Page 28 of Crossing the Line
Now she had professional reasons to respect Harper that made personal distance infinitely more difficult to maintain.
The moment Captain Walsh's transfer was complete, Carmen escaped to the on-call room. The small space offered solitude from the controlled chaos of the hospital and, more importantly, from Harper's steady presence that had become both a comfort and torment.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, finally allowing her composed facade to crack. The narrow bed, basic sink, and institutional lighting created the kind of sterile environment where she usually found clarity. Tonight, it felt like a prison.
Carmen sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hands through her hair, disrupting the careful control she maintained even in crisis situations. The afternoon replayed in her mind: Harper's intelligent questions during rounds, her seamless anticipation of equipment needs, the way she'd read cardiac rhythms with accuracy that had impressed even Dr. Hassan.
Professional admiration was manageable. Carmen could mentor talented interns without personal complications, maintaining appropriate boundaries while fostering their development. But Harper wasn't just any talented intern. She was the woman who'd made Carmen laugh in the darkness and made her feel alive in ways she'd forgotten were possible.
Carmen's phone buzzed with a text from Julia:“Heard about the fire response. You okay?”
She stared at the message without responding. How could she explain that she was drowning in professional respect for someone who'd already shattered her personal defenses? That watching Harper work had been like watching herself fall in love with cardiac surgery all over again?
The on-call room's silence amplified every sound: distant hospital pages, the hum of fluorescent lighting, and her own breathing that had become unsteady. Carmen pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to impose order on the chaos in her chest, then moved to the small mirror above the sink. Her reflection looked composed, exactly what people expected from Dr. Carmen Méndez, but her eyes held shadows that alluded to sleepless nights and emotional complications that had no surgical solution.
Carmen's hands gripped the sink edge as the full scope of her situation crystallized. She couldn't continue working closely with Harper without confronting the growing recognition that her feelings were deepening rather than fading.
Her phone buzzed again. Julia's follow-up text:“Seriously, are you okay? You've been different since Monday.”
Carmen deleted both messages without responding. Julia's concern was genuine, but Carmen couldn't explain the complexity of mentoring someone who'd already complicated every aspect of her carefully controlled life.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Carmen straightened, automatically restoring her professional composure before opening the door.
Harper stood in the hallway, holding a tablet with patient updates. Her expression was carefully neutral, respectful of Carmen's obvious need for space while maintaining the professional interaction their roles required.
"Captain Walsh's latest cardiac monitoring shows continued improvement," Harper said, offering the tablet. "No irregular rhythms for the past hour. The night shift is implementing the monitoring protocol you specified."
Carmen accepted the tablet, studying the cardiac strips that confirmed successful treatment.
"Excellent," Carmen said, though the word felt inadequate for Harper's exceptional work. "Your assessment and treatment recommendations were very good today."
"Thank you," Harper replied, but she didn't move to leave. "Dr. Méndez, I wanted to say that working with you today was...educational. I learned more about cardiac trauma in two hours than I did in weeks of textbook study."
The simple sincerity in Harper's voice made Carmen's chest tighten. "You have natural instincts for cardiac medicine," Carmen found herself saying.
Harper's eyes brightened with something that looked like hope. "I'd like to learn everything you're willing to teach me."
The words hung between them, layered with meaning that had nothing to do with medicine. Carmen felt her carefullymaintained boundaries wavering as professional necessity and personal desire were becoming impossible to separate.
Harper stepped closer, and Carmen felt the careful distance she'd maintained all week dissolving like surgical sutures. The tablet in Carmen's hands became an inadequate barrier between them, patient data irrelevant compared to the way Harper was looking at her.
"Carmen," Harper said, her voice dropping to something more intimate than their professional setting should allow. "Can I ask you something?"
The use of her first name should have triggered Carmen's protective instincts. Instead, it sent warmth spiraling through her chest in ways that made professional boundaries feel like arbitrary constructions.
"What?" Carmen managed, though she wasn't sure she wanted to hear whatever Harper was brave enough to ask.
"Do you think about that night?" Harper's question was direct, carrying none of the careful deflection that had characterized their interactions since Monday's disaster. "Because I can't stop thinking about it."
Carmen's breath caught. They were standing in the middle of the on-call room where any colleague could walk in on them, ruining her professional reputation and crumbling everything she'd spent years building.
"Harper." Carmen's voice carried a hint of warning, but it lacked the authority she'd intended. "This isn't the time or place."
"Then when is?" Harper moved another step closer, close enough that Carmen could catch the faint scent of her floral perfume beneath the antiseptic smell that clung to everyone in the hospital. "When will it be appropriate to talk about the fact that working with you today felt like the most natural thing in the world?"
The late evening shift change gave them a brief window of privacy, but it wouldn't last long. "We can't do this here."
"Then where?" Harper's persistence reminded Carmen of the woman who'd approached her at Lavender's with such confident directness. "Your office? Some other neutral place where we can pretend this is just a professional consultation?"
