His therapy was in full progress, his body adjusting to the meds and granting him some relief from the weakness and lightheadedness. He was able to drive himself to the hospital and back, the latest CT scan showing no signs of tumor's expansion and his surgery was to be performed as planned.

He started to get used to the hospital visits, each of them bringing not only a dose of medication but also a glimpse of his doctor and, if he was lucky - a bit of a conversation. It wasn't always a given, since sometimes she was busy with other patients and every now and then she wasn't in the mood for talking. Every time it made Michael wonder what was on her mind that bothered her so much and made her withdrawn.

This particular morning she seemed cheerful, and Michael was anticipating their interaction after she greeted him with a light smile.

She had always been gentle while performing medical manipulations and Michael considered himself lucky because if he had had a different doctor with less patience or softness to their hands and demeanor it would probably make these frequent hospital visits way less bearable.

- I wish you were qualified to perform my brain surgery, Doctor.

She looked up and caught his gaze.

- I appreciate your trust. I was actually considering surgery as a specialization back in North-Western.

- You went to North-Western? I went to Loyola. – He presumed they were of the same age, so he added: - Maybe we met before. You know, drunk out at a bar somewhere.

- I would have remembered.

He smiled:

- You got exceptional memory? Oh wait, no, you don't approve of drinking.

He thought he saw her flinch a little and he stilled. Did he do it again, ruined the mood of a casual conversation and turned it into something personal she had no intention opening about. And why would she? He was just her patient. So they spent some time in this room twice a week. It was nothing. He just needed to choose more carefully what to say. He was about to try and fix it, turn the conversation into less personal but at that moment he felt the burning sensation in his chest again and it was intense enough to make him squeeze his eyes and exhale slowly.

- What is it? Tell me what you're feeling, Michael, - she was on her feet by the time he was able to reopen his eyes, slightly relieved of the uncomfortable sensation.

- It's .. It's no big deal, just.. I just got this sharp burning feeling inside my lungs, or heart, I'm not sure. It's going away though.

- Can you please try and sit up, slowly, - she helped him sit up careful not to disturb the needle in his hand. – I need you to lift your shirt.

Michael obeyed, lifting it up with one hand, and she adjusted her stethoscope to listen to his chest. At the same time her left hand landed on his right shoulder. Michael sat frozen, the leftover burning sensation forgotten. He was quite sure this contact was absolutely not necessary, yet her hand was warming his skin through the shirt with its delicate heat. She was giving him directions to inhale and exhale slowly and he lifted his gaze to look back at her, breathing slowly and not being able to avert his gaze from her deep brown eyes searching his face. The moment felt intense and maybe he would even describe it as intimate. The heartbeat she was hearing through the device must have been faster than normal and there was only one reason for this since the burning sensation in his chest had already gone.

He didn't know how long this moment could have lasted, if the door hasn't opened after a short knock and a dark-skinned dark-haired woman hasn't rushed in:
- Sara, I'm sorry, but if there is no emergency here we need you in 207.

She was the first to look away and Michael swallowed hard following her gaze.

- I will be there in a minute, Katie, - she told the nurse and the latter disappeared behind the door, throwing a curious look at Michael.

- We haven't finished here, Michael, you can lie back down and rest for now but I will send a cardiologist to take a look at you in a short while, we will probably need to assign more tests to check your heart once again, - she looked at him apologetically, withdrawing her stethoscope and followed the nurse out of the room.

Michael readjusted his shirt and lay down on the bed, sighing. There was no end to this.. And today he was hoping to ask his doctor to let him work from home for at least a couple of hours per day. There was no chance she would grant permission now. His doctor… What the hell was going on here a minute ago? She touched him in a totally appropriate (though maybe a little unnecessary) way and yet he was melting caught in a warm and enticing sensation. He imagined how his brother would laugh his ass off had he found out that Michael felt butterflies in his stomach because his doctor merely touched his shoulder. He could practically hear Lincoln's gloating in his head, telling him he should have worked less and gone out more during the past years, so he didn't faint in case a woman touched him. Yeah maybe there was a part of truth in that, but Sara Tancredi wasn't just some woman. She was beautiful and soft and intelligent. God, he envied nurse Katie, who was on the first name terms with her. Maybe they were friends. He wished so hard they had met under different circumstances..

The following week brought a lot of worries and disappointment.

The first hospital visit was scheduled on Tuesday, the cardiologist's verdict hasn't been ready yet but Michael's medication dosage was to be altered starting today and he waited for his doctor impatiently. She came in after just a couple of minutes and started her manipulations. She was standing close to him, fumbling with the IV and Michael, despite being nervous and unsettled, couldn't miss the fact that his doctor seemed equally disturbed. He wondered briefly what could have upset her but the needle in his hand reminded him of the purpose he was here and brought him back to his own unfortunate reality.

She wasn't around much, sending a nurse to watch him instead. Finally, when he was about done, she came back and sat into the chair to put down some notes about his procedures. The nurse was gone and he grabbed the chance to talk to her.

- I suppose the answer to this question will be negative, but maybe you could allow me to work from home, just for a couple hours per day, - he tried not to sound more miserable than it was necessary. – I really miss my job and doing something useful.

She looked up and the answer came fast and pre-established:

- I'm sorry, Michael. Your tests results are not ready yet, but we do know the therapy affects not only your tumor but your other organs. If everything would have beed going according to the best possible scenario, I would say yes to your request, but unfortunately it's not the case. Let's wait until we have the results.

- Something tells me those results will not be good news, - Michael admitted wistfully.

- You will be able to go back to work after your surgery and full recovery. Let's concentrate on that.

- Doctor Tancredi, you seem passionate about what you do too. Imagine if something was keeping you from doing your job. From doing the important things that you enjoy doing..

He tried to convey how it made him feel, just so she didn't think he was this stubborn workaholic who had no interests in life other than his job, but when he looked at her, she was avoiding his gaze and biting her lip hard. He felt like he hit a sore spot (yet again) and it was starting to really baffle him. No matter how hard he tried to keep their conversations neutral, he managed to touch subjects that stirred something within her, something very personal, upsetting and unpleasant. He hated to be the reason of her affliction but he also couldn't keep distance from her. He wanted to keep talking to her. He wished he had a chance to get to know her better.

During the minutes they were silent she seemed to collect herself and reply:

- It's a temporary pull-back. You'll be able to get back to work after your surgery. It's going to take a few months to recover, but after that you will have the whole time in the world.

- That is if I make it. If there won't be any complications. If my heart doesn't fail. If…

She tried to interfere but he cut her off:

- No, don't say everything is going to be okay.

He gave her a hard yet pleading look and she pursed her lips. He fell silent for a moment watching the liquid dripping down the transparent tube and disappearing inside his vein through the needle. Suddenly he felt exhausted from this whole torment. Pain, needles, meds, tests, worries… And the worst part hasn't even started yet. He felt small and miserable. And so tired. Trying hard not to fall into the black hole of hopelessness and despair, he turned to look at his doctor, her hazel eyes bearing understanding and compassion. Thinking he had very little to lose by this point, he licked his dry lips and said:

- Doctor Tancredi, can I ask you for something? Something.. personal.

For a second she looked like a deer in the headlights. He was not sure why, and he didn't give himself time to wonder. Her expression changed into neutral, she swallowed and replied holding his gaze:

- If you must.

- If the surgery does go well, and if I will be released with good prognosis.. Would you go out for a coffee with me? Afterwards.

He was searching her face to catch her reaction. She didn't look much surprised. He thought it was a good start. Or maybe she was used to such questions. She was a beautiful woman and Michael surely wasn't the first patient to feel attracted to her. She looked like she was debating what answer to give him. If she did receive such invitations regularly, she would have had a rehearsed declination ready, right? Michael wondered if that meant she wanted to say yes but couldn't, for personal or professional reasons. Or maybe she wanted to say no and was looking for a way to do it politely. Because he was this unfortunate brain tumor patient. Either way the silence was becoming long-drown and he spoke again:

- It's just coffee. Somewhere outside these walls. But I'd really appreciate it. And it would give me something to look forward to during these weeks.

When the words came out he suddenly worried if he sounded manipulative. It wasn't what he tried to accomplish. He sighed and closed his eyes briefly. When he reopened them and was ready to utter an apology she finally spoke:

- Michael, I don't usually do that.. And people who face a potentially life-threatening surgery rarely ask their doctor to go for a coffee with them. Normally they wish to forget that this hospital and its doctors existed in their life, after it's done.

At this he smiled weakly. He knew she wasn't finished but he piped in:

- I guess I'm not much of a normal.

It earned him a small smile in return and she continued:

- And.. I don't want my answer to ruin our patient-doctor dynamics..

- It's okay. I get it. It won't, - he braced himself for an obvious "No", that he saw coming.

- ..but I'll take the risk and say yes.

Michael was careful to keep his grin under control and thanked her candidly. She graced him with a tiny sweet smile he found very endearing and lowered her head to fill out his chart.