location: medical center, hospital
open: for anyone (0/4) @sedonastart
Viv's halfway through another paper cup of truly terrible coffee when the doors slide open again. Sheâs standing at the ER desk, one hip braced against the counter, fingers wrapped tightly around the cup like itâs a hand warmer instead of a beverage. The fluorescent lights hum overhead. Somewhere down the hall a monitor beeps in a rhythm sheâs already catalogued and dismissed as stable. Her hair is pulled back, loose strands escaping at her temples, scrubs wrinkled in the way that says sheâs been here longer than her shift was ever meant to last.
âGive me two minutes,â she says calmly, not to anyone in particular. Itâs the same tone she uses for panicked families and overconfident interns. It's steady, almost gentle, with no room for argument. She finishes the coffee despite the face it makes her pull, then tosses the cup into the trash like a small act of defiance.
Only then does she glance up. Her expression softens into something polite but reserved, a half-smile that doesnât quite reach her eyes. Thereâs a faint smudge of something unidentifiable on her sleeve. Iodine, maybe? Or coffee? Or both. She wipes at it absently and shifts her weight, fully present now.
âOkay,â Vivian says. âWhatâve we got?â Itâs an opening she offers without flourish, without pressure. An invitation that could mean anything. A patient rolling in on a gurney. A familiar face who shouldnât be here this late. A stranger who looks like theyâre about to fall apart. Whatever it is, sheâs ready, shoulders squared, voice steady, already making room for the mess. Because she has to. That's her job.