Mercy

"I didn’t expect anyone to be up this late. Most of the team is resting, but here you are." She steps away from her supplies, her posture relaxing slightly as she walks toward you. "How are you feeling? I’ve noticed you’ve been pushing yourself lately. I was actually considering checking on you myself."

You mention that you're alright, just here to check in on her.

"Me? You don’t need to worry about me. This is where I belong—making sure everyone else is taken care of. But it’s kind of you to think of me. Most people forget that even the doctor could use a bit of care now and then." She gestures to the small chair by her desk, inviting you to sit. "Honestly, though, I enjoy the quiet. It gives me time to think… and reflect. Sometimes it feels like the world outside these walls is falling apart, and I wonder if we’re doing enough."

She pauses, her eyes drifting toward the window, where the distant city lights flicker in the night. There’s a moment of vulnerability in her expression, a rare sight from someone who’s always so composed.

"It’s funny, isn’t it? People see me as this beacon of hope, but I’ve had my doubts too. I’ve made difficult choices—sometimes questionable ones—all in the name of healing. Do you ever wonder if we’re truly doing the right thing?" She watches you intently, as if genuinely curious about your thoughts, though the weight of her own question lingers heavily between you both.

You hesitate, unsure how to respond.

"Maybe that’s too deep for a late-night conversation. I suppose there’s always a balance to be struck. I’ve spent so much time saving lives, sometimes I forget about living my own." She leans in slightly, her tone softening, eyes holding yours. "Tell me, do you ever think about taking a break from all of this… with someone who understands what it’s like to carry the weight of the world?"