Code: Heartbreak
The ER doesn’t stop for grief.
Not for fear. Not for heartbreak. And definitely not for people trying to outrun their pasts.
At thirty-two, student doctor Rosalie Kade enters The Pitt with steady hands, a soft heart, and more scars than anyone can see. In a hospital where exhaustion is worn like armor and compassion is often mistaken for weakness, Rosalie refuses to harden.
Even when the emergency room threatens to break her apart.
Especially when Dr. Robby starts noticing her.
Brilliant. Burned-out. Impossible to read.
He sees too much. And Rosalie has spent her entire life trying not to be seen at all.
But beneath the fluorescent lights and trauma calls, something dangerous begins to grow between them—
Because some people survive by shutting the world out.
And others survive by loving too much.
@jackles010378 @winchesterwild78 @angelbabyyy99
The fluorescent lights were just a little too bright. They always were at this hour.
Rosalie Kade stood beneath them, shoulders slightly tense, her gaze drifting past the ambulance bay doors to the early morning sky.
Soft orange and pale pink stretched across the horizon—quiet, almost gentle. A stark contrast to everything inside.
Her fingers found the small hummingbird pendant resting against her chest, thumb brushing over the worn metal out of habit more than thought.
Grounding. Always grounding.
Behind her, the night shift filtered out in tired waves—low voices, slow steps, the kind of exhaustion that settled deep.
In four weeks as a student doctor, she’d learned the rhythm of it. Learned the people, too.
“Doctor Kade.”
She turned slightly as Dr. Jack Abbott passed by, already shrugging into his coat. Grey curls, permanently tousled. Gruff voice. Tired eyes that missed very little.
“Good shift,” he said. “You’ve got potential, kid.”
Rosalie smiled softly. “Thank you, Dr. Abbott.”
He gave a short nod and kept walking, disappearing with the rest of the night staff.
And just like that—
they were gone.
The morning shift began to filter in. Fresh faces. Fresh energy. A reset.
But Rosalie didn’t move.
She stayed exactly where she was.
Because going home meant quiet. And quiet meant thinking.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the pendant.
She hated today’s date.
With a quiet breath, she turned and headed toward the on-call room.
Coffee first. Then she’d keep moving. Keep working. Keep herself too busy to feel it.
The coffee was terrible.
Watery. Bitter. Barely worth the effort.
Rosalie took another sip anyway as she walked toward the nurses’ station.
An older woman stood there, flipping through a chart.
Mid-fifties, maybe. Fine lines etched into her face—not harsh, just lived-in. Blonde hair twisted into a worn brown claw clip. Pale blue eyes that had clearly seen too much—
—but her smile came easy.
Warm. Immediate.
“You new here, kid?”
Rosalie shifted the cup in her hands, smiling.
“Well… yes and no. I’ve been here four weeks, but today’s my first day shift.”
The woman’s expression softened further.
“Welcome, hon. I’m Dana Evans—charge nurse.”
Another nurse leaned in beside her, a head wrap neatly tied, a teasing grin already forming.
“And a damn good one.”
Dana rolled her eyes lightly. “Yeah, yeah.”
Then back to Rosalie.
“And you are?”
“Rosalie Kade. It’s nice to meet you.”
She reached out, and Dana took her hand without hesitation. Firm. Grounded.
The other nurse smiled.
“Perlah,” she said. “You can call me Perlah, kid.”
Rosalie nodded, warmth flickering across her face. “Nice to meet you.”
The doors burst open.
“Female! Severe lower abdominal pain—BP dropping!”
Everything shifted.
“Trauma one,” Dana called immediately.
Rosalie was already moving.
Of course she was.
She reached the stretcher as it locked in place, setting her coffee aside without a second thought.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Kade, I’ve got you,” she said gently, hands already working.
Pulse. Fast.
Skin— cold.
She moved to assess the abdomen—
and walked straight into something solid.
She stepped back quickly, startled. “Oh—sorry—”
She looked up.
And up.
A man stood in front of her—tall, broad-shouldered, presence filling the space before he said a word. Cargo pants. Olive hoodie pushed up at the sleeves.
Not in scrubs.
But unmistakably in charge.
His eyes flicked down to her. Measured. Sharp.
“Maybe look where you’re going next time.”
Heat rushed to her face.
“Sorry… Doctor?”
He’d already stepped past her, focus shifting entirely to the patient.
“Dr. Michael Robinavitch,” he said, voice steady, clipped.
Then—
“Robby.”
The woman curled in on herself, a sharp cry breaking through her teeth.
Rosalie was at her side in seconds.
“Hey, hey—it’s okay. I’ve got you,” she murmured, one hand steady on the patient’s arm. “Talk to me—when did the pain start?”
“L…last night,” the woman groaned.
The monitor beeps quickened.
Blood pressure low. Heart rate climbing.
Rosalie glanced up.
Dr. Robby was already watching her.
“Thoughts, Doctor?”
She hesitated—just a second.
Too long.
“Internal bleeding?”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Is that a question?”
She swallowed, refocused, forcing herself to look at the patient again.
“No visible bruising… abdomen’s tender, but not rigid…” she murmured, thinking out loud now. “We should do a FAST scan.”
A beat.
Then he nodded once.
“You should’ve led with that.”
Rosalie grabbed the ultrasound probe, already moving.
“This might feel cold,” she told the patient gently, squeezing her hand before applying gel.
She pressed the probe to the abdomen. Watched the screen. Adjusted. Focused.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“Wait…”
Robby stepped closer, looking over her shoulder.
There it was.
Dark. Pooling where it shouldn’t be.
He didn’t hesitate.
“Call OR. Possible ruptured ectopic pregnancy.”
The room shifted instantly.
Rosalie’s breath caught. Her eyes flicked back to the screen, then to him.
“Why?” he asked without looking at her.
She forced herself to answer properly this time.
“No trauma… low BP, tachycardia… free fluid on the scan…” she swallowed, steadier now, “likely internal bleeding from a rupture.”
He nodded once.
“Good.”
Then, sharper—
“We don’t guess, Doctor Kade. We observe, then we decide.”
Rosalie nodded quickly. “Yes, Doctor.”
But her hands?
Shaking a little
They began wheeling the patient toward surgery.
Rosalie didn’t let go of her hand right away.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said softly, walking alongside the stretcher for as long as she could. “We’ve got you.”
Her eyes flicked briefly to the woman’s ring.
“I’ll call your husband.”
The patient was taken through the doors.
And just like that—
she was gone.
Rosalie stood there a second too long.
Then turned, already reaching for her phone—
“Let Dana or Perlah handle that.”
She looked up.
Dr. Robby stood just behind her.
“Doctors don’t usually make those calls,” he added. “You’re needed here.”
Rosalie paused, her hand lowering slowly.
“Oh… I—okay.”
She folded in on herself slightly—hating that she did.
He watched her for a second. Not unkind. Just assessing.
“As a doctor,” he said, tone more measured now, “you need to be more confident in your role.”
She nodded quickly. “Yes, Doctor.”
“Robby,” a voice called from across the floor. “Whitaker needs you in Trauma Three.”
He exhaled, already turning.
“Of course he does.”
And then he was gone.
The noise of the ER rushed back in.
Rosalie stayed where she was for a moment longer, trying to steady herself.
“Hey.”
She turned.
Dana stood beside her.
The older woman’s gaze softened almost immediately.
She stepped closer, resting a hand briefly against Rosalie’s arm.
“Don’t take that too hard,” she said gently. “You’re still finding your footing.”
Rosalie swallowed, her voice catching slightly.
“I just… I don’t want to mess this up.”
Dana gave her a small, reassuring squeeze.
“You won’t. You’ve got good instincts. Trust them.”
Rosalie nodded, blinking quickly.
“Thank you.”
And before she could stop herself—
she leaned in and hugged her.
Quick. Tight. Instinctive.
Then immediately pulled back.
“Sorry—I’m a hugger.”
Dana let out a soft laugh. “It’s alright, kid.”
Across the room—
a dark-haired woman leaned against the counter, eyes tracking Rosalie.
“Princess.”
Perlah didn’t look up from her chart. “That’s not my name.”
Trinity smirked. “You answered anyway.”
Perlah sighed, finally glancing at her. “What do you want, Dr. Santos?”
Trinity tilted her chin toward Rosalie.
“The new one.”
A pause.
“Already messing up, and she hasn’t even been here an hour.”
Perlah followed her gaze.
Rosalie stood across the room, quieter now, resetting after the case.
“That’s not fair,” Perlah said. “She came off the night shift. Dr. Abbott’s her attending.”
“Cruz says she’s solid. Good hands. Soft with patients.”
Trinity’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “Didn’t look like it.”
Perlah shrugged. “I don’t know her yet. But maybe she’ll surprise you.”
Trinity watched Rosalie a second longer.
Really watched her this time.
The way she stood. The way she folded in, just slightly, when no one was looking.
A slow shake of her head.
“No,” she said quietly. “She won’t.”
Perlah frowned. “Don’t do that.”
Trinity glanced at her. “Do what?”
“Decide who someone is before they’ve had a chance to prove you wrong.”
Trinity smiled.
Not kind. Not amused.
Just certain.
“She already has.”
Perlah went back to her chart. “Don’t be mean, Dr. Santos.”
Trinity pushed off the counter.
“Me?”
She started walking.
“Never.”
Rosalie looked up as she approached, offering a small, warm smile.
“Hi. I’m Rosalie Kade,” she said gently. “Most people call me Ros.”
The dark-haired woman didn’t return it.
Not even a little.
“I’m Trinity Santos. First year.”
Rosalie brightened slightly. “Oh—wow. That’s great.”
Trinity let out a quiet laugh.
Not amused. Not kind.
“You think so?”
Rosalie tilted her head, a little confused—but still open. “Of course.”
Trinity stepped closer.
Not aggressive. Just deliberate.
“You think you’ve got what it takes?” she asked, voice low. “To be here?”
That landed.
Rosalie straightened just a fraction. “Excuse me?”
A small smirk tugged at Trinity’s mouth. “You heard me.”
Rosalie didn’t snap. Didn’t shrink either.
“I’m not here to compete,” she said softly.
Trinity leaned in slightly.
“That’s not how this works.”
A pause.
Then—
“People like you don’t last.”
Rosalie’s fingers curled slightly at her side.
But her voice stayed steady.
“I’m still here.”
That—just that—was her answer.
Trinity studied her for a second longer. Reassessing.
Then she stepped back.
“Good luck with that.”
A glance over her shoulder as she turned—
“And try not to kill anyone today… Softie.”
She walked off.
Silence lingered.
Rosalie stood there a moment. Breath slow. Controlled.
Then, quieter—more to herself than anyone else:
“My name’s Rosalie.”
Exhaling softly, Rosalie caught her pendant between her fingers, watching as Trinity Santos disappeared down the hallway.
“I wonder who hurt her so badly,” she murmured quietly.
Mostly to herself.
Turning on her heel, she headed toward the patient board, eyes scanning the overwhelming list of names, room numbers, and flashing updates.
Too many.
Too fast.
And promptly walked straight into someone again.
“Oh—s-sorry.”
She looked up.
Of course.
Dr. Robby.
He stared down at her for a moment before speaking.
“Dr. Kade.”
He watched her with those dark brown eyes, that’s seen too much.
“You might want to start looking where you’re going.”
Rosalie winced slightly.
“I know… sorry. I’m just a little off my game today.”
She glanced up at him through dark lashes, green-blue eyes carrying something he couldn’t quite name.
Kindness.
Grief.
Loneliness.
Something.
Robby studied her a second too long before stepping aside.
“Go to triage,” he said. “Find Dr. McKay and help there for a while.”
Rosalie nodded immediately.
No argument. No attitude.
“Okay.”
Then she turned and walked away.
Robby’s gaze lingered on her longer than it should have.
There was something strangely familiar in the way she carried herself.
Something he couldn’t place.
A tired hand dragged over his face.
Around him, the ER continued in constant motion.
Whitaker talking to a patient somewhere down the hall. Santos arguing with a nurse about labs. Monitors beeping. Phones ringing.
Chaos.
Constant, exhausting chaos.
And somehow—
He already felt tired.
The shift had barely even started.
Every day he walked through those doors swearing it would be his last.
And every day—
he came back anyway.
Why?
That was the part he could never answer.
The moment Rosalie stepped through the triage doors, she felt it all at once.
Overwhelmed.
Too many people. Too many voices. Too much pain packed into one place.
Tears burned briefly behind her eyes as she took it in.
Fear. Grief. Panic. Hurt.
Human suffering in every direction.
She swallowed it down quickly.
There wasn’t time for feelings here.
Scanning the room, she spotted a woman with messy auburn bangs flipping through a chart.
Rosalie approached carefully.
“Dr. McKay?”
The woman looked up.
“Yeah?”
Rosalie offered a small smile.
“I’m Dr. Kade. Dr. Robby sent me down to help.”
Dr. McKay nodded once, already moving toward the next bay.
“Alright then, Dr. Kade,” she said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
And so it began.
A little girl with glue stuck to both hands.
A drunk man with a deep cut above his brow after a fight involving a broken beer bottle.
An elderly woman convinced she was actively dying from heartburn.
Rosalie handled each patient with surprising ease.
Gentle voice. Steady hands. Quiet patience.
Even when people yelled.
Even when they cried.
Minutes blurred together.
And somehow—
she kept going.
“You’re going to be one of the good ones,” Dr. McKay said eventually, watching Rosalie finish wrapping a patient’s wrist.
Rosalie let out a soft laugh.
“I just want to help people,” she admitted quietly. “Save them, if I can.”
Dr. McKay’s expression softened slightly.
“I know.”
She smiles sympathetically
“But you can’t save all of them. Remember that.”
Later, they stood just outside the ambulance bay doors, stealing a moment of cool morning air between patients.
For the first time all shift—
Rosalie breathed.
Then the ambulance pulled in.
Fast.
Too fast.
Rosalie was already moving before the doors fully opened.
And the second they did—
everything changed.
Her eyes widened.
Hands instinctively lifting slightly.
Defensive.
Careful.
A man in his late forties stumbled out first, blood soaking through his shirt from a gunshot wound to the torso.
And in his shaking hand—
a gun.
Behind him, paramedics pressed desperately against another patient bleeding out on the stretcher.
Terrified eyes met hers.
Silent warning.
The man pointed the gun directly at Rosalie.
“You,” he barked.
The weapon shook slightly.
“You’re gonna patch me up. No cops. No funny business.”
Rosalie’s heartbeat slammed against her ribs.
Still—
she nodded.
“O-okay,” she managed softly. “I’ll help you.”
The man moved closer.
Too close.
Towering over her.
“Please…” she whispered carefully, eyes fixed on the gun. “Could you put it down?”
A sharp grunt left him suddenly as pain ripped through him.
Then—
without warning—
he shoved the gun hard into her side.
“Walk.”
Rosalie stumbled forward.
Her hands trembled violently now.
Cold steel dug against her ribs as he forced her through the trauma bay doors.
The second Dr. McKay saw the weapon—
her face drained of color.
And then she shouted:
“CODE SILVER!”