Claire (& open)
The worst part was always the wait.
Waiting for the sirens to come closer, waiting for the ambulances to pull up. Those minutes between hearing about numerous incoming patients and when they finally arrived always seemed to drag on forever, much like tonight was. Once the fight began (and she was assuming it really would, from everything she'd overheard about what the perimeter looked like), there would be little time to think. Until then, all she had was time.
Claire didn't wish for patients; she wished they would all survive the night unscathed, but she knew better. There hadn't been happily ever afters in New York, and there certainly wouldn't be here, either.
She'd ducked out of medical before sunset to check on their doctors near the blast doors, and then headed back to her post. If she'd had a moment to stop and think about what was happening, she might have laughed: not because it was funny, but because only she would be dropped off the deep end like this. Of course she would try to extract herself from a situation only to find herself in one that was much worse. Of course.
The gravity of the last week would hit her when it was all over, she knew that. It hadn't hit her yet; there'd been too much to do, and now she was worried about everyone - people she didn't even know. Claire wasn't a religious person by any means, but if there was a time for prayer, it was now.