Page 2 of Dr. Roz Harrington
1
SAM
Sam pushed open the heavy doors of Firehouse 27, the familiar scent of coffee, smoke, and faintly lingering cleaning supplies greeting her. The usual hum of activity was already underway, Jack Mitchell was at the kitchen counter brewing his usual industrial-strength coffee, while Ben Morales sat cross-legged on the worn leather couch, flipping through a medical manual he had no doubt brought to impress someone.
“Morning, Cap,” Jack said without looking up, his deep voice laced with dry humor. “Or should I say afternoon? Heard you pulled an all-nighter saving the world. What’s it like being a hero?”
Sam rolled her eyes, setting her helmet and gear down with a thud. “Wouldn’t know. Just doing my job, Jack.”
Ben perked up like a puppy catching sight of a treat. “You were at the building collapse, right? Man, that sounded intense. How many did you pull out? Were there?—”
“Ben,” Sam cut him off gently but firmly. “Take a breath.”
He grinned sheepishly but leaned forward, clearly not planning to back down entirely. “Okay, but seriously, how was it? I mean, I heard Harrington Memorial handled the traumacases. Did you see any of the big shots over there? Like, who worked on that girl they pulled out?”
Sam tensed slightly at the mention of Lila. Her mind flashed to the young woman’s pale face, the fragile strength in her voice as she clung to consciousness. “Her name’s Lila,” she said, her voice softer now. “And yeah, Harrington Memorial handled it.”
Jack turned, holding out a steaming mug of coffee like a peace offering. “Don’t let him badger you, Cap. You know Ben’s just waiting to hear about some Hollywood-style heroics. Did a helicopter swoop in? Was there slow-motion debris falling around you?”
Ben groaned, throwing a couch pillow at him. “You’re the worst.”
Sam chuckled despite herself and accepted the coffee. “No helicopters. No slow-mo. Just a lot of hard work and a good team.”
“Anything on the hospital side?” Ben pressed, his curiosity refusing to die. “Like, who’s the best they’ve got over there? I heard that neurosurgeon—what’s her name? Harrington?—is a bit of a legend.”
Sam froze for a moment, the image of Roz Harrington striding into the ER flashing unbidden in her mind. Roz with her piercing green eyes, her choppy pink hair, and her razor-sharp confidence that both impressed and irritated Sam. She shook her head, brushing the thought aside.
“They were competent,” she said simply, taking a sip of her coffee. “Did their jobs.”
Jack raised an eyebrow at her clipped tone but didn’t press. “Well, sounds like you did too. Another day, another life saved.”
Ben leaned back, finally conceding. “Still sounds pretty badass to me.”
Sam smiled faintly and glanced around the firehouse. The familiar buzz of the place, the easy camaraderie, and the order oftheir routine felt grounding. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of the collapse and the hospital. But even as she settled into the rhythm of the firehouse, her mind couldn’t quite let go of Lila or the striking, infuriating surgeon who had taken over her care.
Later that morning, Sam retreated to the small office tucked away in the corner of the firehouse. The room was sparsely decorated, practical like everything else about her, just a sturdy desk, a bulletin board cluttered with shift schedules, and a chair that creaked when she leaned back. She closed the door, welcoming the temporary solitude as she let out a deep breath.
Her coffee mug sat untouched on the desk, steam curling lazily in the air. She stared at it, but her mind wasn’t in the room. It was back in the rubble, back with Lila. The young woman’s face lingered vividly in her memory, pale and streaked with blood, her voice shaking as she tried to hold on to consciousness.
“You’re going to have a lot more stories to draw, Lila,” Sam had said to her, gripping her hand tightly. The words had been meant to comfort, but they felt like a promise Sam wasn’t sure she could keep.
She ran a hand through her short hair, sighing. Lila had been so vulnerable, so scared, and yet so determined to survive. Sam had felt it in the way she clung to her words, the way she’d tried to smile even through the pain. It wasn’t the first time she’d connected with a victim—part of her job was being a lifeline, after all—but something about Lila had stuck.
And then there was her.
Sam’s jaw tightened as she leaned back in her chair. Dr. Rosalind Harrington. The name alone was enough to stir a mix of emotions she wasn’t ready to unpack. She could still see Rozstriding into the ER, sharp green eyes cutting through the chaos, that short, choppy pink hair somehow fitting her perfectly. Roz had taken charge of Lila’s case without hesitation, her voice calm but commanding as she issued orders like she was orchestrating a symphony.
Sam’s fists clenched briefly on the desk. Commanding, yes, but also dismissive. Roz had barely acknowledged her when she’d asked about Lila, her response clinical and impersonal: “If she has a chance, I’ll find it.” It had felt like a brush-off, like Sam’s concern didn’t matter.
It had infuriated her.
But…it had also impressed her.
Sam frowned, hating the conflict brewing in her chest. Roz’s confidence was undeniable, her skill apparent in every decisive move she’d made. Watching her take control had been like witnessing a force of nature, something sharp and brilliant that demanded attention, whether you wanted to give it or not.
Still, there was no denying Roz’s methods were risky. Sam had seen enough to recognize a gamble when it was being made, and Roz had walked that line with an ease that made Sam’s stomach churn. What if she’d been wrong? What if Lila hadn’t survived? The thought sent a pang of anger and something else, something closer to fear, through her chest.
She sighed again, scrubbing a hand over her face. She didn’t know why Roz bothered her so much. Maybe it was the way she’d taken over, leaving Sam feeling sidelined in a situation she cared so deeply about. Or maybe it was something harder to admit, the way Roz’s sharp edges and quiet brilliance had caught her attention, lingering in her mind long after they’d parted ways.
