Page 11 of Dr. Roz Harrington
When they reached the café, Roz gestured for Sam to sit at a corner table while she ordered. A few minutes later, she returned with two steaming cups of coffee and slid one across the table.
“Thanks,” Sam muttered, wrapping her hands around the cup.
Roz took a sip of her own coffee before speaking. “You’re not the only one who feels like that, you know.”
Sam looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Like what?”
“Like every decision is life or death. Like one wrong move could mean costing a life and losing someone.” Roz’s voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “It’s part of the job, but it doesn’t make it easier to handle when it happens.”
Sam studied her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “You don’t seem like the type to doubt yourself.”
Roz let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I doubt myself all the time. I just don’t let anyone see it.”
Sam tilted her head slightly, her gaze softening. “Why?”
Roz hesitated, the words catching in her throat. Finally, she said, “Because if people see doubt, they lose faith. And when you’re the one in charge, faith is everything.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of the burdens they both carried. For the first time, Roz felt like she didn’t need to defend herself, didn’t need to prove anything. Sam wasn’t judging her; she was listening.
“Guess we’re not so different after all,” Sam said finally, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Roz raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming. “Don’t get carried away, Captain. We’re still different.”
“Sure,” Sam said, her smile growing slightly. “But maybe not as much as we thought.”
Roz didn’t respond.
The quiet hum of the café’s vending machines filled the silence as Roz and Sam sat across from each other. Their table, tucked into the corner, felt like a small island in the vast sea of the hospital’s late-night stillness. Roz stirred her coffee, not because it needed it, but because it gave her something to do while the tension between them settled.
Sam leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed loosely, her eyes flicking toward the far wall as if avoiding Roz’s gaze. The tension between them wasn’t the sharp, combative kind that usually sparked when they spoke. Tonight, it was quieter, fragile, even, but still charged with something neither of them was quite ready to name.
“I’m not usually one for hospital coffee,” Sam said finally, her tone dry but not unkind. “But this isn’t half bad.”
Roz smirked, lifting her cup in mock salute. “High praise coming from you, Captain.”
Sam snorted, shaking her head. “Don’t push it, Doc.” There it was, the familiar bite of their banter. Roz felt a flicker of relief atthe exchange, but it faded just as quickly when Sam’s expression softened. Her posture, though still composed, seemed to sag slightly, as if the day’s events had finally caught up with her.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Sam said suddenly, her voice quieter now. Her eyes met Roz’s, the weight behind them unmistakable. “Stand there, day after day, with people’s lives in your hands. Knowing that one mistake, one misstep, could…” She trailed off, her jaw tightening.
Roz set her cup down, her hands resting lightly on the table. “You’re in the business of saving lives too, Sam. You understand the stakes just as well as I do.”
Sam let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking her head. “It’s not the same. Out there, I can see it. The fire, the debris, I can control it, at least most of the time. But when it’s one of my own…” Her voice faltered, and she looked away. “When it’s Ben or someone else on my team, it feels different. Like I should’ve been able to stop it before it ever got that far.”
Roz studied her for a moment, her green eyes narrowing slightly. “You blame yourself.”
Sam didn’t answer right away, but the flicker of pain in her expression was answer enough. “They trust me to lead them,” she said finally.
Roz leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on the table. “Believe it or not, I know what that’s like.”
Sam’s eyes flicked up, her expression skeptical but curious. “You? Miss Perfect?’”
Roz’s smirk was faint, almost self-deprecating. “Do you think it’s easy being a Harrington? Walking into every room knowing that people expect you to be perfect because of your name? I’ve spent my entire career fighting to prove I deserve to be here. One mistake, and it wouldn’t just be me they’d judge, it’d be my entire family legacy.”
Sam tilted her head slightly, her sharp gaze softening as she leaned in a little. “That sounds…lonely.”
Roz hesitated, her fingers tightening around her cup. “It is,” she admitted. “Sometimes. But it’s what I signed up for.”
“You make it sound like a choice,” Sam said, her voice gentler now.
