"How's the pie, Mr. Carson?" The voice may or may not be familiar to the man who was currently trying to take his mind off his trouble with food. Dr. Melinda Ashton stood over his shoulder with a look of amusement on her lips as she looked for his reaction.
It had been one of those days that Melinda had no desire to stay late at the hospital. She'd been buried in paperwork. She'd met with more new residents that were bright eyed and bushy tailed to be there, and by the end of the day, she was all smiled out with the politics of her job. She didn't get any 'real' work done and she was actually a little more tired and withdrawn because of it.
The goddess in her head had been subtle. Quiet most of the day, the subtle pushing for the good doctor to take care of herself and do something relaxing was clear. Melinda didn't feel like cooking anything and takeout was getting old. So the diner she passed seemed like as good as an option as anything.
That was why she found herself standing there in front of the fire fighter she had seen cross into her hospital before. And she rarely forgot a face or a name. And this one was quite memorable to her. "You look different when not bloodied or burned," she observed.