Chapter Text
The air conditioning in the surgical intensive care unit of King Chulalongkorn Memorial Hospital always smelled faintly of filtered ozone and sterile linen.
For ICU Senior Staff Nurse Orm, that sharp, crisp scent was usually a grounding mechanism.
In a unit where any second could turn chaotic from a crashing patient, she relied on the predictability of everything being monitored.
Every heartbeat was a documented wave on a telemetry screen; every breath was calculated by a ventilator.
Orm herself was the picture of calm in these chaotic medical emergencies.
Standing tall with long slender limbs, a slim, toned figure, and fair skin - a result of constantly working with little exposure to Bangkok’s tropical sun, Orm practically glowed under the fluorescent lights.
Orm had just arrived for her 12-hour-shift, moving with quiet efficiency through the locker rooms, donning fresh scrubs, hair neat and tidy, before excitedly placing her mid-shift sandwich in the unit’s pantry fridge.
“I can’t wait to eat you later on, and then take a huge nap!” she sang out to her sandwich, before closing the fridge door gently and heading out to the nurses’ station for role call and bed assignment.
It was known that no one could get in between Orm, her breaktime and her bedtime.
Hangry Orm was not for the faint hearted.
Tired Orm was even more of a menace.
"Orm, sweetie," Nurse Gina called out from the central desk, typing furiously at the keyboard, eyes laser-focused on the electric medical records, charting away.
“The Emergency Department called, they’re drowning. A multi-vehicle pileup on the expressway, plus a high-level trauma team activation just dropped on the radio. They need a senior ICU nurse to float down and help manage zone 1. It would be great if you could head over there right away."
They had been assigned seats next to each other on day one of nursing school, and seemed to always end up with the same hospital for clinical placements, and now, as qualified nurses, working in the same ICU.
Gina knew she could count on Orm for any task assignments.
"On my way..." Orm sang, her voice smooth and reassuring as she gathered her stethoscope.
She gave Gina a flying kiss, leaving the sanctuary of the ICU, bracing herself as she descended into the underbelly of the hospital.
The moment the automatic doors of the Emergency Department slid open, the contrast hit her like a physical blow.
The ambient noise was an oppressive wall of sound.
Wailing sirens from the ambulance bay, the frantic shouting of commands from the triage nurses, and the low, agonizing groans of injured patients.
"ICU float?" ED Charge Nurse, Khun Cherry1 barked, barely looking up from a flashing screen.
"Resus Room 2. We have a high-level military trauma case coming in hot. Gunshot wound to the left shoulder, massive blood loss, hypovolemic shock. The Kwong family’s private security detail is already flooding the perimeter, so don't freak out when you see armed men in the hallway."
Orm nodded, her fingers automatically pulling on a pair of gloves. She knew of the prominent Kwong dynasty, of course - a fiercely private military and philanthropic powerhouse in Bangkok.
She wasn’t afraid of armed men. King Chulalongkorn Memorial Hospital was used to receiving high profile patients2 with their throng of body guards. She reached, just as the Zone 1 doors burst open.
A gurney rushed through, flanked by a swarm of paramedics, trauma surgeons, and tactical soldiers in blood-splattered fatigues.
The patient on the mattress was draped in a shredded, crimson-soaked military jacket.
"Pressure is dropping! 70 over 40!" a paramedic yelled.
Orm stepped into the rhythm of the trauma team without a single wasted motion.
She positioned herself at the right side of the bed, her large amber eyes scanning the patient's stats.
Orm wrinkled her nose at the smell of metal.
All that blood-loss.
"Get her shirt off! Carefully around the left shoulder!" the lead doctor ordered.
As Orm used trauma shears to cut away the heavy fabric, her eyes swept over the patient’s face.
The patient was jaw-droppingly beautiful, possessing an ethereal, striking look that belonged on a Parisian runway rather than a blood-soaked gurney.
Her skin was perfectly tanned from hours spent under the sun, completely flawless despite the sweat, accented by a sharp nose, structured features, thick, prominent eyebrows and…
...a mole on her left cheek.
Orm’s breath hitched in her throat.
There was a profound, terrifying familiarity in that mole.
But it couldn't be.
The girl she remembered from eight years ago had been soft, guarded, and had vanished into thin air.
The woman on this bed was a hardened soldier, her body covered in the lean, dense muscle of military conditioning.
Suddenly, the patient’s eyelids fluttered open. Large, dark brown eyes - clouded with shock - focused entirely on Orm.
For a fleeting second, the stoic military mask cracked.
A raw, desperate, soft vulnerability flooded those massive eyes. They turned round and pleading, staring up at her in adoration.
The pale lips parted, dry and cracked, trembling as a weak, raspy breath escaped them.
"Ormie... Ormie..."
The private, highly specific childhood nickname slipped into the sterile air of the resuscitation room, barely audible over the beep of the cardiac monitor.
Orm completely froze, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Her hands, usually steady enough to thread a needle even on squirmish patients, trembled violently for a fraction of a second.
The syringe of sedatives in her hand felt impossibly heavy. Only one person in her entire life had ever called her that.
Lingling.
"Nurse Orm! Airway is clear, push the sedative now!" the ED doctor commanded.
Orm snapped back into reality, her fingers acting on pure autopilot, depressing the plunger of the syringe, her mind completely reeling as the ghostly echo of her nickname vibrated in the room.
Lingling’s eyelids lulled shut, her consciousness slipping away as her body gave into the sedative.