It is a truth universally acknowledged, that if you break a leg, sprain an ankle, or break your heart, you should visit to a hospital. And quickly.

The ER was unusually quiet for a Monday morning. The droves of pedestrians, tourists, and senators that customarily clustered the waiting room were absent, and the methodical swishing of a mop replaced the usual shrill echo of the ambulance siren. Nurses chatted pleasantly over the covers of Neiman Marcus catalogs, while a curly-headed blonde in bubble-gum pink scrubs sobbed into her cell-phone, receiving occasional sympathetic glances from her fellow co-workers. At the front desk, the receptionist was absorbed in typing an email to her son in Connecticut; every so often muttering aloud, “My poor baby,” while typing even more furiously. An old janitor in a baggy puce jumpsuit wrestled to revive a pathetic-looking potted plant in the far corner, while, over by the water-cooler, two EMTs were enjoying late morning breakfasts.

“Tough as nails,” complained Charles Bingley, wincing after taking a bite from a granola bar. “I can’t believe the junk they stuff into The Vender.” He jabbed a finger over towards the corner, where a beat-up, antique vending machine took up a large portion of the wall-space. “Waste of a hard-earned dollar.”

“I’d sympathize,” Richard Fitzwilliam replied with a grin, “but I’ve got gold today.” He revealed a box of powdered doughnuts and a large Starbucks coffee. “Tough break, Corky,” he taunted sardonically, grinning like a Cheshire cat while biting into a powdered doughnut and dusting his nose with white powder. “But I’m not sharing.”

“Idiot!” exclaimed Charles, eyeing the doughnuts hungrily. “I share my stuff with you all the time! Like that box of Christmas chocolates! And that fruit basket. Heck, I even split my favorite box of thin mint Girl Scout cookies with you!” He huffed angrily, watching as Richard began to shovel the doughnuts into his mouth. “You can’t possibly eat all those by yourself.”

“Can too.”

“Well...” Charles sputtered angrily, “I hope you choke!”

“Good thing I’m in an emergency room then,” replied Richard cheerfully, smiling very widely and revealing powder-caked teeth and a white tongue. Charles, admitting defeat, glumly contented himself to the granola bar.

“One day, Rich,” he said, tossing the bar into the trashcan after several of his back teeth made suspicious cracking noises. “I will kill you.”

“And when you do, Corky,” Richard informed him casually, “I will be sure to leave you a box of Abner’s Super-Dooper Spendliferific Wonderfully Fantastical Powdered Doughnuts in my will.”

A loud crashing sound resounded through the waiting room, attracting everyone’s attention. The bubble-gum blonde had hurled her cell-phone into the opposite wall, resulting in a mini avalanche of metal pieces and computer chips flying all over the freshly mopped floors. Without a further word, she stormed out the doors, leaving the poor, bemused janitor to go in search of a broom and dustpan.

“Reminds me of Charlotte when we split,” said Richard with a faint sigh, watching the doors slam haphazardly behind the blonde’s retreating back. “She wasn’t branded the Battleaxe for nothing, you know. Huffed and puffed and threw whatever she could get her hands on. Thought she’d kill me, I did; practically broke everything in my apartment. But I put my foot down when she wanted the flat screen. I let her bust the food processor and the microwave and the alarm clock, but the flat screen I guarded with my life.” He nodded viciously, fishing for the last crumbs of the doughnut box.

The janitor, returning with his broom and dustpan, gave Richard a sympathetic smile. “I feel for you, pal,” he said solemnly, propping his elbow up on the grimy handle of the broom. “Reminds me of my third wife.” He winced, as if swallowing a lemon. “Angela. Big temper that one had. If it wasn’t for the heroic efforts of the local volunteer fire department, my house would now be a pile of ashes.”

“Tough break, Bill,” assented Richard, using a napkin to partially remove the powder from his nose.

Bill shrugged. “I could forgive her that, see. It was my genuine, prized, autographed Eagles football that broke the camel’s back. My most treasured possession. Grabbed it right off the shelf and threw it clean through to the neighbor’s yard; sailing smack-dab in middle of her prized geranium garden. She never returned it, and I never paid for those dang smashed geraniums.” Mumbling under his breath, he drug his broom and dustpan over towards the cell-phone debris.

Charles laughed. “You heard about her latest fling, huh?”

”Fling?” Richard snorted. “Yeah, I guess. It’s pretty much common knowledge around the entire hospital. They might as well put it up on a neon sign in the main lobby.” He drained a large portion of his Starbucks and starred moodily at his fingers. “Charlotte Lucas and Clarence Collins. Ugh. I hate his guts.”

“Somebody’s jealous,” baited Charles jeeringly, flashing Richard a wry grin.

“What makes you say that?” snapped Richard, glaring.

Charles chuckled. “Lucky guess.”

Richard ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. “Am I that obvious?”

Charles continued to smirk complacently. “Yes.”

Richard gave a frustrated sigh. “I just don’t understand why she can go on a rampage through my apartment, smash my prized possessions to smithereens, drop me like a hot potato, and go running off and getting engaged to that greaseball within two months.” He let loose a low whistle. “I mean, is that even normal?”

Charles sighed. “Normal is way overrated.”

“And why,” continued on Richard heatedly, “out of all people in this hospital, does she have to date Her Majesty’s right-hand man, that slime-headed, grease-monkey who can’t even stick up for himself and has no sense of humor..” Richard trailed off, thinking of a lot worse things to call Clarence Rutherford Collins the III.

“It’s called getting on with life,” replied Charles matter-of-factly, “and you are just going to have to accept the fact that she’s never coming back. No matter what.”

Richard laughed. “Somebody’s been sneaking in extra episodes of Oprah in the nurses’ lounge,” he stated sarcastically.

The receptionist completed her email dramatically, and, with a deep sigh, clicked on the flashing icon to send it. “My poor baby,” she muttered in ringing tones, audible throughout the entire room, “stuck with that nasty, nasal, selfish, deceptive…”

“What about you, Corky,” said Richard, eager to get off the subject of his former relationship with Charlotte ‘Battleaxe’ Lucas. “I heard you and that nurse are hitting it off.”

Bingley smiled brightly. “Jane is so perfect! I’ve never met anyone equal to her. She’s beautiful and talented and smart and sweet and sensitive...”

..”and you are sounding like a broken record,” Richard completed for him. “You’ve said the same for every other girl you’ve ever met. You fall for girls way to easily, Bingley. You should be more selective.”

Charles blushed to his ears. “You just haven’t met her yet, Rich,” he insisted fervently, “you’d see once you met her. She’s just wonderful! And a great nurse too,” he added quickly, “even Will said so.”

“That seems to be a little out of character for him,” Richard said, unwrapping a stick of gum, “He hasn’t complimented any of your other girlfriends before. Told me they were all empty-headed bimbos after your checking-account.”

“Well, he told me that Jane’s great. She’s his Nursing Aid, you know. Says she’s very efficient and level-headed. He likes her.”

Richard laughed, chewing the gum mechanically. “You care too much about what Darcy thinks, Charles. I know he’s your hero and all, but could you tone it down to silent worship?”

”He’s not my hero,” insisted Charles indignantly, “just my best friend. And I’m not about to forget how he and his dad helped me through med. school.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, we’re off topic. I want to talk about how wonderful Jane is.”

Richard snickered. “You and your girlfriends, Bingley. You go on and on about them like a wind-up toy on steroids.”

One of the nurses, who had been eavesdropping on Charles and Richard’s conversation the entire time, quietly disentangled herself from her catalog and joined the two with a sickeningly fake smile. “Are you two talking about Jane,” she simpered, her voice honeyed and prying. “She is such a sweetheart, you know. Though she is rather tall and should probably concentrate on wearing more make-up...” the nurse batted her eyelashes demurely at Charles... “overall she’s just wonderful. Did you say you were dating, Charlie?”

Charles nodded proudly. “A week now.”

The nurse giggled. “Did you here that, everyone?” she announced loudly to the entire room. “Charles and Jane Bennet are dating!”

Her proclamation was evidently unrequired, for the entire room had been on tenterhooks the moment the nosy nurse obtrusively pushed her way into the conversation. A series of cooing erupted from the nurses, the receptionist starred dreamily off at a stack of medical ledgers, muttering about ‘young love’, while Bill smiled goofily at the pitiful potted plant.

“So honey,” the nurse continued, eager for some fresh gossip, “tell me exactly how you two lovebirds first met!”

Charles turned a bright poppy color, blushing so heavily that his ears seemed to billow rings of smoke. Richard, on the other hand, looked positively impish, smiling smugly as his friend gulped for air. Unaccustomed to limelight, Charles hated talking in front of an audience.

He gulped loudly. “Uh, you see, it was a-a-actually k-k-kind of e-e-embarrassing,” he stuttered nervously, which only made the nurse crane her neck further in curiosity. “Y-y-you s-s-see I w-was w-w-walking one w-way and she w-was w-w-walking the o-other w-way and w-we s-s-sort of,” he trailed off, looking at his fingernails, “collided.”

“Aww...”cooed Richard sarcastically, “how romantic. What happened next? Did you compliment her black-eye? Present her with a bouquet of band-aids? Recite her X-Rays with the poetical elegance of Shakespeare?”

“No, I felt so bad about everything that I asked her too lunch,” Charles snapped back with uncharacteristic venom. “And she was great about everything, really, really sweet. She even offered to pay the check when I realized I’d left my wallet in the ER.”

The nurse gasped, the receptionist looked faint, and Bill uttered a low whistle. “Oh, honey. Don’t tell me you made her pay on the first date!”

”Technically it wasn’t a date,” Charles pointed out miserably, “and I would have paid for everything if I hadn’t left my wallet.”

Abruptly, and without warning, the short, staccato sound of a North Star unit could be distinguished over Richard’s radio. “Hush!” he shouted quickly, alerting the entire waiting-room and bracing for a report. “Everyone SHUT UP!” Unaccustomed to such domineering anger, the room fell into shocked silence as Richard hurriedly turned the dial on the radio and adjusted the volume. The former monotonous quiet returned to the waiting room, as everyone strained their ears to hear the report:

”This is North Star Unit 26 reporting. Do you read?”

“Yes. This is Richard Fitzwilliam. Emergency EMT.”

“We have a white female girl; currently unidentified. Attends Avery Academy in downtown DC. Apparently she was walking to class and had a syncope episode. Now alert and complains that she is feeling weak and dizzy. There is extensive bruising on the right and upper extremities. Vital signs: blood pressure 90 over 60, heart rate 130, respiration 36, pulse ox 88 on room air, fever of 104 degrees. I.V. attempts X2 were unsuccessful.”

Strangulated whispers from the nurses; the receptionist scurried off into the lounge; Bill, cleaning up the remaining bits of the cell-phone, hurried off to cower in the janitorial closet; Richard, for some odd reason of his own, had become deadly pale.

“Did you say she was unidentified?” he muttered into the radio, sounding shockingly unprofessional.

“We currently do not have a name. However, she is being accompanied by a teacher. The woman apparently is near hysterics and has provided no vital information. I believe upon arrival she will require sedatives.”

More whispering; again Richard questioned in urgent monotones, “Could you give me a physical description?”

Silence on the other end, before the brisk feminine voice replied coldly: “I do not believe, doctor, that is in any way necessary for further prognosis.”

“Please,” Richard said pleadingly, capturing the attention of the few nurses who were not scampering about the place stupidly, “I need to know. Does she have blonde hair?”

A sigh on the other end. “Yes. Down to her shoulders.”

”And blue eyes?”

“Yes.”

“And freckles?”

“Yes.”

“And a slight mole on her left ear?”

Silence on the other end, before yet another definitive, “Yes.”

Richard heavily fell backwards onto his chair, inhaling heavily. Bingley, seeing his friend’s incapacitation, hurriedly grabbed the radio and held it to his mouth.

“This is Charles Bingley speaking. We are prepared for the girl’s arrival.”

A crackling sound from the other end resulted before Charles quickly turned the machine off.

“What in the world do you mean by that!” he mouthed angrily, glaring at the few remaining nurses scattered in a semi-circle observing them. “That was the most unprofessional, unauthorized…”

Richard sighed heavily, his eyelids fluttering closed as his hands gripped the sides of the chair tightly. He looked very pale; his skin tinted an almost greenish color. He looked, if anything else, completely shell-shocked.

…”I mean, do you really want me to report you to Forster?” continued Charles, oblivious to his friend’s situation. “Why on earth do you all of the sudden start inquiring after physical descriptions of ER patients?” Receiving no reply, he stormed angrily off into the throng of nurses, busily concealing their Neiman Marcus catalogs, perfecting their uniforms, and rushing off into various rooms of the ER.

Still, Richard did not move. He did not open his eyes. He did not do anything but visualize a pair of bright, intelligent blue eyes in the face of a freckled teen who always had a wink and a wide smile reserved for him. Avery Academy. There could be no mistake. And only she would have the cute little mole on the left ear that he had once proclaimed ‘your most distinguishing beauty-mark’. Memories flashed through his mind like cars on a highway; the ballet-recitals he had attended, the picnics in the park on warm spring mornings, Broadway at Christmas, her school play-and now she would be wheeled in, afraid and very frightened, on a stretcher, and he would have to see her again only under the most painful of circumstances.

He had dropped her off at school that morning. He had waved good-bye cheerfully and watched her lug a heavy book-bag and purse out onto the side-walk.

“Good-bye, Rich!” she had called at him, smiling her characteristic, pearly-white smile. “Don’t have too much fun at work today!”

And now, now that seemed so far away, so distant. It was as if he had not seen her for years, and the lifeless form on the stretcher would be so different, so changed, that he would not recognize her at all. But she would see him. He would give her hope; she would not be afraid.

“You always give me hope, Richard,” she had told him at age 7, after her ballet-recital, when he had winked away her stage-fright, “I know nothing will ever go wrong when I’m around you.” And then she had enveloped him in a childish bear-hug, and he had felt like some sort of hero, sitting there being idolized by a seven year old.

“I know nothing will ever go wrong when I’m around you…”

How could he bear to face her? How could he bear to see her?

Somehow, he would have to be strong; somehow he would have to be the brave, fearless hero that she knew him to be. He would had too live up to her expectations and prove to her exactly what a good doctor he could be.

His eyelids fluttered open immediately, with a sudden rapidness he sprang from his chair and flew down the long, narrow hallway to the receiving room at the very end. “This is for you,” he croaked, barely audible, screeching to a halt in front of the door. “Yes, this is for you, Emily.”