𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, lando norris

╰┈➤ ❝𝟎𝟎𝟏, 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨.❞

"(Y/n) Ricciardo to room 309, emergency status, patient not breathing, I repeat patient not breathing. Assistance needed." My ear piece rang the noise of Mrs. Courtois' voice. 

My heart starts beating fast as I run down the hallway of the third floor, searching for room 309. "Please be here." My phone starts ringing non-stop so I pick up and press it in between my shoulder and ear while picking up and sprinting down the long corridor. "Daniel?" I pant. 

"Are you watching the ra- What happened? You're breathing so heavily." He stops talking. I could hear commotion around him as they yell at him to get ready to get in the car. 

"A kids not breathing, I'm running to his room. I have to go." I shut the call once I reach the door. 

309 was printed on it in big letters with the name of the patient. Leon Hemmingway. I throw the door open with all my force as nurses and doctor are pumping his chest. Leon is a good kid. Why him? I used to read him books, bring him his food and sit for hours trying to feed him. It's stupid, but we were close.  

"I need you to do chest compressions!"  The doctor shouts at me as I shut the door. Doing chest compressions is a huge responsibility. If the patient doesn't make it out, the blame is on you. Others don't show they're blaming you, but inside, they're judging. 

Without hesitation, I run to the empty side of the bed, next to Leon who's lips were slowly turning blue. My hands get in position on his chest as I start to press down on it. Everything around my blurs out and all I'm focused on is the little boy. I could feel the distress of other doctors and nurses, panicking. A mother was sitting on the chair with her hands clasped together, tears flowing as she prays, pressing her cupped hands to her lips. 

"Breathe." I beg, silently. "Please, breathe." 

Time starts to pass and nothing changes. Every thirty presses to the chest, a sobbing father leans down to give mouth to mouth. Every thirty presses, Leon's state doesn't change. Every thirty presses, every bit of my hope for him to breathe vanishes. I was trained for this. I tell myself. His parents are waiting for him to wake up, praying for him to wake up and I won't stop till he's breathing, in their arms. Nurses stop crowding around the bed and go to calm the distressed mother and older brother. A doctor pats the father on the back, taking over and using a manual resuscitation bag oppose to mouth to mouth. The doctor, Dr. Cliffard, looks at me without lifting his head. He sends me a reassuring glance and starts counting the thirty chest compressions. In no time, the heart rate monitor starts beeping, the green glowing line moving up and down in zigzags, showing a heartbeat. My whole body fills with relief as a nurse grabs my hands and holds them in happiness and other nurses hook Leon onto an oxygen mask. I let out a few breaths of relief before feeling a tap on my back. Turning around, Leon's older brother, Oliver, hugs me tightly. Oliver is 13 while Leon is 7. 

"Thank you so much." He cries into my shirt. 

I wrap my arms around him and rub his back. The mom stands up, and with shaking hands, she joins in on the hug. The dad walks over and gives me a thankful smile, which I return, as he rubs his son and wifes back. Leons mom cries as she walks over to his bed, grabbing Leons free hand and kissing it, talking to him. 

"Good job, (Y/n)." Dr. Cliffard pats my shoulder. "I presume your brother is racing right now? Take the day off and go watch it." He smiles at me. 

Todays race was in Australia, and the circuit was only 5 minutes away. I check the clock, and it was already 20 minutes into the race. 

"Thank you, Doctor." I turn on my heels, taking one last look at the relieved family who sat around Leons bed, before jogging out to the nurses closet.