"Heused to organize all the holiday parties. He remembered everyone's birthdays, brought cake, coordinated gift collections when someone was having a rough time. He was the heart of the unit." Sophia's smile was sad. "Now he does his job perfectly, but somewhere along the way, he stopped doing those small gestures."
The parallel hit me like a physical force. I thought about my own approach to work — the cookies I baked, the extra time I spent with difficult patients, the way I tried to make everyone's day a little brighter. Was that sustainable? Could I still be doing that in ten years? Fifteen?
"What do you think happened?" I asked.
Sophia considered this for a long moment. "I think he cared too much for too long without enough support. Emergency medicine asks you to absorb everyone else's worst day, over and over again. Some people build walls to protect themselves. Kellen built them so high he can't remember how to let people in."
The weight of her words settled over me like a heavy blanket. I thought about the domestic violence patient I'd tried to help last month, the way her situation had haunted me for days. I thought about every patient I'd lost, every family I'd had to comfort, every code blue that didn't end the way we hoped.
"But he stayed," I said finally.
"He stayed because it still matters to him," Sophia agreed. "The people who really don't care? They leave. They find easier jobs, ones that don't ask them to carry other people's pain. Kellen stayed because he can't not care, even when caring hurts."
We finished cleaning in silence, but her words echoed in my head. Was this my future? Would I become like Kellen — competent but hollow, going through the motions of caring without feeling it?
"The trick," Sophia said, as if reading my thoughts, "isfinding ways to keep your heart open without letting it break completely. People like Jack, like Izzy — they help. Having someone who understands the work but reminds you who you are outside of it."
I thought about Izzy, about the way she'd looked at me during dinner — proud and grateful and just a little amazed. About how she'd worried about her crew's nutrition while planning their shifts. About the careful balance she maintained between professional competence and personal warmth.
"Is that what Jack does for you?"
Sophia's smile was soft and genuine. "Among other things. He reminds me that saving people is important, but so is living your own life. Hard lesson to learn in this business."
The sound of vehicles approaching interrupted our conversation. They were coming back.
"That was quick," I said.
"Good thing. Means it wasn't as bad as it could have been."
The bay doors opened with their familiar rumble, and the apparatus backed in with practiced precision. I could hear voices, tired but not traumatized, the kind of post-call energy that came from a job well done.
Izzy appeared in the kitchen doorway, her face streaked with soot, her hair escaping from its ponytail. She looked exhausted but satisfied.
"How'd it go?" I asked.
"Good stop. Kitchen fire, contained to one room. Nobody hurt." She looked around at the cleaned kitchen, the neatly packed leftovers. "You didn't have to clean up."
"Sophia helped. Teamwork."
"He's good people," Sophia said, joining us. "You should keep him around."
"Planning on it," Izzy replied, and something warm unfurled in my chest.
The rest of the crew filtered in, shedding gear and gravitating toward the leftovers with the single-minded focus of people who'd just spent an hour doing physical labor in extreme heat. Thompson made a beeline for the remaining cheesecake, while Martinez heated up another plate of mac and cheese.
"Verdict?" I asked Thompson as he loaded a fork with dessert.
He paused mid-chew, his expression serious. "You can cook for us anytime, man. You're alright."
Coming from Thompson, that sounded like it was practically a declaration of love. I caught Izzy's eye across the room and saw her trying not to smile too broadly. Mission accomplished.
The evening wound down gradually. Sophia left first, with promises to do this again soon and reminders to call if we needed anything. The crew gradually dispersed to their individual routines — some to the gym, others to watch TV or catch up on paperwork.
I found myself saying goodbye to each of them individually, surprised by how genuinely fond I'd become of this group of people in just a few hours. They weren't just Izzy's coworkers anymore — they were starting to feel like family.
"Thanks for dinner," Martinez said, shaking my hand. "Really. Best meal we've had in months."
"Thanks for letting me cook for you," I replied. "It was fun."
