A/N: Hey everyone! I'm trying something a little new, so tell me what you think! I don't own anything having to do with Narnia.

Susan hated full moons. She hated them because hospitals were always a mess when there was a full moon out. Her grandmother, who had been a nurse, had always said that you never knew what would come through the door on a full moon night, and she had been right. The hospital's small emergency room was full. There were no more chairs for ailing people to sit down on, so they had begun lying on the floor, successfully blocking other people's paths. Children were crying uncontrollably, some people were trying to stop the blood flow in a certain appendage and only succeeding in making it worse, and other people were getting sick watching them at their task.

From where she was standing, helping a man with a bullet in his shoulder onto a gurney, Susan caught her sister's attention. Lucy, a couple of years younger, had sweat running down her forehead, causing her brown locks to stick to her neck. She looked up from the little girl she was attending and smiled wearily at Susan. When both patients had been taken care of, Lucy came over to stand by her sister. "I really wish I had my cordial," she whispered in a low voice so that no one but her sister could hear her.

Susan nodded, and her mind was swept back to Narnia. She could see the land, still green, and wild, and lovely. She could see the centaurs, the dwarves, the fauns, and all the other talking creatures gathered around her and her siblings when they had once been the greatest rulers of the land. And, clearer than life, she could see Caspian. Her heart ached as she thought about the young man who had probably been dead for centuries by now, since it had been five years since the Pevensies had last been in Narnia. Susan could still see him, smiling as he looked at her, fighting next to her, rescuing her and giving Lucy a chance to escape and find Aslan.

"Sue?" Lucy whispered, reluctant to bring her sister back from the world Susan so desperately wished that she had stayed in.

Susan shook her head, clearing the pleasant images out as she took in the scene of the real world once more. "Sorry," she apologized. "I'm alright."

Lucy placed a comforting hand on her sister's shoulder and then said, "Why don't you get the next patient? It'll take your mind off of him."

Susan did as she was told, and called for the next patient. A young boy was carried in, his leg bloody and twisted in completely the wrong direction. His parents gently put him on the examining table, cringing as the boy cried out, the transfer having jolted his leg. "What happened?" Susan asked the parents.

"He was run over by a car," the mother sobbed, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. "The stupid driver wasn't looking where he was going." She looked up at Susan and asked, "Can you help him?"

Susan smiled at the mother, and although the woman would never be able to put her finger on just how Susan looked at that moment, anyone who had seen her in Narnia would have said that even in a nurse's uniform marred by blood and other curious splotches and her hair coming out of the careful bun she had put it into, Susan the Gentle had returned. "I'll certainly do my best," Susan assured her. She administered some morphine and waited for the pain medication to set in.

As soon as she began manipulating his leg, the boy began screaming, thrashing around and crying out. Susan bit her lip, her heart breaking as she heard his cries. "I thought you gave him some medication," the woman sobbed as her husband held down the thrashing boy so that he would not injure himself further.

Susan looked at her sadly and responded, "There's only a certain amount of pain that the medication can take away." She turned to the father, who was now stroking the boy's forehead. "Will you be able to hold him down while I tend to him?" she asked gravely, giving him time to refuse so that she could go and get someone else. Instead of refusing, the father nodded and tightened his grip on the boy. "Very well," Susan responded.

For the next twenty minutes, she carefully cut away the mangled flesh that would be of no use to her and then proceeded to set the bone in place and wrap it up tightly while the father kept his son from flailing about. When she had finished, Susan dried the boy's tears and gave him a comforting smile as she helped him down from the table. She retrieved a pair of crutches from the rapidly depleting store room and handed them to him, demonstrating which was the best way to use them. "There you are," she told him. "In a few weeks, you should be as good as new." She wagged a finger at him. "And no more playing out in the street."

For the first time, the boy managed a tight smile and nodded. "I won't," he promised.

Susan watched with a slight smile as the boy's parents helped him out the door. He reminded her of her younger brother, Edmund. A longing welled up in Susan's heart as she thought about her brothers, who had gone to America for the season. She missed them terribly. She missed Peter and his ever-present issues with still being a "child" in the world's eyes. She missed Edmund and his lack of common sense that never ceased to rile both she and Peter. She missed everything about them, and she would be counting the days until they returned home.

"Susan!" someone called sharply, breaking through Susan's thoughts and bringing her back to the hospital atmosphere in all its gory misery. She looked up, expecting to see some irate nurse glaring at her, but instead, she saw the head surgeon standing in front of the operating room door at the end of the hall. He beckoned to her with one hand. "I need your help!" he called, twisting his body, narrowly avoiding a gurney that was being wheeled into the operating room.

Susan swiftly glanced around the room, looking for Lucy. She found her sister already staring at her, and nodded so that Lucy would know where she was going. Susan ran down the hall and slipped into the operating room, washing her hands thoroughly and drying them on a towel before she turned around. When she did turn, she found all the staff in the room looking at her expectantly. Fearful that she had done something wrong, Susan asked, "Yes?"

The head surgeon answered for her. "Nothing," he said, putting her mind at ease. "They're just waiting for orders," he told her. Susan looked confused, so he clarified and made his statement even more idiot-proof. "They're waiting for your orders." He placed a scalpel in her hands. When she looked up with questioning eyes, he explained wearily, "I'm exhausted. I'm in no condition to be operating. I have to get some rest, and you're the best surgeon in this hospital." He raised a hand to ward off Susan's excuses. "I know that you haven't taken any classes, but I've taught you everything you need to know. This is a simple surgery." He patted her shoulder. "Take care of it. You'll be just fine." He smiled ruefully and said as he walked out the door, "You'd best not keep the patient waiting."

Susan watched as the door closed behind him, fear gripping her heart. She glanced down at the scalpel in her hands and was surprised that such a small tool could weigh so much. She turned back to the group that was waiting for her orders and pulled her mask up over her nose and mouth. "Let's get started," she said, repeating the words that the head surgeon so often used.

The surgery was on a middle-aged woman who was slightly overweight. Susan worked quietly, speaking only to ask for a certain tool, or to thank someone for making a certain cut in a certain place. She identified the problem in the woman's left kidney and cut away some of the fat bodies that had attached themselves to the organ. She began working on the kidney, all the while mentally reciting certain facts about the organ to keep herself calm.

The success would not last, though. Susan had just started to complete her work on the kidney when one of the surgeons spoke up, breaking the silence in the room. "She's hemorrhaging," he announced, his voice betraying a little uneasiness.

Susan's head whipped to the area he had pointed out and found that the blood was coming hard and fast. She pointed to two of the surgeons, keeping her voice surprisingly calm. "Stop the blooding," she ordered, and returned to the kidney.

She had just sewn the last stitch when one of the nurses cried, "We're losing her!"

The flurry that went on to bring the woman back to a stable condition would forever be imprinted on Susan's mind as she worked alongside the others to save the woman's life. But it was all to no avail. The hemorrhage had been stopped, but the woman was dying. The doctors stepped away from the table, their sign that they were finished with her. "No!" Susan cried. Without thinking about what she was doing, her scalpel made a quick, perfect incision close to her heart and she reached in, taking the organ in her hand and squeezing rhythmically, trying to stimulate the natural beating of the heart. "Come on!" she muttered, forcing herself to keep squeezing in a constant rhythm. Despair began to sink into her body as she realized that the woman was not responding.

She felt a hand at her shoulder, but never turned to see who it was that was trying to comfort her. She was past comforting.

"Time of death," someone said, "Seven forty-two."