The rhythmic beep of monitors filled the surgical suite as Tristan worked with quiet precision, his hands steady as he repaired a ruptured valve in the patient's heart. The tension in the room was palpable, but Tristan's calm demeanor was like a metronome, keeping everyone focused.
"Clamp," he said, his voice even.
The nurse handed him the instrument, her movements quick but measured.
"Almost there," Tristan murmured, guiding the repair with the finesse of a sculptor.
Jared stood at the observation window, arms crossed, watching the procedure. "Show-off," he muttered under his breathe.
A few hours later, Tristan finally stepped out of the OR, the sharp scent of antiseptic clinging to him. He pulled off his cap and ran a hand through his jet-black hair, sighing with relief.
"You were in there for five hours," Jared said, waiting for him in the hallway. "You do know it's okay to let the rest of us have a go, right?"
Tristan smirked. "You'd have made a mess of it."
"Me? Never." Jared grinned. "Though I did have a patient today who tried to tell me WebMD said they didn't need surgery. That was fun."
"Did you tell them to trust Google for their follow-up care too?" Tristan quipped.
Jared chuckled. "I was tempted. But you know me, all charm and diplomacy."
Before Tristan could respond, Dr. Kathrine Langston appeared, her lab coat pristine and her auburn hair falling perfectly into place.
"Dr. Hale," she said with a warm smile, her green eyes sparkling. "Impressive work in the OR today."
"Thank you, Dr. Langston," Tristan replied, his tone professional but polite.
"I'd love to discuss your technique sometime," she added, stepping a little closer. "Over dinner, perhaps?"
Jared, standing off to the side, stifled a laugh. Tristan glanced at him before responding, his smile as smooth as ever. "Dinner might be tricky. My schedule's pretty packed."
Kathrine didn't miss a beat. "Lunch, then. Or coffee. I'm flexible."
"Noted," Tristan said with a nod, sidestepping the invitation as gracefully as possible.
As she walked away, Jared couldn't hold back any longer. "Flexible? Mate, she practically gift-wrapped that line for you."
Tristan shook his head, chuckling. "I'm here to work, not to date."
"Pity," Jared said with mock seriousness. "She's been mooning over you since day one."
Tristan shot him a look. "Day one was five days ago."
"And yet," Jared said with a grin, "she's already planning your wedding."
********
Later that day, Tristan found himself in the ICU, reviewing charts. One case caught his attention—a twelve-year-old boy recovering from a congenital heart defect surgery. The boy's mother was sitting by his bedside, her hands clasped tightly together.
"Mrs. Keller?" Tristan said gently as he approached.
She looked up, her eyes weary but hopeful. "Dr. Hale," she said, standing. "How is he? Is he going to be okay?"
"He's stable," Tristan reassured her, pulling up a chair. "But we'll need to monitor him closely for the next 48 hours. His heart is responding well to the repair, but recovery takes time."
Tears filled her eyes as she nodded. "Thank you. I don't know how to thank you enough."
Tristan offered her a small smile. "You're already doing it by being here for him. He's lucky to have you."
As he left the room, he felt a pang in his chest. Cases like this always stuck with him—young lives hanging in the balance, families waiting with bated breath.
Meanwhile, Jared was dealing with his own case: a middle-aged man with chest pains who insisted it was "just indigestion."
"I'm telling you, doc," the man said, waving Jared off, "I don't need all these tests. I just need some antacids."
"And I'm telling you," Jared replied, his tone patient but firm, "we're running the tests because I don't think it's just indigestion. Humor me, Mr. Davis."
The man grumbled but didn't argue further.
Half an hour later, Jared was reviewing the results when Tristan passed by.
"Your indigestion case giving you trouble?" Tristan asked.
"Let's just say I'll be adding stubborn to his chart," Jared replied, holding up the scan. "Looks like a blocked artery. He's going to need a stent."
Tristan glanced at the chart. "Good catch. Maybe WebMD didn't cover that part."
Jared laughed. "I'll be sure to mention that when I break the news."
************
A Week in*
By the end of the week, Tristan had started to settle into the rhythm of the hospital. He'd performed three major surgeries, consulted on countless cases, and even learned the names of most of the staff.
The admiration from his colleagues was constant, but he did his best to stay grounded. His reputation wasn't what mattered here—saving lives was.
As his shift ended, Jared caught up with him in the locker room.
"We're going out tonight," Jared announced.
Tristan raised an eyebrow. "We?"
"Yes, we," Jared said. "You, me, and a few others. There's a great spot downtown—good food, better drinks. You've been here a week, mate. Time to relax."
"I don't do group outings," Tristan said, pulling on his coat.
"You do now," Jared said firmly. "Come on, it'll be fun. And if it's not, you can blame me for the rest of your stay here."
Tristan sighed, shaking his head. "Fine. But if someone asks for an autograph, I'm leaving."
Jared grinned. "Deal. Now let's go before Kathrine tries to tag along."
Tristan laughed, following him out. For the first time in a week, he allowed himself to let his guard down—just a little.
************
The group stepped into The Ivy Lodge, a lively gastro-pub with exposed brick walls, a cozy fireplace, and the hum of jazz in the background. Jared took charge, claiming a corner booth. "This is our spot now," he declared, shoving a few chairs into place.
Tristan surveyed the room, already wondering why he'd agreed to this. The chatter of the staff around him, their laughter and good-natured teasing, was infectious, though. Maybe this wasn't a mistake after all.
Halfway through their first round of drinks, a familiar voice chimed in. "Mind if I join?"
Heads turned as Kathrine appeared, dressed to impress in a sleek outfit that had 'attention-grabbing' written all over it. The table went quiet for a moment, a few sideways glances exchanged among the group.
Jared leaned closer to Tristan, muttering, "Well, this just got interesting."
Kathrine made herself comfortable, taking the empty seat right next to Tristan. "Dr. Hale," she said sweetly, "I had no idea you were so social."
"Rare occurrence," Tristan replied dryly, sipping his drink.
The group attempted to carry on, but Kathrine's incessant attempts to redirect the focus toward Tristan—his career, his research, his "obvious brilliance"—grew tiresome. Jared, clearly entertained, gave Tristan a "good luck" pat on the back before heading to the bar.
As the night wore on, Kathrine leaned closer to Tristan, her tone dropping to something more intimate. "You know," she began, "we'd make quite the team. On and off the clock."
Before Tristan could respond, she leaned in, her intent unmistakable. He caught her hand gently but firmly, stepping back. "Dr. Langston," he said, his voice polite but firm, "I think you've misread the situation."
Her face flushed as she quickly stood, mumbling an excuse before leaving. The group's collective sigh of relief was palpable.
Jared reappeared with a fresh drink for Tristan. "You handled that better than I would've. Remind me to nominate you for sainthood."
Tristan smirked, shaking his head. "Just another night, huh?"