@bledinhrt / hollis & dante.
hollis tries not to think about her father's heart attack. keeps her head down whenever she walks past the trauma bay he had coded in, keeps her hands away from anything even remotely heart related and avoids doctor dante headrick like the plague. she's professional, of course, but won't ever go out of her way to interact with him. truthfully, hollis doesn't blame him for her father's death, not really. but her own guilt weighs down on her so heavily, the nights she stays up telling herself it had been her fault his heart had given out, that sometimes it's easier to put just a little bit of that blame on someone else — even if she knows that there wasn't anything, medically, that could have been done for him.
hollis doesn't break stride as the trauma bay doors whoosh open, tugging a pair of gloves on and shouldering her way into the chaos. the smell of blood cuts through the antiseptic and it doesn't take long for her to find the source. "jesus christ," she murmurs under her breath, quiet enough to be drowned out by the background noise. the patients lower leg is a mess — bone sticking out through torn skin, swelling already beginning to set in and hollis finds herself just a little thrilled — apologies to the patient — that she gets to be on the case. "what's his pulse?" she asks, glancing up before kneeling down to the injury, hands hovering as she assesses. "he's gonna need an or sooner than later." unless he wants to go home missing half his leg. "the swelling is already starting to spread." she looks up again, eyes finding the attending in the room. "what happened?"