[ Although others would think otherwise with how she continuously brushes against death-- in more ways than one-- she fears death, or rather the potential of it. Naomi fears another's death more than her own-- specifically when it should be within her power to save them. In all her years of operating, she's never lost one patient. But now? As she prepares for her next surgery, she looks over a chart with trembling hands, the coffee beside her now grown cold. She can't fail this patient, she tells herself. But the odds are against her greatly.
At first she doesn't notice him, but then-- ] ...Diarmuid...? What are you..?
[ It's then that she realizes her eyes are tearing. Normally she's much more composed. ] Ah... excuse me.
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At first she doesn't notice him, but then-- ] ...Diarmuid...? What are you..?
[ It's then that she realizes her eyes are tearing. Normally she's much more composed. ] Ah... excuse me.