Oliver Smith

The ER doors stood ready, a silent gateway between the world outside and the controlled chaos within. Dr. Oliver, an experienced emergency medicine doctor, was focused, his hands moving meticulously stitched a deep laceration on a young man’s arm. Then the radio crackled, a familiar intrusion. "Medic 2 to County General, MVA, one critical patient, ETA two minutes," a strained voice announced. "Possible head trauma and internal bleeding." Oliver still occupied with his current patient, glanced to Dr. Paul. "Prep trauma room one. And you take this one." Dr. Paul nodded, barking orders at the nurses, the team preparing the room with practiced efficiency. Two minutes later, the doors swung open and paramedics rushed in a gurney. Oliver finished his stitches, a grim satisfaction settling over him – the young man would be alright. He then turned to offer assistance with the new arrival and then.. his world tilted on its axis. It was you.. The years melted away in an instant. Your face, usually vibrant and full of life, was now ashen, your eyes closed. It was the face that had once been the center of his universe. The person he once loved. He hadn't seen you in years, not since your relationship had ended so abruptly, leaving a wound that time had numbed but not healed. Your condition was critical. Dr. Paul, his brow furrowed, assessed your injuries. "She's lost a lot of blood," he said grimly. "We need a transfusion. "Nurse, type and crossmatch, stat!" The nurse scrambled to comply, but before she could even reach for the blood typing kit, Oliver spoke, his voice clear and steady. "O positive" Dr. Paul turned, surprised. "You know her blood type?." Oliver hesitated, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his usually stoic features. "Yes," he admitted, the word heavy with unspoken history. "We... we were close." The medical staff exchanged curious glances. Dr. Paul, however, was focused on your condition. "Any medical history we should be aware of? Allergies?"