𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑆𝑢𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑜𝑛-𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒜𝓇𝓉𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒟ℴ𝒹𝑔ℯ𝓇//ʲᵃᶜᵏ ᵈᵃʷᵏⁱⁿˢ

𝙴𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗

𝐴 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑦𝑒， 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑦， 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑎 𝑑𝑎𝑚𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑘．

𝑀𝐽𝑇

𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀-𝑹𝑶𝑺𝑬

Leaning over the sink of the small bathroom, I try and settle the distaste from my throat. I've been heaving for the past few minutes, and had barely made it home when my stomach flipped from unsettled to a very much uncomfortable churning sensation. Apparently that stew last night wasn't the best idea and had in fact been not as tasty as I thought because I did have it a later than the others and it probably had been sitting for far too long.

As another gag climbs up my throat, there's a knock at the door.

"Rose?" Trying to swallow the bile rising, I shut the lid and stand, scrubbing my mouth with a nearby towel.

Rushing out from the bathroom, I hurry to the front door, stepping over a few of the toys one of the boys and Daisy must have left out this morning. "Hetty, hi," I greet in a little shock. Leaning on the door, I focus on her rather than the continuous twisting in my stomach. "What can I do for you?"

Suddenly Hetty heaves onto my arm, jolting me, and my stomach forwards making the queasiness return. "Jack has requested for you to join him in the theatre, somethings happened, and it's urgent."

Stumbling to keep up with her antic pace to the point where I have to practically jog to be at the same level as her, I'm worried my dinner would catch up to me. "What kind of urgency?"

"The kind of urgency where he needs you urgently," she tugs me through all the corridors and down the stairs, racing down the cobbled street way and through the hospital doors.

"Jack?" Venturing through the heavy theatre doors, the first thing noticed is the blood splatter along the white sheet covering the wooden surgery bench.

Continuing on through, I notice the mop of blonde hair sticking out from the window of the viewing study. I ignore the eerie feeling settling in my torso, or maybe it was that stew that won't leave me alone, or quite possibly both. "Jack?"

His head was in his hands, his fingers threaded in his hair and his elbows on his knees as he was slumped over the chair. "Hey, Mary."

"Hetty said it was urgent," taking a seat on the pulled out wooden chair in front of him, I turn my head to face him. "Was I too late, did I miss it?"

No answer. He stayed in his hunched over position and of it weren't for the small rise and fall of his chest, I'd have thought he was frozen still.

"What happened?"

Still no answer.

It worried me, he always had an answer, he was always the first to speak.

"The professor was drinking again," my heart skipped a beat, and not in a good way. Ever since the professor broke his sober streak, his loss tally had been increasing on the daily, then he'd blame every death on Jack, even Sneed did. Sneed who was supposed to be Jack's friend, somebody who used to look up to Jack with pride, about six months ago at the whisper of a promotion in the hospital, that pride turned into jealously and the friendship was thrown away instantly.

"He took over, didn't he?"

"He was as drunk as a damned horse," tugging at the strands of his hair, he began to explain tilting himself forwards in his chair. "When he stumbled into the theatre, he tried to take over. When I refused, he threatened my career—I couldn't do that."

Reaching out, I offer a comforting hand on top of his.

"He cut into the femoral artery, it was just a routine popliteal aneurysm procedure. He would've walked out if I'd just hurried up and done it without the professor," Jack began to trace his hand through his hair, fretting over something he had no control over, nor say.

He was a worrier, somebody who blamed themselves for everything they couldn't have prevented. Jack is someone who takes things to heart, no matter how many times he denies it.

"Jack, look at me," kneeling in front of him, Mary-Rose wrapped a hand around his knee, her own body dropping to the floor that beside his. "This wasn't your fault."

He snaps his gaze to hers, his beautiful soul brown eyes flooded with tears. "Then how come I feel like this? How come he could've walked out of here a free man, with nothing more than a few scars?"

"Jackson, please, just listen to me," clasping both of his hands, she could feel the weight of his day on her own shoulders as his brown gaze properly meets her own. She wished she could remove this burden he seems to carry each day. "By any means you had no control, that—that bastard shouldn't be allowed back in here. He should have his license removed, permanently."

"He threatened my career, he threatened all of us," he shook his head, biting his bottom lip. "If I'd have just continued on, if I'd just—"

Pressing her finger tip to his lips, she hushed him. "This wasn't your fault—like you said, he threatened your career, your family. You did the right thing, it just ended terribly."

"I don't deserve you, Rose."

She smiles sadly. "You deserve so much more."