Sharp, mewling, a cry pierces the hubbub of chatter in the waiting room.

Then silence.

Another cry, only it's more like a scream this time, lost, wanting help.

Mrs Beauchamp eyes the surrounding staff members before purposefully pacing over to behind the row of occupied plastic chairs. She clears her throat once, signalling the patients to move elsewhere whilst she conducts her search. They hobble to the other side of the room at once.

A cardboard box sits tucked behind. It is visibly battered and worn, yet surprisingly industrial in size. The sort you would use for transporting heavy items or leftover packaging from a larger product, perhaps a washing machine or tumble dryer.

'Oh– oh God—' she mutters, hair falling before her face.

'I can call pest control?' Noel offers unhelpfully from ten feet away.

Charlie rushes over, barging Alicia in a way that would send her double espresso flying had her fingers not been clenched around the polystyrene. He glances over at the clinical lead, who is frozen and crouched aside the half-open box, before springing into action himself.

'Prepare resus. Two infants in need of immediate medical attention. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say we need to treat and transfer to the SCBU in Manchester. Can someone please make that call?'

There is a collective gasp of horror as he pulls the first from the box, scrawny and almost grey in colour but for the shock of ginger hair. Mrs Beauchamp snaps out of her daze and lifts the second, completely bald and skin a more reassuring purple-red. They shield them protectively, removing them from full view of everyone.

'Two—?' Ethan asks, clipping his stethoscope round his neck and striding in pursuit. 'Who in their right mind would leave two babies so small in a box?'

'They likely weren't in their right mind, that's just it.' Charlie quips. 'Silver linings, eh? Least they left their twins in a hospital rather than in an alleyway somewhere.'

'They clearly wanted them to be found. Terribly reckless.' Ethan mumbles.

'Quit the chatter!' barks Connie, lying the first baby on the sheet carefully yet assuredly. 'Male, estimating about three hours old. Gestation approximately 34 weeks and 5lb 2oz. It's a miracle he survived in that tiny box. He is a little on the cold yet otherwise well.'

'Jack,' says Robyn. 'Strong name for a little fighter.'

'Suits him,' agrees Mrs Beauchamp, momentarily mellowed by the sight of the writhing baby.

'Female over here, still covered in amniotic fluid. I would estimate 2 hours old, perhaps little over that. Lungs are struggling to inflate but are much better now I've put her on oxygen, though this is a temporary solution. Birth weight at 3lb 10oz is lower than I'd expect for 34 weeks.' Ethan asserts.

'Nora,' offers Robyn from the other side of the room as she rummages for the cannulas. 'It means light. I liked it a couple of years ago when it was featured in the baby names book I borrowed.'

They all pause and observe the babies for a second.

Charlie purses his lips. 'The mother will be in need of urgent attention and it is important we put out an appeal immediately. Noel also needs to be aware to phone the police at the earliest convenience. We need a social worker ready to take the case once they arrive in Manchester.'

'This one — Jack — can stay here. He isn't in need of specialist treatment as such. We could take him down to the paeds ward and he could be in the care of the team down there. Unnecessary transport would be more risky than keeping him in the hospital.' Mrs Beauchamp comments, looking around for approval. 'I think he needs to be transferred to another department here at Holby.'

Ethan shakes his head in anguish. 'But we can't split siblings up, I—'

'We can if it's what's best for them,' replies Charlie gently. 'It's our duty to act in their best interests. Their mother clearly didn't think of them being split up.'

'They were wrapped in the same shawl in the same box. It's July, in fairness, maybe she thought they would be too warm.' Robyn suggests, slotting her finger into the palm of the little boy.

Connie nods. 'Clearly she didn't think of much. Desperately sad. People get themselves into terrible situations. We'll have to check the CCTV to see if it caught anything. There's a camera right above the waiting area, actually. If someone pops down to IT after we've contacted the police hopefully we'll get somewhere in identifying the woman or girl.'

'I will,' replies Ethan quickly. 'It's the least I can do.'

'Good. Escort Nora to Manchester with the paramedics in case she deteriorates enroute, heaven forbid there's any rush hour traffic.' Mrs Beauchamp instructs.

'How long does that journey normally take?' he replies.

'An hour and a half depending. You'll need to handle the exchange with the department there and make sure she is settled. IV access will be continually needed until they sort out a nutrition plan, alright? And monitor heart rate throughout. Temperature regulation is vital at this stage.'

'Yes, of course. I'm not a complete idiot.' Ethan responds before he can help himself, regretting it the second he sees the clinical lead recoil.

A timely distraction occurs the second Robyn scoops up Jack and flinches slightly at the harsh rustle of clinical plastic sheets. The baby snuggles in instinctively. He should be on a designated ward in his mother's arms, not having to settle for the foreign hold of a nurse. Surrounding him should be balloons and cards and relatives eager for a cuddle.

They all need to busy themselves but instead they are equally transfixed, in awe of the little creatures that started their Tuesday morning off so rocking.

All of this is wrong.