Ross's eyes flew open as his pager started beeping. Back in his medical school days he'd be groggy when he first opened his eyes, but after so many years in the field, his brain had learned to respond instantly to the distinctive beep. He went from a deep sleep to awake and alert in less than a second.

He threw on his clothes and booked it to the hospital. "Shattered leg," one of the nurses told him as he strode in. "Dr. Lahiri said it was best that you operate."

"How'd it happen?"

"Took a corner too quickly, or at least that's what her friend told us. She was on the phone when it happened. The friend was the one who called 911. She said that sometime during the call, the woman passed out."

"From the pain?"

"It seems so. No concussion that we can detect. There's some slight bruising here and there but it seems most of the damage is in the leg."

Ross grabbed some gloves. "All right, bring me to her."

The operation wasn't an easy one. Sure enough, the woman was mostly undamaged, but the leg had really taken a beating. It seemed that the car had hit a light post and a mail box, and so all of the damage had been concentrated in the front left of the car—where the woman's leg was. Luckily, she was under the entire time, so she didn't have to feel anything.

The invasive nature of surgery had always interested him. It was a surgeon’s job to get under a patient’s skin, to change them for the better, to touch their heart—sometimes literally. Emotions—especially love—were like invisible forms of surgery, working their way through someone’s core and leaving them changed. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly whimsical, he wondered whether those invasive emotions left marks upon the soul, like old surgical scars. But perhaps that was stretching the analogy too far.

In the end, he had to put a rod in the woman's leg. He winced inwardly as he thought of the massive hospital bill she’d be stuck with, not to mention the extensive physical therapy she'd have to undergo. He'd had patients who cried when they awakened to find themselves post-op, because they had no idea how they were going to pay for the expense. He hoped that this woman would be able to afford it.

He sent her into post-op, washed his hands, checked on some other patients, and then waited until the woman had been assigned a hospital room before he checked on her. He liked to have a post-op chat with all his patients. As the person who operated on them, he felt he was best able to explain the operation and answer their questions.

And so it was with a rush of guilt that he opened the door and found himself staring into very familiar blue-green eyes.

"Sharon."

"Ross." Sharon seemed at just as much of a loss as he was, but at least she had an excuse—she'd been unconscious for the surgery. He hadn't. How had he not recognized her?

He knew that he tended to get into the zone, so to speak, when performing surgery, but it worried him that he hadn't taken the time to notice the patient's face. He'd have to do better.

Although, considering their relationship, maybe it was a good thing he hadn't recognized her at the time. No matter how you tried to avoid it, sex was a kind of intimacy—the only intimacy he allowed himself nowadays—and as a doctor he wasn't allowed to operate on someone he had a personal connection to, even if he was the best person for the job.

Seeing that Sharon was still looking at him with confusion and a good bit of hesitation, Ross forced himself to focus on the present moment. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I was the one who operated on your leg."

"Thank you." Sharon sounded genuinely grateful. "I feel so stupid. I ran into a mailbox of all things."

"I think it was probably the light post that did most of the damage,” he pointed out. “Don't worry about it. I’m just glad you didn’t run into a building."

"I shouldn't have been talking to Leticia. I was distracted."

"The EMTs told me you passed out, so I'm glad you were talking to her. You wouldn't have been able to call 911."

Sharon shook her head, her mouth twisting up into a rueful smile. "I still feel stupid."

It seemed that Sharon's self-deprecation was coming into play. Ross tactfully changed the subject. "Did the nurse explain everything to you?"

"That I have a rod in my leg and I'm going to have to go to therapy? Yeah." Sharon nodded. "I don't think it'll interfere with my work, thank God. I have to keep on top of things, but I can do most of my work from home. Making calls, that kind of thing. I can even have Charlene stop by the apartment to help me out." Continuing on from Ross's blank look, Sharon explained, "She's my assistant. She worked under Liza too—my predecessor—so she knows the ropes almost better than I do."

It made warmth bloom in Ross's chest to know that Sharon's main concern was Hearts in Hands. "HiH seems to be in good hands. No pun intended."

Sharon chuckled. "I just try to do my best. My parents taught me that charity isn't just for the rich. If everyone gives a little bit, they can have just as big of an impact as a few wealthy donors, if not more. Not that we shouldn't shake the rich down a little. God knows they can afford to donate a few thousand. But I want everyone in the city to know about HiH. I want them to make a tradition of donating. Five dollars from every person... Do you know how many people live in the city?"

Ross felt his face hurting and realized that he was beaming at her. Sharon seemed to realize that she was rambling because she blushed, glancing down at her hands. "Sorry. You must think I'm ridiculous, caring more about my job than about nearly losing my leg."

"I think it's noble of you." Ross forced himself to pull the corners of his mouth in and maintain a more neutral expression. "The physical therapy will be hard, and you'll be hyperaware of the rod at times. I have to be honest with you, it won't be easy."

"Do you think it will affect me in the long run?"

"I shouldn't think so. You just have to make sure that your leg is healing properly. The rod will feel weird occasionally. For instance, when you’re outside during winter, the rod will get cold, just like any other metal object. You’re lucky, though. You’re healthy and still relatively young."

Sharon pressed her lips together, a determined light in her eyes. It was similar to the teasing light that had flared in them last night, but it was harder, surer. She might have been tentative in the bedroom, but when it came to her job and her healing, it seemed that Sharon Talcott was not one to be messed with.

"Then I'll just have to keep at it, won't I?" Sharon's tone was light, but that look was still in her eyes. "I'm not going to let this get the best of me. How soon can I start therapy?"

Ross had to work hard to hold in his grin at her determination. "You'll need to be on bedrest for a week so we can monitor you. We need to make sure nothing's wrong, and that everything's starting to knit together the way it should. After that, you can start right away."

"Thank you, again. I know you were just doing your job but it's not an easy one. I mean, 100 years ago you'd have cut my leg off. So thank you."

"I'm just glad you're okay." Ross realized that sounded a little too intimate, and quickly backpedaled. "I, uh, I'm always glad when my patients turn out okay. No matter how hard you try, sometimes there are things you can't save."

"Of course. And thank you." Sharon reached out her hand and Ross took it, not even thinking about it. She gave his hand a squeeze. It was nothing, just a little gesture of gratitude, but Ross felt his face growing hot. What was he, twelve?

Sharon seemed to realize the potential awkwardness of the gesture and withdrew her hand. "You must have a lot of other patients to get to, so I shouldn't keep you."

"It's my pleasure," Ross said, realizing as he spoke that it was true. He was happy to see her again. He was even feeling a little bad for just falling asleep on her and not giving her a proper goodbye last night. "I'll be sure to keep checking up on you."

"Then I look forward to your visits." Sharon's voice was light and even, no trace of innuendo, but Ross couldn't help but imagine certain unethical scenarios all the same.

They would have to be careful of her leg, of course. She couldn't be on top for a while. But if he had her, say, on his kitchen counter, or another surface she could sit on where her leg wouldn't get jostled too much...

He snapped himself out of those thoughts. Sharon was his patient now. Even if he could maintain a sexual relationship with her without inconvenient feelings intruding on either side, he couldn't have sex with her now that she was in his medical care. It would be a huge violation of both his license and his own ethical code.

"Right, then." Ross hoped he didn't sound as awkward as he felt. "I'll leave you to it. I'm sure you have family and friends visiting soon. Have a great day."

"You too." He might have been imagining it, but he thought he saw some of the light die in her eyes. She almost looked disappointed by his departure.

But that had to be wishful thinking on his part. Something about Sharon made him feel warm inside, and he had to get rid of it before it became something to worry about. "I'll check in on you later."

"See you then!" Sharon waved to him as he walked out the door.

He had better be careful. No matter how sweet Sharon seemed, he couldn't afford to get hurt again.