Trial By Rounds

The next morning, Elle stepped off the subway, phone in hand, firing off messages to Sienna about potential apartments and whether anyone was free for viewings later that afternoon. Her mind still drifted back to her drink with Ethan the night before — the way he'd spoken to her like an equal, like a real doctor in the making rather than just his intern. She shook the thought away. No sense getting lost in her head about Ethan Ramsey.

Her back ached from another rough night in her cramped living quarters. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and headed toward the staff entrance — only to hear laughter and the thump of a ball on asphalt.

A group of surgeons were playing basketball before their shift, Bryce Lahela front and center.

"Up top! I'm open!" he called, catching the pass. With an easy spin past a defender, he dunked the ball like it was second nature. Of course, he was shirtless.

Bryce was lean, bronzed, and annoyingly fit — and he knew it. That infamous, salt-sprayed beach hair with natural blonde streaks didn't hurt either.

"Haha! Who's the king now?"

The ball rolled right to Elle's feet. She bent down to scoop it up, and Bryce grinned at her.

"Come on then, Rose. You gonna play? Or hand me that back?"

Elle let out a small laugh. Luckily, she'd played netball back in school. Squaring her feet, she smirked.

"That's Dr. Rose to you, Lahela. From wayyy downtown..."

Before he could react, she jumped, launched the ball, and sent it sailing clean through the net. The group erupted in cheers.

One of the interns doubled over laughing. "You just got owned by a medical intern!"

Bryce turned away, shaking his head in disbelief. Elle only smiled sweetly and nodded toward the ball now bouncing away.

"Go get your ball, Lahela."

"Lucky shot. I'll be ready next time."

"Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that." Elle's smirk lingered as she headed inside.

⸻

Later that morning, Elle and Jackie slipped into scrubs, just as Sienna breezed in carrying a box.

"Happy Tuesday! I baked cookies. None of you are vegan, right?"

Jackie squinted. "First of all, way too loud for six a.m. Second—how on earth did you have the time to bake cookies?"

Sienna grinned. "My boyfriend snores like a lawnmower. So I baked while I searched for apartments. The sugar helps combat the sleep deprivation!"

Elle tugged at her scrub top. "So... no regrets after we all drunkenly agreed to live together?"

"Are you kidding?" Jackie groaned. "The salsa club under my apartment blasted music until 4 a.m."

Sienna's grin widened. "Well, look what I found! Five bedrooms, wheelchair accessible, only a few minutes on the T from Edenbrook... and within our budget! It's too good to be true."

"That's because it probably is," Jackie muttered.

"Sounds perfect to me," Elle said.

Jackie arched a brow. "Didn't you learn anything from that shoebox closet you're currently living in?"

Elle laughed. "I found my closet through a Facebook group. This is an actual real estate website. Besides, don't you want a proper night's sleep? Or would you rather salsa until sunrise?"

Jackie smirked silently.

"Great!" Sienna beamed. "I'll call the landlord today, maybe we can get a viewing this afternoon."

Elle sighed. "How are we going to pull that off? We've all got fourteen-hour shifts."

Jackie shrugged, smirking. "Just flirt with the senior residents a little. That's how I always get what I want."

"Seriously?"

"Oh, yeah. Just keep up that work with Ramsey you were doing last night—"

Elle cut in quickly, flustered. "That was not flirting—"

"Yeah, okay, Rose," Jackie teased.

⸻

The atrium buzzed with nervous chatter as Elle, Jackie, and Sienna wove through the crowd of white coats. Landry and Elijah joined them, all five huddled together in the sea of first-years.

Elijah exhaled nervously. "Moment of truth. We're meeting our senior residents."

"I just hope they're nice," Elle murmured. "I've heard horror stories about nightmare residents making interns' lives hell."

"That's why you've got to give as good as you get," Jackie shot back.

Across the atrium, a small group of residents stood waiting. Elle immediately recognized one: Ines, the kind-eyed doctor who'd helped her on her very first day. Ines caught her gaze and waved warmly.

"Oh, hello interns! Come right over here with the others!"

Next to her stood a shorter, dark-haired man who already looked thoroughly unimpressed. He crossed his arms, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Do take your time. We've got all day."

The interns shuffled forward as Ines beamed at them.

"It's so lovely to see fresh faces ready for an exciting new adventure! I'm Dr. Ines Delarosa — but to you, just Ines."

The other doctor spoke curtly.

"And I'm Dr. Zaid Mirani." He didn't smile, didn't linger. Instead, he thrust a stack of files toward the crowd.

"We have your cases for today. Come and get them. And don't bother asking me for something 'better' than what you're given — because if you do, I'll treat you like you don't exist."

A hush fell. The interns exchanged wary glances before stepping forward.

Elle lingered, then walked up to Ines.

"Hi, Dr. Rose! I remember you," Ines said, her expression lighting up.

"You can call me Elle," she replied with a small smile.

"Well, Elle," Ines said warmly, gesturing toward Zaid, "Dr. Mirani and I will be your mentors this year. We'll assign and monitor your cases, answer your questions, and guide you when things get tough. Think of us as your safety net. No matter what, we'll get through this together."

Her infectious smile softened Elle's nerves. Ines handed her a chart with a reassuring nod.

Then Ines turned back to the group. "Okay, interns! You have your assignments. Go forth and shine bright."

Zaid rolled his eyes and barked, "What are you lot waiting for, a red carpet? Move, move, move!"

Later that morning, Elle met up with Ines and a group of wide-eyed interns outside the wards. The air was thick with nerves, the shuffle of shoes on polished floors echoing faintly in the long corridor. Ines clapped her hands together, her smile bright.

"I hope you're all excited, because we're about to start rounds! This is when we go around as a group, led by a senior physician. You'll present your patients and field questions. And today..." her eyes sparkled with mischief, "...we have a very special guest. Good morning, Dr. Ramsey."

The group turned as Dr. Ethan Ramsey strode into view, his white coat crisp, his expression anything but welcoming. His gaze swept the line of interns with visible reluctance before landing—just for a fraction of a second—on Elle.

"Let's get this show on the road, shall we?" His tone was flat, the words stripped of all enthusiasm.

Behind Elle, Landry squirmed, clutching his chart like a life raft. "We're doing rounds with Dr. Ramsey? This is so great! Also I think I'm going to be sick."

Elle glanced back at him with a small, reassuring smile, patting his arm. "You'll be absolutely fine—"

Before she could finish, Ethan leaned slightly toward Ines, his voice carrying just enough for the interns to hear. "Let's see who the interns are going to kill today." The bluntness of it hit like a slap.

Elle exhaled sharply, muttering under her breath to Sienna. "Why does he always have to act like such a jerk?"

Unfortunately for her, Ethan's head tilted at the exact wrong moment. His sharp blue eyes pinned her. "Something to say, Dr. Rose?"

A ripple went through the group, their attention swiveling to Elle. Ethan raised a single eyebrow, waiting.

Elle straightened her shoulders. "Well, yes actually. It's only our second day—you don't need to make mean jokes in some attempt to shake our confidence."

Ines's eyes darted nervously between them. "Haha! Maybe we should proceed with the—"

Ethan cut her off, voice low but carrying. "And has your confidence been shaken?"

Elle's frown deepened, but her voice was steady. "Of course it hasn't."

"Good," Ethan replied smoothly. "Because if I scare you, you are nowhere near ready for the things you'll face here every day." His tone softened, though only slightly. "Actually, Dr. Rose... why don't we start with your patient?"

⸻

They filed into a patient's room, the air heavy with antiseptic and the faint sound of cartoons from a tablet on the bed. A man sat propped up against the pillows, while his young son—no more than eight—was sprawled on the floor, loudly playing with toy cars.

The patient squinted at the crowd entering. "Uh... my eyes are going, or are you multiplying?" He pointed vaguely at the cluster of white coats.

Ethan deadpanned, "Good morning, Mr. Knoblaunch. And yes, we're multiplying—it's horrible."

Mike Knoblaunch chuckled dryly, then grimaced as his son revved a toy truck against the bedframe. "Sorry about Matthew. School's out for the summer, so I bring him with me. Can't exactly leave him alone."

Elle smiled warmly. "It's not a problem, Mike." She turned to the group, professional but kind. "Everyone, this is Mike Knoblaunch, forty-three. He's my patient, along with Dr. Olson."

Landry edged forward, looking like he wanted to disappear under Ethan's stare. "This is Mike Knoblaunch, forty-three years old—uh, right, Dr. Rose already said that. He... um..."

"He'll be forty-four by the time you're done," Ethan remarked dryly, hands sliding into his pockets.

Landry's face flushed crimson. He froze until Elle mouthed you've got this.

That tiny boost steadied him. "As I was saying, Dr. Ramsey... he was in a single-car accident. After stitching his lacerations, we detected internal bleeding via ultrasound."

Ethan gave a small nod. "And how will you treat it?"

Landry swallowed, buying time. "Rest and... symptom control?"

Another nod from Ethan, unreadable. Landry glanced at Elle, relief in his eyes as he mouthed thank you.

But before the moment could settle, a voice rang from the back. Aurora Emery, the intern who had tried to undermine Elle before, crossed her arms. "Don't you think you should be taking the internal bleeding more seriously?"

Elle's jaw tightened. "We considered surgery. But the bleeding isn't yet severe enough for such an invasive procedure. If anything changes, we'll reassess." Her tone was calm but edged with steel.

Mike shifted irritably in the bed. "How long do I have to stay in this godawful place?"

Landry spoke carefully. "At least a week. Maybe more—"

"A week?!" Mike cut in, voice rising. "You told me I'd be out in a couple of days! I've got a kid, a mortgage—do you know what this is already costing me?"

Elle stepped in, gentle but firm. "Mike, we're sorry, but we have to monitor your—"

"You're always goddamn sorry!" Mike snapped. His voice echoed in the small room. "You're keeping me here to make a profit! I've read about hospitals like this!"

Elle's breath caught, but she tried again. "If you don't stay and rest, you could undo the healing process for your internal bleeding. That will only cost you more in the long—"

"Are you threatening me?!" Mike barked, his face red, his voice sharp.

Elle stumbled back a step, startled. "What? No—I was only—"

In a flash, Ethan stepped forward, positioning himself between Elle and the patient like a wall. His voice was cool, measured. "Mike. What medical school did you attend?"

Mike blinked, caught off guard. "What? I didn't—"

"Exactly," Ethan said smoothly. "Dr. Rose did. She graduated at the top of her class. Which means, for your sake, you might actually want to shut up for a second and listen to what she has to say."

The room fell into stunned silence. Mike sat back, chastened but not entirely convinced. The interns, meanwhile, looked at Ethan with wide eyes, shocked by his blunt defense of Elle.

Ines cleared her throat quickly. "Alright! Moving on... Dr. Greene, your patient is next."

⸻

By the time rounds finally ended, the interns trudged back into the atrium, exhausted but buzzing with relief. Ines clapped her hands again, her voice full of encouragement.

"Congratulations! You've survived your first official morning of rounds! That wasn't so bad, was it?"

The interns exchanged tired smiles—until Ethan's voice cut in, sharp and stern.

"Please note that every single one of your patients was alive when I last saw them. If they are not in the same state tomorrow, do not bother showing your face here again."

Without waiting for a response, he strode off down the corridor, his coat swishing behind him.

The group collectively exhaled when he was gone, tension draining from their shoulders.

Landry sidled up to Elle, cheeks pink. "Thank you for pushing me earlier. My nerves nearly killed me in there..."

Elle smiled softly, giving him a reassuring nod. "It happens, Landry. I believe in you."

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

Chapter Six: Between The Bar And The Morning

Eventually, after what felt like both the longest and shortest night of her life, the group began their slow, uneven migration back from Donahue's. The door swung shut behind them with a muffled thud, cutting off the low thrum of bass and chatter. The neon glow still clung to their clothes and skin like smoke, a reminder that, for a few hours, they'd been wrapped in the warm bubble of noise and light where the real world couldn't touch them.

The Boston air hit Elle square in the face. It was sharp and metallic, the kind of cold that stung the inside of your nose and forced your lungs to drink it in whether they wanted to or not. The faint tang of damp concrete mixed with a ghost of salt from the harbor, curling into her senses before she could even think about bracing for it. Her shoulders instinctively hunched, her hands diving into her coat pockets, as if she could trap the bar's fading warmth against her ribs. The skin of her cheeks prickled from the temperature drop, and her ears ached in that way only late-winter Boston could manage.

It was the kind of cold that didn't just wake you up, it made you question why you were outside at all at nearly four in the morning.

They fell into step without really speaking, the loud, reckless energy from earlier dissolving into a comfortable hush. Their laughter now was softer, their voices low, as if the sleeping city around them might hear and take offense. Streetlamps cast long golden pools on the sidewalk, and each step landed with a muted, echoing click against the empty pavement.

When they reached the hospital, Elle slowed. Against the dark sky, the building stood like a sentinel — tall, stark, with only a scattering of lit windows glowing high above. She let her eyes travel up its sharp edges, feeling the faint, familiar tug in her chest. The place looked almost peaceful like this, stripped of its noise and fluorescent glare.

Her phone lit up when she pulled it from her pocket, the harsh blue-white glare momentarily blotting out the streetlights.

3:47 a.m.

She groaned softly. "I can't believe we have to be back here in a couple of hours," she murmured, voice dry, half to herself, half to whoever was still close enough to hear.

Sienna's groan from up ahead was more dramatic. "I'm staying with my boyfriend tonight, but he's all the way across town. I'll be lucky if I get two hours' sleep."

Jackie gave a small laugh without looking up. "Two hours? Luxury. My apartment is right above a twenty-four-hour salsa club. I don't think the music has stopped since I moved in."

That pulled a few tired chuckles from the group, but Elijah wheeled himself a little closer, his grin mischievous. "My building's elevator looks like it's been there since Lincoln was president. Every time I get in, I'm pretty sure I'm going to plummet to my death."

Their laughter now was fuller, though edged with that hollow, end-of-night fatigue.

Landry shook his head, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. "I'd kill for an apartment, period. I'm renting a room in a hostel, and the couple next door... let's just say they are extremely committed to each other's sex life."

This time the laughter rang out across the street, Elijah bending forward in his chair, Sienna nearly tripping as she clutched her side. Slowly, the noise faded again, replaced by the sound of shoes on concrete.

Then Sienna broke the quiet. "Okay, there is a slight chance I'm saying this because I am absolutely drunk," she began, words lilting, "but what if we all just... lived together?"

Landry's head snapped toward her. "What — the five of us? In one place?"

"Why not?" she said, smiling wide, the alcohol making her eyes bright. "Rent's already insane in Boston. Surely one big place split between five can't be worse than what we've got now."

"I think that's a great idea," Elijah said immediately.

Elle smirked. "It'd be like a 24/7 Netflix binge."

"Exactly," Elijah said, his voice mock-serious. "'Are you still watching?', hell yes I'm still watching."

Warm laughter rolled through the group again, a shared little pocket of joy against the cold. Jackie arched an eyebrow. "Does anyone even pay for Netflix?"

"I have my sister's password," Sienna said, shrugging. "She'll never notice."

She looped her arms through whoever she could reach, pulling them closer as they walked. "It's settled then. We start looking tomorrow."

By the time they reached Elle's building — squat, peeling paint around the entryway, the lobby light barely strong enough to push back the shadows — the others had already started drifting away, waving their goodbyes. She lingered for a moment on the sidewalk, watching them recede down the empty street, the laughter still faintly trailing behind them. For the first time since she'd arrived in Boston, the city didn't feel like something she had to survive.

Her apartment was as it always was: too small to be charming, too worn to be cozy. The bed pressed against the wall beside the tiny stainless-steel sink, the scuffed linoleum holding a faint chill that crept through her socks. The single bulb overhead flickered like it was debating whether to give up entirely.

She toed off her boots and tugged at the hem of her blouse. As the fabric slid over her shoulders, she caught it — faint, unmistakable — Ethan's aftershave. The scent made her pause, her heartbeat catching before she could reason with herself. Usually it set off alarm bells in her nervous system, either dread or adrenaline. Tonight, it did neither. Tonight, it just made her aware.

She shut the thought down quickly. Ethan Ramsey was her superior. That was the beginning and end of it, However did he have to smell that good?

She moved through her nighttime routine on muscle memory: makeup off, hair twisted into a loose bun, shower just warm enough to thaw her skin from the Boston air. She pulled on soft cotton shorts and an oversized T-shirt, the kind worn so thin it felt like a second skin.

Her phone lit up when she slid beneath the covers. Sienna had already sent three apartment listings to the group chat, with Elijah and Jackie chiming in like they'd been waiting all night to start the search.

Beneath that, two texts from her mother: Are you home safe? and Did you eat dinner? Elle smiled faintly, thumbs moving over the screen in a quick reply. Her mother had always worried — sometimes to the point of smothering — but it came from a love so fierce it made Elle feel anchored, no matter how far she drifted.

The quiet of the apartment settled over her like a thick blanket. Outside, Boston was still and dark, but morning was already pressing in at the edges. She had maybe two hours before her alarm would drag her back to the hospital.

She let her head sink into the pillow. Her last thought wasn't of the endless day ahead, but of laughter echoing down an empty street...

...and the faint trace of Ethan's cologne still lingering in the air.

[choicesaddict5]

It has been 4 years since Open Heart 3 ended, and I still think about Ethan Freaking Ramsey every single day.

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

Four years is crazy. I miss him all the damn TIME.

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

Chapter five: Donahues.

Later that day, Elle headed back to the atrium, immediately after changing and clocking out. After her exhausting day, she couldn't wait to get out of her scrubs as soon as possible. Passing through the glass double doors, she saw Sienna waiting by the entrance. As soon as Sienna spotted Elle approaching, she broke into a wide smile and let out a playful wolf-whistle.

Elle, taken aback by the compliment, glanced down at her outfit. She had thrown on a green blouse, the hint of a black lacy bra peeking out beneath, paired with denim shorts. Her hair, now free from the ponytail she wore all day, cascaded in loose, wavy strands around her shoulders, catching the light and adding to her effortless charm. Blushing slightly, she smiled sheepishly and walked towards the group, feeling a mix of surprise and flattery at Sienna's reaction.

“I hope you’re single, because you are going to clean up tonight!”

Elle laughed gently. "Can I pay you to follow me around and compliment me?"

"For a job that easy, Elle, I’ll do it for free."

When they arrived at Donahue's, the atmosphere hit them immediately. It was dingy and dimly lit, yet surprisingly packed with people. The bar had an old retro vibe to it, with red and blue neon lights casting a nostalgic glow around the room. Old-fashioned wooden bar stools lined the long, polished bar, where patrons sat chatting and sipping on their drinks. The tables scattered throughout the space were mismatched and worn, their surfaces etched with countless memories of nights gone by. Framed vintage posters adorned the walls, adding to the timeless feel of the place. Despite its rough edges, Donahue's exuded a certain charm, drawing in a lively crowd that seemed to appreciate no its unique character.

Sienna charged confidently through the throngs of doctors and nurses, leading Elle to where Jackie, Landry, and Elijah had commandeered a booth in the back corner. The path they carved was filled with lively chatter and laughter, the crowd animated from the lingering effects of happy hour.

Landry, spotting them, shouted over the din, his face slightly stressed, “Come on! There’s still... sixty-seven seconds left of happy hour!”

Elijah laughed heartily, slapping Landry on the shoulder. “Who cares? We’re all in a hundred-k debt anyway.”

Jackie smirked, clinking her drink against Elle’s gently. “I’ll drink to that. And relax, Landry, I put in a few orders before the buzzer.”

Landry visibly relaxed, leaning comfortably against the worn leather of the booth seat. The table was cluttered with a mix of cocktails and beers, condensation dripping down the sides of the glasses. The ambient red and blue lights reflected off the glasses, casting a colorful glow on their faces. Around them, the bar buzzed with a retro vibe, the jukebox in the corner playing old 80’s classics as more patrons squeezed into the tight space, adding to the vibrant, chaotic energy of the evening.

A few moments later, Jackie returned to the table with a tray loaded with shots of tequila, the glasses clinking together as she set them down.

Sienna stopped short, her face inquisitive. “You want to start with tequila?!”

Jackie smirked gently, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Start, finish, and everything in between.”

Elle laughed, feeling the infectious energy of the group. Without hesitation, she took a shot glass, the coolness of the tequila a sharp contrast to the warmth of the bar. She downed the shot smoothly, the fiery liquid burning pleasantly as it went down, before slamming the glass on the table with a confident flourish.

Jackie raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “The girl’s got style, I tell you.” Without hesitation, the rest of the group follow Elle’s lead.

Sienna chuckled, shaking her head in mock disbelief. “Well, I guess we’re in for a wild night.”

Elijah grinned, grabbing a second shot for himself. “To the start of a great night, then!”

Landry smiled as the group clinked their glasses together. “To the start of a great career.”

Sienna beamed, raising her glass. “To new friends!”

The group took their shots again, grimacing as the fiery liquid hit their throats.

Elijah gagged slightly, his face contorted in discomfort. “How does it taste worse the second time?”

Jackie laughed, smacking the table lightly with her hand. “Again! Elle, your turn.”

All eyes turned to Elle, who smiled, lifting her shot glass with a thoughtful expression. “To making the world a better place.”

Jackie laughed, shaking her head. “That was absolutely disgusting, Elle. Cheers!”

They all laughed and clinked their glasses again before downing the tequila.

Eventually, the group got up from the booth, the lively atmosphere of the bar still buzzing around them. Elle followed Sienna to the bar, weaving through the tightly packed crowd. The neon lights flickered overhead, casting playful shadows on the worn wooden floor.

Suddenly, Elle felt a sharp pain in her ribs. She gasped, stumbling sideways as a frat guy shoved his way towards the bar, his shoulder roughly colliding with her side.

Before Elle could say anything, Sienna knocked the guy’s shoulder with her palm, causing him to turn around sharply, looking down at her. Sienna’s eyes blazed with anger.

“Hey! You just ran over my friend.”

The guy laughed, clearly unapologetic. “So?”

Sienna frowned deeply, her anger evident. “So apologize. Or were you raised somewhere where they don’t teach manners?”

Elle, smirking gently, chiming in, “Dude, she’s about to kick your ass.”

The guy scoffed, rolling his eyes before looking down at Sienna. “Yeah, right—”

Sienna’s furious gaze made the guy falter, his bravado crumbling. “Oh, I—I’m sorry.” With that, he walked away sheepishly, casting nervous glances back over his shoulder.

Sienna smiled triumphantly, handing Elle a drink as though nothing had happened. “Cheers!”

Elle laughed, still a bit confused but immensely grateful for Sienna’s actions. The drink in her hand felt like a token of solidarity, the cold condensation a stark contrast to the warmth of her appreciation. She clinked her glass against Sienna’s, the sound ringing out amidst the bar’s din.

Sienna smiled gently, placing her drink to the side. "I’m just going to the bathroom, I’ll be back," she said as she wandered off, leaving Elle to glance around the bustling bar.

As Elle's gaze swept across the room, it landed on Dr. Ramsey at the bar. He sat alone, swirling a glass of what appeared to be whiskey or scotch. His head rested in one hand, and his eyeglasses lay on the bar beside him. It was a rare sight to see him so relaxed, almost peaceful, in the midst of the busy bar scene.

His dark hair, usually meticulously styled, was tousled slightly, adding to his air of casual elegance. Strands fell across his forehead, softened by the warm glow of the bar's neon lights. Despite the relaxed atmosphere, there was still an air of sophistication about him, from the way he held himself to the slight furrow of his brow as he contemplated whatever thoughts occupied his mind.

Dr. Ramsey wore a grey knitted sweater that hugged his frame comfortably, the fabric contrasting with the smooth lines of his tailored trousers. The soft material clung to his chest and arms, accentuating his physique in a way that Elle couldn't help but notice.

Elle watched him for a moment, captivated by the allure of his relaxed demeanor. It was as if, in this moment, he was simply a man enjoying a quiet drink, away from the pressures of his demanding profession.

Without conscious thought, Elle found herself drawn across the bustling dance floor, her steps guided by an irresistible force. With each sway of her hips and twist of her body, she moved closer to Dr. Ramsey, the magnetic pull between them palpable.

After a moment, she settled into the seat beside him, the heat of their proximity sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel his gaze on her, intense yet restrained, as if he dared not to let his eyes linger for too long.

In the dim light of the bar, Elle’s outfit seemed to catch his attention, the subtle curve of her silhouette accentuated by the soft fabric of her blouse and the way her denim shorts hugged her hips. She could sense the tension in the air, thick with unspoken words and unexplored possibilities.

Dr. Ramsey’s eyes, dark pools of intensity, flickered with a hint of something unreadable as they traced the contours of her figure. His gaze lingered on her, a silent invitation hanging in the air between them.

As Elle met Dr. Ramsey’s gaze, she noticed a subtle shift in his demeanor. His eyes, usually confident and piercing, momentarily faltered, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features before he looked away.

“Something wrong, Dr. Ramsey?” Elle inquired, her voice soft yet curious.

Ethan met her gaze with hooded eyes, his expression inscrutable as he lifted his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before replying. “Just noticing how…different you look out in the real world.”

The bartender approached, interrupting their exchange, and turned to Elle for her order. Elle glanced down at Ethan’s near-empty glass before speaking. “Two scotches, neat.”

As the bartender prepared their drinks, Elle slid one of the glasses over to Ethan, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment. He accepted the drink, a hint of approval ghosting across his lips as he raised the glass to his lips.

“Why neat instead of on the rocks?” Ethan inquired, his tone curious.

Elle smiled gently, her eyes soft in the warm glow of the bar. “The ice changes the flavor,” she explained simply.

Ethan nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Right answer,” he murmured, a hint of admiration in his voice.

In that moment, a silent understanding passed between them, unspoken words lingering in the air like the soft strains of The Ronettes “Be my baby” drifting from the jukebox. It was a brief yet significant exchange, a glimpse into the complexities of their connection amidst the chaos of the bar.

Breaking the silence, Ethan took a sip of his drink before speaking, his gaze focused on the amber liquid in his glass. "You know I can’t be bribed into favoring you, right?"

Elle smiled innocently at his remark, turning to face him, her legs crossed, her foot innocently grazing against his leg. As she turned, her hair cascaded down into loose waves , swaying around her shoulders, catching the soft glow of the neon lights in the dimly lit space.

Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of deep green, sparkled with amusement as she looked at Ethan. They held a playful twinkle, mirroring the mischievous smirk that played on her lips. Despite the casual atmosphere of the bar, there was an intensity in her gaze, a hint of curiosity and intrigue as she met Ethan’s eyes with a mixture of confidence and allure.

She held her scotch in her right hand, swirling it absentmindedly. "I think you already favor me, Dr. Ramsey."

Ethan chuckled softly at her response, taking another sip of his drink before replying, "You keep believing that."

Within a moment, he had downed the rest of his drink in one long gulp, Elle observing the movement with keen interest. Before she could comment, Ethan signaled to the bartender. "Two specials, thanks Reggie."

Elle scoffed slightly, eyeing Ethan thoughtfully. "You're on a first-name basis with the bartender?"

Ethan glanced at her with a smirk, his eyes glinting mischievously. "We have an arrangement."

Elle smiled softly, her curiosity piqued. "Is that what you call a friendship?"

Ethan's smile softened, a hint of nostalgia in his gaze. "I've known him a long time."

Elle took a sip of her drink, contemplating Ethan's response before speaking again, her tone casual yet probing. "You don’t have anyone waiting for you at home?"

As Ethan looked at his glass, his brows furrowed slightly, deep in thought. The flickering light of the bar danced across his features, casting shadows that accentuated the lines of his face. His gaze was intense yet distant, as if lost in a world of his own.

Elle observed him closely, noting the subtle tension in his jaw and the way his lips pressed together in contemplation. Despite his composed exterior, she could sense the turmoil beneath the surface, the weight of his words lingering in the air between them.

Their eyes met, and Elle felt a surge of empathy wash over her as she glimpsed the vulnerability hidden within Ethan’s stoic facade. His gaze held a depth of emotion that resonated with her own experiences, a silent acknowledgment of the struggles they both faced in their respective roles.

When Ethan finally spoke, his voice was measured yet tinged with a hint of resignation. “I’ll come here even when I do. I need some time to buffer between the hospital and the world. An…Airlock.” He took a sip of his drink, the glass trembling slightly in his hand before he sighed, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. “Don’t take the job home with you, Elle.”

Elle nodded thoughtfully, her heart aching for the burden Ethan carried. She made a mental note to heed his advice, to find her own moments of solace amidst the chaos of her profession.

“I’ll keep that in mind…but you didn’t answer my question.”

Their eyes met, a silent exchange of understanding passing between them. Ethan’s gaze was deep with emotion, but his face remained stoic. “No, nobody waiting at home tonight.”

As Reggie set two new drinks between them, Ethan’s gesture was a silent invitation, and Elle accepted the drink with a grateful smile. Their fingers brushed briefly as she took the glass, a subtle connection that sent a jolt of electricity coursing through her veins.

When Elle took a cautious look at the drink, Ethan watched her closely, his eyes betraying a hint of anticipation as he awaited her verdict. Their gazes locked once again, and in that moment, Elle felt a warmth spread through her chest, a sense of camaraderie and companionship that transcended the barriers between them.

Elle took a cautious sniff of the drink before taking a sip, the strong taste immediately flooding her senses with a delicious blend of flavors. It was bold and complex, with hints of citrus and spice that danced on her palate.

“Well?” Ethan smirked gently. “How does it compare?”

Elle smiled, teasingly. “I’ve had better.”

Ethan scoffed, his tone playful. “No, you haven’t.”

Elle laughed, taking another sip of her drink. “You’re right. It’s pretty damn good.”

Ethan’s smirk danced across his lips, a playful glint in his eyes as he held his drink out to Elle. His posture was relaxed yet confident, exuding an air of self-assurance that was both captivating and intimidating. The dim light of the bar highlighted the sharp angles of his jawline and the subtle stubble that graced his chin, adding to his rugged charm.

“To your intern year. In the hopes you don’t completely blow everything you’ve worked your whole life for,” Ethan proposed, his tone teasing yet tinged with genuine concern.

Elle returned his smirk with one of her own, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she raised her glass to meet his. “Morbid, I like it,” she quipped, her voice filled with playful sarcasm.

As the night wore on and the warmth of the whiskey settled in her chest, Elle slowly slid off the barstool, her hand gently brushing Ethan’s arm in silent thanks. He offered her a small nod, his expression unreadable but his eyes lingering, just for a second too long.

The music shifted to something slower, softer—The Cure’s Just Like Heaven—as Elle wove her way back through the crowded bar, the beat of the song syncing with the rhythm of her steps. The air was thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses, but for a moment, watching her newly formed friends in the booth, everything felt… still. Like something had clicked into place.

She smiled to herself—softly, quietly—as she slid into the booth between Sienna and Landry, their conversation pulling her back into the fold with effortless ease.

It wasn’t perfect. But maybe, just maybe, it was enough.

And for that night, it was everything.

[instrusivethot-469]

I have 2 diamonsa left i fewr i have to buy more.....for Rthan Ramsey

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

period babe x

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

(Open heart on fire re-write, the one where MC is not MIA.)

Ethan Ramsey strode through the corridors of Edenbrook, his steps brisk and purposeful. It had been just over a year since he’d taken the position of Chief, and while the job was certainly not without its challenges—paperwork, meetings, administrative headaches—there was a quiet satisfaction in it.

The kind of satisfaction that he would never openly admit, of course. After all, this was Ethan Ramsey; complaining was second nature. He had a knack for finding the flaws, the inefficiencies, and the countless ways things could be better. Yet, amidst the grumbling, there was a thrill to the position—a sense of ownership and control over the medicine he had devoted his life to.

But it wasn’t just the job that gave him that feeling. There was something, or rather someone, who had made this past year feel different. His gaze drifted to the diagnostic wing as he walked, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The thing he adored most about his role wasn’t found in policy changes or budget meetings; it was the fact that Elle worked just a few corridors away. Their paths crossed often—sometimes by coincidence, sometimes not. The days were busier, more unpredictable now, but he loved the way his heart skipped whenever he saw her coming down the hallway or caught a glimpse of her in the midst of a case. It was like they were connected by an invisible thread, always pulling them back to each other, no matter how chaotic the hospital became. Even now, as he walked the familiar halls, he felt the pull, an unspoken anticipation humming beneath his cool exterior.

As he rounded a corner, he could see Harper talking animatedly to a group of interns near the elevators, her sharp eyes catching his the second he approached. A brief nod was exchanged between them—a silent acknowledgment that he was, indeed, doing what he did best—keeping things running smoothly, but also always keeping an eye out for her. Because as much as he was Chief, Ethan Ramsey was also still very much a doctor. And part of being a doctor meant knowing where his most important people were. Especially when one of them was Elle.

Although, that morning, Ethan had woken up to find Elle still in bed, her face flushed and her voice thick with congestion. She’d caught a nasty cold, the kind that left her sniffling and coughing weakly under a pile of blankets. It was clear she wasn’t in any shape to make it to work, but she had insisted he go in anyway. She’d given him that familiar, stubborn look, the one that said she wasn’t to be argued with, even though she was barely able to sit up without a bout of coughing. “You’re Chief now, Ethan,” she’d said, her voice hoarse yet determined. “You have to be there. No arguments.” He’d lingered by her side, reluctant to leave her alone while she was sick, but eventually, after a lot of gentle persuasion on her part, he’d relented. It was typical Elle, putting him and the hospital before herself, and he couldn’t help but admire her even as he worried. So, with a soft kiss to her forehead and a promise to check in between cases, he had pulled on his lab coat and headed out the door, her insistence echoing in his mind as he left.

Ethan pulled out his phone, standing just outside the Diagnostics Team’s workspace. With a quick swipe, he opened a new message to Elle, his fingers moving swiftly across the screen:

How are you feeling? Did you get any rest? I’ll be home as soon as I can. Let me know if you need anything.

He hit send, his mind half-focused on Elle as he slid his phone back into his coat pocket. Without thinking, he turned the corner—and immediately collided with Harper Emery, nearly sending her files spilling to the floor.

“Ethan!” Harper exclaimed, catching herself and laughing a bit. “You’ve really got to watch where you’re going. Distracted, huh? You look like a lost puppy.”

Ethan took a step back, his expression neutral as he steadied her by the elbow. “Sorry, Harper,” he said, his voice a bit clipped. “Just trying to check in on Elle.”

Harper raised an eyebrow, her expression softening. “She’s off today, isn’t she? Is she alright?”

Ethan sighed, a subtle frustration seeping into his posture as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, she’s got some kind of cold,” he said, his voice a mix of concern and exhaustion. “Elle insisted I come in, said it’s nothing serious. But you know how she is—stubborn as hell.”

Harper nodded knowingly. “She never does things halfway, does she?”

“No, she doesn’t,” Ethan admitted, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She’d drag herself in if I let her. But I told her to stay home and rest.” He dropped his hand from his face, looking directly at Harper. “It’s just… hard not to worry.”

“Well,” Harper said, her tone shifting to something lighter, “if she’s as tough as you say, she’ll be back before you know it. In the meantime, we need you here, Chief. Diagnostics could use your brain today.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed slightly, the familiar walls of the hospital settling him back into his role. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Harper,” he replied dryly, though there was a glimmer of humor in his eyes.

Before Harper could respond, a deafening explosion rocked the building, rattling the windows and sending a powerful shockwave through the hospital. The ceiling above them cracked, releasing a shower of dust and debris as an ear-splitting roar filled the air. Alarms blared instantly, drowning out any coherent sounds, and the floor seemed to tremble beneath their feet.

In an instinctive, protective motion, Ethan threw his arm around Harper’s shoulders, yanking her down and shielding her with his body as chunks of the ceiling gave way, slamming onto the floor with a thunderous crash just inches from where they stood. Plaster and metal rained down around them, filling the air with a choking cloud of dust. The acrid smell of smoke hit his nostrils almost immediately, thick and suffocating, forcing him to breathe shallowly.

Ethan’s heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline searing through his veins, and he turned quickly, scanning the hall for any signs of immediate danger. “Harper!” he barked, his voice rough with urgency as he pulled her to her feet. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, eyes wide, her face pale with shock. “No, I’m okay,” she managed to say, but the words were barely audible over the cacophony of alarms.

Through the settling dust, Ethan could see the panic starting to unfold. Staff and patients alike were scrambling, shouts and cries blending into a chaotic symphony of fear. He had no time to think, only to act. “We need to move!” he said, gripping Harper’s arm tighter, guiding her through the rubble-strewn corridor.

They stumbled forward, dodging debris as they fought their way down the smoke-filled hallway. The lights flickered ominously, casting eerie shadows across the chaos that had suddenly enveloped Edenbrook. With every step, the situation seemed to grow more dire—plumes of smoke curling up from the fissures in the walls, the distant sound of shattering glass echoing like a warning.

Ethan’s mind raced, his instincts overriding any sense of personal safety. He knew the protocols, knew what he had to do, but as the floor buckled beneath his feet, he couldn’t help but think of Elle—sick and vulnerable, alone in their apartment while the world seemed to be falling apart around him.

“Stay low!” he shouted to Harper as they pressed on, his gaze shifting towards the exit signs glowing dimly through the haze. His only goal now was to get to the source of the chaos and make sure they could stabilize whatever the hell had just happened before it got any worse.

Ethan’s mind flashed back to the mandatory fire training they’d all gone through—the RACE protocol drilled into them year after year: Rescue, Alarm, Confine, Extinguish. It was all muscle memory now, taking over as his logical mind raced to keep up with the chaos. As Harper sprinted towards the closest fire exit, he felt the weight of his responsibility settle firmly on his shoulders. He had to take charge.

“Nurse!” he called out to a nearby staff member, urgency sharpening his voice. “Clear the hallways and get anyone in immediate danger to a safe place!”

He moved further down the smoke-filled corridor, his steps quick and purposeful, scanning for any sign of immediate danger. As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with Jackie and Bryce, both of them looking wide-eyed but focused amid the chaos.

“Dr. Varma,” he said, locking eyes with Jackie, his voice calm despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “Assess how many patients need assistance with transport. We have to prioritize them.”

Jackie gave a sharp nod, determination replacing the fear on her face.

“On it, Dr. Ramsey,” she replied, turning swiftly to begin her task. She disappeared into the smoke, her footsteps already fading.

Ethan pivoted to face Bryce. “Lahela,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “Inspect all windows and doors. Keep them shut. We can’t risk feeding the fire with any oxygen from outside.”

Bryce didn’t hesitate, giving a quick salute before sprinting towards the nearest corridor, shutting doors as he went.

Jackie’s voice cut through the confusion, her tone edged with worry as she looked back at Ethan. “Do we have any idea what that explosion was?”

Ethan’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides as he tried to maintain control over his rising anger. “Could be oxygen tanks,” he said, his eyes flickering over the debris scattered around them. “We won’t know for sure until the fire department gets here,” he added, a hard edge to his voice. He couldn’t hide his frustration, a mix of worry and impatience boiling just beneath the surface. “If they ever get here.”

The uncertainty gnawed at him. As much as he trusted his instincts and the training he’d been through countless times, it was impossible to predict what kind of situation they were dealing with until the experts arrived. For now, all he could do was make sure his team was in control and keep everyone safe.

Ethan shook off the lingering irritation that gnawed at him. This wasn’t the time to lose focus. “Get back to your tasks, and make sure the doors are closed behind you!” he barked at Jackie and Bryce, watching as they moved swiftly back into action.

He circled back to the atrium, eyes scanning the chaotic scene. Nurses were guiding patients to the exits, some wheeling stretchers, others ushering those who could walk on their own. It was a practiced chaos, the kind Ethan thrived in. He quickly assigned more staff to ensure each patient was accounted for and directed towards safety.

Suddenly, a frantic voice rose above the cacophony. Ethan turned sharply, spotting a teenage girl who looked overwhelmed, her eyes wide with terror. “Someone, please help! My brother—I can’t find him!” she cried, her hands shaking.

Ethan was at her side in an instant, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s going to be okay,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring despite the chaos swirling around them. “Take a deep breath. When was the last time you saw him?”

“Alicia!” A voice called out from behind, cutting off the girl’s frantic reply. Ethan’s gaze whipped around, and he spotted a firefighter emerging through the thick smoke. In his arms, he carried a young boy, coughing and dazed but seemingly unharmed.

Relief washed over the girl—Alicia—as she rushed to her brother’s side. The firefighter, with his perfectly styled brunette hair and a jawline that looked chiseled out of marble, barely had a smudge of ash on him. Ethan’s gratitude mingled with a flash of annoyance, the man looking more like a plastic firefighter Ken doll than someone who had just dragged a child out of a burning building.

Ethan watched as the firefighter handed his helmet to the boy, a wide grin spreading across Cody’s face. “Cody! Thank god you’re okay!” Alicia sobbed, pulling her brother into a tight embrace.

Phoenix, the firefighter who’d carried Cody out, crouched down to ruffle the kid’s hair. “He’s gonna be just fine, don’t worry,” he said warmly. “Cody, why don’t you tell your sister how brave you were?”

Cody beamed, standing a little taller. “Firefighter Phoenix says maybe one day, I can join the squad!” he announced proudly.

With a hearty chuckle, Phoenix placed his oversized helmet on the boy’s head, tilting it until it sat just right. “Looks good to me. What do you think?” he asked, winking at Alicia.

Ethan, arms folded, let out a soft scoff under his breath. Figures the flame jockey would be a softie, he thought. Clearing his throat, he forced himself to be professional. “You did a good thing there,” he acknowledged, nodding to Phoenix. “The poor kid was out of her mind before you got here.”

Phoenix’s warm expression cooled instantly as he turned to Ethan, his eyes narrowing. “Let me guess, you’re the stooge in charge here,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Ethan felt his jaw tighten. “I am… Dr. Ethan Ramsey, Chief of Medicine,” he replied, barely containing the irritation that flared within him. “And you are…?”

“Shea Phoenix,” the firefighter shot back, “Battalion Chief, Engine 57. I need you to get your people on top of evacuation.”

Ethan’s frown deepened, his voice firm. “We are on top of evacuation, Phoenix. There isn’t a smoke alarm going off because a tray of cookies burnt.” He glared at the firefighter, who seemed unfazed. “Hospitals have protocols that best serve our patients—protocols which you should be familiar with—”

Phoenix waved him off, turning away mid-sentence. “Amelia!” he barked over his shoulder. “Make sure the flames are contained at the point of origin.”

Ignoring the frustration boiling in his chest, Ethan forced himself to focus. Phoenix’s arrogance was infuriating, but there were bigger priorities. Phoenix turned back to him, his face all business. “Ramsey, I need to secure electrical power,” he said, voice clipped. “Where’s a map of your systems?”

Ethan paused, caught off guard. “I—I’ll get it,” he said, suppressing a flash of annoyance.

“I also need to know where your generator room is, which areas are supported by emergency power?” Phoenix pressed, his expression unyielding. “Stat.”

Ethan drew in a slow, calming breath, reigning in his temper. “I’m happy to help,” he said through clenched teeth, his thoughts boiling. Help get your pompous ass out of my hair, that is. He handed over the information Phoenix needed, then quickly resumed organizing the evacuation, determined not to let the firefighter’s attitude get in the way of his focus.

After what felt like an eternity, the evacuation was complete. Patients and staff gathered outside the hospital, huddled in groups as the fire department worked to ensure the building’s safety. Ethan stood apart from the others, arms crossed as he watched Phoenix confer with his team, the smoke clearing in the morning light.

Phoenix walked over, standing shoulder to shoulder with Ethan. For a long moment, they said nothing, just staring at the charred windows and smoke-stained walls of Edenbrook. Finally, Ethan broke the silence with a heavy sigh. “I appreciate your help,” he said, his tone measured, “despite the fact that it is literally your job.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“But,” Ethan continued, his voice softening, “everyone is safe thanks to you. I owe you one.”

For a second, the fire chief looked surprised. Then, he nodded, the smirk fading to something more genuine. “Just doing what I’m trained to do, Doc,” he said. “But you and your team kept it together. We were a damn good team today.”

Ethan gave a reluctant nod, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t often he met someone as stubborn and relentless as himself. “Just don’t expect me to say that twice,” he muttered.

Ethan stepped back inside Edenbrook, his sharp gaze sweeping over the first floor. There was some smoke damage—blackened patches here and there on the walls and ceilings—but nothing catastrophic. The firefighters had done an impressive job containing the flames to the second floor. For the first time since the chaos began, he allowed himself to exhale, relief mingling with grudging admiration. Guess the flame jockeys are good for something, he thought.

He felt the unmistakable presence of Phoenix behind him, the firefighter’s broad shadow stretching across the floor. “You look like you’re choking on praise there, Doc,” Phoenix said, a teasing edge in his voice. “It won’t kill you to admit I know what I’m doing.”

Ethan smirked, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re right,” he said, his voice dry, “but it might take a year off my life.”

Phoenix laughed, the sound echoing in the hallway, carrying a hint of camaraderie beneath the banter. “Nothing’s gonna topple that ego of yours, is it, Doc?” he challenged, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Ethan let out a weary sigh, crossing his arms. “You can’t talk,” he shot back. “Yours is as big as mine.”

Phoenix’s grin widened, and for a second, the tension between them eased, the lingering scent of smoke and the distant crackle of radios fading into the background. “Touché,” Phoenix conceded, nodding in acknowledgment. “But let’s just agree it’s our egos that got the job done today.”

“Maybe,” Ethan allowed, his eyes flicking to the scorched stairs leading to the second floor. “Or maybe it’s because, for once, we didn’t get in each other’s way.”

Phoenix chuckled, clapping Ethan on the shoulder with a heavy, calloused hand. “I’ll take that as the closest thing to a compliment I’m gonna get.”

Ethan shook his head, a reluctant smile pulling at his lips. “Don’t push it, Phoenix,” he warned, but there was no heat behind his words. They stood there a moment longer, two men who’d just gone toe-to-toe with disaster, silently acknowledging the uneasy respect that had begun to take root between them.

The entire afternoon had been a blur, a nonstop whirlwind of assessing, stabilizing, and coordinating the aftermath of the explosion. The doctors and firefighters worked together with the kind of synchronicity that only comes from experience, their movements efficient and precise. As the last of the smoke finally dissipated, the sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, amber glow over the hospital grounds. Ethan glanced at the clock, the exhaustion of the day pressing down on his shoulders. Edenbrook and Engine 57 had made a pretty damn good team, he had to admit.

Standing near the paperwork, Ethan read through the reports one last time. “Not one single casualty. I’m impressed,” he murmured to no one in particular.

Phoenix, who had been standing nearby, looked over his shoulder at the paper and grinned. “Careful, Ramsey. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Ethan smirked, shaking his head. “My mistake,” he replied dryly, “it wasn’t meant to be.”

Phoenix chuckled quietly, but his expression softened as he grew more serious. “Well, I don’t know about you, but after today, I’m in desperate need of a drink. You and your team should join us.”

Ethan paused for a moment, the thought of some well-deserved R&R tempting him more than he’d care to admit. After the madness of the day, it wasn’t a bad idea. “I think we’ve earned a Scotch at Donahue’s,” he said with a grin.

“Excellent choice.”

Donahue’s was one of those old-school bars that seemed to capture the essence of a long, hard day’s work. The dim lights cast a golden glow over the aged wooden tables and the mismatched bar stools. The air was thick with chatter, laughter, and the sound of glasses clinking together as the crew from Edenbrook and Engine 57 relived the chaos they’d just survived. The bar smelled faintly of whiskey and wood polish, and the music in the background was a steady hum of classic rock—nothing too loud, just enough to settle into a rhythm as people relaxed.

Ethan and Phoenix found their way to the bar, where Reggie, the bartender, greeted them with a smile that said he’d seen his fair share of trouble over the years.

Ethan leaned against the counter. “Whiskey, did you say?” he asked, his tone more curious than anything.

Phoenix nodded, tapping the bar with his fingers. “Neat.”

Ethan turned to Reggie, ordering their drinks. “A Scotch and a whiskey, please.”

Reggie nodded and made his way down the bar to prepare the drinks. As he returned, Ethan lifted his glass towards Phoenix. “Here’s to being chief,” Ethan said, his voice carrying a tone of both respect and humor. “It’s a tough job…”

Phoenix smirked, clinking his glass against Ethan’s with a quiet clink. “But someone’s gotta do it.”

Ethan chuckled, shaking his head. “Took the words right out of my mouth. Kind of annoying how you keep doing that.”

Phoenix’s eyes swept around the room, scanning the familiar faces and the cozy atmosphere of the bar. “It’s no O’Malley’s,” he remarked, “but it’s pretty nice here.”

Ethan smirked back, the warmth of the Scotch easing some of the tension in his shoulders. “Well, one perk is that it’s usually not filled with firefighters.”

Phoenix shook his head, grinning. “Ha-ha. How do you command such a solid team when you’re such a pain in the ass?”

Ethan took another sip of his drink, considering Phoenix’s question with a thoughtful expression. “Healthy combination of fear and the promise of occasional after-work drinks.”

As the two men exchanged a look of amusement, Ethan’s phone rang, cutting through the banter. He glanced at the screen, his expression changing as he saw the name—Elle. Along with the call, a flood of missed messages popped up, all from her.

“Hold on a sec,” Ethan said, holding up a hand to Phoenix as he stepped away from the bar, his tone more serious. “I’ll be right back.”

Ethan answered the phone, his voice warm and familiar. “Hi gorgeous, you okay?”

On the other end, Elle sounded much better than she had earlier that morning. Her voice was soft, relaxed, and it made Ethan’s heart skip just a little. “Yup, I just wanted to see what you wanted to order for dinner? Have you eaten yet?”

Ethan tried to hide the smile that tugged at his lips as he glanced at Phoenix, who was eyeing him with curiosity. “Don’t worry about me tonight, you order what you like. Put it on my card, okay?”

Elle’s laugh filtered through the phone, and Ethan couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. “Okaay? Why are you being so sweet?”

He grinned to himself, a playful glint in his eyes. “Am I not always sweet?”

“I’d rather not answer that,” Elle teased, a faint smile audible in her tone. “When will you be home?”

Ethan glanced at the clock. 21:04. His thoughts immediately turned to Elle, and the thought of heading home after the chaos of the day felt like a welcome reprieve. “Give me half an hour, I’ll be there.”

“Okay. I love you. See you soon.”

Ethan’s heart warmed at her words, and he allowed himself to indulge in the sentiment for just a moment before responding. “I love you, see you soon.”

As he hung up, he turned to Phoenix, who had a knowing look on his face. Ethan quickly turned away, trying to brush it off, but the slight flush in his cheeks betrayed him. “What?” he muttered, keeping his tone casual as he picked up his drink.

Phoenix says nothing, only smiling for a moment before speaking

“You seem like a lucky man.”

Ethan paused for a moment, his fingers tightening around his glass as he glanced up at Phoenix. The comment, though lighthearted, hit a little closer to home than he expected. He took a slow sip of his drink, trying to keep his expression neutral.

“Maybe,” Ethan replied, his voice a little softer than usual. “But luck doesn’t always have much to do with it.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh?”

Ethan shrugged, setting his glass down. “No, it’s more about timing… and not taking things for granted.” He glanced back at his phone, checking the time again, the weight of the day starting to pull at him. “And knowing what you have when you have it.”

Phoenix studied him for a moment, nodding slowly as if understanding something unspoken. “I guess that makes sense. You seem like a guy who knows what he’s doing.”

Ethan smiled faintly, his thoughts drifting back to Elle. “Sometimes it feels like the hardest part is just holding on to what you’ve got.”

Phoenix gave a half laugh, clearly impressed. “I like your style, Ramsey.”

Ethan gave a quick nod, finishing his drink before standing. “Thanks, Shea. But, duty calls.” He gave the firefighter a nod of acknowledgment, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Well, go get your lady, Doc,” Phoenix said with a grin. “She sounds like a keeper.”

Ethan’s eyes softened. “She is,” he said quietly, before turning to leave the bar and head home.

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

Book one will always steal my heart 💔

[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

I may or may not be in the process of rewriting open hearts on fire but making mc part of the chapter. Stay Tuned x

[tsrookie]

THIS IS ALL I'VE EVER NEEDED THEY'RE CANONICALLY LIVING TOGETHER THANK YOU😭😭

MC was just at home folks. We have our explanation.