Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1
*BEEP BEEP BEEP*
Sara’s hand shoots out from under her sheets, fumbling to silence the unwelcome interruption of her already inadequate sleep. After a few tries, she finally manages to find her target. With the alarm quiet once more, the short blonde burrows back into her warm bed.
“LANCE! GET YOUR ASS OUT OF BED!” She groans at her roommate’s demand. She rolls over and crushes her pillow over her ear. She hears the doorknob turn, and a dull thud follows.
“I swear, Sara, I will drag you out of that bed. You can’t hide in here anymore!” Knowing how persistent her roommate is, she slowly removes the pillow from her head and blearily opens her eyes to see a figure staring down at her with her arms crossed. Her long dark hair is pulled back from her face in a ponytail, and she is wearing a white, long sleeved shirt with jeans and white tennis shoes. ‘I’d like to see her try,’ she thinks, smirking at the thought as she observes her small annoying friend.
“It’s your first day back. Do not make both of us late. Get up!” The dark-haired woman briskly walks over to her dresser and pulls open a drawer, rummaging around and moving on to the next until she collects all of her findings. Sara doesn’t even have time to fully wake up before she gets smacked with a bunch of fabric. She peels it off her face, noticing the last object was a lacy pink thong.
“I don’t think pink is really my color, Z.” Sara knows for a fact that those are not hers. Now, who they belonged to would be from a long list of random hook-ups and one-night stands.
Z, short for Zari, blushes as the short blonde raises it with a questioning look. “Well, if you didn’t just throw all of your underwear in a ball together, then maybe I wouldn’t have grabbed those by accident!” Sara’s grin grows as she sees her friend getting flustered, shaking her head in fond exasperation, and heading for the door. “Five minutes, Sara, or I will pour the coffee down the drain and you can drink that hospital crap.” The thong flies through the air, missing Zari by inches in her retreat.
She groans and rubs the sleep from her eyes, wincing as the pressure agitates her left hand. Sighing, she holds it up and flexes it, remembering her doctor’s words.
She waited on the exam table, staring out the window at the distant glistening waters of the Hudson River, which served as a distraction from her rising panic. For anyone else, the quaint room with blue walls and framed children’s drawings would be pleasant, but to her the room was tiny and suffocating. She could barely think. But she knew she needed to be here. It was her first stop back in the States, and her medical transport wanted her to get checked out by an orthopedic physician. She continued to stare out the window, but she inevitably began to lose control of her breathing. ‘Fuck,’ she thought as she closed her eyes, squeezing her hands tightly. Just as her breathing began to completely spiral out of control, the doctor entered the room. Her doctor’s fortunate timing provided an anchor, and she managed to open her eyes.
“Hello, Ms. Lan— oh I guess I should say Dr. Lance. Or is it Captain Lance?” There was a pause as the doctor waited for a reply from her silent form, but apparently she took too long to compose herself, because the doctor simply went on to introduce herself, “I’m Doctor Young. Your chart says you suffered a crush injury to your left hand?”
She conceded a small nod of acknowledgment but didn’t look away from the window. She was listening, but talking seemed like a tremendous effort.
“Based on Dr. Tomaz’s reports and the scans from earlier today, you are looking at a difficult and long recovery. We can perform surgery tomorrow for your broken metacarpals. Your second through fifth metacarpal has varying amounts of damage, and your second and third proximal have small fractures. The surgery will take some time, but we hope to keep it as minimally invasive as possible. The hand still has major swelling and bruising which adds a little more of a challenge. We will place rods…” She tried her best to listen but began zoning out around the ‘minimally invasive’ part until she had fully withdrawn into herself.
She was a surgeon. She knew the odds. The way Zari looked at her in the Combat Support Hospital told her all she needed to know. Her medical career was shot. Done. Ealaa. She would be lucky to ever be able to use her hand for simple tasks, let alone hold and use a scalpel. Sara noticed that the doctor had stopped talking. Glancing back, she saw the doctor studying her. Her expression differed from what she was used to. This one didn’t have pity or sadness. The analytical eyes had the look of someone trying to figure out a puzzle, with the faint glimpse of hope sparkling in them.
Shaking away the memory, she leaves the warmth of her bed, quickly stripping down in her small bathroom. She avoids looking in the mirror as she quickly dons the white T-shirt and jeans Zari picked out for her and sweeps her hair into a ponytail. Against her word, Zari had left her signature Arabic coffee waiting for her on the countertop, the fresh, earthy aroma rejuvenating her for her shift. She pours it into a thermos and follows the sound of impatient keys jingling. Bulky bag over her shoulder and coffee in her right hand, she smiles at her roommate’s scowl.
She moved into Zari’s two-room apartment after living with Laurel had become suffocating. Her older sister had finally come to terms with the arrangement, only because Sara allowed Zari to help her where others couldn’t. They shared the small apartment, and she enjoyed the new-found privacy that wasn’t available while she was living with her overprotective sister. Zari, however, seemed to instinctively know when she needed help, a push, or to be left alone.
She climbs into the passenger seat of Zari’s red Honda Accord, shivering from the late fall weather. Zari nods to her, pulling out of the driveway and heads to Chicago General Hospital. Amaya had been working on getting Zari to try out her music, so when Zari turns on the radio, 50’s rockability floods the car and leaves Sara alone with her thoughts. There are lots of things that have occupied her mind lately, but as she rides to work, the only thing she can think about is her upcoming shift. She’s been cleared at all levels to return to the hospital, but her gut clenches at the thought of performing any surgeries. She lets out a big sigh and catches Zari’s worried glance.
“I’m fine, Z. Just first day jitters,” she reassures her friend. Zari nods but doesn’t respond. The car pulls into the parking lot, and they gather their things as they exit the vehicle. She stands still and stares at the building that already held so much of her life. She completed her residency here and made so many memories. She brushes off the uneasiness that settles over her. ‘Stop, it's fine. Carter isn’t here anymore, so just deal with it’ she mentally scolds herself. As she walks toward where Zari is waiting for her to follow, she plasters on a tight smile and enters the building.
Rip had assured her that the first day back would likely be uneventful with the well-equipped staff. He offered her the position of Chief Trauma Surgeon, like her former mentor once held. She immediately accepted; this was her opportunity to move forward with her life. Her doubts about taking the position quelled knowing that her group of attendings were hand picked by her predecessor, Dr. Carter Hall. All of them except Zari at least. ‘He would’ve loved Zari’, she muses.
They tread through the hospital until they reach the attending physician's lounge. It’s a huge step up from the residents and interns’ locker room with large cabinets instead of lockers, couches, a private bathroom, a fridge, and a microwave to heat up meals between surgeries. Her eyebrows shoot up at the sight. Zari sees her pause and rolls her eyes.
“Well if you hadn’t delayed your return, you could’ve enjoyed the luxuries sooner,” Zari quips. Sara huffs in response and pushes past her to a cabinet with her name on it. Her cabinet has dark blue scrubs in her size which she immediately pulls out to replace with her bag. Not caring who saw, the blonde strips off her pants to pull on the scrubs. When she finishes, she pulls the matching top over her white T-shirt. As she pulls the shirt into place, a dark blonde resident barrels into the door trying to catch their breath.
“Thank God! Doctor Lance! They said you haven't picked up your pager yet. You’re needed immediately for surgery.” The resident pants in between her words. Sara is stunned but manages to reply, “Dr. Tomaz is here. She is more than capable.” Her desperate eyes meet Zari’s and sees her understanding.
The resident shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Lance. I’m under strict instructions to bring you to the OR. Chief Hunter has requested you for this case. It's a VIP patient, and he said you have the expertise for this.” She sighs as she nods in response. “Zari?” The blonde sees her close the gap before her name was finished. Grabbing the bag from the cabinet, Zari nods at the resident to lead them to the Operating Room.
All three quickly walk down the halls and past patient rooms, weaving in and out of the stream of people. The resident, who introduces herself as Kara, repeats all of the facts from the patient’s file while they make their way to the OR. According to Kara, she is a young woman with two gunshot wounds and is in critical condition. She was shot from behind, the first bullet is dangerously close to her left kidney and bleeding profusely, and the second is somewhere in the sacrolumbar region. She sighs. Two gunshot wounds on her first day back was less than ideal. To make matters even worse, the patient has very little information in her medical records. Essentially, she would be going in blind. Her and Zari exchange glances as the small doctor smiles encouragingly back and she dons her scrub cap.
As soon as the three women step into the scrub room, Sara heads to the sink to disinfect her hands and arms. “Dr. Lance, I was supposed to be in on this surgery initially. If it's alright with you, I would still like to join in.” Kara looks at the doctor with a determined gaze. The blonde shrugs and nods. Nothing wrong with another set of hands, especially considering this is her first operation since her tour. As the resident starts to scrub her limbs next to her, Zari reaches into the bag she brought with her and pulls out a metal contraption. She drenches it with sanitizer solution in another bay, making sure to cover the entire thing.
Once she finishes, Zari turns to Sara, who is holding out her scarred hand. Together they get the brace prototype on and and adjust the fit so that the pressure plates are in the correct places. Testing the function, she opens and closes her fist, savoring the temporary restoration of her motor skills. The brace had been made specially for her, to compensate for the nerve damage in her hand so that she could continue her career as a surgeon. Sara nods to Zari in thanks, and she enters the OR with Kara.
Within moments, they are both dressed in surgical gowns and head gear. Before she knows it, she is standing over the patient with a scalpel in hand. Breathing deeply, she drags the knife over the injured area, and blood rushes to spill out. “Kara, retractor. Suction, lat pads now!” At her command, the actions are carried out. It only takes a few seconds before the pads are already soaked in a pint of blood, and judging by the sheer amount and the brightness of it, she knows a major artery has been damaged. The machines blare warnings that the health status of the patient is dropping rapidly. It takes a while to locate the issue with all the blood, but finally she is able to cauterize the artery with her thermal pen. The relief from managing to stop the bleeding is immense, and Sara moves to let the nurse wipe the sweat from her brow as the smell of iron penetrates her senses, replacing the sharpe scent of antiseptics.
The loud shrill of the machines are silent and break her focus. She snaps her gaze towards the monitors to gauge the patient’s status. She was stabilizing. Taking a deep breath, her eyes momentarily flicker over to the patients face only to freeze. The face seems hauntingly familiar, especially the nose. Her eyes widen, and she is hit with a wave of nausea as she realizes that she doesn’t just know this person, she had spent the best night of her life with her before the accident.