The pediatric wing of St. Aurora Medical Center never truly slept.
Even at 1:17 AM, tiny footsteps echoed through hallways painted with faded cartoon animals. Monitors beeped softly behind closed doors while exhausted parents slept awkwardly in plastic chairs beside hospital beds.
Outside, rain poured endlessly over the city.
Inside, Darrell Woods adjusted the sleeves of her scrub jacket while scanning patient files on her tablet.
Tonight was her first shift after transferring to pediatric medicine.
And already, everyone seemed nervous around her.
Not because she was rude.
Because she was too composed.
Tonight’s look was practical but stylish even during a hospital shift:
· Fitted deep-blue pediatric scrubs with a cropped charcoal zip-up hoodie.
· White cushioned running shoes with silver detailing.
· Soft peach-toned makeup with thin eyeliner and glossy nude lips.
· Dark brown hair styled into a sleek braided ponytail.
· Silver star- shaped earrings.
· Pastel claw clip attached to her ID lace.
· Thin bracelets hidden beneath her sleeves.
“She’s the new pediatric doctor?”
“She looks like she belongs in fashion school.”
“No, seriously, I heard she handled three emergency seizures alone during residency.”
Darrell ignored the whispers.
She walked into the pediatric emergency department calmly, coffee in hand.
That was when she first saw him.
Matt Collins.
Head pediatric surgeon.
Hospital favourite.
Impossible to impress.
He stood near the nurses’ station reviewing scans with tired concentration. His dark green surgical scrubs were slightly wrinkled from hours in the OR, sleeves pushed to his forearms.
Tonight he looked exhausted:
· Dark green scrubs beneath a black compression jacket.
· Black medical clogs.
· Silver watch.
· Messy dark hair falling over his forehead.
· Faint eye bags from too many overnight surgeries.
But despite the exhaustion, there was something sharp about him.
Controlled.
Quiet.
Dangerously observant.
He glanced up when Darrell approached.
“You’re Dr. Woods.”
“You’re staring.”
A nearby nurse almost dropped her clipboard.
Matt blinked once before the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
“So the rumors are true.”
“What rumors?”
“That you’re difficult.”
Darrell took a sip of coffee. “Only with people who deserve it.”
Before Matt could respond-
“CODE BLUE! PEDIATRIC ROOM FIVE!”
Everything changed instantly.
Coffee forgotten.
Conversations dead.
Doctors and nurses rushed down the hallway.
Darrell reached the room first.
A little boy around eight years old lay unconscious on the bed while alarms screamed through the room. His mother was crying hysterically neat the doorway.
“No pulse!”
“Start compressions now!”
The atmosphere became pure chaos.
Darrell climbed onto the bedside immediately, beginning CPR with terrifying focus.
“One, two, three, four-“
Matt entered seconds later, taking over directions instantly.
“Prepare epinephrine.”
“Oxygen levels dropping!”
“Charging paddles!”
The little boy’s body looked painfully small beneath the wires and hospital blanket.
Darrell’s jaw tightened.
Pediatric cases always hurt differently.
Especially code blues.
Sweat gathered near her hairline as compressions continued.
“Again!”
The monitor remained flat.
The mother sobbed harder.
Matt’s voice stayed calm despite the pressure. ”Clear!”
The shock jolted through the child’s body.
Nothing.
Another round.
Another shock.
Then-
Beep.
A weak rhythm appeared on the monitor.
Everyone froze.
Then another heartbeat followed.
And another.
“We have pulse,” Griffin said quietly.
The room finally breathed again.
Darrell stepped back slowly, chest rising heavily from exhaustion. Her braid had loosened, strands of hair framing her face while her lip gloss had faded completely.
Matt looked at her differently now.
Not like a transfer doctor.
Like someone capable of surviving this world beside him.
-
Hours later, the pediatric floor finally became quieter.
Rain tapped softly against the cafeteria windows while sleepy nurses wandered toward vending machines for caffeine.
Darrell sat alone at a corner table eating cold instant ramen from the cafeteria night menu.
Her second outfit of the chapter was much softer after changing out of emergency scrubs:
· Oversized cream sweatshirt over black biker shorts.
· Fluffy white socks with platform sneakers.
· Minimal makeup after washing her face clean.
· Loose wavy hair clipped halfway up with a pearl butterfly clip.
· Tiny moon necklace resting against her collarbone.
“You eat ramen after every code blue?”
Matt sat across from her holding two coffees.
He’d changed too:
· Black long-sleeve thermal shirt.
· Gray joggers.
· Dark sneakers.
· Reading glasses resting in his collar.
Darrell raised an eyebrow. ”Do you interrogate every coworker at three in the morning?”
“Only the interesting ones.”
The tension between them was subtle.
New.
Curious.
Then-
Tiny footsteps.
“Daddy…”
Both doctors looked up immediately.
Alice Collins stood sleepily near the cafeteria doorway clutching a stuffed bunny.
Five years old.
Tiny.
Fragile.
Her cheeks looked pale beneath the fluorescent lightning.
Alice had inherited a mild heart condition at birth, something Matt monitored obsessively ever since his wife left shortly after Alice was born.
Tonight Alice wore:
· Oversized lavender hoodie with cartoon clouds.
· Black leggings.
· Tiny light-up sneakers.
· Curly hair in messy pigtails with glitter star clips.
Matt’s entire expression softened instantly.
“What are you doing awake, bug?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Alice rubbed her eyes before noticing Darrell.
Unlike most children meeting new adults, Alice walked directly toward her without hesitation.
“You’re pretty.”
Darrell nearly choked on her coffee.
Matt actually laughed quietly for the first time all night.
Alice pointed toward Darrell’s butterfly hair clip.
“I like sparkles.”
Without thinking, Darrell removed the clip and gently attached it into Alice’s tiny curls.
Alice gasped dramatically.
“Daddy look!”
Matt watched silently.
Something in his chest tightened unexpectedly.
Because most people saw his daughter as fragile.
A medical condition.
A responsibility.
But Darrell looked at Alice like she was simply a child.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
And somehow, in the middle of a storm-filled hospital night-
That mattered more than either of them realized.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the pediatric wing, turning the white hospital halls gold instead of cold.
For once, St. Aurora Medical Centre looked peaceful.
The peace lasted exactly four minutes.
“Where is Dr. Woods?”
“She stole my patient.”
“I did not steal your patient,” Darrell Woods replied while signing paperwork. “I saved your patient from being prescribed antibiotics for a stomach virus.”
The intern looked offended.
Darrell looked unimpressed.
Today’s daytime outfit was softer than last night’s emergency- shift look:
© Fitted sage-green scrubs with rolled sleeves.
© Cropped white zip jacket.
© Chunky white sneakers with mint detailing.
© Glossy peach makeup with subtle shimmer on the eyes.
© Hair styled into a high messy bun with loose curls framing her face.
© Jade hairpins tucked into the bun.
© Silver rings and a pastel green smartwatch.
The pediatric nurses had already started secretly admiring her outfits.
“She somehow makes scrubs look expensive.”
“She somehow makes eye bags look attractive.”
Darrell ignored both comments while reviewing a child’s chart.
That was when Matt Collins appeared beside her holding coffee.
“You scared two interns before 9 AM.”
“They survived.”
“Barely.”
Matt handed her a coffee anyway.
Dark roast.
No sugar.
Darrell looked at the cup suspiciously. “How do you know my order?”
“You rejected the cafeteria coffee this morning and called it ‘burnt bean soup”’.
A pause.
Then Darrell quietly admitted, “Fair observation”.
Matt smiled instantly.
Dangerous again.
Today he looked far less exhausted than the night before:
ÞNavy- blue surgical scrubs beneath a fitted black-jacket.
ÞGray running shoes.
ÞSilver chain around his neck.
ÞDark hair slightly styled instead of chaotic.
ÞBlack watch on his wrist.
Unfortunately for both of them, the pediatric department noticed everything.
Especially chemistry.
“Oh my God,” one nurse whispered. “The trauma doctor and the surgeon are flirting.”
“They’re arguing.”
“In hospital language, that is flirting.”
-
By noon, the pediatric floor became louder.
Cartoons played from patient rooms. Nurses rushed between stations. Children cried over medicine while parents negotiated with bribery and apple juice.
Darrell finally entered Room 214 carrying stickers and a tablet.
A six-year old patient immediately pointed at her.
“You look like a superhero.”
Darrell blinked once.
“I do?”
“Yeah. Cool shoes.”
She looked down at her sneakers seriously. “You have excellent taste.”
The child giggled.
From the doorway, Matt watched the interaction quietly.
Most doctors on the pediatric floor were kind.
But Darrell was different.
Children trusted her unusually fast.
Like they sensed she would protect them no matter what.
Then suddenly-
A monitor alarm screamed down the hallway.
Every doctor nearby snapped into focus instantly.
“Room 301!”
Matt and Darrell ran together.
Inside, a young patient struggled to breathe while nurses adjusted oxygen levels rapidly.
“Heart rate climbing!”
“Move.”
Darrell reached the bedside immediately while Matt checked the monitor.
The room moved quickly around them.
Orders.
Machines.
Footsteps.
Panic.
But somehow, between all the chaos, they worked together seamlessly.
Like they had done this for years instead of days.
“Vitals stabilizing,” a nurse finally breathed.
Everyone relaxed slightly.
Darrell stepped back, exhaling quietly.
That was when she noticed Matt staring at her again.
“You do that often,” she said.
“What?”
“Stare.”
“You notice often.”
Before she could respond-
Tiny running footsteps echoed through the hallway.
Then came a familiar voice.
“Daddy!”
Alice Collins burst into the room wearing a tiny hospital visitor badge around her neck.
Behind her, an exhausted nanny looked horrified.
“Sorry, Dr. Collins, she escaped the lounge again-“
Alice ignored everyone and ran directly toward Matt before noticing Darrell.
Instant betrayal.
She immediately switched directions.
“Darrell!”
The entire nursing staff froze.
“She calls her Darrell already?”
“It’s been one day.”
Alice hugged Darrell’s leg dramatically.
Today Alice looked adorable enough to destroy hospital productivity-
© Oversized yellow sweater with tiny embroidered strawberries.
© Denim skirt over black leggings.
© Glitter sneakers.
© Curly hair tied into two puff ponytails with sunflower clips.
© Tiny charm bracelet around her wrist.
Darrell crouched slightly. ”Shouldn’t you be resting?”
Alice whispered loudly, “Daddy makes broccoli.”
Matt looked offended. “Vegetables are not abuse.”
“They are to me.”
Darrell failed to hide her laugh.
Matt stared for a second too long again.
And unfortunately, several nurses witnessed it.
“Oh, they’re doomed,” one whispered.
“Absolutely doomed.”
-
Later that evening, rain returned to the city.
Darrell stood alone on the pediatric balcony outside the break room, watching ambulance lights flash below the hospital.
Her evening outfit after changing out of scrubs felt more relaxed:
© Black fitted turtleneck.
© Oversized plaid jacket.
© Dark skinny jeans.
© Heeled ankle boots.
© Darker makeup with smudged eyeliner.
© Hair left loose in soft waves.
© Silver moon earrings.
The balcony door opened behind her.
“You disappear a lot,” Matt said quietly.
Darrell leaned against the railing. “I like silence.”
“Funny career choice them.”
He stood beside her.
Close enough to feel warm.
Far enough to remain careful.
For a while, neither spoke.
Only rain filled the silence.
Then Matt finally said, “Alice likes you.”
Darrell looked out over the city lights. “Kids usually decide fast whether they trust someone.”
“She doesn’t trust many people.”
There was something heavier beneath his voice now.
Something tired.
Darrell glanced at him carefully. “You worry about her constantly.”
“I’m her father. That’s my job.”
“No,” Darrell said softly. “You’re scared.”
Matt looked at her sharply.
Because she was right.
Alice’s heart condition was mild, manageable even.
But after his wife left right after Alice’s birth, fear became permanent.
Every cough.
Every fever.
Every skipped heartbeat.
He carried all of it alone.
And somehow, after only two days-
Darrell already noticed.
TO BE CONTINUED…
The pediatric wing was unusually quiet for a Friday afternoon.
Too quiet.
Which usually meant chaos was waiting around the corner.
Darrell Woods walked through the hallway balancing three patient charts, iced coffee, and absolutely no patience for unnecessary conversation.
Today’s outfit looked effortlessly polished despite the long shift:
© Lavender pediatric scrubs with fitted white long sleeve underneath.
© Light gray running shoes with lilac accents.
© Soft pink makeup with glossy lips and feathered eyeliner.
© Dark hair styled into a bubble braid ponytail.
© Tiny silver butterfly earrings.
© Pastel purple claw clip attached to her pocket.
© Delicate layered bracelets.
Several nurses stand as she passed.
“How does she look awake?”
“I’m starting to think she’s medically powered by caffeine and intimidation.”
Darrell heard both comments.
She chose violence through silence.
At the nurses’ station, Matt Collins stood reviewing surgical reports while rubbing exhaustion from his eyes.
He looked worse than usual today.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Dark circles shadowed beneath his eyes, and his jaw stayed tense like he hadn’t relaxed in days.
Today he wore :
ÞDark blue surgical scrubs.
ÞCharcoal zip-up jacket pushed to his elboes.
ÞBlack sneakers.
ÞSilver watch.
ÞSlightly messy hair from repeatedly running his hands through it.
Darrell placed a coffee beside him.
“You look terrible.”
Matt accepted the coffee immediately.
“Good morning to you too.”
“it’s three in the afternoon.”
“Exactly.”
Before Darrell could reply, a nurse hurried toward them.
“Dr. Woods, Rom 312 needs you.”
Matt’s expression changed instantly.
Subtle.
But noticeable.
Darrell caught it immediately.
“What’s in 312?”
The nurse hesitated. “New admission. Eight – year- old cardiac observation.”
Matt looked away first.
Interesting.
-
Room 312 felt quieter than the rest of the pediatric floor.
Inside, a small boy slept peacefully beneath dinosaur blankets while monitors beeped softly beside him.
And sitting neat the bed-
Was his father.
He looked young. Maybe early thirties.
Exhausted eyes.
Wrinkled hoodie.
Coffee- stained jeans.
The kind that sleep couldn’t fix.
The man immediately stood when Darrell entered.
“Is my son okay?”
Darrell softened slightly.
Not everyone noticed, but parents always did.
“he’s stable,” she reassured gently. “We’re monitoring his heart rhythm overnight.”
The father nodded, but worry still consumed his face.
“I just-“ He stopped, exhausted. “I didn’t know who else to bring him to.”
Darrell checked the monitors carefully before crouching slightly near the child.
“Hey, Lucas,” she said softly. “Can you hear me?”
The boy blinked awake slowly.
His tiny voice came out sleepy. “Are you a real doctor?”
Darrell looked serious. “Unfortunately.”
Lucas giggled weakly.
From the doorway, Matt watched silently.
He wasn’t supposed to stop there.
He told himself that twice.
But something about Room 312 always made him pause.
Because years ago-
He had sat in a hospital room exactly like this holding newborn Alice Collins while doctors explained her heart condition.
And hours later, his wife left.
Just like that.
No dramatic fight.
No screaming.
Only fear.
She said she couldn’t live every day terrified something would happen to Alice.
So Matt stayed.
Alone.
Darrell glanced toward the doorway, noticing him immediately.
“You planning to stand there all day.”
Matt crossed his arms. “You looked busy.”
“You’re staring again.”
“You’re observant again.”
Lucas looked between them curiously.
“Are you married?”
Both doctors answered instantly.
“No.”
The child frowned dramatically. “You should be.”
The silence afterward nearly killed the nurse standing outside.
-
By evening, the pediatric floor became busier again.
Darrell finally escaped to the staff lounge carrying instant ramen and a yogurt drink.
Her after – shift outfit looked cozy compared to her earlier professional look:
© Oversized cream knit sweater falling off one shoulder.
© Black flared jeans.
© Chunky beige sneakers.
© Soft brown makeup with smudged mascara from exhaustion.
© Loose curls clipped halfway back with pearl pins.
© Heart- shaped necklace resting against her collarbone.
She had exactly twelve peaceful seconds before Matt entered.
“You disappeared every time paperwork appears.”
Darrell pointed chopsticks at him. “And yet you still find me.”
Matt stole one of her Fish cake without permission.
Bold.
Dangerous behaviour.
“You look less homicidal today, “he noted.
“I had caffeine.”
“That explains it.”
Before Darrell could threaten him verbally, the lounge door burst open dramatically.
“DARRELL!”
Tiny footsteps followed immediately.
Alice Collins ran inside holding coloring books almost bigger than herself.
Behind her, a nurse looked exhausted. “She escaped pediatric daycare again.”
Alice proudly ignored this information.
Today she wore :
© Oversized mint- green hoodie with tiny clouds.
© Pink leggings.
© Rainbow sneakers with flashing lights.
© Curly hair in braided pigtails tied with heart clips.
© Tiny cardigan hanging halfway off one shoulder.
She climbed directly beside Darrell like it was routine already.
Matt sighed. “I’m starting to think she likes you more than me.”
Alice gasped dramatically. “Daddy , don’t be jealous.”
Darrell nearly laughed into her ramen.
Alice suddenly looked at Matt seriously. “Did you eat lunch today?”
Matt blinked once.
Darrell smirked immediately.
“You forgot again, didn’t you?”
“I was busy.”
Alice crossed her tiny arms. “That means no coffee for punishment.”
The nurses outside the lounge silently watched the pediatric surgeon- one of the most feared men in the hospital- lose an argument to a five- year old.
Darrell rested her chin against her hand, clearly entertained now.
And for the first time in weeks-
Matt laughed properly.
Not forced.
Not polite.
Real.
The sound caught Darrell off guard.
Because beneath the exhaustion, stress , and constant pressure…
Ha suddenly looked lighter.
Human.
And somehow, that was far more dangerous than the cold surgeon everyone feared.
TO BE CONTIUED…
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