Romano was in his office. Paperwork littered his desk in a never-ending sea. Paperwork! Geez, that was becoming his life now. Now the front line was a distant memory. He scrubbed in and saw others working and barely suppressed the desire to kick something, usually the surgeon, in frustration. I'm a good surgeon. The thought came unbidden. What am I thinking, I'm the best. The absolute best. I had to be its not like there's anything else in my life.

Oh boo hoo. What retarded Oprah-like way of thinking. Must be spending all that time watching daytime TV at home.

What was in his life? His job, surgery, his dogs and, oh yes...her. She was the extra. With everyone else he could insult them to the cows come home and take tremendous pleasure in it. Usually for the general good of the hospital of course. And he had tried to with her, succeeded once or twice, but the joy never lasted long. He was happy because he had spoken to her, not because he was offering her some way out of whatever he had dropped her into. He felt the struggle in him-guilt, anger, passion.

Today it was the same. He had forced her to do something-why? To get her to stay a bit longer. Maybe that was why. Couldn't bear to see her leave. She fixed him with those baby blues, angry, furious and as she stormed past him into the room, just a grasp away he had had to fight with every fibre to keep from taking her in his arms-wait, his arm-and kissing her forever.

There you go again, Rocket, he thought. This keeps up you'll be able to write for Mills and Boon.

Then he heard the shots. He started to his feet. Gun shots? A wild idea of a television on ran through his mind, but then he heard more. And worse, he heard screaming. Without thinking he dived out into the corridor which was now dotted with people looking confused. Nurses and doctors stuck heads out of doors and threw questioning looks about them.

'What the hell is going on?' he barked, marching through them, towards the Nurses station.

The nurses all looked down the corridor.

'It came from round the corner,' said Shirley, her hand gripping the wall and staring away from him.

Then someone gasped. An elderly black man, dressed in a gown, crawled around the corner, his hand to his neck, crimson liquid crashing to the floor.

For a moment everyone froze. Then Robert rushed forward. Shirley followed and they sat the man against a wall.

'Don't just stand and do goldfish impressions people, someone get a gurney now!' called Robert, over his shoulder.

'Shirley-'

But she was already half gone, disappearing into a room to fetch life saving tools. The man was struggling to talk.

'Don't worry, we'll get you fixed up soon,' said Robert, trying to ease the mans fingers away from his neck and get a better look at the wound, 'Luckily you're up here and not in the ER so it'll be quicker. What happened?'

'The man,' gasped the black man, 'the man with a gun. He...just shot him! And then the woman and I thought...ough! I thought he would....little girl...I tried to stop...he shot me! Oh God! He shot me!'

Shirley appeared again suddenly and they worked together to stop the incessant flow of blood.

A gurney finally arrived and he harangued the unfortunate bringers, which made him feel slightly better. It blotted out, temporarily, the hundreds of awful thoughts that were crashing into his mind.

The black man was quieter, sedated, settled as he was wheeled away. Robert stood for a moment, breathing heavily, aware of the blood strains on his clothes.

'Dr Romano?'

Shirley spoke in a level voice, but he could sense the tension beneath it. He whirled round and let Dr Romano, Chief or Staff take over.

'Page Anspagh! Get Edson here too-hell just get everyone!' he shouted.

He glared at the assembled crowd and they began to dissipate at once. Friction, fear and confusion began to crackle in the air.

'Should we go and check?' asked Shirley.

'What?' he snapped.

'The room. Where the man came from, should we go and check the room?'

They both peered around the corner. The corridor was empty, but a trail of blood lead back to a door.

The door. The door that some minutes earlier he had held open to let her brush past...

Dear God no.

'Call the police,' he heard himself say.