Cassia's POV

I knew having a gun pointed at me at 2 am was an ominous sign.

Rest of my twelve hour shift was just as chaotic from ordering x-rays for fractures and then setting them in casts, seeing puking patients and some crying babies with fevers and dealing with plastered drunk college students. I've been where they at but even the thought of drinking that much at 28, now only brings me a headache.

Opening the door for the communal lounge, I take two steps before face planting myself into the trusty couch I had come to call as Bill. Bill wasn't very comfy but boy he never let me down. He is always here when I need him. Just as I close my eyes for a ten minute nap, my phone starts ringing. Groaning I reach into my scrubs pocket and fish out my phone from beneath me. I hit answer before checking the caller ID.

"Dr. Whitaker."

"Cassia are you coming for breakfast?" My mom's voice breaks through my sleep deprived brain. With great struggle I lift my head and look at the windows half covered by blinds. There is sunlight blaring through. Yes, I had made through another gruelling night and all I had to show for it was the deep bags under my eyes. I plop my head back down onto the gray cushions of Bill and make a noncommital sound into the phone against my ear.

"Use your words Cassia. I can't understand you when you don't use your words honey." My mom's voice admonishes me in that stern but loving way. Then there is clanking of metals which I'm sure are pots she is taking out for breakfast and I have to take the phone away from my ear so I don't go deaf.

Wincing from the sound assault, I wait until it is safe to bring the phone back to my ear. "Mom the shift is over but I still need to sign out and check up on all my patients." I mumble and I'm not sure if I'm making sense but she seems to understand me.

"Why don't you sign them over to another doctor and just join us for breakfast? Your sister is making pancakes." She says and I can practically smell the pancakes she's trying to lure me in with across the line.

"You don't know how good that sounds but I don't like leaving the hospital before wrapping up the treatments for the patients." It feels wrong like not completing a prescription. I like seeing the patient admitted, treated and then sent away being cured like a story unfolding before my eyes and it's probably my own OCD tendencies and desperate need for control that I don't like anyone else taking care of my patients but me.

"You put too much strain on yourself Cassia." My mom's concerned voice makes guilt unfurl in my chest. She worries too much about her two daughters and it's one of the reasons why I usually choose to drive over and stay at my mom's place instead of the small apartment I rent right next to the hospital just for the convenience. The other reason is that I'm usually too lazy to cook food for myself and my mom doesn't let me starve myself to death if I'm over there. So my tiny apartment usually sits idle, collecting dust or serves as a sleeping pod when I don't crash at the hospital.

"I'm fine mom. Don't worry. Tell Olivia to not put too much sugar into the pancake mix, your blood sugar is still too high." I say as my eyes close back involuntarily. I hear my mom's sigh of defeat either from having sugarless pancakes or not having her older daughter for another breakfast but she gives in.

"Drink a lot of water okay!"

"Yes mom." I mumble back, a tiny smile forming on my lips.

"Love you Cass. Text me when you get home safely."

"Will do mom. Love you too." Then I hit the end button on the call and just let my arm drop against my side with the phone in it.

Finally some peace and quiet. All the patients I admitted are either discharged or safely tucked in with their on going treatments and my shift is over so I'm pretty optimistic about finally getting a ten minute nap in before I have to scrape myself off of Bill. Just as I'm drifting off to sleep, the door to the on call room opens and someone enters. I almost don't want to open my eyes but when I hear a deep male chuckle, I open my left eye just a smidge.

Dr. Adam Rivera is standing there with an amused look on his face as he strolls to the coffee machine to pour himself a cup. "Rough shift?" He asks not even trying to mask his amusement. He's one of the four other emergency doctors working here with me at Hillcrest General Hospital and by the look of his fresh looking scrubs and combed hair he's here to take over for the morning shift.

"You could say that." I say as I turn around to lie on my back and put an arm across my eyes. The worst part about taking night shifts is that when it's finally over and you want to sleep, the sun is right there, blaring up the space like a cheery infant. No matter how much nightshifts scramble up my circadian rhythm, I keep taking them because then I have more time to spend with my mom and sister.

"I heard from one of the nurses that you had a gun shot come in." He says as I hear the pouring of coffee and the smell of the bitter beans hits me. "And they held you at gun point?" I can hear the concern in his voice but he doesn't need to be. For the last year that I had been working here, we have formed a camaraderie of sorts but nothing more. Male coworkers, especially in the medical field tend to get too chummy even when you don't lead them on so I try to keep my distance.

I make a 'Mhm' sound in confirmation, hoping he will drop it but he doesn't. "Why didn't you call a white code?" He asks as I hear him settle into one of the chairs across from my couch. Releasing a sigh, I sit up, giving up on my nap seeing that Adam is not going to let this go.

I rub my eyes to ease them into the blaring sunlight filtering into the room. "Even if security comes, that just turns out creating more patients to treat afterwards." I give a shrug as I lean back on the couch finally looking up at his neatly combed brown hair and clean shaven face. He's got a nice face but too put together for my like. "Besides, the patient just refused to go into the OR, we weren't really in danger."

Adam just looks at me with disbelief. "Do you hear what you're saying? You were held at gun point and say that you weren't really in danger. Are you suicidal? Should I let the department head know about this?" He asks and I hear the hint of amusement in his voice.

"Ha ha." I say in mock laughter. "Joke all you want, I'll see how you're doing with suicidal thoughts after your shift today." I say as I roll my eyes.

Adam leans back and takes a sip from his steaming cup of joe, hiding his smile behind the cup. "Don't remind me. It's flu season. I've got a long day of prescribing ibuprofens and antiemetics ahead of me."

That pulls a smile from me and I pick my phone up from the couch turning it around. The clock reads 8.15 am. My shift has ended fifteen minutes ago and I only got 2 hours of sleep in total. I can't wait to go home, shower and crash but I still have patients to check up on.

Standing up, I stretch leaving my white coat on the rack, I just pick up my stethoscope and put it around my neck. "Aren't you leaving?" Adam asks.

"Still have a few patients I need to check up on." I say as I pull out my phone and ask our floor nurse which rooms the patients have been transferred to.

"I can take those over for you if you want." Adam kindly suggests as I make my way to the door. I shake my head giving a close lipped smile in thanks.

"Have a good shift." I say as I open the door and leave. As I make my way to the patients rooms floor of the hospital, I take out the hair tie holding my hair up in a ponytail. The long curls come down as I massage my scalp giving out a sigh of bliss. I hadn't realised how much tension I had from how tight my hair was bundled up in.

I lean across the nurses station to peer down at one of the nurses I don't recognise. "Morning." She says as she smiles up at me. "Morning" I reply. I pull out my phone and check the room numbers of my patients as I ask for their charts. She hands them over to me and I look at them one by one. I ask questions to patient's respective nurses about their progress and adjust their treatment according to their lab results. After everything is in order, I thank the nurses and start going into patient rooms.

It's still pretty early in the morning but emergency room patients who require to be in-patients are usually in critical condition so they need to be closely monitored. I go through my patients, performing their physical exams and asking them questions then moving on to the next one when I'm satisfied.

The last patient I have to check up on is the one that came in with a gun shot wound. As I approach the room he's residing in, I see the two males that pointed guns at us earlier standing on the side of the door like two guards clad in suits. The bald one is easily twice my width and the splatters of blood from his previously bleeding nose is still evident on his white dress shirt. The other one is leaner with short brown hair and dark eyes. He has a tanner complexion compared to his bulky friend.

After I had set his nose, I told him I needed to put plasters inside his nostrils so that his cartilage could heal properly but he had refused. His nose had already been broken before from the looks of it and he wasn't my first patient that had refused treatment so I didn't push it.

"How's the nose?" I ask as I came to a stop in front of him, looking up at his stoic face. Up close I can see the edge of a tattoo peeking out from the side of his neck but I can't make out what it is.

"Still works." He says in a deep voice. He has an accent that I have to ponder for a minute before I realise it's russian.

"Glad to hear it." I say as my eyes slide to the door they are guarding, which has my patient behind it. "Can I go in to check on my patient or are you going to point a gun at me again?" I ask with a slight tilt to my head.

The man gives me a once over from head to toe, seeming to assess me for threats but I must pass his screening because he gives me a nod before opening the door for me. I step inside the room before closing it behind me.

I walk over to the foot of the bed and take out the patient chart. Checking the vitals written down by the nurses. I raise my head to look at him. His head is to the side and sleeping on his back, putting the chart silently back into its holder, I walk over to his side. He looks so peaceful with his black hair offset by the white hospital pillow and his light complexion. He's got a strong face and soft symmetrical lips that I remember smiling at me just a few hours ago. It feels wrong to stand here and take him in but something about his face makes me unable to look away. His black lashes and brows looks like they were drawn by charcoal with great detail. Even unconscious, and dressed in a hospital gown, he looks lethal. Like a beautiful flower poised to lure you in before devouring you. He's tall and leanly built, filling the hospital bed.

Chiding myself for ogling my unconscious patient, I look up at the monitor to see his oxygen levels, heartbeat and most recent blood pressure, all of them seem within normal limits so I take off my stethoscope before putting the bell end of it on his chest, listening to his breathing through his gown. As I'm listening, his hand snaps up and grabs my wrist, stopping my hand that is holding the stethoscope.

I turn my head to look at his face and I'm met with two icy blue eyes that seem to stare into my soul. Something in me wants to close the distance between us but I hold my ground waiting for him to speak up.

"You drugged me." He says in a gravelly voice from not using it for a couple of hours and the sound of it sends an unexpected wave of need through my body. His words are a statement not a question but I still answer.

"I did."

His eyes narrow at my admission before he lets my wrist go and I continue listening to his chest before leaning back and once again placing the stethoscope around my neck.

"Why?" He asks as his light blue eyes follow my every movement. I should feel irritated at his constant attention but it just makes my body light up with awareness. I walk to the foot of the bed and take out his chart to write down his latest vitals and physical examination findings.

"Because you weren't going to stay around if I didn't." His eyes seem to alight with something and before he can reach the wrong conclusion I add, "If I am forced to perform under unsanitary conditions, might as well administer prophylactic antibiotics so your wound doesn't get infected." I explain as I point with my pen at the IV bag hung on the side of his bed, connected to his arm.

I turn my eyes down to continue jutting down my notes as I speak. "Knocking you out was the only way I could hold you here until your treatment was finished." Then I look up at his handsome face again, right side of my mouth rising out of its own accord at seeing his displeased face. He does seem like the guy who doesn't like being blindsided. Well too bad for him, he's my patient.

"Now can you stay in bed until rest of your treatment is completed Mr. Smith or am I going to have to knock you out again?" I see the flicker of annoyance there in his eyes before it is quickly snuffed out and all trace of emotion is wiped from his face like it wasn't even there.

"Second time won't be as easy milaya." He says and there is a challenge in his eyes that makes a shiver take over my body. It doesn't matter that he has just woken up from being under the influence of heavy drugs, his eyes are as sharp as crystals with promise. I have to look elsewhere before I lose myself in those pit-less lagoons.

Gently placing down the chart in its place, I walk over to his side once again. I adjust the drip speed of the IV bag, refusing to give into the pull of him that is calling to me like a siren's song. It's like a gravitational pull, begging my eyes to drift over to him and feeling his gaze on me does nothing to alleviate that feeling.

Once I'm sure everything is as it should be, and that I can handle staring at him again, I turn to look at him. Nearly all the air from my lungs threatens to leave me. His attention on me is like a lightning bolt searing me to place, raising tiny hairs on the back of my neck. If I thought he looked handsome when he was unconscious, it's nothing compared to when he's awake.

Now there isn't enough air in the room for the both of us and it feels stuffy, unbearably hot and heavy with this sizzling energy. By some miracle, I gather my train of thought and say, "Before I go, I need to check your stitches."

I've done this thousands of times, more than I cared to count, so why does it makes me nervous all of a sudden. He doesn't say anything and I take that as initiative and close the distance between us so i'm standing flushed to his bed. His clear eyes are watching me like a shark circling the water for a drop of blood. And the thought of being devoured between his sharp teeth doesn't scare me the tiniest of bits.

"Can you lean forward Mr. Smith so I can undo your gown?" I ask. He leans forward without a word, still watching me as I lean forward to untie the bow at the back of his neck. The smell of his masculine cologne hits me with longing, still clinging to him after hours of being in the hospital.

I untie the gown and pull it down, helping out his arms through the front so he can lie back as the gown pools down his waist. When he leans back against the pillows, I can't help as my gaze travels the wide expanse of his muscled chest, and his defined abs. He looks like a statue carved out of marble and I have to zero in my gaze on the part where his abdomen is covered by bandages to stop myself from staring at him like he's the best anatomical specimen I have ever seen.

He's your patient, get a hold of yourself. My brain is calling to my logic but even then, it's a strain to act like the man half naked in front of me doesn't have a hold over me.

I take out a pair of gloves from the pocket of my scrubs and put them on. Gently pull back the bandages from his abdomen, careful not to touch him unnecessarily. His wound seems better compared to a couple hours ago. "There are no signs of inflammation at the site and the stitches seem to be holding. No infection." I say quietly, more to myself than to him. Then I apply some betadine to the area with some gauze as antiseptic. Even though there is no infection now, doesn't mean there still won't be one in the next couple of hours.

The previous bandages I removed are bloody from the blood leaking through the stitches but that's normal. There hasn't been enough time for the wound to close yet. I just replace the bandages with new ones and cover the wound up. Taking out my gloves and throwing away the packets for the equipment I used, I speak up. "Make sure not to do strenuous activities and give appropriate time for your body to allow it to heal Mr. Smith."

"Mironov." His deep caress of a voice makes me meet his eyes once more. His mesmerizing eyes have a heat swirling inside them that I can't look away from. "My name is Ilya Mironov." He says.

I test out the name in the recesses of my mind, Ilya. It fits him perfectly, like a puzzle piece finally falling into a 2000 piece set, completing it. Even though I try to brush it off from my mind as unimportant, seeing as his treatment is almost over and I probably won't see him again, the name echoes around in my thoughts, already taking up a permanent place for itself.

Keeping my eye level with a spot over his shoulder, not looking at his eyes or his still bare chest, I say, "I don't need to know the names of my patients to treat them."

"You will learn mine milaya." He humms out in his rough accent and I can only turn around and exit his room before my face shows how much his words have affected me.

I am on a roll.
(Meaning that I want to keep writing before my ADHD kicks in and I get distracted with something else)

Enjoy it while it lasts :p