Page 4 of Vital Signs
I stepped back from the table and nearly misjudged the distance, my heel catching on the edge of the mat. Dr. Vaughn was thereinstantly, a steady presence at my back, his hand hovering just shy of my elbow again.
The adrenaline was still singing in my bloodstream, sharp and electric; my hands faintly trembling now that there was nothing left to hold together. We had stabilized, transferred, and charted the patient. The chaos had drained out of the trauma bay, leaving just fluorescent light and the echo of everything that had almost gone wrong.
He pulled off his gloves slowly as if he wasn’t in a rush to rejoin the world. He’d walked me through the whole thing — low voice at my shoulder, steady and unflinching.
“You’re good.”
“Breathe.”
“Trust your hands.”
Every instruction had felt less like supervision and more like alignment. Like we were moving in the same current.
He stepped closer to toss his gloves, and I felt it again — that disorienting awareness of how large he was in a small space. Tall enough that the overhead lights caught in the dark scruff along his jaw. Broad enough that when he stood beside me, the room seemed to reorganize around him. “Are you alright?” He asked, head tilted as he watched me waver.
His shoulders filled out the navy of his uniform, fabric stretched across muscle earned from lifting bodies and carrying weight without complaint. There was a faint sheen of sweat at his temples, a strand of greying hair falling loose across his forehead.
I managed a nod.
He looked serious. He always looked serious. But up close, it wasn’t hardness. It was focus. The kind that wrapped around you instead of cutting. “You did good, Dr. Volkov,” he said quietly. “It’s over. You're done.”
Done. The word landed strangely and hollow. My pulse was still racing, my skin too tight, my thoughts foggy around the edges for aword likedone. The room felt too bright now, too loud, like my senses hadn't caught up with reality yet.
I exhaled, slow and shaky. My knees felt unreliable.
Vaughn angled his body just enough to block the doorway, not trapping me, just… creating space. His voice dropped, gentler now, meant only for me.
“That’d be the adrenaline crash,” he said, lips turned up in a gentle smile. “Perfectly normal.”
I nodded, though I wasn't sure I trusted myself to speak. My fingers curled reflexively, like they were still holding forceps.
“You did very well,” he added, and this time there was no urgency in it. No command, just quiet praise.
Something about that — about being seen after the fact, not during — made my throat tighten. I pressed my lips together and focused on breathing, on not swaying.
He waited. Didn't rush me. Didn't fill the silence. He just stayed close enough that I could feel the warmth of him beside me, solid and real.
After a moment, he said, almost casually, “Give it thirty seconds. Then walk. Not before.”
I followed his instructions without thinking. Of course I did. When I finally looked up at him, his expression was careful, controlled, but his eyes were still on me in that steady way that made my chest ache.
“There she is,” he murmured.
The adrenaline had burned off, but the awareness hadn't. If anything, it was sharper now. Quieter. More dangerous.
He steered me toward the sink with the lightest pressure at my back, not quite a touch, but close enough that I felt guided. The stainless steel was cool under my palms when I braced myself there, head bowed, breathing finally normalizing.
“Wash your hands,” he said, already turning on the tap. He waited until the stream ran cold, then angled it just right. “Take a beat, Doctor Volkov.”
I rinsed my hands, watching diluted soap spiral down the drain. My fingers were still trembling uncontrollably. I hated that part. Hated how visible it felt.
Dr. Vaughn noticed anyway. Ofcoursehe did.
“Hey,” he said quietly. Not a command this time, just enough to grab my attention. “You're allowed to feel it now.”
I swallowed and nodded, focusing on the sensation of the water, the grounding cold. He handed me a towel without looking at me directly, as if he justkneweye contact might be too much just yet.
“Drink,” he added, nudging a cup toward me.
