"His name is Joshua Michel. 21 years ago. Fell and got impaled with a pole to the right abdomen. We cut it. Still in shock. BP 50/30."

"Let's move him!"

Welcome to a day in the ER. Cases all day. Running from hall to hall, saving lives as they come.

"Dr. Hathaway, he's wheezing!"

I rest my stethoscope over the man's chest, "Give him 125 milligrams solumedrol, IV push. Someone call radiology and give a CT scan."

I bite my lip at the anticipation of the incident as the nurses listen to everything I said, "I need four units of O-neg and let's get him to the OR!"

The nurses pull him to the elevator to get him to surgery as I slide my gloves off, throwing them in the trash. I inhale and exhale slowly, enjoying the minuscule of free time I had before the next victim comes.

I slid my fingers through my cocoa-colored waves as I walk out of the trauma room to the cafeteria. I needed the coffee. To be on a 16-hour shift, seeing two people die on the table, it was enough to have a chardonnay.

I couldn't help but notice a plethora of surgeons in the hall, and raised an eyebrow, "Shouldn't you guys be cutting open someone right now?"

They looked at me then turn to what they were looking at. My eyes looked as well as I widen at the view of the person.

Isn't that Michael Jackson? And his sister LaToya?

They were looking at some of the babies in NICU through the window, and eventually, Michael turned to me, "Do you work here?"

I chuckle, "No, I work for the circus." I look down at my outfit then looked back at him, realizing how embarrassed I was for my dumb joke, nevertheless being sarcastic to HIM. He tilts his head, giggling, "That was a really dumb question, I..."

His voice was soft and serene as it never went above a whisper as his sister interrupts, "I'm sorry about him, he just really wants to see the kids, do you work in his department." I blink slowly, completely starstruck by the two figures in the halls,

"Uhh, actually I don't um, let me go get you someone, who can help you."

I walk in between the two of them and walked to the desk, requesting one of the doctors to help Michael and LaToya. I couldn't help but turn back around and watch them conversate with one another, probably talking about how a complete idiot I looked.

One of the nurses, Miranda walks over to me and chuckles, "Who would even visit here on a Friday night?" I smirk, "Kinda happy I decided to double shift tonight. I wouldn't have believed you guys if you told me this."

Michael was impeccably handsome. His clothes were cleanly iron, not a single wrinkle to be found. It was like a dream to see him, so up and personal. His smooth, milk-chocolate skin, the way his pearly whites radiate with his overjoyed expression to be here as he walked around the NICU, kissing and holding the babies.

The way he was with the babies as if it was his. My trance of Michael dissipated as my pager started to beep.

HATHAWAY.911.STAT.

I quickly ran down the halls as the EMT walked with a little girl on the gurney. I walked on the side of the bed as one of the paramedics pumped air into her lungs.

Mia Tabot. 11 years ago. Fell down the stairs. Broken rib, bruises.

I glance at one of the nurses, "Call Children and Family Services." This wasn't a coicendence, it was abuse. As I worked on the girl, I noticed Michael and Latoya staring outside the trauma room, watching me.

I felt the immediate pressure to make sure this girl was okay. Eventually, she was stabilized for surgery, so she was taken to the ER. I walked out the room, completely bombarded by an emotional Michael, "Will she be okay?"

He looked as though he was about to cry as if it was his daughter in there, and I gulped slowly, "Well I hope so." LaToya sighs, "Michael..I told you visiting here wasn't a good idea, now you're more depressed than before! I told you we should've just went to a club or something. Look here, we apologize for interrupting."

He looks over at his sister, refusing to admit his choice of coming here wasn't wise. He bites his lip then turns back to me, "How do you even sleep at night?"  I comb my fingers through my hair nervously as his chestnut colored eyes were focused on me like two lasers.

"I really don't know how I do it, Mr. Jackson."

He nods before sighing, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was somewhat satisfied with my answer, "Well...thank you for your time here, uh.." He leans over, closer to me as he looks at my name-tag.

"Dr. Marina Hathaway."

The way his voice flowed through my name, speaking every syllable and letter almost made me melt in the hallway. The fluidity as it flowed like liquid. For a moment, I just want him to say my name over and over again. He smiles at me, "Beautiful name for a heroic and beautiful doctor."

Was he flirting with me?

My cheeks was burning red as well as his, "Why thank you!" He licks his lips and nods as his sister interrupts us, "Well it's getting late, we should be off before the press comes. Michael?" His head turns to her as he sighs, "Yes, it is late. We should be off. Thank you again, Dr." They wall off out the hospital, disappearing into the night as I walk over to the information desk, setting the charts down and erasing my name off the patient board.

I stared at the board for a moment, trying to relive the moment I had with Michael Jackson of all people. His voice, his face, his laughter...the way he talked to me. It was like a dream come true.