Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Here's the next chapter! Please leave a review to let me know what you think and if you want to see this continue (if not, I'll just make it a three-shot and leave it at that). Thanks for the support and enjoy!

Also, just a heads up that there are mentions of blood in this chapter.


A new week means a new start, Amelia tells herself as she walks into the office on another Monday morning. Today will be the day she proves her worth and makes sure that she dots every "i" and crosses every "t." Dr. Kirkland will be blown away by how great she is. She can already picture how she'll heroically appear at the scene whenever he requests help. Need a patient file? No problem. Want a history taken? Easy peasy. Ran out of supplies? Don't even worry about it.

That's what she tells herself until she realizes she's going to have to endure the company of Francine again.

Francine's bad attitude is the same it's always been, but Amelia does her best to tell herself not to be bothered by it. Today is her day—her chance to shine. She's not going to let one person rain on her parade.

What she doesn't anticipate, however, is the problem that arises with the schedule in their computer system. Apparently, a number of students who had appointments for today were wiped from the timetable at some point over the last few days, and so, other students ended up being scheduled for the same time slot. Maybe it was a glitch in the system, but regardless of the cause, Dr. Kirkland ends up absolutely furious when he finds out he has to see almost double the normal amount of patients he normally sees in a day.

"How did this happen?" he demands to know when he sees the busy waiting room.

Francine, of course, takes the opportunity to blame Amelia for everything. "Well, I left Amelia in charge of updating the system," she says with feigned innocence.

Amelia's not sure how to defend herself without seeming like she's being disrespectful or unprofessional. If she accuses Francine of trying to sabotage her, that'll just start a fight and make matters worse. In the end, she mutters a feeble, "I followed the exact directions I was given," and leaves it at that.

She doesn't think Dr. Kirkland believes her because he snaps, "Ensure that it never happens again," and storms off.

There go her morale and her confidence.

It's a godsend when Wednesday finally arrives. She has missed Toris and Feliks, and when she's finally able to vent to them about how awful Francine has been to her, they assure her not to take any of it to heart—she's a competitive and evil person by nature, they say.

"She's also got, like, a huge crush on Dr. K," Feliks whispers, covering his mouth with his hand.

Amelia makes a face. "Come on, he's almost old enough to be her dad."

Feliks shrugs his shoulders. "Some ladies are into older guys."

From beside them, Toris rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Don't listen to anything he says, Amelia. He's just trying to come up with new rumors again, so he can start some drama."

"I do not start drama, and my thoughts on Francine are just based on observation. I had the displeasure of working with her for a bit until I asked Dr. K to move my schedule around. Best decision I ever made, y'know? There's a reason he hasn't hired anyone else to work alongside her until now," Feliks explains, twirling around in his swivel chair. "The truth will come out eventually, and it'll set us free, and all that other stuff."

Honestly, Amelia isn't sure what to believe anymore.

"What's going on? What did I miss? Why are we whispering?" Dr. Beilschmidt suddenly asks, popping up behind them with curious eyes. "Did something happen?"

"Nothing aside from the usual water-cooler trite," Feliks tells him wryly. "Whatcha up to, Dr. B?"

Dr. Beilschmidt plants himself in the nearest swivel chair, plays with the end of his tie absentmindedly, and says, "Just finished checking out a sinus infection. That's the highlight of my day…Hey, Amelia? Why the long face, kiddo? Are these boys bullying you again? I told them to behave."

Amelia forces a smile. Of all the people she knows, only Dr. Beilschmidt would call a twenty-two-year-old a kiddo. "No, it's nothing like that."

"Talk to me. I'm all ears."

"I don't know…I just feel like I can't do anything right anymore. I keep getting caught up in little things."

Dr. Beilschmidt gives her an encouraging pat on the back. "Aww, what are you talking about? I think you're doing a great job. After all, you've got the awesome me to guide you…Listen, kid, you're going to have to fall a few times before you learn how to walk. That's a part of life, but there's no shame in falling. We all do it. It'll get easier to keep your balance eventually, I promise. Just hang in there."

Why can't Dr. Beilschmidt be her sole mentor? She has learned so much from him already, and he never raises his voice or loses his temper.

She's starting to understand why people despise Arthur Kirkland.

And she's becoming one of those people.


"Hey, Maddie?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind if we order pizza tonight?" Amelia asks, doubled over into the fetal position on her bed. She hasn't left her room since she got back from class, and while she should be studying for her upcoming developmental psychology exam, she can't find the willpower to even crack open her textbook.

"Sure," Madeline replies, but then she's standing in the doorway and frowning at Amelia like she ate the last pop-tart in the pantry again. "What's going on with you lately? You've been so depressed, and staying in bed like this all day isn't helping. You need to get out and do something—maybe take a walk or meet up with a friend."

"I don't have any friends. I had to cut off all connections with them after I got into medical school, remember?" Amelia groans, eyes closed.

"Get on Facebook and start reconnecting, then. I don't know—just do something," Madeline begs her. She tears the covers off of Amelia's bed and grabs her by the arm, tugging her out of her self-deprecation. "Come on. Get up."

"Nooooo."

"Stop this."

"Do you think I can drop out of medical school and study history or something else instead?"

Madeline sighs and releases her arm, letting it fall back onto the bed with a soft thud. "Why do you want to drop out of medical school after working your butt off to get in?"

"Because I'm going to be a bad doctor," Amelia mumbles, voice muffled.

"What makes you think that?"

"Kirkland hates me, and I'm starting to hate my job."

"You've only been there for two weeks. Give it more time before you decide to change your entire career path, you dummy," Madeline huffs, hands on her hips. "If you want pizza, you're going to have to get up, or else I'm not ordering it."

"You're so cruel!"

"We'll binge-watch The Great British Baking Show in my room if you want. You love that show."

Amelia chokes out a dejected sob-like sound. "British accents remind me of work. I can't do it."

"We'll watch the Australian version, then."

"…Fine," Amelia concedes, rolling out of bed at long last.

Once she's up and on her feet again, Madeline laughs airily at her and says, "What would you do without me?"

"I'd be a med school drop-out studying history. Now, let's hope that pizza gets here in twenty minutes or less, or else I'm going to lose my mind."


One of the major downsides of working in a clinic is that Amelia always feels slightly ill. Not ill enough to have a fever or to have to call out sick, but just ill enough for her to be sniffling or be stuck with a scratchy throat. Feliks, Toris, and Dr. Beilschmidt all tell her this is normal—she can expect to be sick on and off again for the next few months until her immune system gets stronger.

In general, Amelia doesn't mind being congested every now and then or having to drink the lemon tea Maddie prepares for her in a giant thermos each day. It's not much of a nuisance until she has to start pulling all-nighters to study for exams, at which point, being even just a tad under the weather makes her twice as miserable as she would normally be.

Between attending classes, going to work, and studying, there isn't that much time left for self-care, even during the weekends. Thus, Amelia walks around in a half-dazed state most of the time, perpetually sluggish and tired.

Fortunately, her misery pays off, because when she gets her psychology exam back, she's happy to see an A at the top of the page—one of only a handful of A's in the class. Maybe she can salvage her GPA after all.

Not much changes over the following weeks. It's the same routine—she goes to class and then work. However, slowly but surely, Dr. Kirkland lets her start taking patients' vitals, which means she gets to make use of the stethoscope she normally brings to clinical rotations.

She's still not all that confident with taking a person's blood pressure, and Dr. Kirkland must notice because when he sees her fumble the first time she tries it, he shows her how to do it correctly and then makes her take the blood pressure of every patient that comes into the clinic for the rest of that week. It makes Amelia's anxiety skyrocket, but by Friday, she's a master at it.

In fact, things start to get better at the office in general. She feels a bit more relaxed, and while she still gets nervous when she's in direct contact with Dr. Kirkland, she's able to manage it a bit better.

But, of course, all good things must come to an end.

On Friday, a student comes in with a cut above their brow after stumbling and hitting their head on the coffee table in their dorm room—presumably after having had a few drinks. They show up with a pink-tinged washcloth pressed to their forehead, and Dr. Kirkland asks Amelia to come and observe as he brings the student into one of the exam rooms and has them lie back on the examination table.

He puts on a pair of clean gloves, takes the washcloth away, and reveals the cut—a long horizontal slice directly above the eyebrow.

There's a lot of blood.

Like, a lot, a lot.

Amelia doesn't consider herself a squeamish person. She's okay with watching blood get drawn and all of that other great stuff, but for some reason—a reason that is probably out of her control—the sight of this student's cut makes her feel sick to her stomach and lightheaded.

"It looks worse than it is. Cuts to the face normally bleed quite a bit, even if it's shallow," Dr. Kirkland explains before wiping away some of the blood and then dabbing at the wound with gauze that's been soaked with an antiseptic.

The student hisses as the cut begins to sting, and Dr. Kirkland mumbles something that sounds like it's supposed to be reassuring before he places two fingers on the still bleeding brow and says, "It's not gaping, so it won't require stitches. Some butterfly strips should suffice…Amelia?"

Amelia's pretty sure all of the color has drained from her face, and as she tries to say something to signal that she's okay, one of her legs gives out underneath her and she stumbles, barely keeping her balance.

Dr. Kirkland drops what he's doing, tears off his gloves, and then grips one hand around her upper arm while the other secures itself on her waist. He directs her to the rolling stool in the middle of the room and keeps his grip on her even once she's seated.

"Feliks and Toris!" he shouts sharply, and a moment later, the boys are rushing in, confused.

"Have Amelia lie down in the next room, please," he tells them.

Feliks frowns and then tries to lighten the mood by saying, "Whoops, we've got a fainter, huh? Come on, sweetie."

He replaces Dr. Kirkland's grip on her arm and waist while Toris holds open the door and runs ahead of them to get the other exam room ready. Once he has replaced the crinkly paper on the exam table with a clean sheet, they help Amelia sit and then lie down.

"Bring your knees up to your chest," Toris tells her.

Meanwhile, Feliks looks into her eyes and smiles reassuringly. "I'll get you some juice."

God, her head hurts. She's all clammy and coated in sweat, but slowly, the dizziness starts to dissipate, and she starts feeling like herself again. Feliks comes back with some orange juice and a straw, and she manages to take a few sips.

"Please tell me I didn't just almost pass out in front of Kirkland," she groans, covering her eyes with her arm in shame. "Well, I'm definitely fired now."

Feliks chuckles. "You're not going to get fired over that. It wasn't your fault."

"Yeah, but collapsing at the sight of blood definitely counts as part of the whole 'making his job more difficult' condition that he made me agree not to do," Amelia explains, feeling incredibly embarrassed. She should get up, pack up her things, and leave before Dr. Kirkland fires her in front of everyone.

She tries to sit up, but Feliks holds her down and shakes his head. "Don't move. If you try getting up, then he'll really be mad."

There's a knock of warning on the exam room door, and then, Dr. Kirkland invites himself in. He looks at Feliks and Toris and says, "Thank you both. I'll take it from here."

Oh, God. Please, no. This can't be good.

The boys flash her matching smiles, and then make their retreat, even though she wishes they would stay. They close the door behind them, and then it's just her and Dr. Kirkland.

She feels like she might be sick.

"I'm sorry," she says, deciding that it's probably best to apologize before he gets the chance to say anything or yell at her. It might mitigate his anger.

"You don't have to apologize…I didn't stop feeling ill around blood until a year or two after my residency," he says with a little frown. Then, he takes hold of her wrist and feels for her pulse.

Her heart is beating so fast she can feel her chest trembling.

"My, your heart rate is high," he murmurs before placing his stethoscope under her shirt and on her chest.

She might die here. Die from humiliation, that is.

"I feel fine," she insists, swatting at the end of the stethoscope before sitting up. "It won't happen again."

Dr. Kirkland narrows his eyes skeptically at her.

"It's fine," she repeats, but now her hands are shaking, too.

"Just hold still for a moment and prove it to me, then."

Biting her lip, she resignedly lies back again and lets him finish examining her. The tables have turned, as now she is the one who gets to have her blood pressure taken.

"Now, was that so difficult?" Dr. Kirkland asks a little teasingly when he's sure she's going to be okay, and Amelia can't stand the condescending smirk on his lips. "Finish drinking the rest of that," he orders, pointing to the half-full cup of orange juice still in her hand, "and if you don't feel lightheaded anymore, you can return to work."

There's a flash of concern in his eyes that she's never been a witness to until now. It only lasts a moment, and then, he's out the door and back to tending to the students, leaving her in the silence. She lets out a heavy sigh and buries her face in her hands, feeling like an idiot.

Later that night, when Madeline asks her how her day went—she asks every day without fail—Amelia will strain a smile and say, "It was just fine. How's that paper about Kafka that you've been working on?"

"I am a cage, in search of a bird."

"Huh?"

"It's a Kafka quote, and that's my annoying way of saying it's not going all that great," Madeline clarifies, pouring some milk into a saucer and setting it on the stove. "But I'll figure it out eventually. Want some hot chocolate?"

"I'm sure it'll work out, and yeah, of course."

"Whipped cream, chocolate syrup, and a jumbo marshmallow, too?"

"Yes. Thanks for being my sister, Maddie."

Madeline gives her a funny look and giggles. "Well, I didn't choose to be your sister, you know, but you're welcome anyway, I guess. What prompted your sudden words of affection?"

"I just want you to know I appreciate you. It's good to know we'll always have each other."

"I appreciate you, too, even though you're crazy sometimes, and you never vacuum when I ask you to."


All eyes are on her when she walks into biochemistry lab. Apparently, people have been talking, as they always do, and she has been on everyone's radar.

"She's not even that smart…"

"Does she even want this?"

What is this? High school? She thought those days were over, but, as it turns out, med school is full of cliques and study groups that exchange test bank questions every week and talk crap on social media about one another. It's a dog-eat-dog world. One moment, you're convinced someone is your friend because they sent you a pdf of a textbook, but then they'll turn around and silently hope you'll fail the next exam so the competition gets filtered out. They'll never say it directly, of course.

The girls sitting at the table in front of her try to make it seem like they could be talking about anyone, but she knows she's their target. Perhaps it's envy that makes them whisper these things, or maybe they're just trying to intimidate her. Either way, it's not going to work.

It's a four-hour long lab class, which means Amelia always wants to rip her hair out by the end of it. She follows the lab manual instructions to the letter and works quietly. Her partner isn't here today—must be out sick. Scratch that, he must be really sick to have decided not to come to lab. He's going to have a ton of work to make up. Plus, two absences are all it takes to get one kicked out of the program entirely.

"I'm going to hand back your quizzes now," the professor suddenly announces.

Amelia tries to calm herself as she watches the papers get passed out. Either she did great or she flunked the quiz entirely. There's never a middle ground in medical school. She waits and waits for what feels like an eternity—the quizzes don't seem to be in alphabetical order—until finally…

She takes her quiz back with a clammy hand and wants to cry tears of joy when she sees the grade. It's a solid B. She'll take it. She despises biochemistry, so this B is glorious. It's going up on her and Maddie's fridge tonight.

She stuffs the exam in her folder and immediately hides it in her backpack. She doesn't need any nosy students to see it.

"Just a friendly reminder that we have our midterm next week. The questions on the exam will be similar to the quiz questions, so I would advise you to review them."

Oh, midterms. They're going to be the death of her this semester if she doesn't do some serious studying. Midterms are worth half of her grade in most of her classes, so she has to make sure she does well on all of them.

She's not the only one stressing about exams, though. When her lab class ends and she heads over to the clinic, she sees Feliks and Toris sitting at the front desk with piles of books and stray notes beside them. According to Feliks, they have permission from Dr. Kirkland to study during their shift as long as they've taken care of all of their work and aren't needed by him or one of the patients.

And, since the clinic is fairly quiet today, they have the added benefit of being able to utilize their most valuable study tool yet—Dr. Kirkland himself.

"Hey, Dr. K? Can vision loss be an early sign of MS?" Feliks asks as the man's going through a patient's file at the front desk.

"Yes," Dr. Kirkland replies half a second later. "MS causes the optic nerve to swell."

"One more question, do you get decreased grip strength with osteoarthritis?"

He thinks for a moment longer this time and then answers, "It's possible, but that's more common with rheumatoid arthritis. Osteoarthritis causes crepitus, which is the grinding or popping that occurs when the joint is moved."

Amelia finds it hard to believe how nonchalant Feliks can be around Dr. Kirkland. Normally, she wouldn't dream of asking the man a question or for help with something. He makes it so hard to approach him.

When the man is out of earshot, Amelia turns to Feliks and finds the nerve to ask him, "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" Feliks wonders.

"You know, talk to him like that?"

"He's only tough on the outside. He's in his own world a lot of the time and doesn't realize he's being cold," Feliks explains softly. "If you do what you're supposed to, he'll notice and treat you well."

"So what about all of those people who dropped out of pre-med and medical school because of him?"

Feliks laughs and spins around twice in his swivel chair. "If they dropped out because of him, then they weren't ready to be doctors anyway. Believe it or not, he's not going to be the toughest person you meet in your career. Wait until you have to work under an attending physician, girl."

"But…He treats you different. He likes you. He hates me. He's always standing over me and breathing down my neck," Amelia mumbles, wanting to trust in Feliks' opinion of the man but still not convinced.

"I've been here a lot longer than you. You'll grow on him. Don't worry. He's not exactly a people person unless it relates to treating disease, which you could probably already tell. I've been trying to get Toris to lighten up around Dr. K for a long time now. He's never said a mean thing to the kid, and he's still terrified."

"No, I'm not!" Toris cuts in, putting on his bravest face. "I just like to keep my distance, okay?"

Amelia shoots Toris a smile and pats his knee. "I'm with you on that one, Toris."

"Come on, it's not like he's going to bite your heads off, guys," Feliks assures.

"There's still time," Amelia huffs.


The following week, she pulls two all-nighters in a row and somehow doesn't die. It's a miracle, but when she walks into work after almost a full 48 hours of zero sleep, she can barely keep her head up without straining the muscles in her neck and making her head hurt.

"One midterm left," she tells Feliks and Toris, collapsing in a chair next to them. "I feel like a zombie. Is this even real life anymore?"

The boys gape at her and tell her she looks awful, but she promises that she's going to go straight to bed after work tonight—but maybe if she's able to, she'll spend one more hour studying.

She finishes taking a girl's blood pressure, writes the result in her chart, and then walks out into the hallway, bumping into Dr. Kirkland in the process because her reflexes are shoddy at the moment.

"Sorry about that," she grumbles, and Dr. Kirkland raises an impressive eyebrow at her.

"Is everything all right?"

"Dandy."

"You know, I think it's safe to say you won't pass your exam if you fall asleep in the middle of taking it," he chides her, forehead creased.

"I won't fall asleep," she promises sluggishly, eyes half-closed.

"Right, then…A patient is in septic shock. What comes first? A blood culture, IV fluids, or antibiotics?" he asks, testing her.

"Antibiotics."

"Incorrect," he replies, glowering. "And I would explain why that's incorrect if you were alert enough to understand it."

Okay, so he proved his point. What more does he want? She'll go to bed soon. Her shift ends in thirty minutes anyway.

"You'll do better if you get a proper night's rest," he emphasizes one last time before heading into one of the exam rooms.

She stands in the hallway for a full minute, almost falling asleep while standing up before finally shaking herself out of her stupor and heading back to the front desk.

When she returns to the apartment that night, she pulls out her laptop and tries to study in bed, but halfway into taking notes about the respiratory system, she starts thinking about Eduard and her first days in the clinic. She thinks about how his wheezing evened out into slow, rhythmic breaths, and then, she, too, is taking slow breaths, until finally, her head lolls onto her shoulder and she falls asleep, laptop still perched on her legs.


She has never been this excited for a Monday. Now, that her exams are finally over, she doesn't care that she has to go into the clinic and put up with Francine's sassiness and backtalk. She's just glad that hell has temporarily frozen over until finals come around.

Speaking of Francine…

The shift starts off normally. It's a bit busy, and so Amelia spends a lot of time bustling back and forth between exam rooms and only occasionally returns to the desk to handle the administrative work.

Around an hour later, however, Francine's cellphone rings while there are patients in the waiting room. She seems to debate with herself whether or not she should take her phone out of her bag to check who it is, and, in the end, her curiosity wins out, so she looks at the caller ID. Amelia watches the confusion cross her face.

Francine picks up. "Allô? Maman?"

Then, she's rushing out the door to the clinic, speaking in rapid French as she goes. As the door shuts to a close behind her, her voice gets drowned out in the distance, and Amelia is left puzzled herself, and, truth be told, a little worried.

"Francine!"

Amelia blinks twice and calls back to Dr. Kirkland, "What do you need?"

"I can't find the bacitracin."

"I'll find it," she says, heading for the supply room and meeting Dr. Kirkland there. She helps him search through each of the drawers and cabinets. She just saw the single-use packets of bacitracin the other day, but they recently reorganized everything, so some things aren't in their usual place.

"Where's Francine?" he asks as he opens another cabinet, sounding irritated. It's been a hectic day so far. Amelia can't blame him for being short-tempered.

"Uhh, she had to step out for a moment to take a call."

"In the middle of work?"

"It sounded important. I think it was her mom…Here it is," she says, pulling out a box. "How many do you need?"

"Just two."

He takes the packets from her and starts to make his way back to the patient he was with, when suddenly, Francine comes storming back inside, tears rushing down her face. She's hysterical—hands shaking and sobs cutting through her breaths.

Dr. Kirkland pauses mid-step in the hallway to ask, "What's wrong?"

Francine can barely calm down long enough to speak, so Dr. Kirkland puts a hand on her shoulder and guides her over to his office at the end of the hall to talk to her in private. Amelia can hear a few parts of their conversation.

"…accident…in the hospital...have to leave…"

To which Dr. Kirkland responds, "Yes, of course, dear…Go, and keep me notified."

Dear? Something must really be wrong if the man has resorted to pet names.

And then, Francine rushes back to the front desk and starts gathering her things, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and smudging her mascara.

"Francine? Whatever's going on, I hope it all turns out okay," Amelia tells her as she's tossing her belongings into her designer bag.

Francine stops to look at her for the briefest second, and says weakly, "Thank you."

Not a minute later, she's out the door and out of sight.

Amelia frowns, and although she knows it's not her place to get involved in the personal matters of others, she can't stop her brain from going through multiple possibilities as to what's going on. She stares at the front door to the clinic, as if the answer will be waiting there for her.

"What was that all about?" she asks Dr. Kirkland as they exchange looks of intrigue with one another a little while later.

Dr. Kirkland hesitates, clearly not sure about whether or not he should be giving away such information, and so, he settles on merely mumbling, "automobile accident," before spinning around on his heel and heading back to his patient.