Page 9 of Dr. Roz Harrington
Probably both.
The clock on the wall seemed to mock her. Every second dragged out like an eternity, the sterile white of the hospital hallway closing in around Sam as she paced back and forth. Her boots echoed against the linoleum, mingling with the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional distant murmur of hospital staff.
Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, her mind refusing to stop racing. Worst-case scenarios played out like cruel flashes of reality. She imagined Ben not making it, his bright, easy smile replaced by the lifeless stillness she’d seen too many times before. She’d promised his parents, herself, and her team that she’d always bring them home. The possibility of breaking that promise clawed at her insides.
And Roz. That damn surgeon.
Sam couldn’t shake the image of Roz’s steady, confident gaze as she’d spoken with infuriating calm.“Let me do my job.”The words lingered, cutting through Sam’s thoughts. It wasn’t just the frustration of giving up control, it was the way Roz seemed so unshakable, even when everything felt like it was falling apart. Roz’s composure unnerved Sam as much as it reassured her, and she hated that it had both effects.
“Cap.”
The voice broke through her thoughts, and she turned to see Jack approaching, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by concern. He looked out of place in the hospital, his broad frame and soot-streaked uniform a stark contrast to the pristine environment.
“Any news?” he asked, his voice low.
“Not yet.” Sam’s voice was clipped, her exhaustion slipping through despite her best efforts. “Still in surgery.”
Jack studied her for a moment, his expression softening. “You’ve been pacing like that for an hour. Maybe sit down? Take a breather?”
Sam shook her head, her jaw tightening. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are,” Jack said, his tone light but his eyes serious. “Look, Cap, I know you. You’re carrying this like it’s your fault, but it’s not. You did everything you could out there.”
“Not everything,” Sam muttered, her voice barely audible. Her hands rested on her hips as she turned away, staring down the hallway like sheer willpower could bring Roz out faster. “I should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve gotten him out sooner.”
Jack stepped closer, his voice gentler now. “We don’t get to control everything, Sam. Not even you.” He offered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And if anyone can fix this, it’s that surgeon. She looked like she knows her stuff.”
Sam let out a quiet huff, her lips twitching into something resembling a smirk. “Yeah, she knows her stuff, all right. Just doesn’t care if she pisses you off while she’s doing it.”
Jack chuckled, and for a moment, the tension between them eased. “Sounds like someone I know.”
Sam rolled her eyes but didn’t respond. Jack clapped her shoulder briefly before stepping back. “Call me when you hear something,” he said, giving her space but leaving the comfort of his presence lingering behind.
When Roz finally emerged from the OR, Sam’s heart leapt to her throat. Roz looked as composed as ever, her green eyes sharp and unwavering, though there was a faint shadow of exhaustion beneath them. She pulled off her surgical cap, letting the loose ends of her pink hair fall against her neck, and approached Sam with the kind of confidence that demanded attention.
“He made it through the surgery,” Roz said without preamble, her voice calm but firm. “We were able to stop the internal bleeding and stabilize him. It doesn’t look like there was any permanent internal or neurological damage. It was touch and go for a while, but he’s holding on.”
Sam’s chest loosened, a wave of relief washing over her. She nodded tightly, forcing the emotion from her voice. “Thank you.”
Roz tilted her head slightly, her gaze narrowing as she studied Sam. “You don’t have to thank me,” she said, her voice softer now. “It’s my job.”
Sam’s jaw tightened. “Doesn’t make it less important.”
Roz’s expression shifted, just a flicker, but enough for Sam to catch it. There was something behind the usual cool professionalism, something quieter and almost...empathetic? Sam wasn’t sure if it comforted or irritated her more.
“The next twenty-four hours are critical,” Roz continued, her voice regaining its edge. “He’s not out of the woods yet.”
Sam straightened, her protective instincts flaring again. “So what now? More risks? More calculated decisions?”
Roz’s lips curved into the faintest smirk, and Sam’s irritation flared hotter at how unbothered Roz seemed. “If necessary,” Roz replied, her tone smooth but firm. “That’s what it takes to save lives.”
Sam stepped closer, her blue eyes locking onto Roz’s green ones. “Just make sure you know what you’re doing.”
Roz didn’t back down, her gaze steady as she replied, “I always do.”
The tension between them was palpable, an invisible thread pulling taut as their words hung in the air. For a moment, Sam thought she saw the corners of Roz’s mouth twitch, like she was suppressing a smile.
Roz stepped back first, breaking the moment. “You can see him once he’s in recovery,” she said, her tone returning to professional. “He’s in good hands.”
