L E A H 🕯️

“Yeesh,” you muttered under your breath, the tip of your pencil swirling over the name ‘Maverick’ scribbled into your ledger.

“And Goose,” Viper said quieter, almost disappointedly, “You’re a good backseater, you’re a gifted flyer, you gotta stop letting an idiot like Maverick play with your life like that,” he finished with an almost fatherly tone.

“Final warning boys,” Viper sighed, “do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir,” their voices intersected each other, morale completely defeated.

You found yourself tracing the two o’s in Goose’s name when the also creaky door to Viper’s office opened, startling you enough to look over to the two men coming out, heads low. The one in front was shorter, strong build, jet black hair, and the other was tall, lanky, blonde, and had a mustache…and boy were you a sucker for a good mustache.

“That sounded brutal,” you said quietly, your eyes darting to the taller one’s briefly, catching his gaze and sending a blush through your cheeks.

“Brutal doesn’t even begin to describe it,” the shorter one said, his palms darting up to cover his eyes, “ugh Goose what the hell are we gonna do?”

So that was his name. He was Goose, Viper’s so called ‘gifted flier.’

“What are we gonna do?” Goose questioned, revealing his sweet lilted voice, “Mav I love you buddy but only one of us is flying the plane…what we do up there is kinda on you.” He sounded defeated, like he felt bad for having to reality check his best friend after such a serious conversation with Viper.

“Yeah, yeah,” Maverick shrugged him off, walking instead over to the front of your desk, “hey you’re here all the time right?” 

Was he asking you? You looked up from your ledger to meet his hooded blue eyes.

“Me?” You asked, surprised, eliciting a chuckle from Goose

“Yeah, you.” Maverick responded, “you’re outside of Viper’s office all the time…does he get this pissed at all his pilots?”

“Well,” you looked down at your ledger to read his name, “Maverick,” you turned to Goose, “and Goose,” he smiled at you saying his name, “I’ve been here for all of two weeks, but I can say with absolute certainty that neither has anyone come in as frequently as you two, nor has anyone gotten Viper as riled up…”

Maverick hung his head as Goose walked over to him, patting him on the back.

“Motherfucker!” Maverick yelled, slamming his fist down on your desk, making it rattle and sending your pencil from your hand.

Goose bent down to pick up your pencil, standing to place it delicately in your hand and greet you with his tender gaze and warm smile, his teeth barely peeking through his mustache.

“You’ll have to excuse my dear friend Maverick here,” he said sarcastically, placing his hands on his friend’s shoulders to guide him up from your desk, “he’s had a bit of a rough day and unfortunately likes to handle that by making rash decisions that put everyone’s lives in danger,” Goose pat him on the back with a chuckle

“That’s about what I’ve gathered from all your little conversations in there,” you said as you gestured to Viper’s office.

“You’ve heard all those, have you?”

“Oh yeah,” you chuckled, “probably a little more than I’d like to, Goose”

He blushed as you said his name again, a smile peeking through his mustache once more.

“Well, I better be getting this flyboy home so he can forget today ever happened,” he said as he slapped Maverick’s chest, making him groan in annoyance, “ain’t that right honey?”

“As much as I love your company, I’m hoping I don’t see either of you again, for the sake of your careers,” you said, making Goose chuckle and Maverick groan again.

“My name’s y/n by the way,” you said quickly as they started to shuffle away, but they didn’t seem to hear you.

“What was that?” Goose asked, turning around and leaning back so he could face you

“Oh,” you blushed, mostly out of embarrassment, “I said my name is y/n”

“Y/n” Goose repeated, your name rolling off his tongue sending chills down your spine, “I like it…I think I’ll remember it”

You laughed, shooting them a small salute as Goose turned around and walked with his best friend to the parking lot, leaving you alone to question how you couldn’t stop thinking about a certain naval aviator. 

“Y/n!” Viper’s yell cut you out of your daydream, spinning you around in your chair to face him

“Yes sir?”

“Fix this damn door when you’re done fawning over my flyers, it's too damn creaky! 

“Oh god,” you blushed, making Viper chuckle, “yes sir”

“Listen Y/n,” his tone changed, returning to the normal calm voice you were used to when he talked to you, “I’m fine with it…as long as it's not Maverick”

“It's definitely not Maverick sir”

“So it's Goose then?”

“Why are you asking me about this, sir?” you couldn’t help but question him. You had been working with Viper for weeks now and although he had always been friendly towards you, and you had shared a few conversations in between meetings here and there, he had never asked you anything personal.

“Because I’ve been standing here since you botched telling Goose your name…and it’s hard not to notice.”

“Oh god have you actually?”

“You were so flustered you didn’t even hear the door creak…” he clicked his tongue, “I guess I’ll have to find more reasons to bring Bradshaw in here then…” he taunted as he turned around and walked back into his office, closing the very creaky door behind him.

–

“You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your liiips,” a warped voice sang from within the bar next to base. 

You had talked yourself into going out and trying to make some friends, and the best place for that just so happened to be the bar a mere 2 blocks from your work. It had been months since you moved here and you still knew virtually nobody outside of Viper who you guessed counted as a friend now? You had let your hair down after work, and had swapped your suit jacket and skirt out for high waisted jeans and a light sweater. Nothing fancy, but also nothing that screamed military, just something that would help you blend in a bit.

The awful voice continued to sing, now joined by what sounded like twenty other equally awful voices, “You’ve lost that lovin feelin!”

“Oh god,” you thought to yourself, wondering how you planned on accomplishing anything in there.

Once you were inside you saw a crowd of navy men in their dress whites dissipating from the bar, some laughing, some continuing to sing the remainder of the song. At the epicenter of it all was none other than Maverick. Of course. Sitting next to him was a rather flushed blonde woman wearing a very similar outfit to you, and Maverick was obviously trying to work his charm.

Your gaze traveled from Maverick to other parts of the room, glancing at couples sitting in booths along the walls, aviators trying to chat up women at tables scattered around, and lone men in white nursing their beers throughout the bar. Eventually your eyes settled on one blonde, mustached man in particular, Goose. He was sat at the opposite end of the bar as Maverick, beer in hand, eyes wandering the label of the bottle.

This was your chance. 

You sauntered over, hands deep in the pockets of your jeans fiddling with the fabric. Goose didn’t even look up when you approached him, too lost in the contents of his beer to even notice your presence, you just stood there amused, watching him lost in thought.

“Evenin’ sailor,” you said softly, a blush creeping along your cheeks as Goose’s eyes drifted up the barrel of the bottle, up your frame, and eventually to your eyes.

“Well I’ll be damned!” He beamed, scooting over and patting the bar stool beside him, “if it isn’t miss secretary herself.”

“You keep calling me that and I’m gonna think you forgot my name, Chicken,” you teased as you purposefully messed up his callsign, eliciting a sweet melodic laugh from his lips.

“How could I ever forget a name as beautiful as y/n,” he said as he tilted his head down, his eyes looking up at yours through his lashes.

“Well well, the Goose has a good memory,” you smiled, flagging down the bartender to order a beer for yourself

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” you said, resting your elbows on the bartop

“Put it on my tab,” Goose interjected, shooting a quick wink your way

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying to flirt with me sir,” you shot him a suspicious look

“Well who says I’m not?” Goose asked, shooting the same look your way

“I just find it hard to flirt with a man who’s only identification is the name of a bird” you said sarcastically, accepting your beer from the bartender and taking a sip

“Lieutenant Nicholas Brashaw, callsign Goose,” he drawled out, holding his hand out for you to shake

“Y/n L/n, secretary” you said with the same tone, placing your hand in his

Goose brought your hand up to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of it, his mustache hairs tickling your skin and giving you a chill.

“So, Nick, I gotta ask you,” you began as soon as Goose let your hand go

“Shoot,” he prompted you, taking a sip of his beer

“Why on earth do you all let Maverick sing if he’s so damn bad at it?”

Goose threw his head back in a laugh, “It's a bet.”

“A bet?”

“Twenty bucks…he’s gotta have carnal knowledge of a lady on the premises…and that is our top selling approach”

“Top selling huh? So you’ve done this before?”

“Once for Mav, he crashed and burned…never for me though”

“And why not? The bet doesn’t extend both ways?”

“Well I guess it's cause you weren’t here to catch my eye,” he smiled a confident smile at you, “had I seen you sitting across the bar all by yourself, well it wouldn’t have been Mav up there singing today”

“Oh you would have done that for me?” You chuckled

“Honey I’ll sing you whatever song you want whenever you want it”

“You’re one smooth man Goose,” you smiled at him, he smiled back, making you both blush.

Just as Goose was about to speak, the blonde woman from earlier walked by, fixing her lipstick with her finger

“Your friend was magnificent by the way,” she chimed as she walked by, causing your and Goose’s mouths to drop. Maverick followed close behind, a spring in his step.

“Nah,” Goose said, his eyes on the woman, “nah!” he said even louder as his eyes found his best friend.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” you said stunned, turning to face Maverick as he approached you and Goose.

“What can I say,” Maverick shrugged, a cocky smile plastered on his face.

“There’s no way,” Goose said, mouth agape, “there’s really no way Mav”

“Where there’s a will, Goosey, there’s a way,” Maverick said, slapping Goose on the shoulder, “I see you’ve found our secretary from earlier”

You tilted your beer up to cheer Mav, who was now sitting on Goose’s other side.

“You know Goose here hasn’t shut up about you-”

“No no no no,” Goose turned to face him, placing a hand over Maverick’s mouth, “we don’t need to talk about that Mav, we don’t need to bring that up I don’t think”

“Oh yes we do Goose,” he muttered through Goose’s hand.

“No, Goose, let him talk,” you bit your lip as you smiled at Maverick, “I want to hear what he has to say about you”

“The woman wants to hear,” Maverick muttered

“Mav, it's not happening. I’ll stay here all night if I have to”

“Goose!” You whined, “I want to know!”

Maverick pried Goose’s hand from his mouth for enough time to blurt out, “hasn’t shut up about you since we left base today! Said he thinks you’re gorgeous!”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Goose said, getting up and facing his best friend, “that’s it, Mav, you’re a dead man”

“Awww,” you chuckled as Goose grabbed Maverick by his collar and threw him off his stool, sending Maverick into a laughing fit nearby,

“Pretend you didn’t hear any of that,” Goose said as he sat back down

“That’s not happening” you said as you shook your head

“And why not?”

“Cause I’ve been thinking the same thing,” you blushed. Maverick returned in time to slap his friend on the back in congratulations.

“Yeehaw!” Goose exclaimed, his cheeks burning red and his smile beaming towards you. You couldn’t help but smile back at him.

–

Now you were sat at your desk, pencil in your hand, waiting to check in whoever Viper was gonna sink his teeth into next. Your mind however was replaying the events of several nights ago, when you and Maverick and Goose became a sort of inseparable trio at the bar: Goose’s sweet flirtations filling your ears every chance he got, and his arm swung around the back of your seat in Maverick’s car as they drove you to your house, and Goose’s gentle kiss on your hand as he said goodnight to you.

“Goodmorning ma’am,” a voice cut you out of your daze. Your eyes traced up the slender frame to Goose, a goofy smile plastered on his face.

“Morning lieutenant,” you spoke softly, “am I meant to check you in? You and Maverick get up to trouble again?”

Goose laughed, “no, no, Mav left his ego at home today and we landed early, so I wanted to stop by and say hi”

“Well hi,” you blinked up at him

“Hi” he said back confidently, “listen I was hoping you’d want to uh-”

“Bradshaw!” Viper’s voice rang from the other side of the door.

“Oh god,” you laughed, eyes darting down to your ledger

“I'm in for it now honey,” Goose said as he stood up straight and prepared for Viper’s reprimanding

“Lieutenant,” he began, the squeaking of the door muffling his words, “you're not distracting my secretary are you?”

“I hope not sir”

“I don't know if I believe you Bradshaw. Whether or not distraction was your intention, she looks pretty distracted to me,” Viper smiled down at you

“Sir,” you shook your head as you plopped your face into your hands to conceal your blush

“She was working perfectly before you arrived Lieutenant, and now she can't even lift her head high enough to read what's on the page in front of her!” Viper yelled sarcastically, gesturing to you, “you better right your wrongs or I'll have you and that hotshot pilot of yours grounded for another week!”

Viper spun around, shooting you a wink as you raised your head from your hands, and closed the door to his office, satisfied with his work. 

“Well…” you began

“Commander's orders miss L/n…what could I possibly do to rectify the situation,” Goose jokingly pondered

“Hmmm let's think,” you said, twirling your pen

“How's about I take you out…” Goose blushed, his mustache curling up into a smile, “on a date.”

“A date?” You teased

“Yeah. Just you and me. No idiot Maverick to tease us the whole time,” he smiled

“Yeah Bradshaw, I’d like that”

“You free tonight honey?” He drawled

“Pick me up at six Lieutenant, not a minute later,” you shook your pencil at him

With a salute and a “yes ma'am,” Goose was walking down the hallway head held high.

–

5:59 the clock blinked as you sat in front of it, makeup and hair done, a light blue slip dress gently hugging your frame. This had felt like the longest minute of your life, sitting in front of your digital clock just waiting for the minute to change and Goose to arrive.

6:00 blinked and your heart started racing uncontrollably. The noise of it thumping was so loud it just about drowned out the knocking at your door. Breathing sharply to calm down, you stood up and smoothed out your dress, heading slowly towards the front door.

Opening it, your eyes scanned up Goose’s frame, taking in his pressed khaki pants, his white button down tucked into it, sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone, and his mustache curled up into a smile.

“My goodness,” he hollered, “don’t you look mighty fine darlin”

“Back at ya flyboy,” you blushed

“You ready for the best date of your life?” Goose asked, his soft eyes gazing down into yours.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day, Viper hasn’t heard the end of it,” you said as you locked your door and followed Goose to his bronco.

“Is that right, sugar?” He asked as he helped you into the passenger seat, goofy smile curling his mustache

“Oh yeah Lieutenant”

“Even the part about Viper?” He asked as he walked around to the driver’s seat and hopped in

“Especially the part about Viper. You better be on your best behavior or he’ll be hot on your tail,” you joked

“Ah-ha,” Goose hollered.

Goose drove you two down the sunset-lit road, gentle rock music playing from his stereo, his aviators resting gently on the bridge of his nose as his hand grasped the headrest of your seat. 

–

Your date with Goose was full of laughter, good food, many drinks, and even more flirting. He told you the story of how he joined the Navy, and how he met Maverick in training and they became attached at the hip, and even how he was nervous about Maverick’s flying sometimes but he trusted him with his life. He asked you all about yourself, and as you told him about your upbringing and your career and your family, he sat with his head in his hands staring at you with bright eyes and curiosity. You loved listening to him talk about himself, and from the looks of him it seemed he felt the same about you. 

After offering to pay multiple times, Goose finally wore you down as he set cash, plus a generous tip, down on the table. 

“Thanks Goose,” you said genuinely, grabbing his hand in your own and looking him deep in the eyes.

“Anything for you, sugar,” he returned your gaze with a smile, his mustache curling over his lip, “ready to hit the road?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, keeping your hand in his as you stood up from your booth and walked towards the door, “where to next?”

“If it's not too forward,” he began, leaning down to speak softly into your ear once you exited the restaurant, “and tell me if it is…but I was hoping you’d want to come back to my place for a little?”

“And what exactly is there to do at your place?” You feigned confusion.

Goose simply shrugged, a smirk threatening his lips, as he walked to the passenger side of his car and opened the door for you. 

“Never leave room for the imagination, Bradshaw,” you muttered, getting in the car and watching Goose saunter around to the driver’s side.

With a smile on his face, Goose’s hand traveled across the center console until it found yours, his fingers gently lacing with yours as his thumb rubbed gentle circles while you drove the short distance back to Goose’s house.

“There’s so many stars tonight”

It was strange, looking up at the inky black sky that stretched over the Southern California beach. Usually, the lights and smog from the city that never sleeps blocked the stars from shining, but not tonight. It seemed as though every star in the sky was shining bright. 

“I remember being at boot camp,” You sighed, placing your hands behind your head, “And when we did the stupid over leg pull, and staring up at the stars. It was like a game to keep me sane. Which constellation would I find that morning?”

The memory of those early mornings in the Great Lakes, the chill from the ground as the earth cooled, staring up at the last remaining moments of night before the sun took over and it became scorching. Unlike some of the guys in your class, you had to take the long way to get to where you are in the Navy. Joining at age 18, shipping out just days after your high school graduation to the Great Lakes Training Center for 10 weeks, and then off to tech school in Virginia Beach. After that, you went to UVA, joined ROTC, graduated with your degree in political science, and then applied to flight school. It was then that you met him, and ever since then the two of you had an inseparable bond. You two crossed that sacred line between friend and lover one too many times to count, but it never went farther than late nights sneaking into each other’s bunk rooms while at sea. 

“Orion was the easiest to spot,” You said, turning your head to look at the man laying in the sand next to you. Goose’s brown eyes shimmered in the moonlight, as he turned to look at you. A soft smile graced his face. 

“You and the stars,” He responded. 

“They’re just so interesting!” You exclaimed, “The stories behind the clusters.” 

“Yeah, well, what does that one mean?” Goose challenged, pointing towards a constellation. 

It took you a moment, as your eyes squinted trying to connect the dots and lines in the sky, “That’s scorpio. He brought down Orion, the mythical hunter by stinging him. He lies in a different part of the sky at a different time. It is said that Orion is fleeing as Scorpio rises.” 

You weren’t entirely sure when your fascination with the night sky started. It started long before you had entered the Navy, but being a pilot didn’t help the obsession any. If anything, it has made it worse. There were many nights, being in the middle of the sea, where you would lay on the flight deck, staring up at the night sky. If you were on assignment with Goose, he usually joined you, revealing in the silence. He loved Maverick, but there were sometimes he just needed to get away from his short, loud, friend. The two of you had spent many hours on top of the flight deck, lying in silence while looking at the stars. Occasionally, Goose would quiz you, asking you about the constellations and the one-off planet that could be seen from earth. It was actually Goose, who had given you your callsign way back in flight school, all based on your love of the stars. 

“What about that one, Nebula,” Goose pointed towards another constellation. 

“Andromeda, the chained lady,” You rattled off, “She was sacrificed to try and save a kingdom that Poseidon tried to flood. She was chained to a cliff for a sea monster to eat.”

“Sheesh, that’s brutal,” Goose hissed, “I would never chain you to the side of a cliff to be left for a sea monster to eat.”

You looked at him, love and admiration in your eyes, “Thanks, Goose.” 

The silence stretched back between the two of you. It felt right. Lying in the warm, white sand beneath the glow of the stars, next to the man that you had fallen so deeply in love with. You knew that you were torturing yourself by not being able to move on from him. He was married now, and you liked Carole. He even had a child, Bradley, who was the splitting image of his father. But you just couldn’t do it, you couldn’t give up on the possibility that maybe one day, he would act on the feelings you knew he had for you. There had been several moments since your arrival at TopGun, the stress and tension getting to you both; you having to prove that you could be there next to your male counterparts and Goose, needing to prove that him and Mav hadn’t soloed under a lucky star, where you almost acted on impulse. But every time those feelings were brought up, you would stop yourself, too scared to do anything. 

“What about that one?” Goose asked. 

“Ah, you found the big dipper, probably the most recognizable star in the sky.” 

“And why is that?” 

“There’s a lot of history behind it,” You said, “One of the stars that make up the big dipper is the North Star. During slavery times, the enslaved people would find the big dipper, and the North Star, and follow it to freedom. However, in Arabian lore, the big dipper is associated with funerals.” 

It was interesting to you, how such a star could have two very different meanings. It was the beauty in the stars, you assumed. Everything had two sides to it, a beautiful side and a dark side. It was like you and Goose. The two of you had such a beautiful friendship, years of camaraderie and flying in the sky next to one another. You trusted Goose with your life, and him too. Goose would consider you a closer friend to him than Maverick was. The two of you complimented each other, you the serious one, him the goofball. You understood Goose on a different level than Mav did. But just like there was beauty in the friendship, there was also darkness. You were the one he ran to when Carole first told him she was pregnant. You were the one who held him when he cried and told you that he couldn’t be with you because he had to “do right by Carole, and marry her.” You were the one he told he was scared that Mav would one day get him killed, and he feared never being able to be the father he wanted to be. 

“Why don’t you follow it?” Goose asked.

Your eyebrows furrowed, as you pushed yourself up on your elbows and looked at him, “What?” 

“To freedom,” Goose said, nodding his head towards the star, “Why don’t you follow the star to freedom? Better than waiting for your funeral.” 

“Goose,” You shook your head, “I-I don’t. . .” 

“Y/N,” Goose whispered to you, “Baby.” 

Suddenly the warm sand that once surrounded you, was replaced with cold snow. The gentle crash of the waves turned into the howling of winter wind against your face. You looked down at your body, finding your tattered flight suit in place of the yellow sundress you thought you were wearing. Your hands were covered in blood, chapped and cracking from the biting cold. The scent of gentle sea breeze and salt was now the all too familiar scent of jet fuel and smoke. Your lips felt dry, and your eyes welled with tears as you looked around. 

“Nick,” You said, barely above a whisper. 

His eyes were still soft, but instead of his normal tanned face, an ugly purple, bloodied bruise blemished his face. It all came back to you, as this was the way he looked the last time you had seen him, when the Coast Guard had landed back at Top Gun to unload his body. A sob racked your body as you realized what had happened to you. 

“Oh god! Oh god!” You held your face in your hands. 

“Shh, shh,” Goose cooed, wrapping his arms around you, “We almost made it.” 

“I’m gonna die,” Your breathing picked up as your heart hammered in your chest. You knew about pre-death anxiety, but you never knew that you would feel it like this. The thought of dying out here, alone in the wilderness, where no one was here to find you, was terrifying. But the one comfort you did have, was the hallucination of your best friend next to you.  

“Don’t leave me,” You leaned into his body, “Please.” 

Goose shifted, his hands holding your face, “I can’t stay,” You closed your eyes as he kissed your forehead, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” He said against your skin, before disappearing into the night sky.

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he asked you out for drinks on your second week, you were taken back at first, with him being your boss and all you felt a little apprehension, but ultimately you agreed—if you were being truthful you’d been eyeing him up this entire time too, you just never imagined he’d be brave enough to act on it (you didn’t know about his many many hospital based situationships yet)

you told yourself you had to stay strong, you couldn’t let yourself be the girl who put out on the first date…but as the alcohol flowed and your inhibitions lowered you couldn’t help yourself. especially not when he’d had his hand creeping up your exposed thigh the entire night.

but anyways, that was 6 months ago and the two of you had managed to keep it professional at work, not wanting it to cloud people’s perception of you—that was robby’s idea, though at first you thought he just wanted to keep you secret because he was ashamed, but he convinced you otherwise when he took you round to jack’s to watch hockey one night and introduced you as his ‘girlfriend’…despite the fact you hadn’t actually put a label on what you were yet.

one day you’re at the nurses station, filling in patient charts with santos, though the two of you were doing more gossiping than charting. that’s when noelle breezes past the station, folder in hand walking beside mohan on her way to see a patient.

“anyone know if she survived?” santos whispers under her breath as soon as noelle is out of hearing distance.

“survived what?” you ask, curious as to what she was talking about given the very little context. princess and perlah seemed to know though as they spun around from where they stood just ahead of you two.

“of course not” princess gives santos a knowing look, as if to say ‘come on, don’t be stupid’.

“no one survives” perlah adds rolling her eyes.

“guys what are you talking about? survived what?” you know you shouldn’t gossip at work it only leads to trouble, but god the gossip in this department was just too juicy.

“robby’s seven-week itch” santos proclaims like it was the most obvious answer in the world. you furrow your brows, you’d never heard of this before and given that you’d been with him wayyy over 7 weeks, it just didn’t compute with you.

“it’s well known around here that if you sleep with dr. daddy over there you better not let yourself get too comfortable, because once you hit the seven week mark…” princess explains, trailing off and punctuating her sentence by running a finger across her throat ‘dead’.

“oh…” you take in the information to process it, and a small smirk tugs on your face as you realise that you managed to beat this supposed curse. and only part of that satisfaction was aimed towards the fact that you’d lasted longer than noelle—who was undoubtedly one of the most gorgeous women you’d ever seen.

and you know you shouldn’t say anything, you should just take the win and leave it at that but as you imagined the shocked looks on the women’s faces you couldn’t help yourself from being smug.

“so…would that make 6 months a new kind of record or something then?” you ask with a small smirk and pride in your voice. the women don’t react at first, other than a subtle head tilt as they try and figure out what you mean—but when they do their wide eyes and open mouthed expressions are better than you could’ve hoped for.

“wait” santos turns to you.

“you’re not!?” princess leans in closer to where your sat

“you’re kidding!?” perlah is right beside her matching her tone.

“sorry ladies, i don’t kiss and tell” you lock up your computer and head off away from the women with a very satisfied smirk on your face.

-

it’s a couple of hours later and thankfully the news about yourself and robby hadn’t hit the rest of the department yet. robby’s taking 5 at the nurses station checking the board…well that’s what he was supposed to be doing but he couldn’t stop staring at you.

you were across the room talking with a patient about their at-home care as you discharged them and robby couldn’t take his eyes off you—and of course dana noticed, she notices everything.

“hey! robinavitch, you take your eyes off that sweet girl now, she’s taken” dana waves her hand in front of his face and he’s taken back for a second, had everyone already found out about you two?

“how…do you know that?” robby asks, his hand rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

“she talks about him all the time and she’s very happy, so you better keep your wandering hands where i can see them mister or there’ll be trouble” dana warns, her tone serious and robby can’t help but laugh.

and he knows he shouldn’t say anything, i mean you had said you were going to keep your relationship private but he never could help poking dana.

“it’s a bit late for that unfortunately…but i’ve heard she’s very happy with these wandering hands so i wouldn’t worry about it” he smirks and dana’s face drops immediately.

“jesus h. christ, is there no woman in this hospital safe from you?” she rolls her eyes and hangs her head, well and truly done with his inappropriate workplace relationships.

“guess not” robby laughs as he walks away to an incoming trauma, mentally going through what he was going to say in the HR meeting that was surely on the horizon.

this was so fun!! felt very freeing not writing smut for once.

hope you enjoyed🤍🤍

Carter wasn’t sure if it was the pounding headache or the nausea that woke him. Most likely the nausea, as the second his eyes were open, he leaned right over and vomited into the empty trashcan by the couch. Twice.

Eleven in the morning, covered in sweat, exhausted, and all puked out. He was pretty sure he hit rock bottom. He wanted to roll over and go back to sleep, but he could not summon the energy to close the blinds, and with the sun glaring in at him, he didn’t stand a chance.

He let his head roll to the side and saw the Tylenol and water. A mess of emotions flashed through his mind. He snapped his gaze to the armchair across from the sofa, and was half relieved and half disappointed to see you were no longer there.

He groaned, yanking the throw blanket over his head and subsequently exposing his bare feet to the cold. He groaned again.

What had he told you last night? He couldn’t quite remember, but if the pit of dread in his stomach was anything to go by, nothing good. Maybe it was all a nightmare?

He peeked one eye out from under the blanket. The glass of lukewarm water and the bottle of Tylenol still sat there, not a figment of his hangover haze. The bright red and blue of the pills screamed loudly and made his eyes ache. He retreated back under the blanket.

He was not very interested in bringing back memories of last night, but if he was ever to talk to you again, he knew he must. So he could apologize, beg for forgiveness, insist none of it was real.

He remembered seeing you and Danny together at the bar. You were in your soft cashmere sweater. Your graduation sweater. You’d never forgive him if he puked on it. He’s pretty sure he didn’t.

There were a lot of shots, that much was clear. And — as he shifted positions he felt a sore spot — he seemed to have bruised his tailbone. Like the rest of his body wasn’t stiff and painful enough already.

Yes, he remembered falling. He walked into a chair, trying to get to you. You had been nice enough to help him up, he remembered clinging to you, but Danny was still there. He remembered the scent of your shampoo, he definitely stuck his nose in your hair. So far, all that was coming back could probably be excused as bumbling drunk behavior, then what was causing such guilt and shame to brew in his belly?

I love it when you call me that…

Wait… 

 I just want to kiss you all over…

Oh, crap…

I wonder what it would be like to hold you whenever I want…

Son of a bitch.

He’d spilled his guts. Happily. And you… you’d looked shocked. Anxious. Scared. You hadn’t said anything as he spoke, just sat there, frozen, until…

Carter sat bolt upright, heart beating like a drum.

“Oh no, oh no no no no no,” he moaned, tugging at his hair.

He had kissed you. And you hadn’t kissed him back. You’d pulled away, made excuses; you tried to leave, and he asked you not to. You had stayed. But you hadn’t wanted to.

Just remembering the look on your face, of discomfort, and anxiety, and nothing good, had him hunched over the bin again, hurling up bile.

How could he have been so stupid? Things were fine the way they were. Sure, he got queasy whenever he saw you with Danny, or whenever you talked about Danny, or whenever he thought too hard about things that would never come to be. But none of that even compared to what he was feeling at that moment. 

He wondered what you were thinking. Probably horrified, thinking of ways to let him down, or just avoid him all together. Maybe you’d transfer to a new program at another hospital, change your number, move to a new place, even. But, no, that wasn’t fair. It was his mistake, his stupid feelings — if anyone should have to move their whole life around, it should be him. 

He wasn’t sure which was a worse prospect, you wanting to talk it through, or you avoiding him like the plague to pretend it never happened. You were kind, though, and understanding. Even if you were planning a move halfway across the country, surely you’d at least say goodbye first?

He reached out and pressed the button on his answering machine. It beeped shrilly, ringing through his pounding head. He had one new message. His heart leapt into his throat.

“Hey pal, it’s Doug.”

His heart sank back down.

“Look, you were pretty out of it last night, and I asked your chauffeur” — his heart jumped yet again — “but she said she hadn’t heard from you. Just want to make sure you’re not dying of alcohol poisoning. Let me know.”

He smushed his face deep into his pillow. He didn’t have alcohol poisoning, but he certainly was dying. He had to make a plan. He wasn’t working today, but he was the next, and he was pretty sure you would be too. Together, with him, trapped in a building. He started to panic. Flipping his head to the side to allow himself room to hyperventilate, his eyes fell once again on the pills and water.

He wondered if you would still do something so considerate for him, after finding out his true feelings. After he forced a kiss onto you. Good lord. He had to apologize.

Despite everything in him screaming at him to stop, that there was no way this could possibly go well, he dry swallowed three Tylenol and grabbed the phone. He had your number on speed dial. You were undoubtedly the cause for at least half of his phone bill.

His knee was bouncing as he waited for the ringing to end. He knew you were at work. He was just going to leave a short, sincere, deeply apologetic voicemail that you could either respond to or ignore. Ball would be in your court.

The line beeped and he took a deep breath.

“Uh…” he stuttered. “Hi. It’s, um, it’s J — Carter.”

He blanked. This was much harder than he thought it would be. Why did he keep opening his mouth?

“Look… I just wanted to… I just thought… I’m so sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to — to force — to… kiss you. I-I mean, I did, in the moment, but it was just a big mistake. I mean not you, just” — he sighed — “it was not appropriate, and I’m so, so sorry I put you in that mess.”

He paused. Did he admit it was all the truth and beg for forgiveness? Or did he backpedal, assure you it was all a big drunken nothing, and then beg for forgiveness? He was running out of time.

“You are… my best friend,” he said quietly, earnestly. “I care about you a lot. Please, please, just…”

Just what?! Pretend everything was normal? Forget about it? Get back to him immediately, never talk to him again, what?

“Just stay warm,” he blurted. “It's… it's chilly out there today. And, um, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

He slammed the phone down and buried his face in his hands. Stay warm? He should not have called. Briefly, the idea of going to your apartment and trying to delete the message off your machine crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. The only thing that could possibly make the situation worse would be you finding out he had broken into your apartment the day after confessing his all consuming love for you.

He shuddered. He needed a plan. And he would come up with one, he just needed a few more hours of sleep. He’d figure out one way tickets to Cuba later.

***

Carter stood outside the doors to the ER for maybe twenty minutes the next day, freezing his bruised ass off, hyping himself up. He would go in, say hello to everyone politely, and begin his work day. Just like any other day. With any other coworkers. He wouldn’t treat you any differently unless you initiated conversation.

That was his plan.

As he walked in, he immediately clocked you standing with Carol and Doug, going over the board. He froze for a second, then soldiered onward, sweaty hands gripping the strap of his bag unnecessarily tightly. He took small careful steps towards the desks, trying desperately to keep his temperature from skyrocketing and painting his skin red.

“Hey Carter, how are ya?” said Chuny, coming up behind him with a warm smile. “Still hungover?”

He couldn’t bring himself to copy her chuckle.

“Good morning,” he croaked.

The interaction caught your attention and you turned. He froze. He couldn’t read your face, so he averted his eyes. He could already feel the blush creeping up his neck, despite his efforts. He needed to take his coat off.

There was a chorus of “morning”s that he nodded vaguely to. He couldn’t look at your face, but he couldn’t look away from you, either. That had him fixated somewhere around your knee region. 

“Hey, Carter, thank god you're here,” said Jerry, flagging him down with a few charts in his hands. “I have patients for you.”

As soon as you turned away from him, Carter's eyes found the back of your head. Jerry was talking him through some charts, but he only nodded along, watching you intently. You had moved closer to Carol, heads together, muttering to each other. Was it possible you were talking about him? Were you spilling his secrets to her? Preemptively explaining why you would be avoiding him like the plague? Getting her advice on how to turn him down?

He didn’t feel very good. All he’d had for breakfast was pepto, but there still seemed to be something churning in his stomach, somehow.

He excused himself and rushed to the breakroom. He stripped off his wool overcoat, feeling sweaty, and stuffed it into his locker after his bag. Then he leaned his sweltering forehead against the cool metal of the door, breathing deeply.

He couldn’t believe he had messed up this badly. But, on the other hand, wasn’t it only a matter of time before the pot boiled over? Every day, he felt his love for you grow just a little more. Maybe now that it was out in the open, he could try and get over you.

His chest hollowed at the mere thought. He couldn’t imagine life without his love for you, at that point. He hadn’t so much as looked at another woman in two years. Somehow, it felt disloyal to you. Which was ridiculous. He had never so much as asked you on a date, up until the other night.

Was it possible that somehow, someday, down the line… he imagined himself being with you? Maybe playing the long game, until you woke up one day and saw that he could make you happy. It seemed stupid, seeing as he’d also spent the last two years convincing himself there was a zero percent chance of requitement. Was this the true reason it hit him so hard to see you with Danny? That image was slipping further and further away?

He grabbed his stethoscope and shut the locker. He knew he needed to talk to you, and tell you the truth. No matter what, your friendship was already indubitably, irrevocably altered.

When Carter reemerged from the breakroom, he tried to go about his business normally. There would be no point rehashing the situation right before working side by side for twelve hours straight.

So he kept his distance. Attempted, at least, to keep his forlorn, longing stares to a minimum. Tried not to be a grump. Tried to be entirely professional. But he could tell that you were aware of him, as he was you, like a radar that pinged in each other's presence. Hard to ignore.

In the early afternoon, he caught Carol alone in the supply closet, restocking insulin syringes. He glanced around nervously, then stepped in, closing the door behind him.

She jumped, and spun around.

“Jesus, Carter,” she sighed, resuming her work. “What gives? You’re sneaking around like a serial killer.”

He took a box of tongue depressors and began restocking at her side. He didn’t look at her.

“Carol, I gotta ask you something,” he said in a low voice. “Have you, um… have you, like, heard anything? Recently? About me? Like, in the last few days?”

He could feel her narrowed eyes on him but stayed focused on the tongue depressors.

“Like what?” she asked suspiciously.

He shrugged.

“I don’t know, like anything memorable? Humiliating?”

She discarded the now empty box and turned towards him.

“Like… anything from a certain intern, who you have a certain gargantuan crush on?”

He whipped his head to the side, dropping some depressors in the jolt.

“She told you?” he whispered, feeling suddenly quite stuffy in the small space.

“She didn’t tell me a thing,” said Carol, lip twitching. “But now I know for sure that there’s something to be told. I mean, you’ve been acting weird around each other all day.”

Carter groaned. He’d been too jumpy and revealed his hand. Now he had an expectant Carol tapping her foot, waiting for him to share. He placed the box down and leaned back against the door, eyes closed. He didn’t think he could handle the judgement that would surely be on her face.

“I — I —” he started. “She took me home, last night, when I was wasted, and I…”

He drew a hand down his tired face.

“I told her everything. She knows I’m in love with her, I don’t know what to do.”

Carol let out a shocked laugh. He sent her an unimpressed look, and she straightened her face.

“Okay,” she said softly, rubbing his arm. “It’s okay. It was bound to come out sometime, I mean, it’s been years at this point.”

He just nodded, scratching the back of his head nervously.

“I know I need to talk to her,” he said. “I just want… do you think there’s any chance of keeping our friendship?”

Carol cocked her head, a hint of pity on her face.

“Who says she doesn’t feel the same?” she said.

He scoffed.

“If she did, she wouldn’t have reacted the way she did last night,” he said, kicking his sneaker against the tile. “Besides, she’s got Danny…”

“Danny Schmanny!” Carol scoffed, waving a hand. “She barely knows the guy! She’s been your best friend for as long as she’s been here!”

“Exaclty!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “And that’s what she thinks of me. I’m the mayor of the friendzone.”

“But, Carter,” said Carol, like she was speaking to a five year old, “you’ve been her friend the whole time too, and she’s not friendzoned. You never really know until you ask.”

He paused, and for a short moment, allowed himself to imagine a world where you felt the same. Where he could take you in his arms, and kiss you, and never live another day without your sweet touch. But then the image of your face from the other night floated to the forefront, and his silly moment of bliss was squashed. He shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I know she doesn’t like me like that.”

Carol sighed.

“Alright. Just talk to her first, okay?”

And she left Carter alone with his thoughts.

And Carter had a lot of thoughts.

Throughout the rest of his shift, he missed two pages completely, got chewed out by three different attendings for not paying attention, and almost gave potassium via IV push. He had been put on unofficial paperwork duty by five, which he suspected Doug and Carol had something to do with. No doubt, Doug had been filled in. If you told something to one of them, the other would be soon to follow.

Still, he hadn’t talked to you. You’d said a total of twelve words to him all shift. Mostly ones like fine, and yes, and trauma incoming. You didn’t look mad, whenever he managed to catch your eye. You didn’t look like you normally did, either. At any given moment, usually, you’d light up as he entered a room, be ready to crack a joke, or mess with him, or recruit him to mess with someone else, usually Jerry. But today? Nothing.

You looked tired, too. No less gorgeous, but a little rundown, like you hadn’t been getting much sleep. He knew he had to fix it, this strange energy between the two of you. He thought it would be a good idea not to address the disastrous voicemail, just pretend that never happened. He spent most of his time constructing the perfect speech in his head as he waited for the last two hours of your shifts to run out. Then he’d catch up with you on your way to your car, and hopefully convince you to hear him out.

By 7:00pm, his thumb nail was bitten down to the bed and he had barely completed any work, which Weaver was only too happy to remind him. He blamed an imaginary head cold and hurried to the locker room. He arrived to see you already there. You had picked a locker right next to his, by chance, just because it was the only one available when you started. When you became friends it served as a pre or post shift debrief spot, where you’d wait for him to get a ride home.

Now, he felt stiff approaching you and carefully opening his door without brushing yours. He cleared his throat.

“In a hurry?”

You shrugged, attempting a smile.

“Just one of those shifts, ya know?”

Oh, he knew. You knew he did.

He hurried to shrug his coat on and grab his stuff before you finished zipping up your bag. He didn’t even take the stethoscope from around his neck, just buttoned up his coat and tried not to look so constipated.

“Hey, can we —” his voice cracked.

He cleared his throat again, growing pink as your gaze finally snapped to his.

“Could we maybe talk?” he said again, quieter.

“Um,” you hesitated, fidgeting with your gloves, twisting them in your fists. “Sure.”

He was allowed the tiniest moment of relief as you accepted, and started walking alongside him. It dissipated quickly as tension filled the air between you. You weren’t looking at each other, but his eyes strayed sideways as you pulled on your hat. It was homemade with a tassel on top. You had made one for him, too, a dark blue one he knew was sitting on top of his coat rack. He couldn’t help smiling forlornly despite the situation at hand.

“You need a ride?” he asked. “Or did you drive here?”

“No, I got a ride with Carol,” you said. “I could… use a ride, I guess. She’s probably with Doug, anyhow.”

He nodded.

You reached his jeep in no time, and he made sure to open the passenger side door for you. He was just thinking whether or not the car would be the right place to have a difficult conversation, what with not facing each other, his focusing on the road, when you spoke up.

“So,” you said. “What, uh, did you want to talk about?”

Maybe it was a good thing you weren’t facing each other, because the look of incredulity he sent you was poorly controlled on his part. What did he want to talk about? You had to be joking.

“I guess just the other night,” he said, gripping the wheel tightly. “When I, ya know… I said — I told you —”

He was drowning. He hoped you couldn’t see the tinge on his skin in the dark.

“It’s okay, John,” you said gently. “You were wasted. Just unbelievably blitzed out of your mind. I’m surprised you even remember that.”

He paused, face tense. He wasn’t sure if you were telling him you didn’t believe he was telling the truth, or if you were trying to breeze past the truth. He chanced a glance your way at a red light. You didn’t look upset. Just cold and tired. He turned the heater up.

“That’s true,” he said delicately. “But — but I — you know I was telling the truth, right?”

He saw you shift out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s the truth, then?” you sighed.

He shook his head in confusion.

“I’m kind of,” he swallowed the nervous lump in his throat, “totally and completely in love with you. I have been since I first met you, practically. And — and I’m sorry, really. You didn’t deserve to find out that way, and I know you don’t feel the same. Honestly, I never intended for you to find out at all.”

He heard  you take a shaky breath as he turned off the main road. 

“Why not?” you asked.

His hands were starting to slip against the wheel. Why did he always excessively sweat during important conversations with you?

“Because I didn’t want it to go the way it’s going,” he said quietly. “I never, ever wanted to jeopardize our friendship. It’s the most important thing in the world to me. You are the most important thing in the world to me.”

He was surprised to hear the shake in your voice as you spoke next. You weren’t one to cry easily. 

“If I’m so important to you, then you should have told me sooner,” you said. “I mean, god! I was just — the whole time —”

He felt nauseous as he turned down your street. He wiped his upper lip, feeling inclined to follow you into fits of tears.

You didn’t say anything else for the short rest of the ride, just sniffled almost silently. When he pulled in front of your apartment and tugged the parking brake up, it felt much too quiet.

“Can’t I —” he started, but you grabbed your bag and got out of the car, slamming the door behind you.

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against his hands on the steering wheel. He had messed it all up. This was what he had been afraid of. You were never going to talk to him again. He wished he had enjoyed your presence next to him for the last time, even as distant as you felt.

He was just planning his route to get ice cream on his way home, for a proper pity party, when there was a sharp tap on the window.

He jumped up, hand over his racing heart. He thought you had gone, but you were standing there at his side, looking decidedly upset, arms crossed over your chest, and tear lines still drying on your face. But as he met your eyes, you motioned impatiently for him to step out of the car.

He did so, quite anxiously. Were you going to hit him? Was Danny gonna pop out of the shadows and hit him?

As he shut the door behind him and stood, awkwardly, in front of you, your laser beam eyes stared straight into his soul.

“You are an idiot, you know that?” you hissed.

He blinked.

“Yes, I do —” he started, but he never got to finish.

You grabbed the lapels of his jacket and yanked his mouth down to meet yours in a searing kiss. His lips reacted before his mind had had a chance to catch up and he melted into you, arms encircling your waist. He was extremely confused, distantly, somewhere in the outer voids of his mind, but nothing trumped the pleasurable sensation of your soft lips moving in sync with his.

As you wound down, you ended with a few short pecks lingering here and there. He just breathed you in, processing.

“You, uh,” he panted. “I, uh… um.”

You smiled softly, letting go of his jacket and smoothing down the fabric where you had grasped it so desperately.

“I really thought I was over my crush on you,” you said fondly. “And then you open your mouth and start blabbing. You’re gonna be the death of me, John Truman the third.”

He just continued to gawp at you, at your kissbitten lips, and the hint of teeth peaking out from behind your smile, and the loose strand of hair fallen from your updo.

“You… I…” he sputters. “...wow.”

You patted his cheek and began moving out of his arms. That shocked his senses back into action.

“Wait, wait!” he said urgently, tightening his hold. “Can I take you out on a date?”

You laughed out loud, resting your hands on his warm chest, and his face mirrored yours subconsciously in a wide smile.

“Yes, Johnny, you can take me out,” you said happily. “You know my schedule. Call me?”

He nodded dumbly as you gave him one last kiss and walked off into your building. He stood there, waiting, until he saw your light turn on. In your familiar window, with the paper chains and flower garlands, you waved at him. He waved back.

He was taking you out.

He was gonna hold your hand all he wanted.

6:47

The clock blinked tauntingly at Carter as he watched it. You had left for cardiology at 6:34. They were supposed to have called back with a consultation on some tests for a patient, and hadn’t. You’d volunteered to check. A five to ten minute task at most. What could possibly be keeping you up there for thirteen minutes?

The worst part was, Carter knew the answer to his own question. There was one very persuasive thing to keep you in the cardio unit for so long.

Danny Donlin.

He was a cardiology resident who had taken a liking to you over the past couple days. He’d come down to chat with Benton, and there you were, figuring out a charting error with Carol at the nurse’s station. It took not two seconds for the skeeze to latch on to you.

Was he actually a skeeze? Carter didn’t know. He’d barely spoken three words to the guy. Did it really matter? Definitely not.

See, John Truman Carter III had come back from vacation, ready to start his surgical SUB-I, only to be met at the door with your bright face. He was sweating like a pig, carrying two large suitcases, with a ridiculous hat stuck around his neck as he sprinted in just about two hours after he was supposed to.

In his rush, he nearly missed you. But as Jerry greeted him at the desk, he called your attention to the panting man, and you turned.

And, Jesus, Carter didn’t think he’d ever seen someone so beautiful.

Covered in a slight sheen of perspiration yourself, it only seemed to make you glow. Your hair was pulled up out of your face and you wore street clothes under your coat. You had a patient chart in your hands and were using it to fan yourself, free wisps of hair floating back as you did. Carter couldn’t understand how you managed to look so angelic in the dead of summer with no AC.

Your soft lips pulled up into a kind, albeit reserved, smile.

“Hi,” you’d said simply.

Carter couldn’t bring himself to form a single coherent word. His luggage had fallen to his sides, forgotten, as he drank you in. His eyes fell to your chest where your badge was clipped, and he tried your name out in his head. It sounded nice.

Then Mark Greene snapped him back into reality.

“Carter! Aren’t you needed in surgery?”

With a terrifying jolt, the fear blown out of his head by your presence returned to the forefront of his mind. He hiked his bags back up onto his shoulders and resumed his sprint, though not without turning back for one last look at you, and subsequently almost breaking his leg tripping over the leg of a gurney.

Later that day, he’d inquired about you to Carol. You were a third year, just behind him, starting your emergency med rotation the very same day. You were working primarily under Doug, which gave Carter a lurch of nausea, but it quickly became more of a brother sister relationship than anything else.

It took exactly zero seconds for Carter to realize you were the girl of his dreams. You were smart, funny, sharp, and knew how to take charge. You held your own just fine, and had even knocked sense into him on occasion. Even Benton looked impressed the first time your paths crossed.

And you were nice. Nice in the way that all doctors should be. You weren’t easily fooled, not exactly a people pleaser, but an empath. You had a knack for breaking ground with even the toughest of patients.

You were sure of yourself in all the ways Carter wasn’t. It was intimidating, at first, but as the two of you became friends (once Carter learned how to speak in full sentences around you) it became grounding, and comforting. You helped him find his way, and made it look easy. It was with your support he was able to find the courage to start his residency over again to pursue his true passion.

So there you were two years later, just starting out together, new emergency medicine interns, and spending more time together than ever. If Carter thought he had it bad before, it was nothing compared to now. Every time you poured him a cup of coffee, or reminded him about a chart, or leaned just a little too close to laugh at one of his jokes, his heart skipped a beat. He was no artist, but he was sure he could create a masterpiece of your smile just by memory.

And god forbid you called him Johnny. No one called him that, not even when he was a kid. It sent shivers down his spine. He could hear your sweet voice in his head late at night, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny…

“Carter!”

He jumped a mile as Carol barked his name. He blinked and looked around at her. She didn’t look happy.

“You know, staring at the clock won’t make it move any faster,” she said, slapping a chart into his hand. “She’ll be back when she’s back.”

“I don’t — who?” he attempted lamely to save face, but Carol sent him one exasperated look and he shut his mouth.

He was fairly certain no one was ignorant to his crush, at this point. It was possible the only one who didn’t know, who didn’t seem to notice his puppy eyes searching for you in every room, was you. At least, he hoped not.

The thought of you finding out made his head spin and knees feel wobbly, and not in a good way. In a horrible, end-of-the-world, sickening way. He pictured it all falling apart, the careful friendship you’d built together. No more inside jokes, no more studying in the middle of the night, no more book swaps, no more you. He didn’t even want to entertain the idea.

Sure, there were fleeting moments of hope, where he thought maybe, maybe, you cared for him the same way he cared for you. But they were always quickly squashed. You’d say, “you’re my best friend, Carter!” or “I wish I could find someone like you.”

The most recent form of torture was seeing you with Danny. Yeah, he was a resident, so he actually made money, and okay, he had pretty great hair, striking blue eyes, and a chin dimple. Exactly your type. He remembered watching Full House with you. God, he never heard the end of John Stamos this, John Stamos that. He’d left in a sour mood that day.

The ding of the elevator and a loud giggle broke his train of thought. A familiar giggle. Your giggle.

He straightened, excited to fill you in on his pediatric patient who’d somehow gotten a Barbie shoe stuck up his nose, when he realized you weren’t alone.

Danny.

Carter’s eyes narrowed at the hand placed on the small of your back, expensive watch glinting in the fluorescent lighting.

“I’m telling you, it was unbelievable,” Danny was saying. “We could get some dinner, I know this great little italian place off State, then catch the Arrival late. Charlie Sheen’s best performance.”

You nodded enthusiastically. Carter gripped the clipboard tightly.

A few weeks ago, as he was driving you home from a shift, you’d seen a poster for the premiering film as you passed the theater.

“Great, another alien movie,” you’d said in disgust. “And let’s be honest, Charlie Sheen’s not even good at comedy, what are they doing putting him in an action movie they want us to take seriously?”

But now, you appeared to have changed your mind, as you nodded along with a smile. You approached Carter at the desk. He tried his best to wipe the murderous expression from his face.

“Hey, Carter, right?” said Danny, holding out a hand. “This one talks about you all the time, feel like I know you already.”

Carter took his hand, something strangely akin to pride burning in his chest.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Can’t say the same about you, I’m afraid. David, is it?”

“Uh, Danny, actually,” he said, and you shot a warning glare to Carter behind his back. “I guess she can be a little shy, huh?”

“Not really,” he said, looking back down at his clipboard.

He could feel the heat of your stare but didn’t dare look up and meet it.

“Well, of course I’m not shy around you, silly,” you said. “You’re my best friend. It’s different.”

There was that familiar pang in Carter’s chest. He forced out a smile, eyes still glued to the paper and not reading a single word.

“Well, I just came down to consult on a patient,” said Danny. “We should probably —”

“Right,” you said.

Danny started walking, and before following, you sent Carter a swift kick behind the partition. Then you hurried off, leaving him with a sore heart and a sore shin.

Something of the despair must have lingered on his face as Doug returned from his flu case, because he approached Carter looking like a mourner at a funeral service.

“They haven’t even gone on a date yet,” he said consolingly. “Why don’t you just ask her out?”

Carter scoffed.

“Yeah, and while I’m at it, why don’t I hike mount Everest?” he hissed. “It’s not that simple.”

“First of all, there’s no need for an attitude,” said Doug. “And second, it literally is. You’re two single adults who like each other. The worst thing she can say is no!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Carter somberly. “The worst thing she can say is that we can’t even be friends, or be around each other anymore. I’d rather have her that way than not at all.”

Doug blew out a breath and slapped Carter on the back.

“Well, you're just a big fat bummer,” he said. “How about this. Everyone’s going out for drinks tonight, why don’t you come along and we can get you good and drunk, huh?”

Carter fidgeted with his clipboard clip. He had soft plans to wallow alone in pity that night.

“I don’t know, Doug…”

“Carter,” he groaned, jostling the boy. “You’re depressing us! All of us. It’s ruining the workplace mojo. Just come along, I’ll buy.”

Carter still hesitated. He had a bad feeling, but he could also stand to drown his sorrows. And if it was free, why not?

So he agreed.

He agreed not knowing that you would be there.

Or that you would bring Danny with you.

And boy, was Danny there. He laughed too loudly. He talked too much. He was far too handsy. Every time Carter glanced over, there was some point of contact. Arm around your shoulder, hand on your thigh, heads pressed together as he whispered in your ear.

Excessive, Carter thought. What ever happened to sitting on opposite sides of the table and talking quietly? Underrated, if you asked him.

With every laugh you let out, Carter took a shot. He was barely even feeling them at that point.

“I’m kind of regretting my offer to pay for you,” said Doug as Carter downed his sixth drink of the night. “How about some water?”

Carter didn’t respond, eyes steady on you from across the bar.

The rest of the day shift mingled about the bar, chatting or playing pool, letting loose. But Carter felt the knot in his gut tighten with every second.

You had changed out of your scrubs. He recognized the soft sweater you wore, in fact he had been with you when you purchased it.

You had wanted to do a celebratory day out, both for your graduation from med school, and Carter’s “graduation from the soulless slicing-people-open cult”, as you had put it. You’d let yourself peruse the higher end shops, though you still struggled to accept some of the pricier items. That was, until you saw the sweater. It was cashmere, form fitting but not revealing, for special occasions, you said.

You told him how most of the sweaters you’d had growing up were homemade, and while you’d treasure them, you’d always wondered what it would feel like to splurge. He offered to buy it for you, without really thinking, but you’d waved him off. You wanted to spend some of the money you’d worked so hard for.

On the hanger, it just looked like any other sweater to Carter. But when you tried it on, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Though, maybe that was just because of the smile that lit up your face when you saw yourself in the mirror.

He’d seen you in it a handful of times after that, birthday dinners, holidays; and now that it was getting cold again, you pulled it out. And you seemed to think drinks with Danny was a special enough occasion.

Doug snapped his fingers in front of Carter’s face.

“Earth to Carter,” he drawled. 

He turned to Doug, blinking slowly. He felt hot and woozy. Nothing made sense. Why were you sequestered over in the corner with Danny? You should’ve been by Carter’s side. Laughing with him. Letting him take you home, and tuck you in. Cook you breakfast.

“I’m going over there,” he slurred, pushing himself up from his stool

He almost immediately lost balance, and Doug gripped his shoulders tightly to keep up somewhat up right.

“No you’re not, man,” said Doug through his teeth, glancing anxiously over at you and Danny. “Not when you’re this hammered.”

Carter’s attempt to pull away only had him tripping over his own feet. Doug yanked him back up.

“I’m going,” he said.

Doug pushed him back into his seat.

“To do what?” said Doug, slowly, like he was talking to one of his patients. “Hm? What are you gonna tell her then, Carter? While she’s having some nice drinks with a guy she likes?”

Carter deflated. He looked over at you, and the smile you wore.

“I just,” he sighed. “I just — I wish I — she —”

“I know,” said Doug. “I know, buddy. But I also know you don’t want to ruin her fun.”

Carter shook his head vehemently.

“Right,” said Doug. “Good. Listen, you stay right here, and I’m gonna go see if Mark or Susan can drive you home, okay? Don’t move!”

As soon as Doug left his sight, Carter stood and staggered over to you. He saw you smile as you spotted him, then it turned confused, as he collided with an empty chair and stumbled to the ground. You jumped up to help him.

“Woah,” he said, dazedly, as you hauled him into a sitting position, crouched at his side.

“Woah,” you agreed, brow furrowed with concern. “You feeling okay?”

He looked into your pretty, pretty eyes, and a smile bloomed on his face.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi there,” you said back, now starting to smile timidly at the pure strangeness of the situation. “How much have you had to drink?”

He was too fixed on watching your mouth move to comprehend your question. You took that as an answer in and of itself.

“Alright, we’re getting up,” you said.

You latched your hands under his arms behind his back. He happily slung his arms around you.

“Ready?” you asked.

He hummed, playing with a bit of your hair. You heaved him upwards, tapping his shoe with your toes to prompt him to get his legs underneath his weight. Once you were sure he was somewhat stable, you let your hands fall. His stayed, one on your back, one still twiddling with your hair, his head resting on your shoulder.

“Um…”

You put your hands on his arms and tried to pull them off of you. He whined like a little kid, and gripped harder. You were so warm. Why did you take your arms away? Why didn’t you keep holding him?

“Carter,” you said, and he whined again.

“I hate when you call me that,” he mumbled against your neck.

You finally maneuvered your hands under his chin and moved his face out of your shoulder to face you. He let you manhandle him with a dopey smile.

“Your name?” you asked. “You don’t like when I say your name?”

He sighed dramatically, releasing his neck and allowing the full weight of his head to fall into your hands. He could smell your lotion. Familiar. Sweet. His hands were still around you, on your back. He began moving them up and down, feeling the soft cashmere under his rough dry hands. You forced some of your lotion onto them whenever you could. You even got him his own bottle for Christmas last year, but he hardly ever used it. He was afraid if his hands weren’t so dry, you’d never tsk, and take them in yours, and apply the lotion so gently.

As pathetic as it sounded, as pathetic as it was, that was one of the few forms of physical contact he had with you. He loved your hands. So soft and warm. He could engulf them in his. If you let him, he’d hold your hand all day, and never let it go.

Suddenly, another, much less welcome face appeared.

Fucking Danny.

“You okay, man?”

He didn’t say anything, just turned back to you. But your face was turned away from his, meeting Danny’s eyes. Your lips were moving. You looked worried.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” he blurted out.

Your eyes widened. You pushed away from him and grabbed an ice bucket from your table. He clutched it like a lifeline as a wave of nausea passed through him. You steered him into a chair. Your mouth moved again, at Danny, and he disappeared.

Carter suddenly felt his stomach settling. You placed a comforting hand on the top of his head.

Then Danny was back, but he brought Doug with him. Doug’s face took up most of Carter’s vision, and he groaned in displeasure.

“I told you not to move,” said Doug sternly. “If you yak in an ice bucket, they’re gonna kick you out. Let’s get you some fresh air.”

He threw one of Carter’s arms over his shoulder and tugged him up. He felt quite bad. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been this drunk in his life, even in college. His head was already starting to ache, as Doug jostled him out the door and into the cold. It was only then, as the winter air blew over him, that he realized just how sweaty he was.

Doug set him down on the curb and took his ice bucket. As he burped, sweaty as the day he met you, on the side of the road, he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

“If you need to barf, aim for the sewer grate,” said Doug, patting him on the back. “I’m gonna hail you a cab.”

“Doug, no.”

You had followed them outside.

“You can’t put him in a cab all alone, he’ll barf all over himself!” he heard you say. “I’m not sure anyone would even take him. He can barely speak.”

“Well, I’m definitely not driving tonight,” said Doug’s voice. “And Mark and Susan already said they aren’t, either.”

You went back and forth for a while. Carter let his head rest in his arms, propped on his bent knees. He wanted to go home. Whether you came with him or not. Preferably with, but he was beginning to lose more and more of his conscious thought.

When he was pulled up again, it was your arms encircling him. You were speaking, maybe to him, maybe to Doug, but then he was seated in a smelly cab, and you were there next to him. His head hurt. He was starting to feel nauseous again.

He slumped over onto your shoulder, and felt immediate relief. The smell of your shampoo overpowered whatever tobacco, axe body spray haze coated the cab. You kept your arm around his shoulder and let him nuzzle into your side. He’d never felt more comfortable outside his own bed.

Carter hated cabs. He hated cars, stuffy small ones that reeked, and he was usually very prone to motion sickness. But when he felt himself being pulled out of said smelly, stuffy cab, he groaned in protest.

“Come on,” said your soft, angelic voice. “Open your eyes for me.”

He did. Your shadowy face loomed over him.

“We’re home.”

“Home?”

You helped him up out of  the car, then up the many, many steps of his crappy apartment with no elevator. If he was less out of it, he’d apologize to you for practically carrying his drunken dead weight all the way to his door. But you didn’t complain, just found the familiar key under his mat and unlocked the door.

You let him collapse on the couch. He watched you, entranced, as you removed his shoes and socks, then his tie and suspenders, then his belt. You took a blanket and draped it over him, tucking in the sides as you went.

“What are you smiling at, Mr. Reed?”

He smiled wider.

“Who’s that,” he murmured. 

“Forget it,” you said. “But you, uh, hit the liquor pretty hard tonight, huh?”

He only grunted. You disappeared for a second, and his smile vanished. He called out your name, sounding whingey, but he didn’t care, he just wanted you back by his side. He had just managed to hoist himself into a wobbly sitting position when you reappeared, holding his bathroom trashcan, a bed pillow, a glass of water, and some tylenol.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you said, slightly amused as you set the meds and water on his end table.

“You,” he said stupidly, as you pushed him back down. “You’re back.”

“Yes, Johnny, I’m back,” you said, lifting his head to place the pillow underneath.

He smiled wider than ever, face red, giggling foolishly. You looked unsure if you should be laughing or worried. After you pushed the emptied bin right up close to the edge of the couch, just in case, you perched on the edge of the cushion. 

“You’re so nice,” he sighed, grabbing your hands. “And pretty. And smart.”

Your face tensed almost imperceptibly.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

“I love it when you call me that,” he said. “Only you… only you…”

“Okay, only I will,” you said placidly. “Try and get some sleep, okay?”

He pulled your hands, and you lost your balance, falling over him with a small yelp, catching yourself on your elbows. 

“I really like your face,” he slurred. “It’s my favorite. And whenever you lean real close, and smile, and… and I can smell your shampoo… I just want to kiss you all over.”

Your confused expression dropped into shock.

“What did you say?”

Shut up! part of him yelled. You’re making it weird! Unfortunately, it wasn’t the part of him that was steering the ship. His mouth fell open and more words just kept coming.

“You know, when I met you, I wanted to ask you out,” he said. “But you made me so nervous. I just did what you said, and — and what you wanted was to be friends. And that’s okay. I love being your friend. But sometimes… a lot of the time… I wonder what it would be like to hold you whenever I want.”

He laced your fingers together. You were frozen above him, pretty lips parted.

“And — but — and you’re with Danny now, which is good,” he said. “I want you to be happy. I just… I hate that guy. Everytime I see him… everytime you laugh… I don’t…”

He swallowed thickly. You were clinging to his every word. He was breathing heavily now, heart racing, and to him, you had never looked more beautiful. Hair down, eyes wide. And before he could stop himself, he leaned up and pressed his lips to yours.

For a moment, you remained frozen. And Carter’s brain was too filled with the sensation of your mouth against his, something he’d thought about often over the past two years, to realize the implications. In a split second, just one tiny millisecond of time, he thought he felt you kiss him back. But just as soon as that came, you pulled back abruptly.

He panted, looking up at you dreamily. You looked down at him with confusion and anxiety painted on your face.

You untangled your grips and sat up straight. You wouldn’t look at him. You wouldn’t touch him. His hands fidgeted with each other, itching to draw you back to him, but he knew that wouldn’t be right.

You stood.

“You’re drunk,” you said, eyes on the carpet. “You need to sleep.”

“I – I’m,” he stuttered.

He wanted to tell you he meant it. That he had since the day he met you, and even if he woke up in the morning and regretted it, it was still true. But he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Please stay,” he breathed.

You shook your head.

“I have work tomorrow,” you said. “I have to get home.”

You turned to grab your purse and he grabbed your hand. You still didn’t look at him.

“Please,” he whispered, fighting to stay awake. “Please, please stay.”

You hesitated, but nodded.

“For a bit.”

Only when he saw you settle in the armchair did he let himself doze into fitful dreams.

---

“Casual.”

He’d said. And god, how you despised that word. Who needs commitment when you can always fuck around with no problem? No nagging about late shifts, no effort put into sweet dates, no worries about if they’re loyal and no problem meeting the parents because there’s no point in it. Really.

You’ve watched as they’ve all come and gone, tapped your foot impatiently while they warped and shaped his perception of love over time.

First came Liz, tall and slender with beautiful black hair and a funky air about her. Everyone knew what kind of woman she was, what she wanted. Everyone but John, of course. She was sweet enough, but in the end John walked away with little more than a twinge of humiliation and a positive STD test. No one let him live it down for weeks afterward, and you held his hand as he steamed with embarrassment on your couch and held an ice pack to his groin.

Then there was Susan Lewis, short lived and playful. Though you never saw them do anything explicitly romantic it wasn’t a well contained secret that they liked each other. When she brushed off his advances at her front door, he came whining to you. And you’d ran your fingers through his short brown hair as he stared at the TV and sighed.

And of course, the most recent of them all, Harper Tracey.

Harper, well, she makes even your heart skip a beat. Maybe not for the same reason Carters did. But anyone with eyes can tell how beautiful she is. Inside and out. The problem is, objectively, she’s the perfect woman. Pretty, capable, witty and smart. The perfect mix of everything that really explains why John was so smitten. Sometimes, when you’re alone in bed, you imagine what it feels like to kiss her. Feel her lips on yours and her skin under your hands. What texture her hair is, and what her perfume tastes like against her neck. Not for your own pleasure, but to understand why John wanted her so badly.

Yet, even she is human. Flawed. And temptation wrung out any good faith between them quickly, (Courtesy of Doug Ross.) And just like always: youu had been there. Pinched his cute nose and reprimanded him for taking down on himself in the aftermath.

So after spending so many months as Carters best friend, watching, and waiting, and lecturing him about how each fling would end. He had finally turned his eyes on you.

You were no Liz. Not fun and adventurous and ready to get busy anyhow and any way. And you’re not Susan. Effortlessly sexy, smart, sarcastic and maternal. And you’re certainly not Harper. Beautiful, and fun, and the perfect blend of both women who had previously stolen his heart. But you aren’t nothing either.

You figured, at first, that was enough. Knowing John, being his peer, and being mildly attractive. An emergency medicine intern with a heart of gold and naive infatuation. How couldn’t it end perfectly? It was written like a beautiful fairytale love story.

You’d smooth his tie, bite your lip, and laugh at his jokes. You’d play with his hair, and coo down at him, and comfort him when he needed it. And when his requests to come home with you became sensual and intentionally romantic you’d never say no. It really did seem like you were dating. And sure, things didn’t change between you at work. No one else really knew that you’d crossed that line. But that was okay in your book, because eventually they would.

That was what you had thought, anyway. Until he had taken a hammer to your word view.

It was a few weeks into your new arrangement.

Work was fine. As odd a shift as any. Sweet old lady with a purse full of insects, and a hit and run victim to the likes of his own wife. But it wasn’t extremely busy, and there was enough time and morale that playful banter flitted amongst coworkers easily. And John had gotten off almost the same time as you. So, naturally, as had been happening since he’d kissed you on your doorstep and pleaded to come in with you weeks after Harper had broken his heart, you’d gone home together.

Never his place. No. Just yours.

And that was enough.

The sex was good. He’d gripped your headboard and made you see stars, kissed you hard in the aftermath and brushed the sweaty hair from your face as you caught your breath. He had teased you as you peeled away to get cleaned up, and you’d slinked off to the kitchen to make a snack as he followed suit.

He had settled for unhelpfully eating the fruit you chopped for a nice fruit salad while you plucked the ingredients from the fridge for two sandwiches when you spoke. Voice embarrassingly strained from earlier.

“You take up in my bed, eat my fruit, and don’t even help me cook. Why do I keep letting you in?” You had said, smiling up at him with a fondness that was difficult to ignore. “You’re like a stray,” You snorted, bumping him with your hip as you sliced the bread. His teeth had snapped through an apple slice before he spoke, sighing the words out wistfully.

“You let me in because you like having me around. Seems like a fair enough trade. Don’t you think?” His hair shined under the dim kitchen lighting. Still damp, he had smelt of sex.

“I suppose,” You had smiled, softly placing your knife on the counter and turning to him. Bracing your hand next to his hip, he cocked a brow down at you. Smirking as you leaned up to speak against his lips. “Though it would be nice to see your house every once and a while. I always wondered what the Carter Manor looks like.”

He had snorted, shaking his head as he clicked his tongue. And you shared a sweet kiss that tasted of apple. When you pulled back, he picked up another slice and slumped back into the counter.

“You don’t want that,” his tongue prods at his cheek and he clears his throat. “It’s cold, and quiet, and too fancy,” he said. Waving his hand about mindlessly as he bit into his slice. He spoke around a mouth full this time, voice climbing an octave as he chewed. “Besides, I like your house better. What’s the point in dragging you out to my fancy hell hole for something casual?” He muttered, his words a bit skewed as he licked off the stuck fruit from the roof of his mouth. Like it was a well known fact. It stung the way he spoke, as if he hadn’t just broken your heart.

Your fingers stilled over the plate. Though John stood oblivious; tossing back a handful of blueberries and humming in delight. Your breath had quickened once you found the strength to speak.

“Oh,” A snipping silence followed, filled only by the sound of the clock ticking. Or his fingers rubbing over the rag on the counter. You swallowed thickly before you spoke next. “casual?” You had inquired. Voice painfully uneven. It aimed for something sort of laid back, and you aren’t sure if it landed or not. But John cleared his throat to speak regardless; adjusting the way he leaned against the counter as one brow climbed his forehead. He worked his jaw at the tartness of the fruit and spoke.

“Yeah.” He said, smacking his lips. “I mean, we aren’t dating. Why would I make you sit through family dinner?” He had snorted, like he was cracking some colossal joke. Flashing his sweet, uneven teeth. A strand of hair brushing over the bridge of his nose. It made you sick. So you tapped your fingers against the cutting board and swallowed hard.

You had meant to be bold. To turn and confront him with disbelief, or anger, or annoyance. Some emotion that wasn’t downright pathetic. But, unfortunately, you had simply stared up at him through watery, scrunched up eyes. And spoke with a shaking voice.

“We aren’t?”

It might have given you a sick sense of pleasure to see him clam up the way he had if not for the fact you were busy splitting in two. John frowned, jaw slowing as he swallows his mouth full of apple and sputters.

“I don’t— I mean. No?”

He muttered, laughing nervously.

“We never talked about it. We definitely never put a label on anything. I— I mean I..” he throws his hand up, turning his nose up at you with an undistinguished expression of panic. “I thought you knew..”

You took a deep breath, and bit your lip, and nodded. Turning back to your cutting board and continuing to assemble your sandwich in silence. If John saw the tears slide down your cheeks, he didn’t say anything. And if you willed yourself hard enough you could pretend it was fine while you both ate in silence, pretend that you didn’t care.

You hadn’t talked about it after that. Not even a passing “I’m sorry.” From him.