I am made of water and anxiety

You don't remember the exact moment they pulled you out.

That's the first thing you'll tell Ryland and Simon much, much later. You'll tell them that the memory is a hole in your head, a black spot where a chunk of your life used to be. One moment you were in the escape pod after three days without sleep, without food, without anything except the sounds of screams and murder and cries and howls echoing in the mothership you'd left behind, and the next moment you were surrounded by light.

Not human light. Not the harsh, flickering fluorescents of the space stations you'd grown up on. This light was warm, almost organic, pulsing in frequencies your eyes hadn't evolved to process. And the shapes moving through it —Eridians, you'd learn later, though at the time you thought you were dead and this was some kind of alien afterlife—were so incomprehensible that your brain simply refused to process them.

You passed out.

When you woke up, you were inside a transparent ball. Xenonite. Though you didn't know that yet.

The Eridians had been gentle. That's the part that fucks with your head the most, looking back. They had no reason to be gentle. You were a strange, soft, small creature that had drifted into their territory in a piece of salvage that was barely holding together. They could have ignored you. They could have dissected you. Instead, they'd built you a climate-controlled bubble: warm, pressurized, filled with a thin but breathable atmosphere. Instead they'd transported you across however many light-years to their homeworld.

You don't remember the journey. You remember dreams. Fragments. Your crewmates' faces, one by one. The thing that moved through the corridors of the Gethsemane, a smell like copper and rot and something else, something wrong. You remember being the last one. Not because you were brave. Not because you were smart. Just because the creature had to kill someone first, and then someone second, and then someone third, and then someone fourth, and you were the fifth.

Someone always has to be last.

It had been your turn to be last.

You open your eyes.

Ryland Grace has been living on Erid for approximately two weeks when he hears the news.

He's sitting on the warm sand and he's staring at the stars through the curved xenonite wall of his habitat. It's a dome, massive and circular, built specifically to house a single fragile human being on a planet where the atmosphere would liquefy his lungs and the gravity would crush his spine. Rocky designed it. Rocky built it. Rocky checks on him every few hours, despite Grace's protests that he's fine, he's okay, he doesn't need a babysitter.

"I am not a babysitter. statement." Rocky says, his voice translating through the device they built together, the harmonic bridge between Eridian chirps and human phonemes. "I am a friend. Are you eating. Question."

"I'm eating."

"You are not eating. I am observing. You are pushing the food around."

Grace sighs and looks down at the bowl of algae-paste in his hands. Rocky is right. He's been pushing it around for twenty minutes, not because it tastes bad but because he's been thinking about Earth. About Stratt. About the Petrova line and the astrophage and the billions of people who are, by now, either dead or alive or something in between.

He doesn't know. He'll never know. That's the part he can't accept.

"Rocky," he says. "can I ask you something?"

"You are asking. Statement. I am listening."

"Do you ever think about—"

The door to the habitat opens.

Grace flinches. The door isn't supposed to open. Not without warning. Not without his say-so. He's the only human on Erid. He's the only human within fifteen light-years, at least, probably more, unless there are other survivors out there, which there aren't, because the Hail Mary was the only ship and he was the only—

But the door is open.

And through it, pushed by a team of Eridian scientists whose segmented bodies are pulsing with what Grace has learned to recognize as excitement, come two xenonite spheres.

They're smaller than the one he arrived in. Transport pods, maybe. Temporary housing. Each one is filled with a breathable atmosphere, and each one contains-

Oh no.

Grace stands up so fast he drops his bowl. The algae-paste spills onto the sand. He doesn't care.

"Rocky." he says, his voice very quiet. "Rocky, what is that."

The translation device crackles. "Those are humans. Statement. Two humans."

"I can see that they're humans, Rocky. Why are there two humans in my habitat."

"They were rescued. Statement. One human was found in a damaged submersible vessel in the blood ocean of a moon in a nearby system. Second human was found in an emergency escape pod. Both humans were recovered by Eridian science vessels. Statement. Both humans require an environment suitable to human biology. Statement. This is the only environment on Erid suitable to human biology. Therefore-"

"Therefore they're staying here?" Grace's voice cracks. He can hear it. He doesn't care. "Rocky, you can't just- you can't just drop two random humans into my habitat without asking me first! I'm not—I'm not equipped for this! I'm not a zookeeper!"

"You are not a zookeeper. Statement. You are a human. They are humans. They require-"

"I know what they require! They require oxygen and warmth and- and therapy, probably, look at them, Rocky, look at them!"

He points at the two xenonite spheres, which the Eridian scientists are now gently positioning onto the sand with one of their huge transportation claws that they use to put things inside his habitat without entering. Inside the first sphere, a man. He's huge, muscular. His hair is dark and matted, hanging over a face that's all sharp angles and shadows. He's wearing what looks like a prison uniform, faded and torn, and his hands are scarred. Knuckles broken and healed, broken and healed, broken and healed until they look like knots on a tree.

The man is sitting in the center of his sphere with his knees drawn up to his chest, and he's staring. Not at anything specific. Just staring. His eyes are dark and flat and wrong in a way that makes Grace's hindbrain start screaming predator.

Inside the second sphere, a woman. You are that woman.

You're younger than the man, he notes. Early twenties, maybe. You're wearing the remnants of a uniform: a patch on the shoulder that Grace can't quite read from this distance, a name tag that's been scratched out. You're not curled up like the man. You're standing. Standing still, your arms at your sides, your head tilted slightly to one side.

And you're looking.

Not staring like the other man. Looking. Your eyes are moving, tracking, cataloging. Every few seconds, your gaze flicks to the xenonite walls, then to the sand, then to the artificial sun-lamp in the ceiling, then to Grace, then back to the man, then to the Eridian scientists outside the dome. You're not blinking enough.

You looks like an animal that's been cornered and has given up on running and is now waiting to see which direction the killing blow will come from.

"Rocky." Grace says, his voice barely a whisper. "Rocky, no."

"Explanation. They are your same species. Statement. They need the same environment. Therefore-"

"Rocky. Look at them. They don't look- they don't look civilized. That one" He points at the man "looks like he's going to murder someone. He looks like he's done murder."

"Humans are a violent species. Question. You are also a human. Does that mean Grace is violent. Question."

"I'm cuddly compared to that guy, Rocky! I'm a teddy bear! I'm- I'm a middle school science teacher who makes beanbag toss jokes! I'm not equipped to handle whatever that is!"

Grace doesn't like this.

His hands are raised. His palms are facing you and Simon. It is a universal sign of peace, of I am not a threat, but his face tells a different story.

His face says: What the fuck have they dropped into my living room.

"Rocky." he says, trying a different angle, "some humans don't like other humans. Some humans are dangerous. I'm not- I'm not comfortable with this. I didn't sign up for roommates. I didn't sign up for- for whatever this is."

Rocky is quiet for a long moment. Grace can see him through the xenonite suit, his clawed hands twitching in that way they do when he's thinking hard.

Then Rocky says. "They are same species. Statement. They need a suitable habitat. Statement. You are not allowed to refuse."

"I'm not allowed?"

"Clarification. The habitat is Eridian property. The Eridian science council has authorized the placement of these humans in this habitat. Statement. You do not have veto power. Statement. I am sorry."

Grace opens his mouth to argue. Closes it. Opens it again.

"Rocky-" he says, very quietly, "I'm going to say something, and I need you to listen very carefully. Those two humans are not normal. They are not okay. Something has happened to them. Something bad. And I don't know how to help them. I don't know how to be around them. I'm a science teacher, Rocky. I teach kids about photosynthesis. I don't- I don't do trauma. I don't do whatever that is."

Rocky's claws twitch again. "Observation. You also experienced trauma. You also were not normal when you arrived. Statement. I helped you. You helped me. Statement. You will help them. Or they will help you. Or you will help each other. Statement. This is what living beings do."

"That's not—"

But Rocky is already turning away to approach the wall of the dome, speaking to the other Eridian scientists through the wall in a rapid series of chirps and clicks that the translation device doesn't catch. And the scientists are moving, their claws reaching for controls.

They're going to open the xenonite balls.

They're going to open them right now.

"Rocky!" Grace says, panic rising in his throat. "Rocky, wait! Rocky, please. At least give me a warning. At least give me- give me a heads-up or something so I can—I don't know, prepare mentally???"

The spheres open.

The xenonite spheres retract like flower petals, dissolving into the sand.

For a moment, nothing happens.

The man (Simon, Grace will learn later) doesn't move. He stays curled up, his knees to his chest, his head down. He looks like a spring that's been compressed too tight, waiting for the pressure to release.

You don't move either. You stand exactly where the sphere deposited you, your arms at your sides, your breathing shallow and controlled.

Grace raises his hands higher. He's not sure why.

"Hi-" he says. His voice comes out too high. He clears his throat and tries again. "Hi. Hello. Um, Welcome. I'm- I'm Ryland. Ryland Grace. I'm a—I'm a human. Obviously. You can see that. I'm human. We're all human here. Ha. That's- that was a joke. Because we're all human. In this habitat. Which is for humans."

Simon looks up.

Oh, Grace thinks. Oh no.

Simon's eyes are wrong. They're not just flat, they're burning. There's something behind them, something hot and hungry and angry, and it's looking at Grace like he's a problem to be solved. Like he's an obstacle. Like he's prey.

Simon stands up.

He doesn't do it slowly. He doesn't do it gracefully. He unfolds, all at once, like a trap being sprung. One moment he's curled on the sand, and the next moment he's on his feet, his shoulders hunched, his hands curled into fists, his head low.

He's looking at Grace.

No, he's looking past Grace. He's looking at the xenonite walls. At the artificial sun. At the sand. At the stars beyond the dome. His lips are moving, but no sound is coming out. He's mouthing something.

"This is- this is my home. Sort of. The Eridians built it for me. And I'm sure you're both very—" He stops. His eyes dart between you and Simon. "...very.. something. But I need you to just. Take a breath. Both of you. Nobody here is going to hurt anybody."

You do not move.

You have learned not to trust people who tell you that nobody is going to hurt you. The last person who said that was your captain, three hours before the thing ripped him in half.

Your eyes seem to convey your distrust.

Grace takes a step back. "Okay," he says. "Okay. Let's all just- let's all just take a breath. Nobody needs to- nobody needs to do anything rash. We're all friends here. We're all-"

Simon turns his head.

He's not looking at Grace anymore. He's looking at you.

His head turns. The motion is slow, mechanical, like a turret swiveling to acquire a target. His eyes find yours. And you see it: the shift, the calculation, the recognition. A potential threat. A variable he did not account for, and variables get people killed.

And you're looking back at him.

Something passes between you. Grace doesn't know what it is. He doesn't want to know what it is. All he knows is that Simon's posture changes: his weight shifts, his center of gravity drops, his hands flex, and your posture changes too. Your shoulders square. Your chin lifts. Your trembling hands stop trembling.

"Okay," Grace says, backing up another step. "Okay. That's- that's a look. That's a look you're giving each other. That's a concerning look. Can we talk about the look? Can we just- can we just use our words—"

You do not know what your face is doing. You have lost the ability to control your face. Somewhere in the three days you spent hiding in the Gethsemane's air vents, listening to the creature drag your crewmates' bodies through the corridors, your face stopped being yours. It became a mask. A flat, wide-eyed, unblinking thing that sees everything and betrays nothing.

Grace sees this. His hands go higher.

Simon moves.

It's not a charge. It's not an attack. It's something more akin to a lunge, a leap, a launch. He crosses the distance between himself and you in less than a second, his arms outstretched, his hands reaching for your throat, your shoulders, your face, anything.

It happens too fast for Grace to react. One moment Simon is standing still, his head turned toward you, his breathing shallow. The next, he is on you. His body crashing into yours, you both hit the sand hard, the wind knocked out of you, and then instinct takes over.

You do not scream.

You have not screamed since the Gethsemane. Screaming attracts things.

But you fight.

Your knee comes up between you and Simon, catching him in the stomach. He grunts but doesn't stop. His fist connects with your jaw, not hard enough to break bone, but hard enough to make your vision white out for a split second. You twist, using the leverage of the sand, and suddenly you are on top of him, your forearm pressed against his throat.

He roars.

It is not a human sound. It is something primal, something scraped out of a throat that has forgotten how to speak. He throws you off with a strength that scares Grace shitless, and now you are both scrambling, both clawing, both grappling. Silent on your end, vocal on his, a symphony of rage and survival and something that sounds like prayer.

Grace is frozen.

He's standing ten feet away, his hands still raised in that useless gesture of peace, his mouth hanging open, his brain refusing to process what he's seeing.

"Rocky." Grace hisses, his voice cracking. "Rocky, do something!"

Outside the xenonite dome, having went out just before the spheres dissolved, Rocky is watching.

His claws are twitching in a pattern that Grace has learned to recognize as excitement. He's chirping to the other Eridian scientists, his voice rapid and almost joyful.

"Rocky!"

"Is this the human mating ritual. Question."

What.

"Rocky, this is NOT a mating ritual!"

"Statement. I am observing. They are gripping each other. They are making sounds. They are exchanging physical contact. Question. Is this not how humans reproduce."

"Rocky!"

"Clarification. I am not understanding the problem. They are mating. This is good."

Grace wants to scream. He wants to tear his hair out. He wants to shake Rocky until his faceted eyes fall out of his head.

"They are not-" Grace chokes on his own words. "They are not doing a mating ritual! They're fighting! They're hurting each other! This is bad, Rocky! This is the opposite of good!"

Rocky's claws stop twitching.

"Oh." he says.

Silence.

"Oh." he says again. "Statement. I may have made a miscalculation."

"You think?"

"BUT THEY ARE SAME SPECIES. EXPLANATION. WHY DO SAME SPECIES TRY TO KILL."

"Because humans are-" Grace stops. Rethinks. "Actually, no, that's a fair question. I don't have a good answer. We just do that sometimes."

"THAT IS BAD. STATEMENT. VERY BAD. BADBADBADBADBAD." Rocky's legs move in an agitated pattern. "THEY ALONE. THEY NEED COMPANY. GRACE DO SOMETHING. COMMAND."

"What do you want me to do?" Grace hisses. "They're either highly trained in combat or they've gone completely feral—I can't tell which—and I am one middle school science teacher. I am not equipped for this. I was equipped for Astrophage. I was equipped for saving the sun. I was not equipped for interpersonal conflict resolution between two traumatized murderers."

Simon has you pinned again.

"EDEN!" Simon howls, and his voice breaks on the word. "EDEN TOOK EVERYTHING! EDEN AND THE- THE GETHSEMANE. THE GETHSEMANE DISAPPEARED AND THIS PLACE-" He punches the sand next to your head, deliberately missing. "THIS PLACE HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT! I KNOW IT DOES! I KNOW!!"

You stop fighting.

Just like that. Your body goes limp beneath him. Your arms fall to your sides. Your eyes, still wide, still unblinking, find his face.

Simon freezes.

His fist is still raised. His knuckles are split, bleeding onto your collar. His chest is heaving. His eyes are wild. But something in your stillness has reached through the red haze, because he doesn't hit you. He can't hit you. Not like this. Not when you are looking at him like that.

"How," you say, and your voice is a ruin. It hasn't been used in days. Maybe weeks. You have forgotten the shape of words. "How do you know about the Gethsemane."

Simon blinks.

His fist lowers, slowly, like a machine winding down. He is still straddling you, still pinning you to the sand, but the violence has drained out of his posture. He looks confused. Lost.

"I'm.. from Eden," he says, and the words come out rough, hesitant, almost questioning. Like a little kid's. "The—the colony. Eden."

"I'm from the Gethsemane," you say, and your voice is shaking now, cracking at the edges. "The ship. The one that went off the grid. My crew- my crew spent years trying to find you. Trying to get back. We were looking for you."

Simon's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

"You're from Eden." you repeat.

"Yes."

"You're from Eden."

"Yes."

"The Eden."

"I'm from Eden." Simon repeats once again. His voice is harder now. Defensive. "I was there. They sent me on some suicide mission to pay my penances and you-" He looks at your uniform. At the patch on your shoulder. At the scratched-out name tag. "You're from The Gethsemane."

"I'm from The Gethsemane."

"So you did not die."

"Not when you stopped getting the signals." Your voice breaks again, and this time it's not fear. It's grief. "We were stranded for years after a collission. We tried to search for you. And then—" You stop. Swallow. "And then the thing came. The creature. It got them. It got everyone except me. That's when we died, well, they died. I'm still here. as you can see."

Simon is quiet.

His hands are still wrapped around your wrists. He is still pinning you. His face is still inches from yours.

But something has changed.

His weight shifts. His grip loosens. He's not holding you down anymore. He's holding you still. Like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.

"The Gethsemane." he says slowly. "You were on the Gethsemane."

"I was."

"And you were looking for Eden."

"We were."

Simon makes a sound. It's not a word. It's not a laugh. It's something between—a groan, a sigh, a release.

And then he moves.

Not to hit you. Not to hurt you.

He rolls off you, onto his back in the sand, and stares up at the artificial sun. His chest is heaving. His face is bloody. His hands are shaking.

And you're sitting up.

You're looking at him.

Your eyes are still wide, still haunted, but there's something else there now. Something alive.

"You're from Eden." you say again, like you're testing the words.

"I'm from Eden." Simon says.

You throw yourself at him.

Not to fight. Not this time.

You collapse onto him, your arms wrapping around his neck, your face pressing into his shoulder, your whole body shaking.

Simon makes a sound like he's been punched.

Simon, for his part, looks like he has been struck by lightning.

His hands hover in the air, uncertain, trembling. He does not know what to do with this. He has not been touched in kindness—or anything resembling kindness—in longer than he can remember. But his body knows what to do. His arms close around you, slowly at first, then tighter, until his hold is almost painful.

"GRACE."

"What."

"THEY STOP FIGHTING. OBSERVATION."

Grace turns back to look.

He's standing ten feet away, his hands lowered now, his mouth still open, his brain screaming.

"What." he says to no one. "What the fuck."

"THEY TOUCH," Rocky says, and there is something in his tone that Grace has learned to recognize as wonder. "THEY TOUCH AND DO NOT FIGHT. IS THIS... COMFORT. QUESTION."

"Yeah, Rocky." Grace's voice softens. "That's comfort."

"HUMANS NEED COMFORT. QUESTION."

"Yeah." Grace says, and for a moment, he forgets that he was panicking. For a moment, he just watches two broken people hold each other on the sand, and he thinks about the months he spent alone, about the nights he talked to a wall because he needed to hear a voice, about the first time Rocky touched his hand and he cried because he had forgotten what contact felt like. "Yeah, we do."

Grace approaches slowly.

He's not sure why he's approaching. Every instinct he has is telling him to stay back, to give you space, to not get involved in whatever the hell is happening. But his feet are moving anyway, carrying him across the warm sand, closer and closer to the two broken humans tangled together on the ground.

Simon sees him coming.

"Okay," Grace says, and he takes a step forward. Then another. "Okay. I'm going to- I'm just going to come over there. Very slowly. With my hands where you can see them. Because I am not a threat. I am the least threatening person on this planet. I am probably the least threatening person in this solar system. I once cried because I ran out of coffee. So. You know. Threat level: zero."

You watch him approach. Your head turns to track him, but your body stays still. Simon's head turns too. His eyes narrow.

Grace stops when he is standing over you. He looks down at Simon. Simon who is still laying on the sand, who is still holding you, who is looking up at Grace with an expression that Grace can only describe as proprietary.

Simon's arms tighten around you.

It is not subtle. His biceps flex. His hands press into your back. He pulls you closer to his chest, and his eyes never leave Grace's face.

Grace blinks.

"Okay." he says. "Wow. Okay. Possessive much?"

Simon doesn't even know he's doing it. But his whole body has shifted, curling around you, covering you, like he's protecting you from a threat.

From Grace.

Simon does not answer. He does not loosen his grip.

"I'm not going to take her from you," Grace says, and he means it to be a joke, but it comes out softer than he intended. "I'm just... I'm just going to sit down. Over here. Away from you. Where I am not a threat. Because I am really committed to not being a threat."

He sits down in the sand, cross-legged, a few feet away. Far enough to give Simon space. Close enough to talk.

For a long moment, nobody speaks.

Simon glares at him.

It's not the same glare from before. That glare was hostile, dangerous, predatory. This glare is something else. This glare is possessive.

And you're still clinging to him.

Simon's expression softens. Just a fraction. Just enough.

And then he looks up at Grace.

"Where are we." he says. It's not a question. It's a demand.

Grace swallows. "Erid"

He then makes a gesture, motioning over to the wall behind of which there are a few Eridians congregated. Simon follows Grace's gesture.

He looks at Rocky.

Rocky waves.

Simon's expression doesn't change.

"An alien colony." he says flatly.

"Friendly aliens." Grace corrects immediately when he sees the way you tense in Simon's arms. "They're- they're nice. Mostly. They're just curious. They saved you, by the way. You and-" He looks at you. "your friend."

You blink at him.

Simon is still looking at Rocky. His expression is calculating. He's trying to understand. Trying to process.

"The aliens brought us here." he says slowly.

"Eridians." Grace says. "And yes. They brought you here. To my habitat. Because apparently I'm the only human on this planet and they thought I needed roommates."

Simon looks back at Grace.

"You're alone here." he says.

"I was alone here." Grace corrects. "Now I'm not alone. For better or worse."

Simon is quiet for a long moment.

Then he looks down at you.

"We're not leaving." Simon says, it's a question.

"Doesn't seem like we have any options here" you answer.

Grace sighs.

"No," he admits. "No we don't."

You and Simon finally separate.

"I'm from the Gethsemane." you tell Ryland, as if testing the words. "I'm the only one left."

Simon's jaw tightens. "I'm from Eden."

The three of you form a rough triangle on the warm sand. The artificial sun is dimming, mimicking a sunset that doesn't exist on this planet. The xenonite walls are glowing softly, casting long shadows across the dome.

Outside, Rocky is still watching.

He's not alone anymore. Other Eridian scientists have gathered, their segmented bodies pressed against the xenonite, their faceted eyes fixed on the three humans sitting in a circle. They're fascinated. They're observing. They're taking notes, probably, in whatever way Eridians take notes.

Grace tries to ignore them.

"You're both from the same system." he says, rubbing his temples. "That's- that's something. That's a coincidence. Or maybe it's not. Maybe the Eridians have been looking for humans. Maybe they found you because they were trying to find you."

Simon snorts. "They found me because I was drowning in a submarine full of blood."

"They found me because I was drifting in an escape pod." you say quietly. "I didn't even know they were there. I didn't even see them. I just.." You stop. Swallow. "passed out. And then I woke up here."

Grace nods slowly.

"The Eridians are rescuers," he explains. "That's- that's kinda what they do. They find things. They save things. They're curious. They wanted to know what you were. They wanted to help."

Simon's jaw tightens. "I didn't ask for help."

"You didn't have to."

Simon glares at him.

Grace holds up his hands. "I'm not saying- look, I get it. I didn't ask for help either. I was forced onto the Hail Mary. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to be on Earth, in my classroom, with my students. I wanted to live."

"But you're here." Simon says.

"But I'm here." Grace agrees. "And I'm alive. And so are you. And so is she." He looks at you. "And maybe, just maybe, that's something. Don't you think?"

You look at Simon.

Simon looks at you.

You both look back at Ryland.

"Eden." Ryland sais. "Tell me about Eden."

Simon's expression shifts. The anger doesn't disappear, it's still there, simmering beneath the surface, but something else rises to meet it. Longing. Grief. Hope.

"Eden is a colony." he says slowly. "A survivor colony. After the stars in our sollar system went out, after the Quiet Rapture, the stations started falling apart. People started dying. But Eden—Eden held on. We had resources. We had leadership. We had-"

He stops.

His hands curl into fists.

"We had a religion." he says, the word bitter on his tongue. "A cult. They said- they said the stars went out because humanity had sinned. Because we had reached too far. They said the only way to survive was to repent. To sacrifice."

Your eyes widen.

"The Gethsemane ship," you whisper. "That's- that's where the name came from. The Bible."

Simon nods. "The ship was named after the covenant. It was supposed to be a pilgrimage. A mission. They sent it out to find—I don't even know what. Salvation. Redemption. Something."

"And you were on it?" Asks Ryland.

Simon laughs. It's a hollow sound.

"I was on it, alright." he says.

A beat of silence.

"So.. this is your place." you say. It is not a question.

"It's... temporary." Grace says. "The Eridians are building a ship to take me back to Earth. But it's going to take a while. Astrophage engines are fast, but they're not instant. So I'm here. Living in a bubble. Talking to a rock."

"And how did you get here?"

Simon looks at him.

"Um- my sun was.. dying, the main star of my solar system y'know and they sent.. me and a few other people to try and fix it." he says. "long story short, those people died and i was alone until Rocky found me, his star was also dying, so we worked together."

"I assume something went wrong."

Simon inquires.

"You assume right." Grace admits. "Things went south in Rocky's ship so I sacrificed my return to earth to get him home safe, and he brought me with him so.. here I am."

A beat.

"I have so many questions to ask you two. But I'm not going to ask them. Because I feel like that would be rude."

Simon snorts. It is the first sound he has made that is not angry or confused. It is almost... amused.

"Rude." Simon repeats. "You're worried about being rude."

"I'm a scientist living in an alien zoo," Grace huffs, a sound almost mimicking an exhasperated sigh. "Manners are all I have left."

Something passes between you and Simon. A look. A shared recognition of absurdity. You are sitting on alien sand, beneath an alien sky, next to a man who talks like he's hosting a podcast, and somewhere outside the dome, a rock spider is watching you with what you can only assume is fascination.

Outside the xenonite dome, Rocky turns to the other Eridian scientists.

"Statement," he says proudly. "Humans are doing the mating ritual."

The Eridians cheer.

Grace doesn't hear them.

And maybe that's for the best.

But crazy is what kept you alive in the end. You managed to find the true final log from the lost ship that failed to send. It was of the researcher begging that if anyone finds the ship to not approach and just destroy it, that they would have set it to self destruct but that they had no time to do it because it was too late. But they said that if it does find you, you have one saving grace. Burn it. If you’re uninfected, escape alone and burn everything. That’s how you ended up in an escape pod watching your ship self-destruct as you drift off into the void of space. You didn’t know where you were drifting off to, for how long, if you would survive to make it there, or if you really were the last human on your ship, but what you did know was that you were safe from whatever the fuck that Thing was.

You were on the brink of dying of starvation when the Eridians found your pod. You thought you were having some sort of weird death hallucination before you passed out thinking that it was the end for you. It wasn’t. You woke up later in what seemed like a hospital bed surrounded by these rock-crab-aliens in strange hamster balls with a translator that spoke to you in robotic voices. You were pretty sure the absurdity of the situation kept you from freaking out.

“Do not be afraid. Are helping human. Statement.” one of them said. “Will make human better. Then introduce to human Simon to see if both can meet Grace. Grace also human. Statement. But first make healthy.” they added.

The eridians were very friendly. Not at all like the horror you had previously experienced on your late ship. They whistled and made chirping noises that seemed to be their home language. They didn’t prob or dissect you like you thought they might. Instead, they would come to your room, give you food that actually seemed very human, and ask you questions about where you came from, and how you were feeling. Sort of like medical observation. They even let you ask questions too, though you never knew where to start. You asked about who Grace was only for them to say that he and an eridian named Rocky “saved the stars” and lived here on Erid. But when you asked if you could meet him, they simple said “Unsure if (name) will be friendly to Grace. Grace every important. Want (name) to meet Simon first.”. But when you asked who Simon was they said “Simon found just like (name). Eridians save and take care of Simon too. Will meet Simon soon.”.

…

… Your first interaction with Simon wasn’t the best first impression. You told the Erindians taking care of you about your ship and what happened. You didn’t tell them every detail, but you did explain that something happened where it deformed your crew mates and made them dangerous. And although the Eridians did acknowledge Simon’s mutations, they found that he didn’t seem to react dangerously once he got used to his new situation nor hostile when he was informed that there was another human that they wanted him to meet. So yes, Simon was mutated to some degree, but he wasn’t dangerous, therefore you would be fine. But when you didn’t know that. The first thing you saw was a human with half of his face lined with sharp teeth and an eye that looked something you saw on one of The Thing’s forms, and that immediately triggered your fight or flight response and had you screaming bloody murder “BURN IT! BURN IT! YOU NEED TO BURN IT!” till they had to herd you away and calm you down.

It took a few days and a xenoplate divider separating you, for your reassurance, to get you to try that again. You both sat against the farthest wall from each other, stealing cautious glances at each other with an air that was thick with tension. It said that one of you wanted to say something but didn’t want to be the one to start it. It felt weird. Like you were two feral cats having a stand off all puffed up. It wouldn’t be until you two actually looked eyes with each other that something seemed to… click? You don’t know what it was but despite his alert stare burning into you, and yours on him, you saw eyes that have seen horror, just like yours.

That’s when your body moves on its own. You unfold from sitting with your knees pressed to your chest to a slow crawl that brings you closer till you’re right against the alien glass, all while keeping that eye contact and occasionally surveying his face. Simon stays where he’s seated, eyes never leaving yours. There’s a few beats before you finally speak.

“What happened to your face?”

It came out with the same bluntness that only a child can deliver even though you were a fully grown adult who should know manners. It wasn’t supposed to be mean. It was a genuine question.

“Radiation.” he answers.

You scoff in disbelief, “I’ve never seen radiation do all that to somebody.”.

“You don’t know where I’ve been.” he remarks before asking you a question, “What happened to you?”.

“My ship got overrun by an alien that infects people and then mimics them before deforming them and trying to kill us,” you answer. “It flipped everyone’s insides out and made their heads grow spider legs and crawl around in the vents till it finds a new body. I was the only one left. I had to blow the ship up.” you add. For some reason it felt important to let him know the horrors you witnessed, but at least it earned you the right to know his.

“I’m a convict that they sent into a blood ocean to find a way to save the stars with no real way out for me. I found a monster that busted my sub open and taunted me the entire trip! I lost my arm and the radiation mashed my DNA with the fucking thing!” Simon explains as he gets up onto his knees and quickly crawls closer to you, almost trying to size you and your story up. ”It segmented our cook by his joints and bent them backwards and walked on all fours! It grew a spike through our captain’s head when he was getting ready to shoot it because he could tell who was human and who wasn’t anymore! I was next in line to get my brains blasted out!” you rebuttal with a yell.

“I was sent down there to die!” Simon shouts.

“I don’t know if I really was the last human left on my ship! I just set it up to blow up and took the first escape pod out! I keep having nightmares that someone was still left and I could have taken them with me! But I just…” a sob lodges itself in your throat before you can finish your sentence. Your eyes weld up with tears and you just lose it. But you don’t need to try and regain yourself in order to cap off what you were trying to say before Simon finishes it for you.

“You just wanted to live.” he states.

“I did!” you wail.

“I’ve been there.” he nods.

Interacting after that takes a very promising turn. You exchange stories about your worlds. Simon tells you about Eden, what it was like, the Iron Lung, The Eel, the quiet rapture, the stars going out. You don’t really know what he’s talking about when he says the stars are dying one by one. As far as you knew the stars were perfectly fine and The Thing was the only terrifying thing out there. Simon does eventually tell you how he ended up in his situation and how he became a convict. You feel like you can’t really judge him too hard though. You signed anyone who might have still been alive and a human their death warrant when you took the escape pod. Yeah, maybe you it wasn’t the same as the things he got locked up for and did, but you’re the same amount of haunted by it as him.

The divider between the two of you was removed once the Eridians saw you two getting along. You were allowed free range of a much smaller biodome. They said it was to let you get used to the type of range you’d have in the main one where Grace is. You and Simon never really gave the mentions of Grace much thought even when Rocky and Adrian, the two Eridians closest to Grace, came by to meet you. The one named Adrian explained that Grace had already heard about you and Simon when you were first rescued and was more than happy to have some fellow humans around but that it was important for you and Simon to acclimate to Erid before meeting them. But Rocky then budded in saying that they also wanted to make sure you and Simon weren’t hostile. You heard about that a few times during the beginning of your stay but never fully noticed how weird that sounded.

“Do they think we’ll attack him? Like assassinate him or something?” you question one day, looking up at Simon, who you were previously leaning on while you watched the artificial sky. “Maybe. I am a convict with a history.” he shrugs, “He doesn’t seem like he's with C. O. I. though. His name doesn’t ring a bell for me.” he adds. “Me neither.” you remark. Simon chuffs before nudging you. “Maybe they think you’re actually your little mimic alien thing playing the long game. How exactly do you know you weren’t infected?” he teases. You laugh and give him a playful little push. “Oh, shut up! I just know okay! And even if I was secretly it, I wouldn’t wait this long just to go after some guy I’ve never heard of. I’d… go… after… YOU!” you shout out at the end, curling your hands into a jaw shape over your mouth, making stupid fake monster noises as you, and gently lunging towards Simon.

Simon lifts up his arm to block your ‘attack’ while you make your fake hand jaws chomp down on it, which is just you opening and closing it and going “Om-nom-nom” while you both laugh. You catch your breath and just blurt out “Dude you should have seen it. One of my crew’s heads just opened up like a flower and it was just teeth inside. It was nasty!” as you return to your place leaning on him and Simon responds with a casual “You should have seen The Eel. Those eyes are burned into the back of my eyelids.”.

Grace sure seemed to be a magnet for the more weirder things going on in space outside of Earth's solar system. First he discovered Rocky while dealing with the Astrophage and the Petrova Line issue that threatened not only Earth but Erid as well. Next he, alongside Rocky, found the blood moon known as AT-5 and, after the Hail Mary's sensors informed them of life on the moon's bloodied oceans, rescued Simon from a rather harsh fate; It took some time for Simon to come around and trust them, having lashed out and been rather violent the first couple of days aboard the Hail Mary. He eventually came around, apologized for his actions, and from then on became the Hail Mary's pilot. And even now, as he and Simon stared out the window that was attached to the lab, they stared out at the large, dark gray ship that seemed to just be floating about. It didn't look damaged, no signs of a hull breach or anything of the sort, so both men found it awfully strange for it to just be there. It raised a lot more questions within Grace then it did Simon, and Grace decided he might as well at least ask one of the questions that swam in his mind.

"Is that um- I mean, that isn't one of the people lookin for you, is it? Y'know… You bein a convict and all." Grace questioned, his gaze turning away from the window to look at Simon with a worried expression; Simon had informed Grace of his story once he had calmed down and grew used to being around another human (and Rocky, of course. That took longer though, as he found it extremely weird to be talking to a rock). He had explained in detail to Grace on how he ended up on AT-5, of the COI and of Eden, of everything pertaining to him and his rather troubling past. As Simon's gaze scanned the ship over a few times, he gently shook his head in response to Grace's question.

"No, it doesn't look like anything from the COI. And it certainly isn't anything related to Eden…" He'd explain, his head slightly tilted as he watched the ship float effortlessly through space. It didn't look damaged, but at the same time it didn't look used either. Something was off, Simon could feel it, he just couldn't put his mind to it. "Maybe it's just some abandoned ship. I mean, how much shit truly gets left in space?"

"Explore! Statement!" Rocky shouted as he nudged his way between the two men, wanting to look out the window even though everyone knew he very obviously couldn't see very far in their current location. Simon would let out a small grunt as he stepped aside, staring down at the creature below before he shook his head.

"No, no exploring. We should leave it as it is and keep moving-" Simon began, but Grace was quick to cut him off.

"Now wait- Hold on- Maybe we should try to make contact with the ship? Maybe they need help-" Grace shared his opinion, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at Simon. Simon could only huff lightly as he gave the man beside him a look.

"What if it's some kind of trap? What if they want you to stop just so they could kill you then steal your supplies? Hm? I thought we needed to get to Erid as soon as possible, huh?" Simon shot back which caused Grace to make a face at the remark. In their own ways, both men made valid points. To Simon, everything was about survival, even if he knew he wasn't on AT-5 anymore; Ever detour they took was another day that was taken away from their estimated time of arrival on Erid, another day that was taken away from him being able to relax and not have to look over his shoulder every so often to ensure the COI wasn't hot on his tail. To Grace, this was a chance to see what else space had to offer, maybe a new species of alien or perhaps another human lost on some mission that he wasn't aware of. Perhaps someone really was in need of help, perhaps it was a trap set up by space pirates (If those even existed. Did they exist? Grace would have to ask Rocky at some point.). Neither man would be proven correct unless they attempted to contact or board the ship.

"Rocky say go anyway. More of us. Us is strong. Well, Simon strong. So is Rocky. Grace… Not so much." Rocky would butt in, voicing his own opinion on the matter as he began to sway the ball he resided in from side to side, seeming pleased with the idea to explore somewhere new. Simon could only sigh as he moved his hand up to rub at his eyes, defeat clearly in his facial expression as Grace beamed at Simon in triumph, though he was still hurt at Rocky's claim that he wasn't as strong as Simon.

"Well, that technically makes two against one! We'll just check it out- If we get bad vibes after making contact or entering the ship, then we leave." Grace spoke, turning away from the window with the wave of a hand as he began to make his way to the cockpit of the ship. Rocky quickly rolled after Grace, going on about what a 'bad vibe' was and how he would be able to use that phrase from here on out. Simon would let his arm drop to his side after, watching the two leave before he looked back towards the ship once more, a frown etched on his features before he'd tear his eyes away from the floating hunk of metal.

"You can't go anywhere without a pilot!" He'd call out as he turned to follow after them, rounding the corner that lead to the cockpit.

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After being unable to verbally contact the ship, Simon and Grace had agreed to board the ship. Luckily for Simon, the extra space suits from Grace's deceased companions fit him rather well, lack for better terms. Grace had to tie off the left arm of the suit so it wasn't just dangling there; He even attempted to put the left glove on Simon's nub of an arm, getting a small snort of a laugh from Simon in the process before he just decided to drop it all together. Simon couldn't recall the last time he even looked at a space suit like this, let alone had to wear one. He found it annoying, but he understood why; Whatever atmosphere was inside the ship could be deadly to them. He had survived the blood ocean, he wasn't going to let lack of oxygen take him next.

As the airlock hissed, the doors opened to reveal the interior of the Skeld's storage area; What looked to be metal crates stacked high on top of one another rested in the center of the room while a few smaller crates were knocked off with their contents spilled out nearby. There were also various metal drums containing who knew what lining one of the walls nearby, but Simon's curiosity wasn't drawn to them or to the fact that the ship had electricity running through it. No, his gaze was locked on what looked to be dried blood splattered across the floor just before them. Grace may not have seen it right away, but Simon sure did.

"This place is huge…" Grace called out, his voice crackling in Simon's ear as the space suits radio came to life. It made the man jump for a moment, flashbacks to the speaker in the submarine breaching his mind, but he wouldn't linger on the thoughts for too long. They had a task to complete, and if he spiraled out over some simple radio static, well he would rather have died in the blood ocean.

"Yeah, which means we should stick close to one another. We don't know what's lingering around here." Simon remarked, stepping fully into the storage room as he continued to observe his surroundings, his gaze finally being torn away from the splattering on the ground. A small hiss would escape him as he lifted his foot, glaring down as Rocky had all but barged himself past him and Grace, rolling along into the storage room to look around himself. Grace couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him as he followed after Rocky who was talking about how weird the ship looked compared to the Hail Mary and Blip-A.

They'd quickly take notice of how the room branched down three various halls, all of which were dimly lit with the occasional flicker from the lights along the wall, the low hum of electricity running through the walls being their only noise within the ship aside from the occasional creaking of the haul adjusting to the pressure of space.

"Let's head down this hall first, see if we can find anyone…" Simon spoke, looking back to ensure Grace heard him and began to make his way down the hall just right of the storage room. Grace was quick to follow after him, not wanting to be left alone in such a large space with Rocky following the rear. As they walked, nothing seemed to greet them in return. It didn't seem like a trap at least, but Simon knew better than to let his guard down.

As they came upon the first set of doors just to the right of them, the lock would hiss and open for them, revealing what looked to be a communication room. Yet again, there seemed to be no signs of life here, but all the equipment seemed to be working just fine.

"They still have power… I wonder why the ship isn't running then?" Grace questioned, stepping into the room cautiously as he looked from side to side. He took notice of the various electronics that were mounted on the walls, of the computers that were stationed on three different desks, and of the chair that was spun to face the doorway. Simon would frown as he stepped in as well, making his way over to the main computer that sat on the wall just across the door. "Maybe they ran out of fuel." Simon voiced his own opinion to try and answer Grace's question.

"What this? What this? Question?" Rocky would speak as he ran a circle around the room, taking in everything that resided in the room; Some things looked familiar to him, as the Hail Mary had a couple of the same things, but some of it was also different to Rocky. While Grace would begin to inform Rocky of just what was in the room and how it worked, Simon was solely interested in the computer that faced the door they had just entered, the one with the chair spun around. Attached to the top of it looked to be a camera of sort and as Simon tilted his head, he'd reach out to investigate the computer. It didn't seem like a log in was required, which surprised him, but made their job even easier. As he began to navigate the computer, Grace would come to stand beside him.

"Find anything that may give us clues to what happened here?" He'd question him, leaning over a bit to look at the glowing screen before him as Simon began to click on various files; Some of them just looked to be random data that the ship provided the crew with, other files were things that Simon couldn't give a care for. The last file folder he clicked on sprang to life, what looked to be video files were stored here. The two men would look at one another before looking back at the screen, Simon moving the cursor over the first video file before he'd click on it.

A new tab would appear, a video player of sorts, and the video began to play with no extra attention needed.

The camera would be adjusted, a red gloved hand moving it into position before you sat back in the seat with a small huff, turning to look at the white suited male beside you. "Do I really have to do this? It's kinda stupid-" You'd begin to say, the male beside you laughing as he patted your shoulder.

"Yes, you do. Mira HQ wants us to record everything we do and see, you know, just in case something were to happen." He'd answer you, his white space suit covered in various patches, stating his obvious role as captain. You'd roll your eyes as he'd make his way to the door. "You don't need to spend all day here, just a few simple sentences and then you'll be done." He'd inform you before he'd leave the room, leaving you to yourself. You turned your attention back to the camera, crossing your arms as you leaned forward on the desk; Similar to the man who just left, you wore a space suit of your own though no helmet was seen and yours was colored red with a simple patch attached to your right sleeve with what looked to be a medical symbol attached.

"Right um… Video log one, Red reporting." You'd begin, making a face at having to record this stupid log and call yourself by that title. "First day officially on board the Skeld. Take off was smooth and breaking through the atmosphere and into space was simple enough. No issues there but that was to be expected, White seems to know what he's doing as Captain and Blue seems to be a reliable pilot. There's eight of us total and I was assigned here to be the crews medic because apparently someone has to keep these idiots alive from whatever we find out there." You'd huff out, glancing around the room a bit as you attempted to come up with something else to talk about so you decided to just give a debrief of the mission. "The mission sounds simple enough; Head to planet Polus, retrieve some data and find out why the outpost has been silent for over two months now." You'd lean back in the seat, letting out a low hum as you attempted to think of what else there was to report before you'd sigh, leaning forward to reach out for the camera. "Alright, I think that's enough. I'll report again when we reach the planet." The video went dark afterwards.

The two men would look at each other; There was, or possibly were, eight people located on this ship. So where did they all go? The ship remained silent, minus the sound coming from the computer, and Rocky had yet to report of any movement nearby, so what exactly happened? The amount of questions the two had began to add up and they hoped that with each log they found on this computer, their questions would be answered.

They'd continue through the logs, picking and choosing which they'd watch; Like you had stated, each of your fellow crew members wore a different colored suit and had their own roles within the ship, their suit adoring their respective patches on their arms. A Captain, two engineers, two scientists, a pilot, a medic, and a weapons officer; Seemed to be a pretty sound crew for the most part and everyone looked like they got along with one another just fine. So why was it that something felt off the more and more they watched? Simon would click on another log and you'd appear on their screen again, though you began to look tired.

"Video log fifteen, Red reporting. Something… Something is wrong." You'd begin, resting your elbows on the desk as you placed your head in your hands to rub at your face. "The crew that was stationed at Polus had seemed to just… Disappear. The only signs of life was the mess that was left within the outpost itself. No bodies, no skeletal remains, nothing." You'd inform the camera, lifting your head to look into it as you leaned back in your seat, your arms falling to your sides. "The data within the station had been extracted, along with any biological samples from the planet that they had been working on. The electronic data has been uploaded into the admin computer and will eventually be redirected back to Mira HQ for evaluation while the samples were placed in O2 lab for Green and Orange to look over but everything is just… Strange. How does a crew of twelve just suddenly disappear? It isn't normal-" You'd question, glancing over your shoulder before looking back at the camera, your voice dropping to a low whisper as if someone was lurking nearby.

"That's not the only strange thing… Recently, Yellow has been acting odd… Ever since we boarded the Skeld to return back to HQ, they've been… Twitchy, antsy. I've offered to help them, prescribe them something to help calm their nerves but they refuse each time. Said they're completely fine and appreciate my concern for them." You'd sigh, shaking your head. "I'm thinking perhaps it's just the nerves from not finding anyone at the outpost, but I guess you never know." You'd get to your feet before you'd cut the log without another word.

"Wait- Did they mention O2? As in oxygen?" Grace would speak, his eyes wide as he looked at Simon who looked at him in return. Simon would stand up, his hand immediately going towards his helmet before Grace would quickly grab his hand in a panic.

"Wait wait wait! Don't go yanking that off yet! We don't even know if everything is up and running! Maybe that's why we haven't found anyone yet, because their O2 diminished and they died from lack of oxygen!" Grace would shout, his eyes narrowing on Simon; Always quick to rush into things and not one to stop and think about the cause and effect. Simon would huff, shaking Grace's hand off his own.

"Then we should go search for wherever this lab is, see if it is running so I can take this stupid helmet off." Simon would bark back. The two stood in silence, glaring each other down before the automated voice of Rocky reached their ears.

"Rocky go find lab. Rocky fix whatever broken." Rocky offered, though it was more-so a statement as he began to roll towards the door without another word spoken. Grace would turn his attention to his companion, about to argue before he'd let out a low groan already seeing the Eridian leave the room and go down the hall to the right.

"Rocky- Would you wait?! How do you even know where you're going?! It could be dangerous!" Grace would call out, leaving Simon's side to chase after him, leaving the convict alone in the room. Simon would turn his attention back to the screen, clicking on a few more logs along the way to try and piece together what had happened here; Was it perhaps an O2 leak like Grace had mentioned? Did some sickness spread through the ship and you, their medic, was unable to catch it in time and cure it? He wasn't sure, but with the more and more videos he watched, the less and less he began to notice certain crew members record their logs. He'd notice how everyone began to look more and more tired, how some would show up more dirtied then others. Until he reached the last log; You'd appear on screen, your red suit stripped down to the waist, the arms tied tightly around your waist so the sleeves would've get caught on whatever you walked passed. The top you wore underneath your suit was dirtied with what Simon could only assume was dried blood, perhaps some grime from the ship itself. Regardless, you looked like you had been through hell and then some. Your hair was matted, your face and arms covered in cuts, bruises, and blood; Your head was just dripping with blood, he noticed. You also had a large cut across your right arm, but you didn't seem to care right now. You looked exhausted for the lack of a better term.

"Video log twenty-four… Red reporting…" Your voice spoke quietly, you sounded utterly defeated. "Despite there once being eight of us aboard this ship… I've now become the sole survivor. The reason Yellow had been acting strange wasn't because of nerves, or because of what happened on Polus. It was because it was the reason those twelve scientists went missing on Polus." You'd explain, looking away from the camera and towards the corner of the room. "This entire time, there was an imposter among us- A creature that wanted nothing more than to tear us limb from limb and consume us just as it did the others." You'd begin to tear up, your voice cracking as you moved a hand over your mouth, trying to keep yourself together long enough to at least get the recording done. "It had killed, maybe even infected Yellow back on Polus and managed to either copy itself perfectly to look exactly like him or managed to take over his body with no issues whatsoever. Regardless of what it did to him, it managed to act like him despite the antsiness I noted after boarding the ship."

"When Pink suddenly fell ill while working in the reactor, I just… I couldn't figure out why she fell ill. Nothing was showing up on my scans, no medicine I had on board was helping and eventually she passed in her sleep. After that, all hell seemed to break loose. One by one that thing took us out; We'd find Green choked to death in electrical with the wiring, Blue was shot in the pilots seat while Orange was found poisoned in O2 after a leak started." The cracking in your voice grew, the sobs becoming evident in your voice as you remembered everything that happened to each and everyone you began to grow close with over such a long period of time.

"I tried to save them all, I tried everything I was taught and then some, yet nothing worked. Those of us that remained began to look at me differently; Began to blame me for the deaths as if I had a hand in it!" You'd begin to break, your hands now moving into your hair to grip it as you leaned over in the seat to stare at the ground. "Eventually Captain connected the dots and it was then that the imposter began to take out the rest of us to ensure we wouldn't eject him. Captain…" You'd start, feeling your throat tighten all over again as more tears began to well in your eyes and fall onto the floor beneath you.

"Captain managed to tackle the imposter into the airlock… Yelled back at me send them both into space. I… I did it. I sent them into space- I watched as White died alongside that thing." You'd sob, breaking down all over again. "Black was the last alive but he… He was gravely injured. I tried to save him too- I stitched the wound, I disinfected it, I wrapped it so tightly in bandages I thought I'd break his ribs. I even gave him the blood transfusion so why… Why did he have to die too and leave me alone?!" You shouted, your hands suddenly slamming onto the desk as you stood violently, your tears visible on the recording as they fell and hit the table now. You cried for what was another minute, just standing before the camera and letting it all wash over you in one big breakdown.

Eventually you'd lift your head back up, your eyes puffy and red, the streaks of tears cutting through the blood and grime that covered your face. "I'm not making it home… This… This ship is my death bed. I'll die here like the others, though I'll die slower. There's enough supplies for another couple weeks but I don't… I don't know how to pilot this ship- I don't know how to ensure the O2 levels stay where they should, how to make sure the reactor and engines run without issues." You'd vent, your hands curling into fists against the desk as you'd let out a small laugh.

"How ironic, right? The medic being the last alive… The person that should keep others alive is the sole survivor." You'd sniffle, moving a hand to rub at your eyes before you'd exhale shakily, reaching out for the camera. "This is Red, signing off for the last time."

The screen froze as you cut the recording and Simon could only stare at your face in the paused frame. In a way, you reminded him of himself; Stuck in a hunk of metal with what looked to be no way out. Sure, the ship probably had an autopilot feature that could get you back to wherever you belonged, but if you weren't trained on how to use it, it was pretty much useless. There were more riskes to pressing random buttons than there was to just sit and wait out your death.

"Simon! Simon you can take your helmet off!" Grace's voice broke him from his train of thought, running back into the room with his helmet now off and held within his hand. "That log was right- There's a whole lab that controls the oxygen on the ship and get this, right? There's live plants in there!" Grace began, his voice laced with excitement but it quickly fell short as he took in the grim look on Simon's face, his expression falling quick. "What happened? What did you find out?"

Simon moved his hand up to his helmet, disconnecting it from the suit and placed it aside on the desk as he exhaled the breath he didn't even realize he was holding but he quickly tensed as he caught the faint scent of blood, long since dried but still the copper smell present just enough for him to catch it.

"There was a monster on this ship. It took out the crew except for one- This… Red person." Simon began to explain as he turned to look at Grace whose eyes widened at his words.

"Then they might still be around here! Simon we gotta find them-" Grace spoke as he moved closer, having Simon step aside as he began to check over the recording dates for the logs, his face scrunching as he attempted to make sense of the timing. It took awhile but he eventually put it together; Lucky for them, their numbers seemed to be in English. A weird coincidence.

"Okay! Here-" Grace pointed at the screen towards the numbers of the last log Simon had watched. "This is about two or three days old- They might still be around here." Grace looked to Simon, his expression hardening. "We need to find them, perhaps they're still alive." He'd state, looking at Rocky who rolled his ball from side to side in excitement.

"Rescue mission? Question?" Rocky asked to which Grace nodded.

"Rescue mission, buddy."

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For once, after having boarded the Skeld to make your way back home, you felt at peace. You felt comfortable, warm, content.

'Something's wrong.' You immediately thought, your body slowly waking itself from the darkness that surrounded you. Slowly your eyes would open, a low hiss escaping you as you were greeted to the vivid whiteness of the room you resided in. You'd move an arm up to try and cover your eyes, but would quickly take notice of the IV tube sticking out of your arm with what looked to be medical tape secured to it to ensure it didn't fall out. Suddenly all your senses were awake as you stared at it with wide eyes; The last thing you recalled before you finally fell unconscious was sitting with your back against the panel in the reactor room, staring across the hall towards the security room as the low hum of the reactor behind you lulled you to a sleep your body so desperately craved. You'd quickly sit up, looking around the room quickly; You weren't on the Skeld, that much was certain. This wasn't it's med bay and it certainly wasn't back in Mira HQ, this was someplace different. You didn't have long to think about where you could possibly be before mechanic armatures dropped from the ceiling to aid you as if sensing your sudden awareness, but you were quick to shove it away from you with eyes narrowed. You needed to be cautious, after all.

"Don't touch me." You'd hiss, your body in a fight or flight mode now. You'd watch as the armatures moved away with your shove before remaining in their places, though they never seemed to look away from you. You'd look down at yourself, a small huff escaping you as you noticed more tubes and wires attached to you in various points. Whoever, or whatever, found you clearly attempted to patch you up, or perhaps it was the very arms that wanted to help you moments ago? Any previous injuries that you were unable to take care of on your own were now patched to some degree. The cuts and bruises that lined your arms from your encounters with the imposter were now hidden being tightly wrapped white bandages that had turned a faint pink color in some spots. You'd raise your hand to your head and just like your arms, you felt the lining of a bandage there as well. At this point, you honestly couldn't recall all the injuries you had sustained over the past couple of days, as it was all just a blur of colors to you.

However many injuries you did have though, they must've been taken care of by these robotic armatures. You did notice though that you still remained in your red space suit, though your once dirty and tattered undershirt had been replaced by a newer, freshly cleaned one. A little baggie, you noted, but still covering you completely. Did the arms do that for you? Or did whatever had taken you on board do it? A frown crossed your features at the thought before you'd huff once more and began to rip the cables and wires off your body, a small wince escaping you as you tore the IV from your arm before you'd swing your legs over the side of the bed. The arms would reach for you once more, a mechanical voice speaking.

"Body motion detected. Please, for your own safety, return to the medical bed." You'd roll your eyes as you stood up, a little shaky at first but you quickly gathered your senses and began to walk towards the entrance you had spotted while observing the room. You yourself were a medic, you knew your own limits better than anyone else. Though you supposed throughout the past couple of days you had been ignoring said limits, but you weren't about to let some robot take care of you when you could do so yourself. As you stepped out into the corridor, your gaze immediately landed on the window that looked out into space just to your left. You quickly moved over to it, pressing a hand against the coolness of the glass to try and peer outside; Was the Skeld nearby? Were you able to pinpoint where you were? Annoyance crossed your features as you didn't take notice of your ship anywhere, but you did notice the stars looked to be in the exact same positions as before when you were aboard your ship and would stand in the cafeteria to stare out at them. So if this ship didn't move from where the Skeld was stationed, where was the ship?

As your mind raced with questions, your attention was turned elsewhere as the echo of voices began to reach your ears. You'd turn your head behind you, eyes narrowed slightly down the corridor before you began to follow the voices cautiously.

"Grace you can't be serious about keeping them here. What if we run out of supplies? Or they try to kill us? What then?" A deep male voice spoke but was quickly cut off by another voice, also male.

"This ship was originally designed to house three people, we'd have more than enough supplies to get us to Erid if they wanted to come with! And I mean- I don't think they'd want to kill us… You watched all the video logs, they don't seem like the type to kill unless they absolutely needed too! They're a medic, after all." The second male would voice his opinion, his tone firm. So you were on a ship with two others, good to know. As you made a left turn to make your way down the next corridor, you quickly caught sight of another window. With caution thrown out the window, you quickly raced over to it to take another look outside. It was there you saw the Skeld, attached to what you could only assume was this ships airlock system. A sigh of relief escaped you before you'd glance back, hearing the voices once more. Behind you was another corridor, much shorter though, and what looked to be a lab was attached at the end of it.

You'd take note of the two males there, one with long darker hair and the other with short blonde hair, glasses hanging off of his face. What really took your interest? The creature in the glass ball that seemed to be looking directly at you.

"Grace, Simon-" The creature began to speak, though similar to the medical room you were in, it sounded automated.

"Not now Rocky." Simon (Or Grace, you didn't know who was who) spoke down to the creature without taking his gaze off the other human before him.

"Urgent! Very urgent! Statement!" The creature spoke again, but both men seemed to just ignore the creature as they continued their argument above him. How rude of them. You'd slowly move away from the window, making your way down the corridor to where they all stood. Rocky, you assumed it's name was given the one male mentioned it, began to roll in the ball, making a quick lap around the two to try and get their attention once more before it began to make it's way over to you.

"Simon! Grace!" Rocky called out again as it stopped just before you to try and properly get a look at you.

"What?!" Both men shouted in unison before turning to look at where Rocky had rolled off to, only for both of them to go silent and wide eyed as you stood there. You'd have crouched down to inspect the ball, your head tilted curiously at it's design. What looked to be glass panels were attached to every side of it, welded together with a thin seal of… Some type of element or metal, you weren't sure. You weren't the scientist of the group, that much was certain.

"Weird…" You'd speak before your gaze turned to the men and your heart all but stopped. You stared with wide eyes at the male with the dark hair; Half of his face, around his cheek area to be exact, were sharp jagged teeth that jutted out from what looked to be a wide scar across his face that branched out just above his nose. He was also missing his left arm, but that wasn't what made you so fearful. It was the teeth, almost looking exactly like those of the imposter that took over Yellow.

As if sensing your sudden fear, Grace quickly moved to stand in front of Simon, his hands held up in defense. "Wait wait wait- Don't freak out, okay? He's not as scary as he looks! I promise!" Grace began, unsure if you were even able to understand his language. Well, you did speak perfect English not even a second ago, so perhaps you did understand. Simon made a face as the fear crossed your features and turned his head away to hide that mutated side of him.

"Simon safe! Everything here safe! Statement!" Rocky spoke as he rolled around you as you stood to your feet, still looking a bit defensive; You had every right to be. You were taken from the comfort (if you even wanted to call it that anymore) of your own ship and were now surrounded by 2 strangers and a rock-like alien. If it wasn't for the lack of knowledge of the ship you were on, you would've bolted and attempted to find your way back to the Skeld. You'd keep your gaze on Simon for a moment longer before shifting your gaze to Grace, finally putting names to faces.

"Where am I? Why did you bring me here?" You'd begin your long list of questions to which Grace would relax a bit; Good, you were gonna trust them for the time being. He'd take that small bit of trust and run with it for as long as you'd let him.

"You're on the Hail Mary, a spaceship from the planet Earth. And I mean… You looked like you were dying on your own ship when we found you. You needed the help so we brought you back to get that help." He'd answer honestly, slowly lowering his hands. "Why don't you come and have a seat in the lab and we can talk…? I'm sure you have a lot of questions to ask us and we have a couple we'd like to ask you as well. I'll get you something to eat too, you're probably starving."

You'd fall silent at that as you thought it over; You didn't have much of a choice to be fair and your stomach eventually gave your answer as it growled loudly. Simon would snort lightly upon hearing it and you'd huff quietly, moving your hands over your stomach as you glared down at it in annoyance. You supposed you did owe them your thanks for saving you, so it was only right that you answered whatever questions they had.

"Fine, but only because food is an option."

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You'd sit at one of the lab tables, balancing yourself on the stool as you shoveled in whatever food Grace had given you. This was much different then the food on the Skeld and honestly? It tasted so much better and you didn't think you could return to what you originally ate on the ship.

"Okay so- First things first." Grace spoke as he paced the lab on the other side of the table you were currently sat at, Simon leaning against the counter on the opposite side with his hand gripping the edge of it as he also watched Grace pace around. Rocky remained seated nearby in his ball, though within view of everyone.

"We found the video logs on your ship and we know about your mission and… Parts of what happened to your crew. Our condolences, by the way." He'd offer, turning to look at you in which you'd give a small nod as 'thanks' as you continued to eat; By the way you were inhaling it, you obviously hadn't eaten in a couple days. "I guess the main thing we want to know is what attacked your crew? Were you able to figure out what it was? Is it a possible threat to the rest of us?" Grace finished as he stopped just beside Simon. You'd finish your meal, pushing the garbage aside into a small pile before you'd lean your arms on the table, looking between Simon and Grace with a content look now that you had been fed.

"I'm still not sure myself what it was if I'm being honest... It must've came from Polus, perhaps a parasite or maybe just an alien with shape-shifting abilities? Then again that wouldn't explain just how it knew Yellow's memories if it was a shape-shifter so I've started to lean more towards parasitic. Though without Yellow's body I'm not exactly able to confirm any of the theories I have…" You'd shrug lightly. "Unless you intend on going to the planet Polus, I don't see it being a threat to anyone here."

"Is your name actually Red?" Simon would ask next, causing Grace to give him a look like 'Are you serious?!' A small laugh would escape you, shaking your head lightly; Grace had informed you several times over (Rocky as well) that Simon wouldn't hurt you, that he wasn't like the monster that had killed your crew.

"No, my name isn't actually Red. When creating the crew for the mission, they grabbed crewmates from various parts of the planet. Some of us had names the others couldn't even pronounce, so they decided to have us go off the colors of our suits. It made things easier, in a way." You'd inform them, watching as Simon gave a slow nod and Grace raised an eyebrow in response; He supposed in a way it would make sense, I mean, who didn't know their colors?

"Anyway- My turn." You'd sit up a little more, leaning over the table to point directly at Rocky. "What's that?"

"Me?" Rocky would speak, slightly annoyed you'd refer to him as a 'that.' "I am Rocky!" He'd shout, starting to roll towards you until Grace stuck his leg out to stop him, picking up where Rocky had left off. "He's an Eridian, from the planet Erid. Which, actually, is where we were headed until we saw your ship just… Floating around in space." Grace spoke, nudging Rocky back with his foot. A small chuckle would escape Simon at the small altercation, even more so as Rocky would grumble something that the computer was unable to pick up on, rolling back to where he once sat to continue what could only be described as his pouting session.

"Erid?" You'd question, tilting your head before you'd frown. "Where are you even from then? Shouldn't you be going home?" You'd question, looking between Grace and Simon. Simon would make a face at your question, looking away a bit before Grace would clear his throat.

"It's uh- A rather complicated story… One that would take hours to explain." He'd begin, waving his hand as he made his way over to lean himself on the table you sat at. "Short story is he doesn't really have a home anymore." He'd point to Simon. "I don't have enough fuel to get home." He'd point to himself. "And he needs to return home to save his planet and we only have enough fuel to get there." He'd point to Rocky. Slowly you'd nod your head, a frown crossing your features.

"I see… I'm sorry for asking." You'd say as you sat back onto the stool. Grace would give a small shrug as he straightened back up. "Ah, don't worry about it. Not like I had anyone waitin' for me anyway. Though, that does bring me to my next question. What are you going to do now?" He'd question you, crossing his arms.

This question had caught you by surprise; What were you going to do now? You could return to Mira HQ, report your findings and then who knows what would happen from there. They'd probably put you in quarantine for awhile before dumping you into some lab to be watched and tested in case that imposter had, in fact, infected you. Perhaps after all that was said and done, you'd be forced to lead another team back to Polus to investigate those creatures further. In the end, you could only see yourself dying on that planet at the hands of another monster, where it'd take control of your own body to lure that new team to their own demise. You'd make a face at the thought, picking at the bandages that wrapped up your arms as more and more scenarios played out in your mind.

Simon would watch you closely, his head tilted ever so slightly. "You don't want to return to wherever you're from, do you?" He'd question, as if reading your very mind. Your eyes would widen as you looked at Simon, mouth slightly agape as if trying to come up with some reasoning to give him. "It's written all over your face, you know. You're afraid to go back, afraid they'll send you back into the same mess you were just in. I know that feeling, I was stuck in something similar." He'd inform you, a knowing look in his eyes. You didn't need to fully understand his story to just know he understood you. You'd hum lowly in response, looking down at the table.

"I'm… Sorry to hear that. And I'm sorry for judging you so quickly. After everything happened I really thought you were one of those things…" You'd apologize, watching as Simon simply shrugged it off before speaking. "It happens, don't worry about it."

Silence fell between the four of you, everyone had their eyes on you and what your decision would be. After some thinking, some serious thought on your end, you'd open your mouth to speak.

"I'd... I'd like to go with you to Erid. If you'll have me,that is. I have medical knowledge, maybe not as much as that machine in the other room but I can be useful!" You'd offer yourself up, looking between the two men with wide eyes. "Whatever supplies are on the Skeld are yours to take. There's food and water, though it's not as good as what you gave me earlier. Not to mention various medical supplies, lab equipment, there's even plants within the O2 lab we could bring aboard if you so wanted."

Simon and Grace would look at each other then down to Rocky, almost as if they were all silently having the conversation that would decide your very fate. You'd bite your lip, already getting antsy and trying to think of something else to offer up that would get them to accept you on board. You'd already offered the food and water, not to mention all the equipment on the ship, what else could you offer-

"Of course you can come with. Why wouldn't we take you along?" Grace would speak up, looking at you with a warm smile. You'd relax immediately into the seat, letting your head fall back for a moment. Similar to when you laid in that bed earlier, you felt at ease; You'd be away from the disaster that had been the past couple of weeks and start new, start somewhere fresh.

With that decision in mind, you'd work with them to gather the supplies you needed off the Skeld and onto the Hail Mary. You informed them of where certain supplies were, of what could be removed and brought with and what had to stay. Simon had knowledge of how to pilot ships, or at least that's what Grace had informed you of since he sorta became the pilot for the Hail Mary when needed, so you had requested he figure out a way to return the ship to Mira HQ. The least you could do was return it to them, along with the bodies of your deceased crewmates that resided within the medical bay. You refused to let Grace or Simon enter that room for that very reason. Only you would go in to retrieve the supplies and say your final goodbyes to the bodies of your crewmates. You'd apologize for not being able to save them and hoped that the stars that surrounded you took their souls and carried them into another world where they weren't subjected to such a terrible fate.

With everything now secured within the Hail Mary and the autopilot that Simon figured out set for departure within the next ten minutes, you sat within the communication room once more. You needed to record one last log, after all. You could hear Captain White already nagging at you to get it done and over with so you all could go about your day. You'd reach out towards the camera, pressing the button to turn it on. The familiar red light began to flash.

"Video Log twenty-five. Red reporting." You'd begin, just as you had so many times before as you adjusted how you sat within the chair. "This is actually the last log, not the previous one, obviously." You'd joke before delving into your final video log. "Thanks to a group of other survivors aboard another ship, I'm still alive and kicking. With that in mind though, I will not be returning to Mira HQ for a number of reasons that I refuse to list in this recording but if you watch the other logs, I'm sure you can piece it together very quickly." You'd inform the camera as if you were talking to researchers back in HQ.

Leaning back in your seat, you crossed your arms over your space suit and put your head back a small bit to stare up at the ceiling. "I've gone ahead and logged all the data needed from the mission to Polus and I've even recorded another video to inform you all of a possible parasitic alien residing on the planet that was the reason for everyone being killed. I advise you all not to return there, to abandon the planet all together, but I know how it all works. You'll take my warning and throw it aside until the same situation happens again, and again, and again." You'd sigh, shaking your head as you thought of what poor unfortunate souls would be sent there next.

"Regardless," you'd begin again, lowering your head to look at the flashing red dot upon the camera. "I'll be sending the Skeld back to you, though it's supplies have gone with me. Figured you'd all just toss them anyway once it returned in fear of them being infected so might as well put it to use somewhere else, am I right?" You'd stand from the seat, uncrossing your arms as you leaned forward with your hands on the desk. "Aboard the ship within the medical bay are the bodies of some of the crew, though not all are here. Please, return them to their families or loved ones so proper burial and cremations may be taken care of." With a low hum and some thought if you had missed anything else, you decided to wrap it up, you were running short on time and the Hail Mary and it's crew were waiting for you, after all.

"With all that said and done, I believe it's time for me to take my leave." You'd reach out, your hand hovering over the camera's record button. "Red, officially signing off, and good luck." You'd click it off. You'd move away from the computer after making sure the log saved and the computer turned off, leave the communication room, and make your way through the storage area one last time. You'd stop at the air lock, looking back into the ship once more, taking it all in once more just as you had done the day you boarded it.

"Red coming? Red should come over now. Ship take off soon. Will be stuck alone." Rocky called out from where he was positioned on the other side of the tunnel, gently rocking the ball he resided in as he eagerly awaited their newest companion.

"Y-Yeah you really should come over now-" Grace began, growing nervous as the time ticked down to when the ship would depart. "I'd really rather not get sucked out into space when we're so close to Erid all because we didn't close the airlock in time." Grace called out, a small laugh escaping as you as you'd turn and make your way across and into the Hail Mary where they all stood, Simon just on the other side of where Rocky was.

"Alright, alright. I'm comin." You'd speak, looking back as Grace closed the airlock and ensured it was properly sealed before he'd move away into the main portion of the ship. You'd move towards the nearest window and watched as the Skeld, not even two minutes after you had boarded the Hail Mary, powered itself on and without hesitation, turned itself 180 degrees and blasted off into space in the direction you could only assume the planet where Mira HQ resided in was at. You'd remain beside the window for some time, your eyes glued to the bright light of the ships large thrusters until they disappeared among the stars. With a low hum escaping you, you looked back over to Simon, Grace, and Rocky; These three individuals were now your newest crew, and like hell you'd fail them as you did those on the Skeld. Grace watched you with a warm smile, a hand on his hip while Simon's head was slightly tilted, an eyebrow raised as he expected you to say something or perhaps see what your next move was. Meanwhile, on the floor of the ship, Rocky seemed to be buzzing with excitement within his glass ball.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who manages to always stay alert and awake without coffee or energy drinks. Franks says it's witchcraft; Mel just believes they drink caffeine out of sight.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who has the innate ability to know where everyone is at any given time. Can't find Robby? He's in trauma 5. Need Dana's opinion on something? She just stepped into the ladies room. Whitaker disappeared again? He's getting a change of scrubs. However, to combat this, they act like complete idiots with directions. (Gotta balance everything somehow.)

🕸️ Spider!Reader who stores an extra suit in their locker AND a go bag next to the ambulance bay for emergencies. Almost had a heart attack when Samira was trying to get into their locker on accident. Made some excuse about keeping their lunch in the locker because someone (ahem Frank) ate it once and now as PTSD about stolen lunches.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who connects with Mel after forgetting their noise canceling headphones after a hard "night-shift" and was too overwhelmed the next morning. Mel caught the signs of a panic attack and offered her extra pair. (The two now try to find each other whenever overstimulation creeps up).

🕸️ Spider!Reader who forgot their suit once and had to show up during the night shift. Let's just say Jack was confused when you came out without your "forgotten lunch box" that they claimed they left. Followed you out to the bay in time to see a glimpse of red and blue fabric that they grabbed before turning a corner.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who showed up the next shift with a giant black eye (curtesy of King Pin) and has all the older staff concerned for their wellbeing. Shrugs it off as being clumsy. "Slipped on an illy-placed bathroom map and full sent it into my doorknob." Santos is the first one to offer an ice pack while they do charting together.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who gets eyed by Jack during handoff. He's given the same shpeel as everyone else but remembers watching the news last night and seeing the Spider hero eat a nasty knuckle sandwich before putting the gang leader in custody. He simply nods and gives advice on how to reduce swelling in the future and to watch out for doorknobs.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who doesn't think it's suspicious to preform an emergency tracheotomy on a civilian who got caught in the crossfire and then drop them off at the Pitt. The staff asks how they knew what to do and they respond with "I saw it once on YouTube." Jaws are dropped but they get the heck out of dodge as quickly as possible.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who likes to hang off of buildings close to work so that they won't be late for once. Catches Jack standing on the roof and swung over with fear evident in their mask-muffled voice only to be consoled that Jack only goes up there to find some peace. Ends up sitting longer than expected and is late again.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who starts to join Jack after hard nights where they weren't able to save everyone. Jack listens to this obviously-young person and can't help but pick up similarities between his favorite resident and this hero. Ends up putting two and two together but keeps his mouth shut for now.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who ducks behind trauma room curtains to sneak out of the Pitt to help during mass casualties and day-time villains who have no care for working people. Has to sneak back in (this time with a lip) and say they needed a breather on the roof and fell down the stairs. Robby banishes them to Triage and charting and is met with yet another ice pack from Santos.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who spends their days off sleeping for 48 hours straight. Returns to the Pitt freshened up and early for once with a coffee for Jack. The older man eyes it carefully before taking it with a small smile. Robby whines that you didn't get him one. "I'm your attending, why does Jack get one and I don't." The two of you don't talk about it.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who gets severely injured and has to bring themselves to the Pitt to get checked on. Only asks for Jack Abbot and won't be looked at by anyone else. Jack is just straight-faced after they yank down the mask to reveal their identity. He tells them he's known for months. It's their turn to drop a jaw. Goes home with three cracked ribs and Jack Abbot's phone number.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who is able to hold back and bring the ICE agent down to the ground and hold him there until back up arrives. Claims they lift weights and take martial arts, but again, no one believes them.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who went against government orders and is now labeled a vigilante. The Pitt staff were all told to call the police if they ever dropped off more civilians. However, even though they don't know their identity, the staff "forgets" those orders and never calls the police. The hero has shown nothing but compassion and a want to help others; they won't be the ones to turn their backs on them.

🕸️ Spider!Reader whose aunt ends up being fatally hurt during a fight and has to bring her in while on a shift. Swings away only to immediately get a call from Robby that their aunt has been brought in and is in critical danger. Has to come for their shift and watch Robby do all that he can to save her but can't bring her back.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who doesn't cry but chooses to go up to the roof and just stand on the ledge and scream.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who, against their pledge to do no harm, hunts the villain down with intentions to kill, but realizes the mistake and brings in a badly injured Green Goblin for the night-shift to work on.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who hisses a plea to Jack, asking to save the man that killed their aunt. Jack nods with a promise to check on them after he's done. Jack who is finally surprised to see them in action, feet planted firmly on a pole and whole body hover sideways in a way that's effortless (he didn't know about the grippy feet and fingers.)

🕸️ Spider!Reader who lets Jack hold them for an hour just listening to their wails and cries about now being all alone because their parents and uncle died years ago and their aunt was the only family left.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who has to take on alien level threats and only wants to go back to their boyfriend's house and sleep for days on end.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who ends up fatally injured and drags themselves to the Pitt during the day shift with grunts of everyone keeping the mask ON during whatever they need to do.

🕸️ Spider!Reader whose phone buzzes in their backpack as Dana is trying to reach them to tell them their late to the shift only to realize the noise is coming from the bag that the hero dropped on their way in.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who wakes up from surgery, mask still over their eyes, but only with Jack, Dana, and Robby (who also heard the phone) looking over them with sadness-filled eyes. Ends up spilling everything. Robby promises to not get onto them about being late and schedules more days off. Dana puts in her phone number as an emergency contact going forward.

🕸️ Spider!Reader whose room is protected by the interns when the police show up looking for the hero after tips were sent it saying people saw them coming to the Pitt. Dennis ends up being an immovable object with those farm muscles and squares up guys who are inches to a foot taller than them. Victoria films it all and threatens to put it on her TikTok, which has gained a following for being a SpiderHero update account. Trinity gets the security team to push them out and knows they need legal documents to search the premises for the hero.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who doesn't show up for work for almost a week under the pretenses of needed some time to grieve their aunt and is celebrated when they return.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who places money against themselves when Perla and Princess bet that the hero is actually an employee of the Pitt. Jack puts in a thousand that they DO work there and gets hit with a pillow later that night after their shift.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who makes sure to find Victoria outside of work to make a TikTok with her. (They do the Sibling Picture challenge and go viral with over 3 millions likes.)

🕸️ Spider!Reader who accidentally crashes into Dennis and Trinity's apartment to lay low. Dennis screams and Trinity comes as them with a spatula. (They end up playing Mario cart through the night.)

🕸️ Spider!Reader who finds out Robby bought a motorcycle and covers it with webs the next morning knowing Robby can't say anything to them in public.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who hears Frank's heart rate spike when his back hurts and shows up with a heat pack before he can take the stollen pills. Ends up being the one who ends Frank's addiction by helping him get into specialized trials run by Stark Enterprises (totally not suspicious).

🕸️ Spider!Reader who shows up to McKay's son's birthday party after hearing that he was a big fan. Literally makes his year. Can't stop grinning as McKay tells the staff about the story and how she wishes she could thank the hero not knowing they were listening the whole time.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who absolutely crashes in Jack's bed once and ends up being told to move in so Jack knows when/if they make it home after a fight.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who doesn't get blipped and has to stop being a hero to cover shifts at the Pitt after most of the staff disappears into dust (Trinity, Mel, Ellis, Perlah, Mateo . . . Jack).

🕸️ Spider!Reader who has to age five years before their hero mentor brings everyone back. Who has to be thankful that they were the one to age and not Jack, who is surprised to see how life has been so cruel to the hero while he's been gone.

🕸️ Spider!Reader whose identity gets revealed and refuses to show up to work because they know crowds would swarm the ER and interrupt emergencies. Ends up quitting their job, putting their residency on hold.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who crashes between police chases at Dennis and Trinity's apartment and just cries on their couch and apologizes for not telling them sooner.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who is so desperate to make everything right that they end up causing everything to go wrong.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who has to rebuild their entire life when everyone forgets to they are.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who meets Jack for the "first time" on the Pitt's roof with a speech in hand, but ends up pulling back when they watch Samira comfort their boyfriend/non-boyfriend instead. Chooses to let Jack have this happiness without their mess, but fails to see Jack squint in their direction as they swing away, eyes filling with a weird sense of familiarity and flashes of memories with dark skies and late-night talks filled with the same red and blue fabric.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who continues to bring civilians to the Pitt but doesn't stay around long to be thanked by the staff--can't stay around to see their families faces void of recognition of who was under the mask.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who goes ends up in the ER and Jack can just taste their name on his tongue before they give it to him. His mind curls with a migraine as he goes through their history and wonders why Dana's number is this random person's emergency contact (they forgot to change it).

🕸️ Spider!Reader who isn't able to cover for anything and tries to object when Jack tells them he'll pay for it. Can only softly thank him with tears in their eyes as they leave.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who stops in their tracks on the sidewalk when their name is called in that familiar timber. Who turns around to see Jack running towards them. Who openly cries when Jack simply says "I remember" before kissing them on the street.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who ends up finding another another loophole to the spell and is able to reverse everything and the world goes back to normal, not knowing their identity. They get to show up to the Pitt the next morning like nothing ever happened.

🕸️ Spider!Reader who weirds everyone out as they go around hugging everyone tightly (maybe a bit too tight as well).

“After the tour?” He nods in agreement. You shifted so you could look at him properly. “I’m taking a break,” you said. “Just… slowing down.”

He nodded once, processing.

“I’ll be in Pittsburgh more,” you added, watching his face carefully. “If that’s okay.”

That earned you a look.

“Okay?” he repeated softly. “You’re asking me if that’s okay?”

You shrugged slightly, suddenly shy. “I don’t want to just… take over your space.”

“You’re not taking over anything.”

“I might.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re allowed to be here.”

Your chest tightened at how easily he said it.

“I want to see what being normal feels like,” you admitted. “Grocery stores. Movie nights. Not living out of a suitcase.”

“You think I’m normal?” he teased lightly.

“No, you’re incredibly weird,” you said. “But I still love you.”

That softened him. He brushed your hair back gently. “I love you too.”

You hesitated for a second before adding, “I set aside tickets for the Pitt crew.”

His hand stilled slightly. “You did?”

“Mhm, they’re your people. I figured if they’ve had to hear about me for ten months, they deserve a show.”

He stared at you for a long second.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly.

“I wanted to.”

“Why?”

You held his gaze.

“Because I want you to be happy.”

Something in his expression shifted — softer, deeper.

He didn’t answer with words.

His hand slid to your waist and pulled you in. The kiss was decisive, warm and sure, familiar in a way that made your chest ache. You shifted closer without thinking, knees settling on either side of his hips as he leaned back into the couch.

His hands moved up your back, pulling at your shirt. Yours threaded into his hair, tugging lightly to deepen the kiss. You were so caught up in it — in the warmth, in the steadiness of him — that you didn’t hear the front door open. Didn’t hear the footsteps travel down the hallway.

What you did hear was a low whistle.

The sound broke your lips apart instantly, turning to the culprit of the sound.

Yolanda stood near the entryway, eyebrows raised.

“Well,” she said calmly. “Good for you, white chocolate.”

Dennis went crimson.

Trinity stepped fully into the living room and froze. “Oh, absolutely not.”

You scrambled off Dennis’s lap, trying to look like you had been sitting at a perfectly respectable distance the entire time.

“We were just—”

“Making out on my couch,” Trinity interrupted. “Get a room next time.”

Dennis cleared his throat. “This is a room.”

Trinity blinked at him slowly. “Get one with a lock.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting a smile.

“Kitchen. Now,” Trinity muttered, grabbing the grocery bags. 

“Make sure you use protection.” Yolanda said, tossing Dennis one last smirk before disappearing around the corner with Trinity.

The kitchen cabinets opened and shut dramatically as silence fell over the living room again.

You and Dennis looked at each other. His ears were bright pink. Your heart was still racing.

You exhaled slowly. “…You think they bought ice cream?” you asked softly.

He stared at you for a second — then laughed, the tension breaking completely.

“That’s what you’re thinking about?”

“I mean… yeah,” you said defensively. “This can wait — ice cream cannot.”

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “Oh yeah?” 

You tilted your head, studying him. “We can finish this in your room… with the door locked,” you murmured.

His smile widened. “Good idea.”

—————

The pitt was unusually steady for a Tuesday.

Not slow — that never happened — but steady. The beds were only slightly overflowing. No one was sprinting. Monitors hummed in the background like white noise. 

Dennis was at the nurses’ station, chart open, typing with quiet focus. He looked rested which was suspicious for an ER doctor.

Princess noticed first. She drifted over, hip bumping lightly against his chair. “Your girlfriend has a show tonight.”

He didn’t look up. “She does.”

“Last one,” she said.

“Mhm.”

Mel glanced up from across the desk. “You taking tomorrow off?”

“No.”

Princess frowned at him. “You should take tomorrow off.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Robby stepped out of Trauma 2, pulling off gloves, scanning the board. “What are we being fine about?”

“Dennis is pretending tonight is normal,” Princess said.

Robby’s gaze shifted to Dennis. “What’s going on tonight?”

“It’s just…” Dennis finally looked up, calm. “It’s the last show of her tour.”

“Just,” Trinity huffed while reading over the board. She was leaning against the counter, arms folded, watching Dennis with a knowing look. “You’ve been insufferable all week,” she said.

He blinked. “I have not.”

“You rearranged your closet.”

“That’s called being organized.”

“You left a section empty for her.”

Dennis's lips press together in a thin line.  

Victoria turned slowly. “You what?”

Robby folded his arms, mildly entertained now. “Behavioral changes before significant life events are common.”

Dennis sighed. “Can we not?”

There was a brief lull — the kind where everyone is technically working but also listening.

He clicked out of the chart and rubbed the back of his neck. “She actually told me to mention something,” he said. “She set aside tickets.”

Mel looked up.

“For who?” Princess asked carefully.

“For you guys,” he said. “If you want them.”

Silence. 

Not dramatic silence — Processing silence.

Victoria slowly swiveled her chair toward him. “Define ‘you guys.’”

He gestured loosely around the ER. “Day shift. Pitt crew. Whoever wants to come.”

Mel leaned back slightly. “All of us?”

“Yes.”

Mel crossed her arms. “She didn’t have to do that.”

“No,” Dennis said quietly. “But she did.”

Victoria studied him for a second. “You’re not even freaking out.”

“I’m not twelve,” he said.

Princess leaned closer. “No, but you were once the guy who couldn’t even say his name to her.”

Trinity nodded. “Yeah and it’s documented.”

Dennis closed his eyes briefly. “Can that die?”

“Never,” Trinity said.

Mel pushed off the counter and walked over, stopping beside him. “What time do doors open?”

Dennis glanced at her. “Eight. The show will start at around nine.”

Princess inhaled sharply. “Oh my God.”

Victoria looked at Dennis again, softer now. “She really wanted us there?”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

Robby studied him for a quiet beat — assessing, as always.

“That’s thoughtful,” he said simply.

Dennis shrugged, but there was no hiding the warmth in his expression now. 

Robby clapped once, practical as ever. “Alright, finish your charts so we can all get out of here.”

The board beeped again and life resumed, but the energy at the nurses’ station had shifted. And as Dennis went back to charting, trying not to think about the fact that tonight the woman he loved was stepping onto a stage for the last time this tour — and everyone who had watched him fall for her was going to be there to see it.

—————

They were already inside when the lights started dimming.

The air felt warm from thousands of bodies, perfume and popcorn and electricity blending into the air. The stage stretched wide in front of them, the runway cutting deep into the crowd. Pink light washed over everything — soft and hazy. 

The Pitt crew clustered together near the front of the VIP section, talking too loudly over the pre-show music.

Princess kept adjusting her outfit like she was about to go onstage herself. Mel leaned forward against the railing, studying the stage design. Victoria had her phone out, recording everything around as if she needed proof she was really there.

Trinity stood beside Dennis, shoulder brushing his.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

He nodded, eyes fixed on the stage.

It had been ten months of this — cities blurring together, FaceTimes at strange hours, articles dissecting his existence. He’d gotten used to cameras catching them leaving restaurants. To fans deciding he was either perfect for you or completely unworthy. To headlines about the ‘fan who got the girl.’

But this was different.

This was the last one.

The house lights faded fully. The noise of the crowd rose in response — not screaming yet, just that swelling anticipation.

The intro rolled in, low and glossy. The giant screen filled with visuals of you getting ready.

Dennis swallowed.

A spotlight cut through the dark. You stepped into it slowly, wrapped in a white towel.

The reaction was immediate. Deafening.

You didn’t move at first. Just stood there, letting it wash over you. Letting them have the moment. Your hair fell over your shoulders, bare legs catching the light.

Dennis felt the corner of his mouth lift without meaning to.

You lifted a hand to shield your eyes from the lights — that familiar gesture — scanning the arena like you were trying to take it in. 

Then you open the towel. The bodysuit underneath shimmered under the stage lights. Across the front, in glittering script: The End.

The scream that followed felt physical.

The first beat hit and you were already moving — sharp, playful, completely in control. The choreography was tight but effortless, the kind that only looks easy because you’ve rehearsed it a thousand times. Your hair bounced with every step, your smile breaking through between lyrics, your energy spilling outward instead of being held tight.

Princess was yelling something incoherent. Mel was laughing in disbelief. Victoria had given up on filming entirely.

And Dennis… he just watched. 

You danced like you trusted your body. Like you knew exactly what it could do. Dropping low into choreography and rising out of it without hesitation, spinning down the runway, pointing out into the crowd like you could actually see people instead of lights.

And maybe you could. Because a few songs in, when you made your way toward their side of the stage, your eyes found him like it was nothing.

Not a big moment.

Not dramatic.

Just—there.

A flicker of recognition. A softness that didn’t belong to the performance.

Dennis felt his breath catch anyway.

Trinity leaned in without looking away. “She’s been doing that all night.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

The show kept building — louder, faster, brighter. You gave everything to it. Every chorus bigger than the last, every movement just a little less held back. 

By the time the lighting shifted pink and you walked down the stage with your dancers, the arena was already unhinged.

Princess grabbed his sleeve. “It’s happening.”

Security touched his shoulder gently, guiding him down toward the barricade. The closer he got to the stage, the louder it felt. The heat of the lights. The vibration of the bass through the floor.

“Pittsburgh…” you said, dragging the word out just a little, smiling and shaking your head slightly. “You’ve been… a lot tonight.” Laughter rippled through the arena. “Like, I’m trying to focus,” you continued, pacing a few steps. “I’m trying to be professional—” You stopped, turning slightly right toward Dennis. “But someone won’t stop staring at me.”

The scream hit instantly.

The sirens started. The camera swept across the front rows — dramatic, searching. And then it found him. The reaction from the crowd was instant, a wave of screams echoed throughout the arena. People shouted his name, pointing, grabbing each other.

Dennis laughed under his breath, shaking his head slightly.

Onstage, you turned toward the screen and spotted him immediately.

Your face lit up. “You’ve been distracting me all night,” you said, voice carrying easily over the crowd.

The scream doubled. You stepped closer to the edge of the stage, looking down at him like there wasn’t an entire arena watching. 

You squinted slightly. “…Wait.” You stepped closer to the edge of the stage. “I know you.” The crowd was already losing it.“What’s your name again?” you asked, tilting your head.

Dennis didn’t even hesitate this time.

“Dennis,” he called back, steady.

“Dennis,” you repeated, softer, like you were testing it. “Right.” You smiled slowly. “That’s such a good name.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“Yeah?” he shot back.

The crowd reacted immediately — a low ooooh rolling through them.

Your eyebrows lifted, amused.

“Oh, he talks now.”

Dennis grinned. “A little.”

You took another step closer, right to the edge now, looking down at him.

“I like this version.”

The moment lingered just a second longer than it should have.

“Still,” you added. “I think something’s wrong with me.”

Dennis huffed out a quiet laugh, already knowing where this was going.

“My heart rate’s increasing,” you continued, pressing a hand to your chest. “I’m getting a little lightheaded—” You took a step, like you were testing your balance. “My vision’s a little blurry and—” you added, glancing down at yourself. 

Right on cue, your long skirt dropped cleanly to the stage, revealing the shorter one underneath.

You looked back up at him instantly, like this proved your point. “—and my clothes keep falling off.”

Dennis laughed, shaking his head, one hand coming up to his face for a second before he dropped it again.

“Yeah,” he called up, voice steady, teasing. “That’s not good.”

You tilted your head. “No?”

He smiled. “No, I think I’ve seen this before.”

The crowd leaned in.

You took a step closer to the edge. “Oh, have you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Pretty clear diagnosis.”

You raised your eyebrows, playing along. “Which is?”

He held your gaze. “Early onset… falling for you.”

You blinked once then broke into a grin. 

“Oh my God,” you laughed, shaking your head. “That’s crazy.” You lifted the fluffy pink handcuffs, letting them swing between your fingers. “Because I think I know where I got it.” You pointed at him. “I think I got it from you.”

Dennis just smiled. “Really?” he asked.

You held his gaze.

“Yeah,” you said simply. “I’m gonna have to arrest you for being so easy to fall for.”

The camera cut to him again. And Dennis,  without hesitation, lifted his arms out in front of him, wrists together, ready.

You broke immediately, laughing, shoulders shaking.

“Oh my god!” you said, turning slightly toward your dancers like you needed them to witness it. “He’s ready!”

The arena was still screaming, but it blurred into the background as you stepped right to the edge of the stage.

You crouched slightly, leaning down toward him, the fluffy pink handcuffs dangling between your fingers. Up close, it was different. Less stage. More real. You held them out to him.

“Hold these for me?” you said, light, like it was nothing.

Dennis took them, his fingers brushing yours.

“Of course,” he murmured.

You lingered there for half a second longer than you needed to.

He leaned in just enough, voice low — words meant only for you, not the crowd.

“I love you.”

You smiled, softer now. “I love you too.”

A beat passes as you two stare into each other's eyes.

And then you leaned down and kissed him.

It was quick. Easy. Familiar.

But the arena exploded anyway.

You pulled back just enough to flash him a quick smile. 

Then the music hit. You turned on it instantly, spinning back into the choreography as Juno started, the entire energy shifting in a heartbeat.

Dennis stayed there for a second, breath catching, the pink cuffs looped loosely in his hands. Then he laughed, dragging a hand through his hair, already flushed as he looked back up at you.

The crowd didn’t settle. If anything, they got louder.

You moved like you always did — sharp, controlled, completely locked into the beat — but there was something looser in it now. Something brighter. Like you were enjoying yourself a little more than usual.

Dennis stayed at the barricade for a second, pink cuffs still looped in his fingers, watching you like he was trying to keep up with how fast everything had just happened. Then he laughed under his breath, shaking his head, already flushed as he stepped back, letting security guide him away from the barricade, back toward the others.

Onstage, you sang through the first verse, moving across the stage with your dancers, hitting every beat clean, voice steady, effortless. The arena followed you, every word louder than the last, the energy building again.

By the time you hit the pre-chorus, the lights shifted.

Right before the drop—

you reached for it.

The stethoscope.

It was completely over the top — bedazzled, sparkling under the lights like it had no business being a real medical instrument. The second it hit your hand, the crowd started screaming, already knowing. You slipped it around your neck in one smooth motion, playing it up just enough — looking like you were about to run an exam.

You tapped the chest piece lightly against your palm, then looked out at the crowd, a huge small smile pulled at your mouth.

“Have you ever tried this one?” And then you stepped forward and dropped low, smooth and controlled, balanced perfectly in your heels. You brought the stethoscope up, pressing the chest piece just over your heart while your other hand traced down your thigh in time with the music.

The arena exploded.

Dennis didn’t even try to hide it this time — he laughed, one hand coming up to his face as his ears turned red, shoulders shaking slightly.

Behind him, Princess was screaming. Mel was gripping Victoria’s arm like she might actually pass out.

Trinity lost it completely. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME—”

You held it for a beat—just enough to let the moment breathe—then lifted smoothly, dropping right back into the choreography as the chorus crashed in.

—————

The last note still echoed in their ears by the time security started guiding them out.

No one from the Pitt crew was quiet.

Princess was mid-rant about the stethoscope. Mel kept replaying the moment on her phone like she hadn’t just witnessed it live. Victoria was talking over both of them, trying to analyze the choreography like it was a case study. Trinity walked beside Dennis, arms crossed, shaking her head like she was disappointed.

“You’re insufferable now,” she said.

Dennis glanced at her. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You stood there and got kissed in front of thousands of people,” she shot back. “That counts.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, but there was still a flush sitting high on his cheeks, the adrenaline not even close to wearing off.

The hallway backstage was quieter. Dimmer. Cooler. It felt like stepping out of something.

A few crew members passed by with quick smiles, headsets still on, the post-show energy buzzing in a more controlled way back here. Someone opened a door for them, ushering them inside with a knowing look.

And then—

There you were. No stage lights. No mic. No dancers.

Just you. Changed into something soft and comfortable, makeup toned down but not completely gone—still a little glitter clinging stubbornly to your skin. Your hair was pulled back loosely now, like you’d finally let yourself breathe.

For a second, you just looked at each other.

And then Dennis crossed the room. 

You barely had time to smile before his arms were around you, pulling you in without hesitation. It wasn’t dramatic—it wasn’t for anyone else. It was just… him. You melted into it just as easily, arms sliding around him, face tucking briefly into his shoulder like you needed a second to come down too.

“Hi,” you murmured.

“Hi,” he said back, softer.

Behind him the Pitt crew collectively lost whatever composure they had left.

“Oh my God—” Princess started, hands flying up. “You were insane.”

“That was actually unreal,” Mel added, still half-laughing.

Victoria shook her head. “The note change during bed chem? Amazing.”

“Yeah,” Trinity said. “You really outdid yourself.”

You laughed, pulling back slightly from Dennis but not letting him go completely.

“Thanks guys,” you said, smiling at all of them. “I’m so happy you could all come.”

“Thanks for inviting us,” Robby said as everyone hummed in agreement. They then crowded in a little closer, talking over each other—compliments, reactions, half-finished sentences, everyone trying to say something at once.

“You killed that—”

“I’ve never seen anything like that—”

“Are you kidding me with that last part—”

You took it all in, smiling, a little breathless now in a completely different way than onstage. Dennis stayed quiet through most of it, one hand still resting at your waist, grounding, steady.

After a minute, the noise settled just enough.

You glanced up at him but he was already looking at you. There was something calmer in his expression now. Not overwhelmed. Not stunned.

Just… sure.

He tilted his head slightly toward the door.

“C’mon,” he said, voice low enough that it didn’t cut through the room but still reached you easily. “Let’s get home.”

Something in your shoulders loosened at that.

You smiled—smaller this time, softer.

“Yeah,” you said. “Home.” 

a/n: sorry I've made you guys wait for so long — I've been really behind on school (these rockets can build themselves) and had to lock in for a sec. I made this like 1k words longer than it was originally to make up for it :)

Also, if you haven't already, go vote on the poll I posted yesterday to determine what I post next (Or if you don't like the options then send in any requests you have)

Trinity Santos had been counting down to this concert the way some people counted down to New Year’s. The moment she saw the confirmation email for the tickets in her inbox, she had her shift swapped and started planning her outfit like it was the Met Gala.

Dennis had watched Trinity’s descent into madness with quiet amusement from the couch.

“You know it’s just a concert, right?” he’d said one night, glancing up from his laptop as Trinity strutted across the living room, giving Dennis a private fashion show.

She stopped mid-pose, offense written across her face. “Just a concert? Huckleberry, this is the event of the year.”

He tried—and failed—to hide a smile. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I am not dramatic,” she spun toward him, pointing dramatically. “And you are coming with me.”

He blinked. “I am?”

“Yes. Yolanda couldn’t get her shift covered and I have a spare ticket,” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Plus, you like her.”

Dennis’s shoulders stiffened. “I don’t—”

“Yeah you do.”

“I just think she’s talented,” he corrected carefully.

Trinity folded her arms, “You were belting ‘tears’ in the shower last night.”

His ears turned pink. 

She grinned, triumphant. “Face it, Whitaker. You’re a fan.”

Dennis shook his head, but he couldn’t quite hide the small smile tugging at his mouth. “It’s still just a concert,” he muttered.

“Keep telling yourself that, Huckleberry.”

Now, weeks later, Trinity was standing in their apartment foyer, dressed in a lace baby blue mini dress and knee-high boots, staring at Dennis like she was appraising a patient.

“You cannot wear that.”

Dennis glanced down at his plain dark tee and jacket. “Why?”

“You look like you’re going to a faculty meeting.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just a concert.”

“She might see you.”

He froze.

Trinity pounced. “Exactly.”

“I doubt she’ll notice me,” he said, adjusting his shirt. “There are twenty thousand people.”

Trinity grabbed her bag. “You underestimate the power of fate.”

———————

The arena was electric before the show even started.

Heat radiated from the bodies packed shoulder to shoulder—the scent of perfume, popcorn, and anticipation hung thick in the air. The stage glittered under low lighting, the massive screen looping your tour visuals.

When they reached the barricade, Trinity actually gasped.

“Huckleberry, we’re so close!”

He looked up at the stage and swallowed. They were so close he could see the texture of the runway.

“You realize,” he said quietly, “statistically speaking, our odds of interaction are minimal.”

“Stop bringing statistics to a concert,” Trinity hissed. “Manifestation only.”

He tried to laugh it off, but his pulse had already quickened.

Then the lights dimmed. The intro video began, bass rumbling through the floor, vibrating through Dennis’s ribs.

Backstage, you stood in the shadows, towel cinched tight around your body, in-ears humming with the click track.

You inhaled.

Exhaled.

“Stand by,” came the cue.

Seconds later, your cue hit, signalling for you to run out. 

You burst onto the stage, halting dramatically, lifting a hand to shield your eyes from being blinded by the intense white beams. The roar was instant and overwhelming, washing over you in waves. 

You scanned the audience.

And there—in the front row stood a guy with dark hair and a sharp jaw. He looked stunned. Completely, utterly stunned. Beside him, there was a girl who was practically vibrating with excitement.

The opening notes of “Taste” started.

You dropped the towel, revealing the bodysuit, which shimmered under the lights—crystals catching every flash. The crowd exploded at the sight.

Dennis forgot how to blink.

You then try to grab the mic that was suspended just out of reach. Once you finally get it out, you look back at the crowd, eyes finding him as a slow smile curved across your mouth. You knew one thing at that moment, he had to be the Juno Arrest tonight. 

Dennis’s brain short circuited.

“Is she looking over here?” he murmured.

Trinity’s grip on the barricade tightened. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

The show moved in a blur of choreography and high notes that made the crowd scream louder, but every few songs—you looked back. And every time, Dennis flushed deeper.

Trinity leaned toward him during one intermission. “If you get picked for Juno arrest, I’m transferring hospitals.”

“I’m not getting picked,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

The beat started back up, and the arena knew exactly what was coming.

You reappeared with your two dancers, strutting down the catwalk, hips swaying, confidence radiating.

“Pittsburgh!” you called, breathless and glowing. “You’ve been unreal tonight!”

The roar that followed shook the rafters.

“But…” you continued, pacing slowly, hand over your heart. “All night long, I keep seeing this guy in the crowd.”

Dennis went still.

Trinity slowly turned her head toward him.

“I just can’t keep my eyes off him.”

The camera swept across the front rows.

Trinity shook her head. “No, there’s no way—”

The sirens blared as his face filled the giant screens with flashing red and blue graphics and the word ARREST stamped around him. He looked like he’d been caught committing a felony.

Trinity screamed in his ear. “IT’S YOU.”

You leaned down at the edge of the stage, smiling wickedly.

“Hi,” you said sweetly. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

Dennis opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Trinity elbowed him, hard enough it would probably leave a bruise.

“Dennis!” she shouted for him.

You laughed. “Dennis?”

He swallowed. “Y-yeah.”

“Oh, Dennis,” you sighed theatrically. “You’ve been distracting me all night.”

His face turned crimson.

You tilted your head, studying him. “You see, Dennis… in the past, I’ve only dated man-children with bad jobs.”

The crowd booed.

“So please,” you continued, biting your lip, “tell me… what do you do for work, pretty thing?”

Dennis stared up at you like you’d just asked him to perform surgery onstage.

“I—I’m a doctor,” he managed.

The arena erupted.

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your mouth. “A doctor?”

He nodded quickly, cheeks burning.

Trinity leaned into his side. “Use full sentences, Whitaker.”

You grinned. “Wait—that’s actually so hot.”

Dennis looked like he might faint.

“Well,” you said slowly, standing up straight and stepping closer to the edge of the stage, “Doctor Dennis… maybe you can help me.”

He swallowed.

“I think something’s wrong with me,” you continued, fanning yourself dramatically. “My heart is racing, my temperature’s rising, and my clothes keep falling off.”

The crowd screamed as your long skirt dropped, revealing a shorter one underneath.

“Is that normal, doctor?”

Dennis blinked rapidly. “I—uh—depends—”

You laughed, delighted by how flustered he is.

“Oh no,” you teased. “He’s shy.”

Trinity called up, “He’s always like this!”

Dennis shot her a betrayed look.

You turned to your dancer and accepted the pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs, swinging them lightly.

“Dennis,” you said, voice soft but playful, “I usually arrest people for being too hot.”

Dennis covered his face briefly. 

Trinity was doubled over laughing.

“Would you like to go to jail… or back to my place?”

You hand the handcuffs to security who passed them down to him. Dennis swallowed hard as he felt the soft fabric lay in his hands.

“The latter!” he shouted, a sudden wave of confidence washing over him.

You beamed. “The latter? Oh my gosh, perfect.”

The crowd roared.

“This one’s for you, Dennis.”

Trinity took the handcuffs and leaned into his ear. “We’re putting this on the shelf next to our diplomas.”

He laughed breathlessly. “I can’t feel my legs.”

The music kicked back in, and you danced across the stage, completely in your element. As you reached the heart-shaped platform, you let a quick, playful smirk flash across your face.

“Wanna try out some freaky positions?” you sang. “Have you ever tried this one?”

On the beat, you stepped to center and dropped smoothly into a deep, balanced squat in your heels— knees apart, back straight, completely in control. One hand traced down your thigh in time with the music while your hips rolled once, sharp and precise. You tipped your chin down, eyes lifting toward the crowd beneath your lashes for just a split second before blowing a kiss out to the stadium.

The place erupted.

You dropped fully onto your knees, hair flipping as you went back to singing like it was effortless.

Dennis exhaled slowly. Beside him, Trinity screamed at the top of her lungs—

“I MANIFESTED THIS!”

———————

It had been thirty-eight hours since the show.

It hadn’t truly hit him until just after the show. Trinity and him had just got back to their apartment, still buzzing, Dennis still replaying the conversation in his head. He’d showered, crawled into bed, and stared at the ceiling.

Out of all people.

He’d been picked.

And now, after hours of spiraling, he was back at PTMC for his shift. Fortunately for Dennis, the ER had been manageable all day—a couple of minor traumas, one admission for sepsis, nothing overwhelming. Unfortunately for Dennis, the internet had not been manageable.

Victoria had shown him a slow-motion edit at 8:00 a.m.

Trinity had found a freeze-frame of his face—wide-eyed, flushed, staring up at the stage like he’d just seen God descend in platform boots.

“You looked so gentle,” Victoria said thoughtfully. 

“I looked surprised,” Dennis replied.

“You looked in love,” Trinity corrected.

“I am not in love.”

“You were gorgeous, apparently,” Trinity added.

He turned red again.

Before he could defend himself further, Dana’s voice rang out. “VIP incoming with a possible head trauma and hand lac. ETA, two minutes. It’s some singer,” your name echoed throughout the emergency department. 

The entire department straightened.

Robby stepped forward immediately, scanning the residents. “Whitaker, you’re with me.”

Dennis blinked, pointing at himself. “Me?”

Robby gave him a look. “You’ve already met.”

Javadi choked on her coffee.

Dennis followed Robby toward Trauma Bay 2 as the ambulance doors opened.

Security entered first, then the stretcher.

And there you were.

You’d look paler than under stage lights, with faint swelling near your temple and excess glitter that clung to your skin. One hand was loosely wrapped in gauze that was slowly blooming red.

Dennis’s stomach dropped.

Professional. Be professional.

You were transferred smoothly to the trauma bed. Monitors were attached, and vitals were called out.

“Hi,” Dennis said automatically, stepping forward. “What’s your name?”

Your eyes shifted toward him, recognizing him instantly. You stared at him for one beat—then smiled faintly.

“I’m a little offended you don’t remember me.”

Behind him, Perlah made a strangled sound, trying not to laugh.

Robby’s eyebrow lifted slightly.

Dennis cleared his throat. “Trying to check your cognitive function.”

“Uh-huh.” You gave your full name properly this time, still watching him.

“What happened?” Robby asked.

“Missed a landing during rehearsal. I tried to adjust, but I lost that battle.”

“Nausea?”

“A little.”

“Vomiting?”

“No.”

Dennis gently took your injured hand. “You’ve got a pretty deep laceration.”

You glanced down. “My mic. The rhinestones are beautiful but also apparently violent.”

It was about five centimeters across the palm, deep enough to need stitches instead of glue.

“We’ll get a head CT,” Robby said. “Then Whitaker will close that lac.”

“Yes, sir.”

The CT came back clear. No bleeding, and no fracture. Just a mild concussion. 

When Dennis returned with the suture tray, you watched him with open curiosity.

“Do you always forget the names of people who arrest you?” you asked lightly.

He nearly dropped the sterile packet. “I didn’t forget.That’s just standard protocol.”

“Sure it is, pretty.”

He inhaled slowly and pulled on gloves. “This will sting.”

“Be gentle,” you murmured.

He injected lidocaine carefully. His hands were steady now—calm, precise.

“How long have you been doing this?" you asked.

“I’m an intern, so I’ve only been out of med school for two months.”

“That’s impressive, surviving med school.”

“It’s… normal.”

“Don’t do that,” you said softly.

“Do what?”

“Shrink yourself.”

That caught him off guard. 

He focused on the first stitch. “You shouldn’t be rehearsing with a concussion.”

“You shouldn’t have been staring at me like that in front of an arena full of people.”

His hands paused—just slightly—before continuing.

“That wasn’t intentional.”

“Oh?” you asked. “You always look at random women like that?”

Heat climbed his neck again, a deep shade of red replacing his complexion. “You were performing.”

“And now?”

“You’re my patient.”

“And after I’m discharged?”

He shook his head as he tied off the stitch and snipped the suture, “I’m still your doctor.”

You watched him work, head tilted slightly.

“Do you like this?” you asked.

“Emergency medicine?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, I love it.”

“Why?”

He hesitated then answered  honestly: “You get to help so many different people, all with different things. It makes you feel… important.”

That made you quiet.

“Good answer,” you said finally.

When he finished bandaging your hand, he stepped back. “No dancing and avoid screens and alcohol for at least forty-eight hours.”

You made a face. “I have a show tomorrow.”

“It’s medically necessary.”

“Bossy.”

“Doctors orders.”

You smiled at that.

As he reviewed discharge precautions, you interrupted gently. “I’ll be in Pittsburgh until the end of the week.”

He nodded. “Three more shows.”

“You’re keeping track?”

“It’s public information.”

You held his gaze. “Are you going to ask me to dinner, Dr. Whitaker?”

The use of Dr. did something unfair to his nervous system.

“I—” He steadied himself. “Yes. I would love to take you to dinner.”

“Tomorrow after the show?” you asked.

“If you’re feeling okay.”

“I will be.”

You handed him your phone. He entered his number carefully, like it required precision.

Security gathered as you sat up slowly.

Princess hovered nearby, clearly debating whether to stay professional or go full fangirl.

“Do you want a picture?” you asked her kindly.

Her face lit up. “Really?”

The first photo was quick, then Victoria stepped in, and then Trinity—even Dana got a photo.

Robby stood near the desk, unimpressed but not intervening.

When you were finally wheeled toward the exit, you looked back at Dennis.

“Don’t forget me this time,” you said lightly.

He met your eyes, steadier now. “I won’t.”

And this time, there was no crowd, no stage lights. Just the hum of the ER, the smell of antiseptic, and a date set for tomorrow night.

he made sure to give you space while still managing to always be there when you needed him. that being said… this is an er- its chaotic, constantly moving and requires you to have good special awareness- so even when he reminds himself to back up he’s not that surprised when you turn around and start talking to him cause you knew he never really left.

dr ellis is much more straightforward. she’s more than happy to complement you or call you out on something you could’ve handled better. you were used to tough love or just.. tough statements in general- but something about parker reminding you these patients need you to be on the top of your game made any complaint or disagreement disappear on your tongue.

oh and the first time you saw her smile- it was so over for you. you chased that high of being the one to make her laugh like you were being paid to. little did you know parker was very well aware of the fact and smugly glances over to walsh or abbot whenever you make a silly joke and look at her wide eyed and hopeful that she found it funny.

dr walsh intimidated you the most at first. she was sarcastic and strict. her arms were almost always crossed and she was perpetually locked and loaded with a snarky come back for anything dr abbot said.

she rarely ever talked to you- and when she did it was typically because of a patient but every other shift you’d get a rare quip from her. usually something about your age or how you follow ellis like a puppy. the sudden friendly jabs always threw you off guard- taking a second to blink at her before awkwardly responding. it took you a while to realize her teasing was meant to make you flustered.

and dr shen? he doesn’t even have to try. because when you eventually grow overwhelmed from abbot’s constant stare, ellis’s flirts, and emery’s smirk he knows you come running to him… he listens to you rant or just lets you sit in silence- always offering you a sip of his watered down ice coffee. he rubs your back when your tired and offers a kind, ‘just a few more hours kid’. he always helps you tie your surgical gown for you if you’re on a case together and need to wear one.

Fatigued and completely over the day, you plopped down into an empty bus seat before closing your eyes, hoping to find a moment of reprieve. You made a mental note to call the auto shop about the status of your car, as the many smells and characters of Pittsburgh public transit, particularly after a long day of dealing with angsty teenagers, had worn on you the past week.

Despite your wife’s many protests that she could pick you up, you insisted you were fine taking the bus, that she was supposed to be resting during the day, not cursing out rush hour drivers. Yet, as you felt the bus swerve into oncoming traffic and saw an incoming semi, the crash jolting you out of your seat, your head hitting the floor, you wished you’d listened to your wife.

For a moment, you sat dazed and in shock as a warm liquid dripped down your temple. But as the cacophony of screams, cries and car alarms blared in your ears, you quickly became alert. You took a quick glance outside the now shattered window, the sight of multiple wrecked cars telling you what you needed to know. Focusing your attention back on the inside of the bus, you did a mental scan of the passengers, triaging in your head who needed immediate attention.

“Help!” A distraught sob from the front of the bus caught your attention.

Not trusting your balance, you scrambled over to where a young woman hovered over a severely injured man lying on the ground.

“H-he was sitting right there when the truck came and he flew forward into the pole,” the woman explained through her tears, and you were grateful she held it together enough to be coherent. Though, you’re confident, based on the slight indent in the man’s chest, you could’ve put the pieces together. “Are you a doctor?”

“No, but I can help,” you said as you conjured up all the years of pre-med studies and the late nights helping your wife study during med school. Apparently, being married to a world-class trauma surgeon came in handy sometimes.

Grabbing his wrist, you took his pulse and immediately determined he was tachycardic. You then grabbed your cellphone out of your pocket, turned the flashlight on and opened the man’s eyes with your finger to shine the light on them. When you saw his pupils dilate, you couldn’t help but feel a small bit of relief, a feeling that didn’t last long when the man coughed, a splatter of blood spewing onto your clothes.

“Shit,” you cursed as you leaned down so your ear was closer to his mouth, the shortness of breath confirming your diagnosis. “Where the hell is the ambulance?”

“On their way,” someone called back, “but could be a sec. Traffic looks pretty jammed.”

Another cough of blood landed on your arm.

Double shit.

“What’s wrong? Is he gonna die?” The woman frantically grabbed at your sweater.

You could feel your own heart rate picking up, but you did your best to stay calm, not wanting to frighten her any further.

“Well–” you paused, realizing you didn’t know her name.

“Sarah,” she supplied.

“Sarah, he has blood in the space between his lung and his chest,” you explained. “We can either wait for the paramedics to get here, or–” you took a deep breath to steady yourself– “I can do my best to drain the fluid.”

Sarah paused, her eyes conflicted as they flit down to the bloodied man and then back up to you. “He’s my husband.” Her gaze fierce as it met yours. “Please save him.”

You inhaled sharply. You were hoping she wouldn’t say that, but even you knew, as his breathing became shallower, you had no other choice.

“Okay,” you said as you racked your brain for supplies you could use for a makeshift chest tube. Scanning the bus, you spotted a gym bag. As you crawled over to it, you could only hope it had what you were looking for. You rummaged through it and nearly cried when you pulled out a water bottle, one of those ones with a flexible straw, and a roll of athletic tape.

“Does anybody have a sewing kit on them? Or even some floss?” You called out, grabbing your purse from where it had been flung upon impact before shuffling back over to the your now-patient.

As you pulled out your pocket knife and some disinfectant wipes, Sarah was messily digging through her purse.

“Here.” She held out a small box in one hand as she wiped her nose with the other. Taking it from her, you opened it and found a travel sewing kit—a few needles, two lines of thread, and even a pair of mini scissors along with some tweezers. Right then, you thanked God for women and your need to be prepared.

As you looked at the supplies in front of you, you pictured your next steps. This could actually work. Was it crazy? Absolutely. But could it save this man’s life? Absolutely.

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” You looked at Sarah, giving her one more out before she put her husband’s life in the hands of a stranger.

“Positive.”

You quickly worked to disinfect everything before cutting through the man’s shirt. “What’s his name?”

“Rick,” the woman whispered, cradling her husbands head in her lap.

“Okay, Rick–” you addressed him, your fingers tracing down the side of his chest as you counted his ribs– “this is going to hurt a little.”

Using your pocket knife, you made an incision in between his fourth and fifth rib, a groan of pain erupting from him.

“I know, I know,” you muttered as you insert your fingers into the man’s side before guiding the straw in along his chest wall, rotating it until you felt resistance. You held your breath for half a second, unsure if it worked, but then you saw blood start to fill the straw and you exhaled.

“Did it work?” Sarah asked, her wild eyes watching your every moment as you taped the bottom of the straw against the hole of the bottle.

“I hope so,” you replied, your hands busy suturing the straw into place. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet her gaze, too worried you’d just messed up her whole world. Even when Rick coughed again, this time absent of blood, you couldn’t get rid of the pit growing in your stomach.

Too focused on having a man’s life in your hands, you had missed the sounds of approaching sirens.

“Are you all okay in here?” A paramedic crawled through the broken window.

“Over here!” You held up your hand, causing two paramedics carrying a transfer board to hurry over to you.

“What do we got?” One of them asked as they knelt down next to Rick.

“Male in his mid thirties–”

“He’s thirty-one,” Sarah interrupted with a sniffle.

“Thirty-one year old male,” you started again, sitting back on your heels, “blunt force trauma to the chest causing hemothorax.”

The diagnosis caused one of the medics to finally notice the straw sticking out of the man’s side. “Is that supposed to be a chest tube?”

You nodded.

“You performed an emergency chest tube?”

You nodded again.

“Well, you likely saved his life,” the other paramedic interjected after finishing her brief evaluation. “Miller,” she addressed her partner, “let’s get a neck brace and prepare for transfer.”

As the paramedics did their job, you let yourself collapse against the wall of the bus, the adrenaline starting to wear off. You watched Sarah stand up, readying herself to follow the paramedics to the ambulance before she turned back towards you.

“Wait–” she reached out her hand for you to take, which you did– “what’s your name.”

You told her, and she squeezed your hand. “Thank you.”

You could only nod with a small smile, a sudden wave of tiredness crashing over you. As the woman dropped your hand to catch up to the paramedics who were carrying her husband, you let your limb lazily drop to your side, every part of your body starting to feel heavy.

“Ma’am?” You heard a distant voice, professional and controlled.

“Ma’am,” the voice repeated, this time a lot closer, and you briefly opened your eyes to see another paramedic’s face hovering in front of you.

Weakly, you mumbled your wife’s name before succumbing to the exhaustion.

---------

Meanwhile, when word got the PTMC of a twelve car pile up, including a bus, it was all hands on deck.

As a stretcher rolled in with a badly injured man on it, a straw hanging out of his body, Robby’s eyes widened and he called over McKay and Whitaker.

“What do we got?” He asked, directing them to North 6, where Dana had shouted was open.

“Rick Nelson. Thirty-one year old male with blunt force trauma to the chest,” the paramedic explained as he helped transfer Rick onto the table. “Flew across the bus and into the pole.”

“Get surgery in here,” Robby yelled to anybody who was listening, immediately diagnosing internal damage.

Already downstairs due to the sheer amount of incoming traumas, Emery Walsh entered the bay just seconds later.

“What the fuck is that?” Her eyes immediately went to the water bottle full of blood and the straw dangling from the man’s rib before looking up to the paramedic. “You performed a chest tube in the field?”

The paramedic opened his mouth to defend himself but before he could say anything, Sarah interjected from the corner of the room, “A woman on the bus did that. Her name was (Y/N).”

Your name caught Emery’s attention, and she backed away from the table, her focus now solely on Sarah. “What was her name?”

Sarah repeated your name, this time in a whisper as she cowered under the surgeon’s glare.

“Was she hurt? Where is she?” Emery kept her voice firm, but her insides were twisting with fear. It hadn’t taken her long to put the pieces together that the (Y/N) in question was you, because who else on a bus would know where to even begin making anything with the semblance of a chest tube. Only you.

“I-I don’t know.”

For a moment, Emery only stared at the woman, frustration and anger building in her chest.

“Get Garcia in here,” she said, leaving no room for question as she peeled off her gloves, already exiting the trauma bay. “I need to find someone.”

Not bothering to listen to Robby’s protests, Emery made a beeline for the phone at the nurses’ station. She punched in your number, immediately doing it again when she reached your voicemail. When you didn’t pick up the second time, Emery slammed the phone down, earning a few sideways glances from the nurses.

“Dr. Walsh?”

“What?” She snapped, turning around to face Mohan, who wore an expression that teetered the line of compassion and pity.

“There’s a woman in three asking for you,” Samira said before lowering her voice away from prying ears, “your wife.”

Emery’s feet were moving before Samira could say anything further, her heart pounding in her ears. Pulling back the curtain, she nearly broke. You were sitting at on edge of the bed with a piece of blood-stained gauze taped to your head, your eyes closed as Santos worked to pick glass out of your arm.

Sensing your wife’s unmistakable presence along with the distinct smell of your laundry detergent that clung to her scrubs, you opened your eyes and sighed, “Em.”

Your weak smile did little to quell Emery’s worry as she unclipped your chart from the side of the bed before moving to stand by your side.

“You okay?” She murmured, scanning the chart in one hand while the other found a spot on your back.

“Peachy.” You subconsciously leant back into your wife’s touch. “Just chatting here with Dr. Santos about chest tubes.”

“Your wife’s a badass, Walsh–” Trinity’s eyes widened when she saw the surgeon’s glare– “respectfully.”

“You could learn a few things from her, Santos,” Emery retorted, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Be nice, Em.”

Emery glanced back down at you, her eyes softening for the briefest moment before turning to Mohan with urgency. “You put in an order for CT?”

Samira shook her head. “Loss of consciousness due to exhaustion and dehydration. No signs of a serious concussion or reduced brain function. Just a nasty cut.”

“Head wounds are always bleeders. You know that, babe,” you interjected with a faint smirk.

“Okay, seriously, who are you?” Trinity laughed, shaking her head in amusement and awe.

Emery ignored you both, your chart weighing heavy in her hand. She hated this. She hated that you were here, injured; that she wasn’t—couldn’t be—the one to treat you; that she couldn’t comfort you right now, just wrap you up in her arms and shield you from all the bad things in the world. She hated all of it.

Noting the subtle shift in the attending, her expression unrecognizable yet also uncharacteristic, Samira filled in the gaps.

“We’ve already stitched up the laceration on her forehead and got an x-ray back on a broken wrist,” she explained, not bothering with the details already written in the chart. “Santos is just picking out the stubborn pieces of glass and dressing the superficial wounds before we get ready for a cast.”

Emery hummed, and you could tell she was still on edge.

“I’ve been in good hands, Em,” you placated, lightly placing your non-injured hand on her forearm.

“I’ll take it from here,” she stated, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

Having just finished her dressings, Trinity dropped the gauze and gave you a quick smile. You thanked both of them as they wordlessly left you in the bay alone with your wife. For a moment, neither of you said anything, exhaustion coursing through your body and anxiety through hers. But when Emery sat down in the stool in front of you, tenderly hooking her finger under your chin and guiding your head so she could really look at you, you broke. Sobs wracked your body as you collapsed forward against your wife, who instinctually embraced you in her arms.

“I know. It’s okay,” Emery soothed, rubbing small circles on your back. Despite her earlier worries, she knew your tears were not due to pain but rather the emotional crash of having a person’s life in your hands and saving it.

Knowing all too well the swirl of emotions you were feeling, Emery just held you as you continued to cry. You buried your face in the crook of her neck, the faint scent of her vanilla perfume offering you familiar comfort.

“You saved that man’s life,” she said as your cries subsided. Gently, she pushed you back to upright so she could cradle your face between her hands. You never felt safer. “You helped him, now let me help you.”

You could only nod, and Emery stood up, softly but quickly kissing your lips, before she moved around the bay, gathering the necessary supplies for a cast. As she wrapped your wrist with practiced ease, already knowing you would want the purple plaster, you allowed yourself to turn your mind off and just be taken care of, something your wife was quite good at.

“A straw for a chest tube,” Emery scoffed under her breath as she cut the last piece of plaster, an amused glint in her eye. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You love me,” you replied easily with a chuckle.

“A straw for a chest tube,” she repeated, and this time you sensed the tone of pride in her voice. “Of course I love you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the warmth from spreading up your neck. Before you could say anything else, the curtain was pulled open to reveal Jack Abbot. You’d met him a few times in passing and heard several stories, more so rants, about him from Emery.

“Isn’t a cast a little below your pay grade, Walsh?” He raised a brow in the direction of your wife.

“Abbot.” Emery rolled the stool, her body now half shielding you, an action not unnoticed by you or the other doctor.

“Down tiger,” Abbot chuckled before his eyes landed on you. “You the one who performed an emergency chest tube?”

“That would be me.”

Abbot merely hummed as his eyes narrowed into a look Emery would later tell you was one of approval.

“Just spit it out, Abbot,” Emery grumbled, causing him to form an amused smirk. He had never seen this protective side of the surgeon, and he decided he liked it, or rather liked poking it.

“When you’re done here, Robby has some questions for you,” he explained to you before shooting a pointed glance at your wife who was ready to protest, “just for charting purposes.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” you sighed as you pushed yourself off the bed, Emery’s hands still hovering.

“You also have some–” Abbot paused and moved to the side just barely, revealing a group of doctors and nurses huddled around the central station, their eyes watching you with curiosity– “adoring fans.”

On any other day, Emery would have scolded Abbot for letting his ED become a herd of gossip, but she reveled in the bashfulness that flushed your cheeks as you let out an exasperated groan.

“Come on, love.” Her hand rested on the small of your back as she helped you to stand, purposefully ignoring the way Abbot’s brow raised at the term of endearment. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

“My own wife,” you scoffed, “leaving me to the wolves.”

“More like a bunch of golden retrievers,” Emery muttered into your ear, causing Abbot to let out a snort as he held open the curtain for you two.

“Even worse,” you joked, letting your wife guided you to where another doctor, who you assumed was ‘Robby’, stood typing at a computer.

“Dr. Walsh, can I do something for you?” His eyes remained focused on the screen.

“I heard you needed my wife’s help for your charting,” she replied smoothly, causing him to look up, his eyes darting between her and you.

“Your wife,” he said slowly, “performed a chest tube with a straw and a sewing kit in the middle of a bus accident?”

“Okay,” you interjected, sensing your actions had become a topic of discussion amongst the emergency department. You really didn’t want to answer their questions multiple times. “Yes, I am Emery’s wife. Yes, I made an impromptu chest tube out of a water bottle. No, I am not a doctor, and no, I do not want to be.”

You turned to Abbot, who you saw out of the corner of your eye was about to say something. “Don’t even try to poach me, Abbot. I have enough hobbies.”

That earned you a few chuckles from the eavesdropping group, and even Jack couldn’t help but smirk.

“Too bad,” said a nurse with white-blonde hair, an entertained grin on her face as she rounded the station, pointing at you, “I like her.”

You genuinely don’t think there’s anything more embarrassing than ending up in the emergency department after twisting your ankle in the platform heels you insisted you would be able to walk in. 

Except, what is more embarrassing, is the fact that you’re not just in heels—you’re in a full-blown, tight, revealing Halloween costume. And you hadn’t even started drinking yet. 

“Okay, I’m gonna’ try to find a wheelchair, just sit,” Your friend says, ducking out from under your arm, letting you rest your palm against a nearby column. Your other friend is still holding you up on the other side, one arm around your waist. 

“This is stupid,” You say. “It’s not broken.”

“It might be,” Your friend says. “How would you know?”

“Because I can walk,” You counter. “Do you really think I’d be able to walk on a broken ankle?”

“You can barely walk,” She corrects. “Hence the wheelchair.”

“I don’t need the wheelchair,” You grumble, setting your injured foot down on the ground, clenching your teeth as sharp pain radiates up your leg. Your friend rolls her eyes, acting as though she didn’t notice as you shuffle away from her. “See? Walking.”

“I’ve seen babies crawl faster than that,” She says. “Just see what they say, okay? If it’s not broken then all the better.”

Your other friend comes around a corner with someone in tow, pushing a wheelchair. She’s young, wearing grey scrubs, and her hair’s pulled back into two braids with a few curls framing her face. Your friend doesn’t need to point her in the right direction, because your outfits make it more than obvious that you came together. 

“This is Emma,” Your friend says. “She’s a nurse.”

“Hi, Emma,” You greet, introducing yourself to her after. She repeats your name, then gestures to the wheelchair. 

“Come on, we’ll get you taken back,” She says, helping you into the chair. She lifts one of the sides up, elevating your left leg so it’s level with your hips. 

“Isn’t it a really bad sign to be taken back right away in an ER?” You ask. 

“Oh, no, well…sometimes,” Emma says. “But your friend was telling me how you injured your ankle, and we just want to take a quick look. Can one of you grab a clipboard from registration, please?”

Your friends nod, and one of them steps over to the line, getting left behind as you’re wheeled through the double doors. 

“Who do we have here?” A blonde woman, also wearing grey, asks, coming around the desk towards you. 

Emma says your name and age before continuing. “Twisting injury on an uneven curb, unable to visualize the area, her friend wasn’t sure if she hit her head when she fell—she was walking behind them.”

“I did not hit my head,” You say. “I don’t…think.”

The blonde woman, whose name tag reads ‘Dana,’ chuckles. “Alright, that’s a one way ticket to a room, sweetheart.”

“What?” You ask. “No, there has to be other people that need to be seen before I do.”

“There are,” She agrees. “Emma’ll take a look first, see what we’re working with. Sound okay?”

You nod, not really in a place to argue. Plus, you’re pretty sure Dana isn’t exactly the type to lose a fight. 

“Take her to four,” Dana instructs. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Emma nods, pushing you towards the right place. It’s not exactly a room, just a bed surrounded by curtains. She helps you onto the bed, sitting the back up so you can lean against it. 

“Can you tell me your full name?” Emma asks, which you do. “What about the date?”

“October thirty-first, twenty-twenty five,” You answer. 

“Do you know where you are?”

“PTMC,” You say, rolling your eyes when your friend gives you a thumbs up. 

“Do you remember falling?” She continues, hands hovering over your boot, trying to figure out if she can get it off without hurting you further or using scissors. 

“Yeah, I mean, mostly,” You say. 

She nods, coming back over to you, pulling something out of her pocket. “I’m just gonna’ shine something in your eyes, okay? Look straight ahead.”

You listen, doing your best not to flinch when the light hits your eye. She tucks it away, setting two fingers in both of your hands. 

“Squeeze my fingers,” She instructs. “Does your head hurt? Any nausea?”

You shrug. “A little nausea.”

“How’s it going in here?” Dana asks, pulling the curtain aside as she comes in, closing it behind her. 

“Pupils equal and reactive, normal motor function, minor nausea,” Emma explains. “I was just about to try and take her boots off.”

Dana hums. “They’re tight, might have to cut the left one off.”

You gasp. “What? No, they were expensive. I can do it.”

“We don’t want anything making it worse, hon,” Dana says, giving you a sympathetic smile. “Give it a shot, see what we’re working with.”

Emma nods, fingers careful as she unzips the boot as far as she can, pulling the edges back. She frowns once she can actually see your ankle, which is already swollen and likely starting to bruise. 

“Let me know if it hurts, okay?” She says, and you nod, ready to brave through any pain just so they won’t cut it off. She braces the bottom of your foot, up by your toes, then starts to slide the back half off your heel. All plans to suck it up go out the window the second it starts to move. 

“Ow, fuck, sorry,” You say, face wrenched with pain, hands curled into the mattress. She stops immediately, glancing at Dana, who takes her place. Emma continues bracing, and Dana actually manages to move it a smidge more before the searing pain returns. 

“No, no, just cut it, please,” You say. “I should’ve listened in the first place.”

“I liked the optimism,” Dana says, carefully setting your foot back on the bed. Emma grabs a pair of scissors from a drawer, slicing across the material, each snip ringing out in the quiet room. They peel the remains off, then your sock, revealing the injury in it’s entirety. 

“Should’ve painted your toenails,” Your friend says. 

You laugh, then wince when your foot shifts. “Didn’t know they’d be on display.”

“I’m gonna’ touch a few spots, let me know if it hurts,” Emma says, raising a gloved finger to your ankle, pressing lightly. You groan, clutching the sheets. Every spot hurts, two of them more than the others, and then she grips slightly higher on your calf, squeezing. 

“Jesus christ,” You grunt, leaning forward, a wave of nausea hitting with the pain. Your face twists, and Emma lets go. 

“Sorry, sorry,” She says. “You okay?”

You give a thumbs up, slightly hunched, taking deep breaths. 

“Still confident it’s not broken?” Your friend asks. 

You manage to say the name of your other friend, followed by ‘go find her.’ She listens, leaving you alone with the two nurses. The pain subsides after a few moments, and you sit back up, exhaling. 

“Please tell me we won’t have to do that again,” You say. 

“Hopefully not,” Dana promises. “You definitely need an x-ray, and let someone know if your nausea gets worse, alright? Emma’s gonna’ set you up with some ice and an IV, and I’m gonna’ go find someone to sign off on pain meds.”

“Okay, sounds good,” You say. “Thank you.”

Princess is standing outside your room, hidden by the curtain, leaning against the wall. Dana raises an eyebrow as she comes out, gesturing for her to go ahead with whatever she wants to say. 

“She’s gorgeous,” Princess says, keeping her voice down. “Is she a model?”

“Not sure,” Dana says, scanning the department, trying to find a free doctor. “Could be.”

“What’s she here for?” 

“Broken ankle,” She says, finally seeing Dennis come out of a room, calling his name before he can take a seat at one of the computers. “Need you for a minute.”

She meets him halfway, grabbing a tablet from the stand, pulling up your chart and passing it to him. 

“Twisted her ankle, bimalleolar tenderness, positive squeeze test,” She explains. “She needs some pain meds, x-ray’s already been ordered.”

He nods, looking at your name in the top left corner. “I’ll take a look in a minute.”

“Thank you,” She says, patting his shoulder as she walks off. Princess steps in front of Dennis, wiggling her eyebrows. 

“What?” He asks, wearily. 

“She’s pretty,” She says. 

“Who?” 

“Your new patient,” Princess clarifies. “Thought you might want a heads up.”

Dennis huffs, nodding, stepping around her. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Emma stays with you after Dana leaves. “You want a blanket?”

You glance down at your outfit, then towards the now open curtain. “Yes, please.”

She grabs one, draping it over you, leaving your arm exposed. She sets up your vitals, then gets the IV first try, hanging a bag of fluids on the nearby hook. 

“How’s your nausea?” She asks. “Any worse?”

You think for a second. “A little worse, but still okay.”

The curtain is pulled back again, revealing a man in black scrubs with blonde curls and blue eyes. Emma gives him a small smile, stepping away from your bed so she doesn’t get in the way. You feel your heart start to race, hoping that he doesn’t notice on the screen displaying your pulse behind you. He says your name as he walks in, and then he pauses for a fraction of a second. 

‘Pretty’ is an understatement. You’re stunning. 

He has to make a conscious effort not to look at your chest, which is exposed in the tiny costume you’re wearing, but he recovers quickly, tapping his badge against the sensor at the computer. 

“I’m Dr. Whitaker,” He introduces. “I hear we’ve got quite the ankle injury.”

“You could say that,” You say, grimacing as you shift up on the bed, trying to get comfortable. He scans your triage note, then looks at Emma.

“Neuro exam okay?” He asks, and she nods. 

“Completely normal besides a little nausea,” She explains. 

“No headache or dizziness?” He confirms, the question now directed at you. You shake your head. “Have you had any alcohol today?”

“No,” You say. “Didn’t exactly get that far.”

There’s a pause before you speak again, only filled by the sound of him typing. 

“Why, are you offering?”

Emma averts her eyes, grabbing a new pair of gloves, trying to seem busy. Dennis pauses, keeping his head forward, hoping that his cheeks and ears haven’t gone as red as they feel. Langdon can’t help but glance in as he passes by, having overheard the comment. His eyes widen when he sees you, and he quickly moves on to his patient’s room. 

“They already made last call,” Dennis says, trying to joke a little. “Best I can do is some pain meds.”

“Damn, I was hoping not all my Halloween plans were ruined,” You say. “But I’ll definitely take pain meds.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” He says, offering you a quick, small smile. “Do you have any drug allergies or kidney problems?”

“Nope.”

He nods, stepping back from the computer, looking at Emma. “Two of morphine, twenty of ketorolac. Let’s keep her NPO for now.”

“Yeah, on it.”

She leaves the room. Dennis gestures to your leg, which is under the blanket. 

“Mind if I take a look?” He asks. 

You smirk, your eyebrows raising suggestively. “Please.”

He swallows, trying to get his heart to stop pounding. There’s no way you’re flirting with him, right?

He lifts the blanket up, folding it back and setting it on your thighs. He avoids touching the pressure points, knowing how painful it would’ve been the first time, instead holding just below your knee as he tilts your leg to either side. It doesn’t matter though—you still wince, inhaling sharply. 

“Sorry,” He says, softly, trying to move slower. The bruising is bad, but the swelling is worse now that your boot has been off for a bit. 

“Tripped on a curb, hey?” He asks, putting the blanket back over once he’s done. 

You groan, leaning back against the bed. “Yeah, like an idiot.”

“Happens to the best of us,” He says, pulling a stool over, sitting down. He points to where your boots are sitting on the floor. “Those the heels?”

“Sure are,” You say. “What’s left of them, anyway.”

He leans over, getting a closer look, seeing how the left one has been completely mangled. He also sees how tall they are, and he clenches his jaw, trying not to think about how good they must've looked when they were on. 

“At least you’re having a better day than they are,” He says. 

You laugh. “Yeah, just wish I could’ve actually gotten some use out of them. They really tied the whole costume together.”

“What was the costume?” He asks, looking you over, having a few guesses in mind, but not wanting to be wrong.

“It makes more sense when my friends are with me,” You say, looking up at him through your lashes, folding your arms over your chest, exposing more of your cleavage. “You know the game ‘fuck, marry, kill?’”

“Uh, yeah, yes,” He says, stuttering. 

“We’re that,” You say. “You wanna’ guess which one I am?”

He blinks. 

“I probably shouldn’t,” He says, but he knows the answer. Your costume is blood red, and you have lipstick marks trailing up your neck and on your cheeks. He doesn’t want to think about who put them on you. 

You hum. “Then I guess you’ll live in mystery.”

He looks back at you, crossing his arms, trying to move on without showing how flustered you've made him. “Emma should be back with those meds soon, and then we’ll reassess once you get some imaging done. Sound okay?”

“As long as you come back,” You say, not missing a beat. He laughs a little, bringing one hand up to the back of his neck. 

“I will,” He says, checking his watch. “Still got an hour left, and x-ray should be here any minute.”

“Looking forward to it, Dr. Whitaker.”

Dana overhears that, making her smirk, especially when Dennis comes out of your room a second later, redder than she’s ever seen him. He clears his throat as he walks over, stopping on the other side of the desk. 

“She’s all good for now,” He says. “Got her some pain meds, let me know when the films are up.”

“Will do,” She says. “You alright? You’re a little flushed, kid.”

He nods, clearing his throat again, already walking away to avoid further questions. She laughs to herself, shaking her head. Princess leans over from her spot. 

“I tried to warn him,” She says. 

“About what?” Dana asks. 

“That she was pretty,” Princess says. 

Dana scoffs, still smiling. “I don’t think that was the issue.”

“Oh?”

“She was flirting with him,” Dana says. “Said she was ‘looking forward’ to him coming back once her x-rays were done.”

“No!” Princess exclaims, making eye contact with Perlah, who’s now listening intently. “Seriously?”

“Yep,” Dana confirms. “Can you grab repeat vitals for twelve?”

“Okay, pain meds are in, and x-ray is on their way,” Emma says, standing beside you, a new pair of gloves on now that she’s finished administering the medication. “You’ll have to change into a gown, do you want help?”

You don’t, but you’re pretty sure you won’t be able to do it on your own. 

“Please,” You say, an apologetic look on your face. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Emma asks, incredulous. “Trust me, you are, like, the easiest patient I’ve had all day.”

She closes the curtain before helping you, folding the tiny two-piece set that you were wearing and placing it in a large bag. She puts your boots in there too, despite the fact that one of them is in multiple pieces. 

The curtain opens again, making both of you look up. The person looks up from her tablet, stopping in her tracks, eyes widening. 

“You are not my patient,” She says, glancing at the tablet again, eyes narrowing. “Ah, they moved him to fifteen. Sorry for barging in.”

“No problem,” You say. “Hope you find your patient.”

“Thanks,” She says. “Everything good in here, Emma?”

“Yep, just waiting on x-ray,” She says. “Thanks, Dr. Santos.”

She nods, then turns around, speed-walking away from your room. Once she’s done with her real patient she practically tosses her tablet onto a desk as she walks by, coming up behind Victoria and grabbing her arm. 

“Have you seen the patient in four?” She asks. 

“Uhm, no, why?” She questions, still walking, despite the hold that Trinity has on her. 

“She might be the hottest person I’ve ever seen in my life,” Trinity says. Victoria laughs in disbelief, stopping at a computer, pressing her badge to the scanner.

“What?” She questions. “That’s…not professional.”

“I didn’t say it to her face,” Trinity counters. “Go look, tell me you don’t agree.”

“I’m busy!” Victoria exclaims, pulling up a chart. “What’s she here for?”

“I dunno’, she’s not my patient. Check.”

Victoria scrolls through the dashboard until she sees your bed number, scanning across to the chief complaint. “LEI.”

Trinity laughs a little. “Probably had a bit too much to drink.”

“Who are we talking about?” Dennis asks, logging on to a nearby computer. 

“Patient in four,” Trinity says. 

“Oh, she’s mine,” He says. “X-ray just came back, did you see her?”

“Did she ever,” Victoria mumbles. 

“Briefly,” Trinity says. “You talked to her already?”

“Uh, yeah,” He says, bringing your chart up. “Why?”

“No reason.”

“Santos thinks she’s hot,” Victoria says, earning a glare from the resident. “Do you agree?”

Dennis frowns, pulling up your x-ray, not actually looking at it yet. “She’s a patient.”

“Oh, come on, she’ll never know,” Trinity says. 

He shrugs, fiddling with the mouse. “It doesn’t matter—she’s a patient.”

“Okay, I need to see for myself,” Victoria decides, walking away from them. She slows down once she’s outside of your room, looking through the gap between the curtain and the wall. She continues on after a moment, then loops around, coming back over. 

“Oh my god,” She says. 

“Right?” Trinity says. “She’s insane.”

“That’s…that’s ridiculous,” Victoria says. “Wow.”

Dennis shakes his head, returning his attention to your images. He sucks in through his teeth, almost wincing at the sight. Trinity looks over, grimacing. 

“Oh, ouch,” She says. “That’s rough.”

Robby stops as he walks by, eyes narrowing, automatically reaching up to put his glasses on. 

“Bimalleolar fracture,” He comments. “Who’s this for?”

“Four,” Dennis answers. “Tripped on a curb in heels.”

“Tell me someone’s given her some pain meds,” Robby says. 

“Yeah, I ordered two of morphine and twenty of ketorolac,” He says. “Almost an hour ago.”

“What’s your plan?” Robby asks, leaning back, putting his glasses in his pocket. 

“A splint, page ortho,” He answers. “More meds.”

Robby nods, giving him the permission he needs to log off and head towards your room. He can’t hear anything as he walks over, and he pulls the curtain back to reveal Emma standing at the computer, and you—

Well, you’re still stunning—despite the hospital gown and half-lidded eyes. You’re slightly curled onto your right side, both hands tucked beneath your head. Your makeup is still sharp, eyelashes coated in mascara and a wing of eyeliner flicking out towards your temple. Your eyelids are glittery, and, even though you’ve been laying in a hospital bed for an hour, your hair looks amazing. 

Dennis says your name, making you fully open your eyes, turning towards him. 

“Hey,” He says. “How’re you doing?”

You blink a few times, sitting up. Emma comes over to adjust your bed. 

“I’m okay,” You say, voice slightly rasped. He sees the way you wince when you move, and how your face is tight with discomfort. 

“How’s your pain, scale of one to ten?” He asks, sitting on the stool beside your bed. “One being barely noticeable, ten being the worst pain you’ve ever felt.”

You shrug. “Uhm, maybe a five? Six?”

He frowns. “Still hurts pretty bad, huh?”

You swallow, blinking a few times, nodding. “Yeah.”

“Any changes since I’ve been gone?” He asks. “Dizziness, more nausea, confusion?”

“Still a little nauseous, maybe?” You say, finding yourself not wanting to admit that to your unreasonably attractive physician. “But it’s better now that you’re back.”

“Oh, uh, well, that’s great,” He says, tripping over the words. Emma looks out of your room, noticing a few people congregating by the desk across the department, watching the interaction closely. Princess and Perlah are murmuring to each other, whereas Jesse and Frank are just staring as Dennis’ face starts to burn again. “I can give you an anti-nausea medication too.”

“Can’t you just stay?” You ask. “I really feel a lot better when you’re around, Dr. Whitaker.”

Emma bites her lips, looking down at the floor, mumbling something about another patient before walking away. Dennis opens his mouth, then closes it, trying to think of what he could possibly say right now. 

“I, uhm, I would if I could,” He finally says. “But you’re here on one of our busiest days of the year, so-”

“Right, everyone seems very busy,” You interrupt, gesturing to the group staring at the two of you. He turns around, watching them scatter like animals the second his eyes are on them, desperately searching for a task to do. Dennis hums, nodding. 

“They might not be, but I have other patients,” He says. 

You put on an exaggerated frown. “Consider me jealous.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Trust me, you have no reason to be jealous.”

You cock your head to the side, already starting to grin, eyebrows raising. He realizes how that sounds, and even though it’s true, that’s not exactly what he meant.

“Because some of them are a lot worse off than you,” He clarifies, and he hears someone laugh at the terrible excuse for his accidental flirting as they walk by. “I am gonna’ have Emma give you some more pain meds and some Zofran, which will help with the nausea, uh…until I get back.”

“Thank you,” You say, slightly more serious now. “See you soon?”

He nods. “Yeah, of course.”

Perlah grins when he gets back to the hub. “She’s laying it on pretty thick, huh?”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” He counters. “She’s just nice.”

“That’s not what nice sounds like,” Frank adds. “She’s into you, man.”

Dennis logs on to one of the computers, inputting your new orders. “I mean, even if she was, she’s a patient, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Won’t be your patient forever,” Princess says. “And she’s been flirting since before you gave her any meds, so, not like she wasn’t in a sound state.”

“Who’s flirting?” Robby questions, and everyone goes silent, averting their eyes. 

“No one,” Dennis says, forcing a smile onto his face. 

“The patient in four is super into Huckleberry,” Trinity says, making Robby raise an eyebrow, taking his glasses off and tucking them into his pocket. 

“That so?” He asks, making Dennis shake his head. 

“No, it’s not,” He says. “She’s just friendly.”

“And very attractive,” Trinity adds. 

“Okay, alright,” Robby says. “Let’s stay professional.”

“Please,” Dennis mumbles. 

You lose track of how many people ‘walk’ past your room over the next ten minutes. Some of them are genuinely just moving by, not even glancing in your general direction, usually holding a tablet or medications of some kind. Others are obviously slowing down, looking at you for a second, a few even doing a double or triple take. Dana comes over and pulls your curtain closed, giving you a smile as she does. You hear her say something along the lines of ‘this isn’t a zoo’ as she walks away, which makes you laugh to yourself. 

“He’s still red,” Someone says from somewhere outside. “She’s killing him.”

“I’d be red too if she was talking to me like that,” Another one says. “How long before he comes up with an excuse to talk to her again, ‘you think?”

“Ten minutes, tops,” The original voice says. 

“She knows exactly what she’s doing,” A third person adds. “But she seems sweet.”

“She’s so sweet,” Emma agrees, finally someone you recognize. “Keeps apologizing for everything, I wish all my patients were like her.”

“Those for her?” The second voice asks, and you assume Emma nods before walking towards your room. 

Her face pops up a moment later, a sweet smile on her face, which you return. “Hey, how’s it going in here?”

“Good, minus the pain,” You say. 

“This should help,” She says, holding up the vials in her hands before setting them down on a tray, pulling a pair of gloves on. “More morphine, and some Zofran for the nausea. Dr. Whitaker should be in to talk about your x-ray soon.”

“Is it bad?” You ask, already knowing the answer. 

She gives you another smile, inserting the first medication into your IV bag. “He’ll go over everything once he’s got a second.”

He comes back once his face is no longer obviously red.

“I took a look at your x-rays,” He says. “You did a number on your ankle.”

You sigh, nodding. “Yeah, figured as much when I got morphine within ten minutes of showing up.”

“That’s usually not a great sign, unfortunately,” He confirms. “You came in with some friends?”

“Oh, yeah, but I told them to go,” You explain. “We were on our way to meet up with some other people, figured there was no need for them to miss out.”

He hums. “Very generous.”

“What can I say?” You tease, leaning back, closing your eyes for a second. “Not as generous as you, I’m sure, but I do my best.”

“What makes you say that?” He asks, smiling.

You scoff, incredulous. “You’re working in an emergency room on Halloween, feels pretty generous to me.”

He sets his hands on the guardrail on the side of your bed, leaning over a bit. “Do I get extra points since I wasn’t actually scheduled today?”

“Maybe,” You say. “Then why are you here?”

“One of my colleagues asked to swap,” He explains. “Wanted to hangout with her sister tonight.”

“Very noble,” You say. “Definitely worthy of extra points—not that you needed them, though.”

He smiles a bit. “Good to know.”

He lets you know that you’ll probably need surgery, but that ortho will have to come down and check it out, which might be awhile. In the meantime, they’ll try and keep your pain managed and set you up with a splint. Emma comes back when your IV pump starts to beep, adjusting a few things to fix it. 

“Is there someone I can call?” Dennis asks. “To come keep you company?”

“No, uh, I’m good,” You say, checking your phone quickly. “Your shift’s over, right?”

He smiles, not believing that you actually remembered that. 

“Yeah, technically,” He says. “Do you need anything else?”

“I don’t wanna’ keep you,” You say, but you definitely don’t mean it. “I’m sure whoever’s here to take your place won’t let me die.”

He laughs a little. “I would hope not.”

“Probably won’t be as handsome, though,” You say. Dennis blinks, the comment cementing the fact that you have been flirting, and he stutters for a second. Luckily, Emma steps in for him, putting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Between us,” She says. “The night shift is a pretty attractive crew, he’s got some competition.”

That makes you smile, genuinely, and Dennis honestly feels like he might pass out with how fast his heart is beating. 

“Where’s Whitaker?” Jack asks, taking in the group by the desk, eager to go through handover and get home. Robby looks around, not seeing him. 

“He went to see a patient a few minutes ago,” He says. “He’s probably still in there.”

“Which room?” 

“Four, I think,” Robby says. Princess and Perlah turn to eachother, saying something in Tagalog. Trinity nudges Victoria, and Dana smiles. 

“I don’t know if you’d be able to pry that case from his cold, dead hands,” Dana says. 

“What?” Jack asks. “Why?”

“She’s been flirting with him since she got here,” Frank says. 

“That so?” Jack questions, turning towards the room, seeing the curtain completely drawn, blocking you and him from view. “You think he’s interested?”

“I think anyone would be interested,” Trinity says. Jack raises an eyebrow, and she shrugs. “See for yourself.”

He chuckles, grabbing a tablet and walking over to the curtain, adjusting his stethoscope around his neck. 

“Knock knock,” He says, seeing Whitaker still beside you, and Emma adjusting your IV. You look up, but your eyes are hazy from the morphine, a small smile on your face. Dennis sits up straighter, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m Dr. Abbot, you can call me Jack. I’ll be taking over for Dr. Whitaker here. Catch me up?”

Dennis says your full name and age. “Bimalleolar fractures to the left ankle from a twisting injury, waiting for ortho consult. Pain was a six out of ten about fifteen minutes ago, gave two more of morphine and four of Zofran for nausea.”

“Perfect,” Jack says. “How’s your pain now?”

“Better,” You say. “A three, maybe.”

“And the nausea?”

You raise a hand, tilting it from side to side, clearly a little out of it now that there’s more morphine in your system. “Not great.”

Jack smiles, understanding why anyone would be interested in you. 

“We’ll see what we can do about that,” He says. “Ready to finish up, Whitaker?”

“Uh, yeah, absolutely,” Dennis says. 

“Wait,” You say, eyes widening. “Does that mean it’s no longer…unethical for him to go on a date with me?”

Emma smiles, and Jack looks to Dennis, amused. He turns to you, patting the guardrail beside you. 

“You’re on a lot of meds right now,” He says, gently. “Probably not the best time to make a decision like that.”

You squint, his words sort of a rejection, but his tone suggesting that it wasn’t one. 

“Tell you what,” Jack says, gaining both your attention. “If you’re still interested by the time those meds ease up, and once you’re no longer a patient of ours…I’ll pass the message along.”

Dennis’ face is a combination of grateful and mortified. 

“I’ll be interested, don’t worry,” You say, leaning back into the mattress. “Hopefully I’ll see you again, Dr. Whitaker.”

“Dennis,” He corrects. 

You smile, nodding, watching as he goes to leave. You call his name after a moment, making him turn around again.

"There's no competition, by the way," You say, subtly glancing towards Jack. He raps his knuckles against the wall of your room, nodding before actually leaving.

Jack gives him your number two days later.

A/N - this is scheduled so if u see it right away im not actually here...i took an insane exam today, my ex texted me yesterday and now i’m going on a first date with someone in an hour help me. talk to u all later thank u for reading <3

tags:

You have been the perfect day shift intern for five months. Five freaking months of listening to mostly constructive criticism, five months of adapting and learning on the go with not a single complaint voiced, five months of diligent note-taking, studying, and practice. Five months of weaseling your way into the list of interns-slash-young-doctors that your residents actually respect. Five months of grueling shifts, hard losses, and never saying no when someone needs you to do something.

Five months of being the untouchable, “perfect” intern. Robby’s newest addition to his growing list of “work-wards.”

Five months of unflinching effort and dedication and it took four hours of your third night-shift to reduce you to a miserable, snotty mess on the supply closet floor. Tucked into the space between the two shelves, just the toes of your blood and snot and god knows what else covered shoes peeking out, the rest of you obscured.

Five months, four hours, and back to back fuck-ups that escalated into Dr. Jack Abbot, the man you may or may not have had the hugest crush on since beginning your intern year, removing you from a case. Five months, four hours, and two parents screaming at Dr. Abbot, telling him that you’re not fit to be a doctor.

Tonight isn’t the first night a patient has yelled at you. Tonight isn’t even the first time you’ve been removed from a case. It’s not the first time Dr. Abbot has had to correct you, and it’s certainly not the first time you’ve made a mistake.

You’re an intern. It’s your job to fuck up, learn from it, and keep going. That’s what Dr. Mohan said to one of the other interns awhile back. They’d ended up flunking out, but oh well. It was good advice. It wasn’t meant for you, but hell if you don’t say it to yourself every night like a prayer.

But right now, the usual calming mantra is doing absolutely nothing. You’re stifling ugly sobs into the tops of your knees, arms wrapped around and squeezing as tight as you can, your chest shaking and shuddering with the force of your complete and total freak-out.

The patient isn’t dead. Despite your mistakes, they didn’t die. There’s really nothing to cry about. Nothing to hide in the supply closet for.

And yet, here you are.

Your first mistake wasn’t terrible, but it was ridiculously stupid and incredibly embarrassing. Triage room, emergency measures being taken. And you, tired and off kilter from being so used to the day-shift, broke the sterile field. Like some dumb medical student, not a fairly seasoned intern who’s drilled sterile protocol into her head until it’s muscle memory.

For a scalpel. You dropped a scalpel. Arguably the worst thing to drop. And then, like an idiot, you picked it back up.

And, well. There’s no time to re-scrub, so there wasn’t a need for you in the triage room anymore.

Your second mistake was equally stupid and avoidable, if you’d focused more. Dr. Garcia was kind enough to let you scrub in on an emergency appendectomy.

It was a test. Not your first.

And you ripped the fucking purse strings.

Once again, you were unceremoniously booted from the room (being kicked out of an OR feels a hell of a lot worse than being kicked out of a triage room) and sent back to the pit. Dr. Abbot immediately caught wind of it and demoted you to scut work until “you get your head back in the game.”

And, well. You tried really hard to devote yourself to your new task, but you had to keep blinking tears out of your eyes every five seconds and you absolutely refuse to cry in front of literally any of your coworkers, lest they think you some weak-willed weak-stomached intern who can’t handle some criticism and correction. You’re a hard worker. You’re good at this. You have to be.

So yeah. Crying in the supply closet.

You’ve always been a frustrated cryer, which is annoying on a good day and downright awful on a bad one (case in point.)

You’re just so upset with yourself. You’re better than this. You know you are. You’ve proven that you are. You don’t drop scalpels. You don’t break the sterile field. You don’t rip purse strings.

But you did tonight. And maybe one day you’ll laugh, but today is not that day.

You just don’t get it. Day shift? Incredible. Manageable. You’re on top of things, put together, and worthy of Dr. Robby’s respect.

But tonight? Quite literally the exact opposite.

You can’t be burning out, right? That’s not how burn out works. There’s like, signs, and you start to feel terrible and awful and exhausted and sure you definitely feel all of those things, but that’s because you work in medicine. And you’re an intern. You’re supposed to feel terrible and awful and exhausted. But maybe you’re not? You do enjoy your work, and it’s exhilarating, especially when you try something for the first time and execute it well, because you always do, you always get things right on the first try, obviously, so that means that this can’t be burn out. You don’t burn out. That’s not you. Right? No. Of course not.

You gasp a particularly rough sob into your knees, air feeling like knives as you inhale, making you cough horrendously. You must be quite a sight.

Unfortunately, due to your alternating hacking coughs and dramatic crying, you don’t quite hear the door open.

You do, however, hear the quiet “Oh.” that’s mumbled a few moments later.

Of-fucking-course.

You scramble upright, aggressively wiping at your face and attempting to make it look like you weren’t just crying on the ground.

“Dr. Abbot! I’m so sorry, this is very unprofessional and I know you have me on scut work but I promise I’m still working on it—“

He holds up a hand, and you slam your jaw shut with an audible click.

“Just needed some four by fours, kid.”

Always one to be helpful (especially to the guy you have a crush on who also happens to be your boss, aka the same person who professionally told you to get your shit together about forty minutes ago) you reach beside yourself and hand him the package of gauze, an awkward smile fixed on your face.

“…Those are three by threes.”

Bitch. Motherfucker. Fuck your life.

“Right,” You mumble, dragging your hand down your face. “I’ll just get out of your way. Sorry.”

You turn to walk past him, attempting to go quick enough that he might not notice the new tears shining in your eyes before a hand lands on your shoulder.

“Look,” Dr. Abbot starts. “You’re one of Robby’s adopted interns, right? Robby-Junior?”

“That is one of the rumors Santos has been spreading, yes.”

His hand is on your shoulder. His hand is on your shoulder. (!!!)

You don’t know what to do. He’s looking at you. Your boss doesn’t fluster you. You’re chill. You’re normal. You’re cool as a cucumber, yep yep yep.

“Robby doesn’t adopt interns lightly. Don’t let one bad shift mess you up. It happens to everyone.”

You purse your lips. You should let it go. Take his advice. Thank him.

The all-consuming-guilt and ever-present-need to prove yourself itches too painfully to ignore.

Dr. Abbot seems to notice, and he catches your gaze again.

“What, it doesn’t happen to you?”

A jolt of panic stabs your chest. “No! Of course it happens to me, I didn’t mean to imply that I’m like, above making mistakes or having bad shifts at all—“

Genuinely what is wrong with you. Why the fuck does he do this you. You’re a smart, confident woman who apparently chucks her brain into the garbage bin whenever her boss is around.

Dr. Abbot, probably picking up on a pattern of behavior by now, levels you with another look that shuts you up fairly quickly. He’s got a sort of impish grin on his face, and it shouldn’t be hot, but he’s got his hand on your shoulder and you’re having a ridiculously shitty night. Does anything matter anymore?

“Usually, we try to mix up interns schedules so you don’t get into a rhythm on one specific shift so that when you inevitably switch, the change doesn’t mess up your flow. But I'm sure your knack for keeping your head down and doing good work let you fall through the cracks.”

He takes his hand off your shoulder and shoves it into his pocket, but you almost don’t notice because he said you do good work.

Abbot gives you another grin. “And I didn’t stick you on scut as a punishment. Mindless work tends to be calming, which in turn helps focus your mind.”

“But I ripped the purse strings,” You blurt like a Catholic school girl in a particularly rife confessional, “Like an idiot.”

“You ripped them like an intern doing something for the first time.”

“I practiced hundreds of times to make sure it didn’t happen!”

He tilts his head, almost cat-like. “Did you also practice on a live person in a higher stakes situation while your body is messed up from a sudden and huge sleep schedule change?”

“…No?”

He snorts. “Exactly. Dr. Garcia probably won’t hold it against you. She’ll give you shit for it, but it’s not like she’s never going to give you another chance.”

You wipe the last bit of wetness of your cheeks with the back of your hand, embarrassment heating your face. Despite the awfulness of being caught crying in the supply closet, the beginnings of pleasant warmth is spreading through your chest, Dr. Abbot’s reassurances echoing in your head.

“Thank you, Dr. Abbot. Um. Sorry about the crying. I promise I don’t usually do that.”

Dr. Abbot snorts as he saunters towards the door. “Wouldn’t judge you if you did, kid.”

—

Dr. Jack Abbot is bored.

He has his work, which is great. He became a doctor after being discharged because he’s always been the kind of man that needs something to do. Something to mind, something to watch, something to fix. Robby and him and much the same in this way.

Working at the ED was enough for a while. There was a certain challenge to it, an unpredictability that itch sated, kept him sane. And, well. Now he’s an attending. Night shift lead.

He started to get restless again.

He thought a pet might work. He was going to get a dog, but it didn’t sit right with him to get an animal built for companionship and then leave it at home for over twelve hours a day. Then he thought a cat might do the trick. He looked online first, saw beautiful, well bred felines that could probably compete and win for best in show for whatever the cat equivalent is for the Westminster Dog Show.

And then he made the mistake of going to the shelter and seeing an old, one eared tuxedo cat that stared at him with something in between fear and spite and its eyes. And well. The shelter attendants assured him that the cat in question prefers being left alone and having its own space, but might warm up eventually, and he brought him home that day.

And then it was just Jack, occasionally Robby, and now his asshole cat who might not love him back.

That also worked for a while. Having Charlie was fun. It was nice having another living creature in his house that wasn’t him. Even if he did have a habit of chewing on power cords when left unattended and eventually progressed into attempting to destroy Jack’s stethoscope if he left it anywhere he could find.

Minding the cat gave him something to do that wasn’t tedious, and it was a special sort of bonus to wake up every now and then and see the cat sprawled at the foot of the bed, snoring away. He didn’t actually know cats could snore like that.

Around the time that the itch came back and Jack was considering adopting a second cat from the shelter (well on his path to becoming a crazy cat lady, as Robby said in the park over beers) he met you for the first time.

Sometimes Jack slips quietly into the ED and watches the chaos of day shift’s conclusions. He’s picked up a very special language of gauging what he’s getting into based on the body language and behavior of the rest of the hospital staff. Robby had told him about the latest intern— a motivated, stubborn sort of girl that frequently went toe-to-toe with Santos but without any of the pushback when receiving correction or criticism. He’d heard that you were smart, capable, and well on your way of becoming a great doctor.

Robby failed to mention that you were pretty.

He’d watch you, comparing notes with Mohan with a certain intense focus on your face, worrying your lip between your teeth and repeatedly tucking a piece of hair behind your ear because it’d fallen out of your disheveled pony tail he thinks ‘Oh.’

And then, a few months later, he finds you crying in a closet, subtly confessing fears of failure and falling short of expectations, and then he thinks ‘Well, there’s something to do.’

Jack tries not to think about you, at first. You, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, bottom lip jutted out just a bit, hugging your knees. He tries not to think about how you’d looked at him when he’d assured you that you did good work, the awkward thank you, and the way that for the rest of the shift, all the annoying menial tasks that get forgotten in the chaos were all mysteriously taken care of.

He tells himself that he’s just going to keep an eye on you. For Robby’s sake. He’d do the same for Whitaker.

The next time you have a night shift, you’re clearly more prepared for the exhaustion, and when he finally sees you in true, proper action, he understands immediately why Robby likes you and Mohan frequently attaches you to her cases. Skill, patience, and focus.

When he watches you trach a patient with a certain ease that only comes from practicing hundreds of times, Ellis shoots him a knowing look. Raised eyebrows and smirk. When she passes him in the hall a few hours later, she jabs her thumb behind her shoulder at where you’re diligently filling out a chart.

“That one yours, then?”

Jack shakes his head. “It’s not like that. You make me sound like a creep.”

Another raised eyebrow. “Sure it isn’t.”

“She’s Robby’s intern.”

“Mhm.”

“She’s way too young.”

Parker shrugs. “She’s good.”

“She is.”

The senior resident cuts a glance back to you. “Think she’ll burn out?”

“Maybe.”

Parker crosses his arms. “Are you gonna let it happen?”

“She’s not my intern.”

Up to three Parker Ellis looks and counting.

“It’s an HR nightmare.”

Parker shrugs. “You just said she’s not your intern.”

He narrows his eyes. “You know what I meant.”

“Do I? It’s been awhile, Jack. No one would really judge you for having some fun.”

“Parker.”

“Jack.”

He shakes his head, walks towards the boards. “You’re the worst.”

Parker just laughs. “Sure I am.”

To your credit, he doesn’t find you crying in a supply closet again to see evidence of you doing so for a solid few weeks. But, like most things in the ED, the peace doesn’t last.

You came into work soaking wet, which is odd, considering the fact that he knows you drive, and the walk to the parking lot isn’t far enough to account how you’re shivering in your freshly changed scrubs. He brushes it off, chalks it up to freakish Pittsburg weather.

Some night shifts are relatively slow and mild. Tonight is not one of those shifts. Patients are extra irritable at late hours, which is to be expected, but what he’s not expecting is to walk by South 15 and see a 50-something year old man slap you.

Jack blinks, and in the next second he’s in the room, standing in between you and the patient.

“Excuse me, what the fuck is going on here?”

Gloria will probably give him shit for his language later, but right now all he can think about is the startled look on your face and the echo that the contact made.

“I said I want a real doctor, not this fucking—“

“Get the fuck out of my hospital.”

Shen peaks his head in. “Security’s on their way.”

Jack reaches behind him to where you’re still standing, your hand covering your cheek, and gently pushes you towards Shen, towards the door. You stumble over your feet a bit, but truly, Jack’s never been more thankful for his residents because then Parker is right there, ushering you out the door with a hand on your shoulder. Jack resolutely ignores your mumbled “I’m fine, really, he just surprised me.”

Thankfully, security doesn’t take that long to get to the room, and the second Jack is finished explaining, he’s out the door and scanning the ED for your face. Nurse Young jerks her head towards the break room, and he thinks he manages to give her what he hopes is a thankful smile before he’s beelining for it.

When he opens the door, you’re sitting on the floor again, holding an ice pack to your cheek with one hand and dabbing at your lip with a paper towel. Like you’ve never heard of medical protocol in your entire life.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

You jerk your head up, a kid caught with its hand in the cookie jar.

“Dr. Abbot!”

Lowering himself to the ground is awkward, physically. Prosthetics don’t lend to much mobility and he’s too old to be doing this, but he just. There are little beads of blood collecting and then sliding down your chin, dripping onto the leg of your scrubs. At the same angle of the split in your lip, there’s a little cut he can see peaking out from under the ice pack.

He reaches forward, fingers itching towards the deep scarlet dripping steadily. He pauses, remembering things like words and questions and sees the wild look in your eyes.

“Can I…?” Jack’s voice trails off, the words clunky and useless in this bubble that’s seemed to form around the two of you, on the probably disgusting floor of the ED break room.

You slowly drop the napkin, let the ice pack lower to your lap and nod.

“He had a ring on. I guess it caught me. I didn’t really notice until I got here.”

“Parker and Shen didn’t notice?”

You look at your lap. “I told them I was fine… And covered it with my hand. There are other patients. It’s just a little cut.”

Jack’s fingers finally reach your face, and he almost takes them back when you flinch on the initial contact, shaking ever so slightly.

But then, with noticeable effort, you relax into his palm, his fingers curling around the side of your jaw. He should grab gloves. He should get up, take his hand off your face.

Anyone could walk in right now and call Gloria on his ass.

His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone, just below the cut, which does have some faint bruising around it. And truthfully, the split in your lip doesn’t look that bad either.

But there’s still little dots and trails of scarlet and he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to calm down until he fixes it. He needs to fix something.

“If I leave you here so I can get supplies,” He starts, voice a little rough, “Can I trust that you’ll stay here and not do anything stupid?”

“Uh, yes? Should I move to a real chair though?”

Jack huffs as he hauls himself to his feet. “That’d be preferable.”

Later, when he’s at home in his bed, he’ll assure himself that the night shift wasn’t truly that busy and he trusts his residents to handle things while he’s busy.

No one stops him on his way to the medical supply closet (the irony of the location is not lost on him) and he makes it back without interruption. Upon opening the door, you have in fact moved to a chair, and it seems the bleeding slowed in his absence.

What he should do is sit down in the chair opposite of you and handle this situation like a professional, like the Dr. Abbot, night shift attending, not Jack who’s got a thing for fixing.

He does try to remove his emotions and feelings from the situation, he really does. It’s something he’s generally very good at —which is where he and Robby differ; Robby would prefer to feel too much and Jack would prefer to feel nothing at all— but you’re looking up at him and there’s something really dangerous in the air and it must’ve gotten into your blood stream or something cause it’s swimming in your eyes and he realizes that removing his feelings is not going to be possible.

He decides he could at least tone it down. You’re an intern. Robby’s intern. So what if you’re bleeding all over the break room? Jack’s just doing his job as the attending to look after the doctors and nurses under his jurisdiction or whatever. That’s all.

“Tilt your head up.”

He sets to work cleaning up the cut and split as detached and clinically as possible, even puts on gloves so there’s no skin to skin contact, just protocol, but he can feel the warmth of your skin through the latex and you keep sucking in these tiny little breathes when something stings and he can’t get the sound of the slap out of his head and it’s all just kind of a lot.

He readjusts his hand on the side of your face, sort of holding your forehead now to have better access and control over the cut on your cheek and wow. Your skin is really warm. It kind of feels like you’re burning up.

Jack tosses the piece of gauze he was using and rests the back of his hand against your forehead. Shit, you are burning up.

He thinks back to you, walking in today, soaked to the bone.

“Did you walk to work today?”

You wince. “My car kind of died? On the way here? I was only a mile away. But I called a towing company, so I didn’t just leave my car in the middle of the road.”

He blinks.

“Your car died, so you had it towed and walked a mile to work, in the rain, late at night, and didn’t tell anybody?”

You just keep staring at him, brows furrowed.

“Yeah? I carry a knife and I’ve taken self defense classes, and my car was just towed back to my place, so. I had a shift to work.”

There’s… a lot to unpack in your answer.

“Kid,” He starts, wondering why Robby never thought to give him a heads up before you started working more night shifts, “What was your plan to get home?”

“Walk, probably. I was thinking about taking the bus. Dr. King knows the bus schedule, so I’m probably going to text her.”

Jack decides to just finish cleaning you up, before he does something stupid like shake you by your shoulders and ask why you didn’t think to let your boss know that your car broke down and you’d be walking home in the rain. Or that when a patient slapped you in the face, his ring cut your face and lip open.

God.

“It’s really fine though,” You say, gesticulating animatedly with your hands. “My place isn’t that far, and it’s not the first time my car’s died. The battery’s kind of shot, but I guess my car has a weird battery, and it’s like, crazy expensive to get a new one, so. Besides, I like walking. I’ve been meaning to catch up on my audiobooks.”

He wishes you’d stop talking so he’d stop hearing things that make him want to do things he can’t and shouldn’t do. Like find out what car you drive so he can buy you a new battery. Or buy you a new car all together.

Christ, you have him wrapped around your fucking finger.

“I’ll drive you home. If you’re fine with that.”

Jack has to fight a grin at how comically wide your eyes grow at his suggestion.

“Oh no, you really don’t have to. I promise I’m—“

“Please stop saying you're fine,” He begs, “You don’t have a working car, a patient slapped you in the face, and I think you’re coming down with something.”

The smile that’s seemed permanently fixed on your face since he came into the break room falters, for a bit.

“Well,” You grimace, hands fisting the hem of your scrub top, “Things certainly aren’t… great, but I’ll survive. I’m not like, incapable, or anything.”

Jacks quiet for a bit, not just mulling over your words but the way you said them; the cadence and tone.

He hums. “Is that what you think? That I or someone else here will think you’re not competent or that you’re weak if you take a break or ask for help?”

Your face falters again. “No, no, of course not I just… I don’t know. I’m an intern. It’s my job, supposedly, to mess up and have to be looked after in case I accidentally kill someone and stuff like that. I just don’t want to be someone that people think they have to worry about. I need— internships are competitive. They’re competitions, really. And I want to win.”

Jack Abbot knows what it’s like to want to win. That need to prove yourself, prove that you’re capable and strong and unfailing.

So Jack also knows how quickly that can all go south.

“You’re a smart kid,” He says, voice ever so slightly soft in the quiet tension of the break room, empty except for the two of you, “And you’re going to make a great resident, and one day, a damn good attending. But none of that means shit if you burn out or get run yourself into the ground before you get there.”

He avoids eye-contact while he carefully applies the bandage to your cheek. “This industry will chew you up and spit you back out if you don’t take care of yourself. I get it. We’re doctors. We make the worst patients. But you got slapped in the face during a shitty day. It’s okay to… not be okay for a minute.”

You huff a watery laugh. “Isn’t that what energy drinks are for?”

He shakes his head. “What, trying to die faster?”

“Anything to shake those student loans. Can’t be in debt if you’re dead.”

“Don’t they just pass it to your family? Next of kin or whatever?”

“I don’t think they can give student loans to a cactus. I mean, I consider her my daughter, but I hardly think it’ll hold up in court.”

Jack mentally files that information away for later. What later is, he isn’t sure.

He stands, pulls off his gloves and tosses all the used gauze and shit in the trash can.

“I gotta get back out there,” He jams his thumb towards the door, “But feel free to take five. No one’s judging you. Matter of fact, as your boss, I’m telling you to take a break.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever you say, Dr. Abbot. But thank you. For the…”

You gesture to your bandaged cheek and lip. “…And for the advice.”

He shrugs, like taking care of you hasn’t become a persona fantasy he may or may not fall asleep imagining most nights. Like it doesn’t matter, like he’s just doing his job.

“Offer for the ride’s still open. Just let me know by the end of shift.”

And with that, he’s out the door.

It’s the end of shift, and you’re staring at the double doors that lead to the outside world, and beyond that, absolutely fucking miserable weather for walking, a dead car, and cold as shit apartment.

You’re not exactly rushing out the door.

You’re clutching at the strap of your bag, regular clothes on, still damp despite the fact that it’s been over thirteen hours since you originally took them off, begging the universe to strike you down where you stand. Spontaneous lightning bolts happen indoors too, right?

The doors just stare back at you, unchanging in their miserable-ness, and after a solid ten minutes of staring, you feel rather than see Jack sidle up next to you.

“Still raining out there?”

“Yep. Looks worse now.”

“Not great weather to walk in. Especially considering the low-grade fever.”

“Mhm.”

“Did you text Dr. King for the bus schedule?”

“No. I didn’t want to wake her up.”

Jack huffs a breath, then jerks his head towards the doors that lead to the employee parking lot.

“Come on, kid.”

The ride is quiet and awkward. Well. Dr. Abbot probably doesn’t think it’s awkward, because he seems like the kind of man not to be bothered by long stretches of silence. Or silence at all.

He’d been kind enough to turn the heat on full blast (you started shivering the moment you stepped outside) and the radio is softly playing, and it’s only thanks to Sabrina Carpenter’s voice that you don’t feel like completely freaking out.

You mouth along to the lyrics, quietly humming the chorus under your breath.

“—I get wet at the thought of you being a responsible guy—“

“—Treating me like you’re supposed to do, tears run down my thighs—“

By the time you’ve realized that perhaps this isn’t the best song choice to sing along to, considering the situation and who’s car you’re currently riding in, the words “I get wet” have already left your mouth so there’s no real point in stopping.

On a completely unrelated note, Dr. Abbot starts smiling a little bit when you hum.

Pittsburgh traffic is terrible, so the drive kind of drags on. The radio is playing Chappell Roan now. Casual specifically. You’re considering changing the radio station because god.

“So,” You start, just to say anything that drowns out “knee-deep in the passenger seat and you’re eating me out, is it casual now?”, “Did you… have a good shift?”

That was a terrible question. Jesus. What the hell is wrong with you? How did you get through medical school?

Dr. Abbot snorts. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”

Ah. Right. The Incident.

“I told you I’m—“

“Didn’t I tell you to stop saying that?”

Your lap has never looked more interesting. Wow, is that a loose thread on your sweats?

He continues. “Fine or not, a patient assaulted you. Even if he didn’t leave a mark, that’s still shitty.”

“Have you been hit by a patient before?”

He huffs. “Hell yeah. It happens to everyone eventually. It’ll happen again. You get better at keeping your cool.”

“Sorry you had to step in. I’ve been hit by a patient before and I was fine.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod. “It was during my Pedes rotation, actually. I’ve always known working with kids probably wasn’t going to be for me, but, well. Kid came in for intussusception, and she was screaming and writhing in pain, and I failed to restrain her properly.”

“What, did she slap you too?”

“Nope. Kicked me in the chin. Ended up biting almost clean through my tongue.”

“Fucking hell, kid. What’d you do?”

You shrug. “Kept my blood in my mouth until we finished sedating the patient. Ended up with three stitches.”

Dr. Abbot lets out a low whistle. “Always the patients you least expect.”

“The importance of proper patient restraint was thoroughly impressed upon me, I assure you.”

The silence after your short conversation is slightly more comfortable, and thankfully the radio station has decided to play less pointed music.

Between the warmth of the car, the smell permeating the seats that smells distinctly like Dr. Abbot, and the drumming of rain outside, it doesn’t take long for drowsiness to begin to overtake you.

Your last thought before falling asleep is that you don’t remember if you gave Dr. Abbot your address or not.

Someone is gently shaking your shoulder, and you feel like shit.

“What?” You attempt to say, but the side of your mouth is pressed against the seatbelt and your shoulder so it comes out sounding like: “Whamfgh?”

Opening your eyes is a herculean task, like someone sewed miniature weights to your eyelids while you were asleep. You’re absolutely freezing, despite the steady hum of the car's heat, still on high, and you vaguely recognize the street the car is currently parked on.

Oh right, your apartment.

“Oh,” You yawn, hauling yourself semi-upright, aiming for woman who has it together, and less disheveled swooning woman in a Baroque painting.

Dr. Abbot is staring at you with equal parts humor and concern.

You rub at your eyes. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Little over forty minutes. You looked like you needed it.”

“It doesn’t take that long to drive to my place, even with traffic.”

Your brain is moving like molasses, so it takes you a second to catch up with the implication of his statement.

“Did you just… park in front of my house? So I could keep sleeping?”

He just shrugs. “Like I said. You looked like you needed it.”

Embarrassment and a touch of something else floods through your body, hot and cold at the same time.

“Sorry. You didn’t have to wait.”

“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have.”

Still moving slowly, you gather up your bag from where it partially spilled on the floor all over your feet, shoving old receipts and pads and chapstick back in with the reckless abandon of a person who isn’t nearly aware enough of social cues to be in a car alone with their hot boss.

Whilst you're grabbing and shoving, Dr. Abbot reaches into his back seat, rifles around for a bit, and then drops something rather unceremoniously over your head and shoulders. After a quiet “hey” you pull it into your lap, and then that hot feeling is back in full force.

It’s a rain jacket. Clearly Dr. Abbot’s. You can see his name written on the inside pocket. It’s nice too. Definitely not the kind of rain jacket you could afford on an intern’s budget.

“For the next time your car dies,” He clarifies, as if the jacket’s purpose is the thing that’s stupefied you, not the fact that he’s the one giving it to you, “In case of rain.”

“You really don’t have to,” your words are rushed and clunky in your mouth, tumbling over each other in your haste to say something, anything, “I mean, I can just buy my own—“

“First of all,” He cuts you off, voice smooth and rough at the same time, “Do I seem to be the kind of guy in the habit of doing things I don’t want to? And second of all…”

He tilts his head, gaze sharp. “Are you really going to buy one for yourself?”

Your mouth goes dry.

“I was planning on looking online—“

Dr. Abbot interrupts you. “Now you don’t have to.”

Like it’s that easy. Does he want it to be?

“Dr. Abbot, I—“

“Jack.”

His grin goes from mild to shit-eating as you stare at him, obviously radiating confusion.

“Jack,” you start, testing out the name in your mouth, hearing how it sounds in the air. “I can take care of myself. You don’t need to give me your jacket. I’ve been doing just fine on my own.”

“Kid—“

The prickling of perceived weakness makes anger spark in your chest.

“Don’t call me kid like I’m stupid.”

Dr. Abb— Jack seems simultaneously impressed that you interrupted him for a change and vaguely put out.

He holds up a finger, effectively silencing anything else you were thinking of saying.

“I don’t call you kid because I think you’re stupid. I don’t think you’re stupid. You’d know if I thought you were stupid, because I would tell you. ‘Kid’ is a…” He trails off, free hand tapping thoughtful rhythms on the steering wheel, “…Nickname. Term of endearment. Whatever you want to call it, but it’s not derogatory.”

Jack holds up a second finger.

“You have not been taking care of yourself. If you were, you wouldn’t have a low grade fever, and you would’ve called me as your boss or one of your friends to drive you instead of walking after your car died. You’ve been surviving. There’s a difference.”

Shame burns white hot through you— all your recent failings laid out by the person you want least to notice them. Clearly, he has.

Possibly out of pity in response to your no doubt miserable expression, Jack continues.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. It’d be an honest-to-god miracle if any intern managed to properly take care of themself. Hell, residents don’t do it either, and neither do attendings. Does Robby strike you as the kind of man who takes perfect care of himself?”

“That depends. Is my answer going to make it back to him?”

Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “Exactly. Doctors make the worst patients, in and out of a hospital setting. Knowing better doesn’t actually make us all that inclined to do better. Terrible misconception.”

He nudges the jacket on your lap. “So just take the jacket. One less thing to worry about.”

Emboldened by his recent streak of kindness towards you and the flush of fever running through your veins, you look over to him.

“You worry about me?”

Something dances in his eyes for a split second, gone before you can blink.

“I worry about all the interns and residents on my service, but especially the ones my best friend has taken a liking to.”

Right. Of course. He only cares because of Robby. And Robby only cares so he can add another doctor to the already short-staffed PTMC. It’s not like Jack actually likes you or anything.

You clutch the jacket to your stomach, finally finding the energy to get out of the car. Jack’s car.

“Well. Thanks for the ride, Dr. Abbot. And the jacket.”

“No problem, kid.”

And if later on that evening, in the safety of your tiny apartment, you take in the deep, fresh, almost spicy smell that makes up Jack, lingering on the jacket, that’s no one’s business but yours.

—

From that night on, it feels like Jack Abbot is everywhere.

Whether it’s something he’s doing on purpose or you’ve just developed a heightened sense to his whereabouts— it doesn’t matter. Sometimes it’s a whiff of his cologne (eerily similar to Dior Sauvage, which makes you shudder. Certainly he didn’t choose a cologne similar to the number one male manipulator scent on purpose?) or seeing his handwriting on a whiteboard or his notes in a chart, he’s there.

You’re being scheduled for night shifts fairly regularly now, in addition to the 24-hour shifts you have the pleasure of being put on as an intern.

Working a double isn’t horrific, really. Exhausting, sure, but Robby and Jack’s solid presence makes the shifts more bearable. Plus, you’re quickly becoming friends with the fresher residents, Whitaker and Santos, plus some of the older residents like Mohan and King. Even Dr. Langdon gives pretty solid advice and mentorship, despite the tension in the air whenever he happens to be working with or near Robby.

Normally, 24 hour shifts are grueling, but not impossible. Somewhere around the 15 or 16 hour mark, the sleep deprivation hits, and you can just coast on stress-induced inertia and a healthy does of energy drinks and mania.

Today, though, has been particularly fucking awful. Maybe it’s the fact that the fever never really went away, or the fact that you started your period the day before (being sick on your period should be illegal.) It’s probably both of those things.

But there isn’t really anything to do but grin and bear it. The day will pass, and you have the next two days off anyways. Just survive the next however-many hours of the shift and then you can go home, dress in exclusively fluffy clothes, and binge watch tv whilst eating heart-stopping junk food.

You’re distracted from your charting, propped up on the counter at the nurses station by a light tap on your shoulder and someone saying your name.

Dr. Langdon has sidled up next you, voice hushed.

“Hey, uh. I just wanted to let you know that you seem to have… bled through.”

If a spontaneous earthquake could open a chasm beneath your feet and swallow you whole, now would be the time.

“Fuck fuck-ity fuck fuck,” You mumble, wiping your hands down your face. “Right. Yeah. Of course. Thank you for letting me know.”

In a moment that is as mortifying as it is kind of sweet, Langdon passes you a hoodie that is clearly his.

“To tie around your waist,” He clarifies, holding the object out across the meager space between the two of you, voice a bit awkward and stilted, like you might decide to spit in his face or something.

You don’t actually know what it is that Dr. Langdon did before your arrival that makes the break room go quiet when he walks in (unless Dr. King is there) but you don’t particularly care. If it was truly something horrific that you should be worried about, he wouldn’t be working here. Robby wouldn’t let that kind of thing slide.

So you take the offered hoodie with a strained smile (can this shift just be over) and speed-walk to the break room, praying no one decides to snag you on the way there.

What you should do is go to your locker where your stash of pads, tampons, spare underwear, and extra scrubs are, and then probably the bathroom to get changed, so you can keep on going but you also just saw Dr. King go into the break room and you just really need a hit of her specific brand of optimism.

The woman in question perks up when she notices your arrival, hastily eating the same snack she always eats around this time— a tiny bag of pretzels.

She watches as you collapse into the chair across from her, letting your head thunk onto the table.

“Bad shift?”

“Bad life,” You grumble. “Dr. Langdon had to give me his hoodie to tie around my waist because I bled through onto my scrubs. Like a middle schooler who doesn’t know what pad sizes are for.”

Dr. King nods thoughtfully. “He asked me if it would be weird of him to let you know and offer his hoodie. To which I replied that periods are a normal bodily function and he’s a doctor.”

“Here here,” You half-heartedly cheer, any actual cheer or enthusiasm severely lacking in your voice. “How did you survive your intern year, Dr. King?”

“We’ve been working together for awhile, you can call me Mel,”

She pops another pretzel in her mouth before answering. “But to answer your question, I mostly just kept telling myself that failing wasn’t an option. Which. Probably isn’t helpful, or good advice, but it worked for me. Something that’s nice is if you have a fellow intern or doctor that you enjoy working with. I know the other two interns who matched into the PTMC dropped out of the course, so it’s just you, but you have Dr. Robby, right?”

You nod, picking absently at a spot on the table and ignoring the way that it wasn’t Robby who popped into your head, but Jack.

Your teeny, ignorable crush on him has become a full-blown thing, with semi-weekly dreams about him in various… situations, and casual daydreams at all hours of the day of what it would be like to just be with him, or hear him, in any capacity that couldn’t be qualified as work or a boss checking on his employee. Intern. Whatever.

Hormonal and fever-ish, you suddenly feel like you’re going to explode and die if you don’t have someone to confide in right this very second. You haven’t heard Mel really talk about anyone you work with outside of professional doctor-to-doctor conversation, not even about Dr. Langdon, who she seems almost suspiciously close with.

“Mel,” You start, voice a little too thick and watery to just be talking about your stupid, annoying, one-sided workplace crush, “Can I tell you a secret?”

She seems to consider the pros and cons first, and looks fairly caught off guard, but she answers. “Um. Sure?”

“Have you ever had a crush on a coworker before? Or like, a boss or mentor?”

Mel sets down her bag of pretzels. “Is this about Dr.—“

“I have the biggest crush on Dr. Abbot and I think it’s ruining my life.”

The words burst out of you all at once, and Mel’s expression goes from shocked, to confused, before finally settling in abject amusement.

“Ah,” She says, sliding the pretzels across to you. “Um. Well I personally don’t have a crush on Dr. Abbot, but I think I understand the sentiment.”

You bury your face into your hands and groan. “It’s awful. It’s so cliche. It’s so fucking Grey’s Anatomy.”

“I’ve never actually seen that show. Becca likes it though.”

Mel allows you a few moments of wallowing and pretzel eating before she speaks again.

“Have you… acted on it?”

“No!” You snap your head up. “I mean. No, I haven’t. I’m not naive enough to think that he would reciprocate. He’s an attending and I’m an intern.”

She leans in. “But…?”

“But sometimes… I wonder? I don’t know. I’m probably crazy. He drove me home the other day, cause my car died, and it was raining, and I got slapped by a patient, and that was when I first came down with this stupid fever, and like, that’s normal, right?”

Mel nods. “Fr— Langdon drives me to work when we share shifts, and sometimes when we don’t. I think Dr. Santos and Dr. Whitaker carpool too. So maybe?”

“Right. Yeah.”

She takes the pretzel bag back. “Is there more evidence that makes you feel crazy?”

Your skin flushes hot at the memory alone.

“He gave me his rain jacket. To keep.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Mel once again takes a few minutes, and the rest of her pretzels before responding.

“I’m honestly not the best person to ask for advice about this. I’ve been told I can be… dense when it comes to romantic endeavors.”

You shrug. “You’re a great listener, and you haven’t steered me wrong in the past.”

She brightens. “That’s good! I think my advice would be to talk to Dr. Mohan. She has experience with your… particular situation.”

Mel tosses the empty pretzel bag and heads toward the door. “I’ll let Robby know you’re taking ten, so don’t worry about someone looking for you while you’re changing.”

“You’re the best. I love you.”

The resident flushes at your gratitude, and then ducks out the door, leaving you alone to stew on her advice.

—

Talking to Dr. Mohan proves difficult, at first. How exactly do you start that conversation? “Hey, I heard you had advice on having a world-ending crush on your boss, got any tips?”

Additionally, she’s kind of hard to track down. You greatly respect Dr. Mohan’s work ethic and truly aspire to her unflinching devotion to patient care at the PTMC.

After a few days (which turns into a few weeks, because you are an emotional coward) of trying (and failing) to find a moment to talk, Dr. Mohan actually ends up finding you.

“Hey!” She jogs up to you as you’re walking to your car, a too-bright smile on her face for the fact that you both just got off a fourteen hour shift.

“Sorry to be that annoying coworker who talks to you in the parking lot, but I wanted to catch you before you left. Mel said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Right!” You stammer, slightly mortified. You admire Dr. Mohan so much and really want her to think you’re capable but you really need some advice on Jack Abbot as a whole, and it sounds like she’s the only expert around. “Yes. That. It’s a really normal question, you know.”

Dr. Mohan just nods, a smile still fixed on her face, like this is a totally normal conversation. “Uh, sure?”

There’s a beat of silence where you both stare at each other, and then she gasps.

“This is about Abbot, isn’t it?”

You groan, throwing your head back in defeat. “Am I that obvious?”

She laughs goodnaturedly. “No. Probably not. You’re just the only intern in the ED right now so I try to make it a habit to keep an eye on you. Plus, Mel is literally the only person in the world who knows about my now-dead crush on him, so. I just connected the dots.”

“He’s so hot, Dr. Mohan. I feel like I’m dying.”

She makes a noise of sympathy. “He is. It’s fucking annoying, at a certain point.”

“Thank you!” You shout, “Like it’s just so there. It should be illegal to just walk around and look like that. I should be focusing on like, studying and learning, but instead I’m just harboring this stupid crush on an attending.”

“Have you ever seen Grey’s—“

“Yes. I know. I can’t be Meredith. Meredith was like, always a mess. Am I a mess?”

Mohan purses her lips. “Well. You did just say you felt like you were dying.”

“I know,” You sigh. “It makes me feel… shallow. I like being a doctor. I was so excited to get matched into the PTMC, and this stupid crush is throwing me off my game.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“On my first night shift rotation I dropped a scalpel, picked it back up, and then ripped the purse strings on my first appendectomy.”

She winces. “Oh. That’s not… great.”

Your hand finds its way to your comfort necklace. “He found me crying in the supply closet like some medical student, and then he comforted me. It was terrible.”

Mohan starts ambling towards the direction you assume her car is in. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’ve been caught crying in the supply closet several times. I think it’s a right of passage. And as for that second part…”

She shrugs. “Abbot gives credit where credit is due, but he won’t coddle you. If he actually offered real comfort or advice or whatever, then he meant it.”

“That’s what he said. It just didn’t really help the whole crush-on-him part. And then there was the slapping incident, and he drove me home, and now I have his rain jacket in my backseat in case my car dies again.”

Mohan actually looks taken back.

“Okay. It sounds to me like this is a situation that is in serious need of wine. Do you drink?”

“Whenever I have a spare twenty dollars.”

She grins. “I happen to have a couple bottles at home that might do the trick. Follow me back to my place?”

“Yes please.”

Wine and, eventually, takeout at Samira’s is much more enjoyable than you expected— considering the fact that you’re an intern and she’s a resident. She confides that she doesn’t have very many friends outside of the ED and was excited at the opportunity to have “real girl-time”.

She shares how she weathered her own seemingly life-ending crush on Jack, gasps and screams at the appropriate times when you tell her about the slapping, the events that occurred in the break room afterwards, the drive home, and the jacket.

You leave her apartment feeling lighter than ever. Like life might be worth living. Like you could survive your intern year.

Maybe everything will be okay.

—

Everything is not okay.

You’re now two full weeks into a never-ending fever, you keep getting stuck with shitty shifts (how many times a month can one person possibly be scheduled to work a double?) and top it all off, you’ve been pissed on not once, but twice in the same fucking shift.

Santos snorts when she sees you go by in your third set of scrubs for the day.

“Careful. You’re gonna replace Huckleberry pretty soon.”

You shoot her a look. “Supportive as ever, Dr. Santos.”

“I try.”

You sink into the chair next to hers, taking a moment to press the heels of your hands into your eyes and maybe, like, take a thirty second nap.

It doesn’t help much.

There’s a particular misery in watching the day-shift rotation handoff with the night shift and not being able to join in the process. Because you’re still there. And will be, until you see them again for your handoff, in twelve fucking hours.

Patients tend to get bitchier the later it gets, and it’s one of those nights where every patient bleeds into the next in a never-ending sea of complaints, pain, and fixing.

The fixing is fine. You like the fixing.

You’re just… having a hard time keeping up with everything while the fever perpetually runs you down. It’s the kind of thing where no amount of sleep can help you. Unless it was for 48 hours straight and then you got another 48 hours off after that to relax while you’re awake, and then another 48 hours to be productive.

A vacation. A week off. You’re describing taking a week off work. It’s comical, actually. Imagine requesting a week off from work. Gloria or whoever it is would never grant that. Not as an intern.

You notice Jack lingering around your general vicinity, which is fairly normal on a night like tonight. Technically, as the only intern on shift, you’re the only liability he has to really worry about.

Somewhere around the eighteen hour mark, he slides into the chair next to you while you’re charting.

“You’re flagging.”

Your eyes burn as you tap information into the tablet, then check on the computer in front of you. “I’m fine. I just need a Redbull or something.”

He slides the tablet out of your hands. “Part of being a good doctor is knowing when to take a break. Can’t be a good doctor if you’re falling asleep during the exam, right?”

“I would never fall asleep during an exam.”

He shrugs. “I’ve seen it happen.”

Jack jerks his head towards the break room. “Take five. Get an energy drink or whatever. Then I want you on chairs for at least an hour.”

“Yes sir.”

He rolls his eyes. “Get going.”

Chairs don't prove to be as uneventful as you (and probably Jack) hoped it would be. You get vomited on by a teenage girl, who apologizes profusely when she finally manages to stop throwing up, narrowly avoid a swing from a patient that quickly becomes a behavioral case, and become an unwilling participant in another patient’s doctor fantasy.

Security had to get involved with that last one. It was. Something.

Your shift ends with little fanfare. It’s honestly a miracle you survived. You’re exhausted, achey, and still feverish. The only thing you can think about is crawling into your bed, indulging in a rare expense of turning your heat up, and sleeping until your next shift.

Walking into your apartment ends up being a slap in the face. First of all, it’s fucking freezing. As if you left every single window open while you were gone. Secondly, it’s dark. Like, not even the clock on the microwave is on.

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath, tears beginning to burn with unshed tears digging through your bag and fumbling with your phone, about to text your landlord when you see that he’s already texted.

Eric (Landlord): Power and AC is down. Might take some time to fix. Power should be back on by tonight.

And that’s just the last straw, really.

You slam the door behind you, not even bothering to go inside your apartment at all, chest tight and face hot, you race down the stairs, trying to find Samira’s contact through blurry eyes. When you think you’ve found it you click call, collapsing on the curb with your body doubled over, crying like a crazy person into your knees, at something like nine in the morning.

The phone rings for a bit, and you’re about to give up when the line finally stops and somebody picks up.

“Hello?”

It’s not Samira who answers. It’s Jack.

You sniffle. “Why are you answering Samira’s phone?”

“I didn’t. I answered my phone. Because you called me. Are you okay?”

“Oh,” You decide to ignore his question, “I meant to call Samira. Sorry.”

“Wait,” Jack’s voice comes out all rough and tinny through the speaker, but even distorted through a phone, you could listen to it for hours, “Answer the question. Are you okay?”

Your bottom lip wobbles dangerously.

“The power’s out in my building. And the heating went out too. My landlord said the power won’t be on until tonight, and I just wanted to go to sleep, but it’s cold and I'm tired and this stupid fever won’t go away.”

“Do you have a place to stay?”

Always a man of action, Jack is.

You shrug, then make a non-committal noise when you remember he can’t see it. “I was supposed to call Samira and see if she’d let me sleep on her couch.”

“I have a guest bedroom.”

The statement hangs in the crisp morning air. You think of Jack’s encouraging advice, Jack’s steady presence, Jack’s warm car and his nice smelling rain- jacket. Jack, Jack, Jack.

“Jack?”

“Yes?”

“What’s your address?”

The drive over involves bawling your eyes out to Vienna by Billy Joel. It’s just that kind of day.

You have no problems finding parking (miraculously) and no one stops you as you head up to Jack’s apartment as directed.

It’s… fancy. Like, polished floor lobby, lounge area adjacent to the front desk fancy.

The actual building itself isn’t very tall, nothing like a skyscraper, so it’s not exactly surprising that Jack’s apartment is the penthouse. It’s just suddenly very awkward standing in front of the door, in the same sweatshirt you’ve had since high school, sweats that have seen better years, looking exactly like the kind of girl who sobbed on the ride over to Billy Joel.

Jack opens the door almost immediately after you knock, and.

If seeing him in scrubs was bad, it doesn’t hold a fucking candle to him in a tight, army green shirt and grey sweatpants. Grey sweatpants. That couldn’t have been intentional, right? Is he online enough to know these things? God.

His features soften when he takes in your tear-streaked face and disheveled appearance.

He makes a low noise in his throat.

“Oh, you poor thing. Come here,”

Jack had actually been gesturing to the apartment, saying ‘come inside’ but the dam breaks the moment he says “poor thing” and you don’t have the wherewithal to think anything more complex than “Jack=Comfort and Safety".

Your bag drops with a dull thud onto the ground and then you’re crashing into him, face pressed into his chest and arms wrapped around his middle. You can barely find it within yourself to be embarrassed.

Jack doesn’t react at first, going completely stiff in your hold, and you think maybe you’ve gone and fucked this up too, like everything good in your life, but right when you move to pull away a hand finds its way to the back of your head, and another rubs circles on your back.

“Poor girl,” he murmurs, voice a soothing rumble with your ear close to his chest, “They been running you ragged?”

You nod uselessly, feeling raw and cut open— like you’ve been smashed against a rock and everything you keep tucked inside is spilling out and you can’t stop it.

“I’m so tired.” You half-mumble-half-sob into him, a sentiment that feels too light to convey everything that’s happened since you became an intern at the PTMC, and everything else you don’t talk about that happened before.

“I know sweetheart, I know,” Jack is solid beneath your cheek and arms, a lifeboat in a storm. “How about we get you inside and get you warm, huh? That sound nice?”

At the promise of warmth you finally detach from him, shame burning through you when you eye the wet spot on his shirt.

“Sorry,” You say, voice barely above a whisper. “I think I got snot on your shirt.”

“Trust me kid, it’s seen worse.”

He grabs your bag before you can even make a move for it, and you trail behind him into his apartment, attempting to ground yourself by looking around his apartment.

It’s nice. Lived in, not sterile. It doesn’t, actually, look the inside of a dentist’s office, like you were half expecting. Most new apartments have that doctor’s office lobby feel. Not exactly comfortable when you’re a doctor and the goal of home is to not remind you of your job.

Jack hangs your bag on a hook by the door, right next to his own. Something twinges in your chest at the sight.

There’s a feeling under your skin you can’t place as you shuffle into his apartment, something warm and skittish that aches for this to not be a one time thing, to be able to compare the pale morning light you’re watching now to late afternoon sun. To know where he keeps his mugs, what drawer the silverware is in, if he’s got a junk drawer with random shit in it, and what the random shit is. What it feels like to be in his kitchen, shoulders brushing.

But that’s a lot of complicated things to name or voice just past the threshold of the foyer, so you wrap your arms around yourself and toe your shoes off, then pad quietly after him.

Jack is— inviting, or maybe enticing; all those words that beckon the skittish thing closer and it feels just on the tip of danger to obediently sit on the couch he ushers you to.

“By the way,” Jack says somewhere behind you, maybe in the kitchen? “I have a cat. His name is Charlie. He probably won’t come near you, but be warned, he’s an asshole when he wants to be.”

“Oh, that’s fine. I like cats. Especially the asshole ones.”

“That explains a lot of things.”

His statement is kind of loaded, chock full of subtext you don’t care to parse through at the moment.

“Um,” You start, feeling a bit unsteady, “Is— Do you mind if I shower? I kind of smell gross probably, and I feel… grimy. Your apartment seems clean and I’d hate to get my hospital grime on anything.”

Jack just chuckles. “One, I wouldn’t care if you got ‘hospital grime’ on anything because that would be a very hypocritical thing to care about, and two, of course you can shower. Do you have spare clothes?”

“I might’ve forgotten to grab those.”

Another huffy laugh. “That’s fine. You can borrow some of mine. I’ll leave them on the bed.”

That’s like. Wow. Yeah. You’re just gonna borrow some clothes from him. From Jack. You’re going to shower in Jack’s shower and use whatever bodywash he has (hopefully not 5-in-one) and then put on his clothes and you are totally capable of being Completely Normal about these things.

“I already started on dinner when you said you were coming over. Should be done by the time you get out of the shower. Chicken noodle okay?”

Damn Jack Abbot and damn your shitty emotional regulation and damn your life for putting you in these situations.

“Yeah,” You croak, thinking about things like soup and family and being cold and strong and alone, “Yeah that’s fine. Thank you.”

Jack politely does not comment on the fact that soup is reducing you to a tangled heap of emotions and tears, and instead directs you to where his shower is and says to use whatever you want and take however long you want. He says want, not need. You’re not sure if there’s an intention behind the word choice.

Once in the shower, you allow yourself time to cry, to feel awful and self-pitying and all those things that are terrible to go through in front of another person. His shower is expensive and the water is warm and he does not have 5-in-one. There’s a litter box nestled next to the toilet, and it’s not funny, but it kind of is, because Jack would be the kind of guy to look at a litter box and put it right next to the toilet. Everything in its place.

Maybe that’s your problem. You haven’t felt like anything is in the right place in years.

You want to stay in the shower, in the bubble of protection it provides, but the idea of running up Jack’s water bill is enough to guilt you into getting out. You shiver, dry, aggressively attempt to make yourself look less like a wreck at the sink, and then tip-toe into the attached bedroom and carefully pull on the clothes Jack left for you on the bed; a faded, oversized college shirt, and a comfy pair of sweatpants.

They smell like him. You smell like him, like his body wash. The house smells like him. Everything you take in is a pleasant assault of Jack, Jack, Jack.

Enough guilt to fuel an entire room of ex-Catholic’s is the only thing keeping you from snooping around his room. The idea of stumbling upon something private or hidden away makes you feel slimy and gross, so you exit the bedroom and pretend like you don’t feel like a foster dog on its first night home from the shelter.

(Do shelter dogs miss the shelter? Do they miss its familiarity? Do dogs miss anything at all?)

The apartment smells of more spices and good smelling food than you privately thought Jack capable of. You’d read him as the kind of guy to subsist on takeout and maybe like, protein bars. But he’s dutifully stirring a metal pot with all the diligence of the military man that he once was.

Quietly, as if he might throw the wooden spoon he’s stirring with if you make too much noise or take up too much space, you carefully pull out a barstool in front of his kitchen island, the one closest to the door, and haul yourself onto it.

He gives you an examining glance over his shoulder, turns a knob on the stove, then rests his forearms on the island counter across from you. His rather delicious looking forearms, you might add.

“Feeling better after your shower?”

You hum an affirmation, folding your arms and resting your chin on them.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to make soup for breakfast?”

He shrugs. “It’s dinner for us. Or, well, me. I’m not sure your body knows what meal it is.”

He taps a pointer finger rhythmically on the counter. “Any word from your landlord?”

“No. Sorry for… all of this. I know you’re tired.”

“I wish you’d stop apologizing for things I don’t mind doing for you.”

You don’t really know how to respond to that, or what to do with how it makes you feel, so you elect to save it for later. Good at compartmentalizing, ED doctors are.

You clear your throat. “I can call Samira whenever. She’d probably be excited to have girl time. So you know. Don’t feel like— I have other options. If or when you want me to leave.”

“Do you want to leave?”

You wish he’d stop asking questions you don’t want to answer.

You try to play it off, smother your fear and exhaustion with humor. Robby’s kid, through and through.

“Well, I can’t have you getting sick of me. You’re the only person I know who has a very rob-able house if this whole internship doesn’t pan out.”

Jack straightens, shoulders pulling and flexing. “Who said I’d get sick of you? Maybe I like the idea of you in my house.”

“Do you?”

You ask the question before you’re aware of how terrified you are of the answer. But you’ve already said it, and it feels nice to be the one asking the hard question instead.

Jack, likely experienced in this sort of thing, doesn’t look outwardly bothered by it, but he gets a sort-of-sad look on his face, almost like he’s disappointed that you had to ask.

“Have I given you any reason to think otherwise?”

“I don’t know,” You look down, picking at a hangnail to avoid his expression and his eyes and his everything, “I don’t want to assume anything.”

“You’ve already assumed quite a bit.”

You scrunch your face. “That’s different. Those are safe assumptions.”

“Are they?”

“Obviously, it’s safer to assume that you don’t want me to stay here, or at least not for very long, because if I assume that I do I’ll bother you and I want you to—“

You cut yourself off, jaw shutting with a firm click, but the end of the sentence hangs in the air unspoken anyways. It’s not hard to figure out what you were going to say.

I want you to like me.

Jack sighs, and alarm blares are going off in your head and your chest starts to feel tight and cold despite the warmth of his apartment, and then he’s rounding the island and you turn your body to follow him —never turn you back, never let your guard down— and then he’s standing in front of you, over you, and you’re not sure if you want to run or metaphorically curl up at his feet, tail tucked.

It’s pathetic. It’s embarrassing. It’s impossible to ignore.

(What does a shelter dog think, on that first night? Do they hope? Do dogs hope?)

He raises a hand, slowly, giving you a chance to lean away, and when you don’t, it comes to rest on the side of your face, his thumb swiping at the barely-there wetness from earlier tears.

It’s cleaning the cut from the slap, it’s a kindness you can curl into, and it might be a threat. Might be bad, might turn harsh and painful, might leave without a word.

Unlike that day in the break room, there’s no fluorescent lights to suck any heat out of the room and no gloves as a barrier; as a reminder of who he is, of what you are, of how things work.

It’s just you and Jack, in Jack’s apartment, wearing Jack’s clothes, and pretty soon you’re going to eat food that Jack made. Just for you.

And you think maybe, possibly, if he stops here you could kind of hold onto this moment for the rest of your life and it would get you through being alive and strong and alone, and you’d make it through this, whatever this is, if he stops here.

He doesn’t. He starts talking.

“I like knowing that you’re safe. That you’re taken care of. I like knowing with certainty that these things are true because I’m the one making sure of it.”

Your breath hitches in your chest.

“That’s kind of a lot of work, though.”

He hums. “It is. Luckily, I just so happen to be a pretty hard worker.”

Everything about the current situation is a lot and your nerves are over-taxed and dialed up to hundred, so it’s not surprising that you start crying again.

Jack brings up a second hand to the other side of your face and gently wipes away the tears as they come. It feels sort of like the physical version of everything he’s been doing for you since that day in the supply closet.

“You don’t have to do anything, or say anything, or make any kind of decision right now, okay? We can do whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.”

There’s the word choice again; want, not need. Is there a difference? What does the difference mean to him? What does he mean? Why is he doing any of this?

Jack's phone goes off in his pocket, and he steps back, drops his hands, and goes back to the stove.

Jack said you don’t have to make a decision right now, but you kind of feel like if you don’t do something you’re going to be sick with everything that’s swirling and clawing inside you, threatening to burst. Like the very essence of you is going to explode, and your soul will be painted on Jack’s perfectly decorated walls.

That would be something, wouldn’t it.

You stay seated at the island, turning to stare at Jack’s back while he adds the final touches to the soup. He doesn’t talk anymore, but he keeps looking back every few minutes, like he’s making sure you’re still there.

Eventually Jack turns the stove off, dishes up a bowl of soup for you, and sets it gently in front of you. He uses his pinky to cushion the placing of the bowl, so there’s no loud clinking noise when he sets the bowl down.

There’s a tiny sprig of parsley on top of the soup, right in the center. Like a Panera ad for soup in September.

You start crying again, in earnest.

“I’m sorry,” You gasp, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m— I don’t know. I don’t know.”

You’re hoping the last sentence encompasses an entire lifetime of events, accidents, mistakes, and memories that have never been able to find a place in your head except dead center, at the forefront of your mind at all times, stamped on your forehead for anyone with eyes to see.

Your life hasn’t been wants or choices for a very long time. And here Jack is, giving you an array of both, and saying things like he wants you to want.

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Hey, hey hey hey, shhh,” Strong arms wrap around you, tucking your head into a warm chest, effectively shutting off all sensory input that isn’t Jack. “You’re okay, you’re safe, you’re okay, I got you.”

He rubs circles into your back, then switches to tracing shapes, and he lets you cry into him again and he doesn’t tell you to stop, or to calm down, or you’re being too much too fast.

“You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay sweetheart. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

—

You, embarrassingly, fall asleep right there, sitting at the kitchen island over a bowl of soup and twenty-something years of holding up your life with hands that never quite seemed big enough to do it.

You wake up in Jack’s bed, his comforter pulled up to your chin and the clock at the bedside table reading 8:17 p.m. There’s the muffled sound of several voices coming from beyond the door.

Holy shit. What the fuck.

Deciding to ignore the implication that Jack carried you to bed, you mentally take stock of what’s around you.

In front of the clock is your phone (plugged in to charge), a glass of water, and a note with Jack’s handwriting on it.

Kid-

I’ll probably be in the ED for the night shift by the time you wake up. I called Mohan (who called Mel, who was with Langdon, for reasons unknown) to go to your place and grab you some things. There may be people in the apartment when you wake up. You are in no way obligated to interact with them. They have to leave eventually.

Charlie is in the room with you because he hates strangers, but he probably won’t leave the bathroom. Probably. Drink water and eat something, if you can. Text me if you need anything.

The voices beyond the door are, more than likely, the aforementioned individuals who have now seen the glorified closet you call home. It’s not ideal, but you’re wrung out and don’t have the energy to really care. Besides, Samira and Mel are too nice to judge you that hard (you hope) and from what you’ve heard, Langdon isn’t really in a place to say anything.

On one hand, going out there requires socializing. Which, ew. On the other hand, Samira and Mel are the best. Langdon is maybe okay.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you shuffle out of bed and then continue shuffling to the door, hoping that whatever you look like isn’t too terribly awful.

Samira, Mel, and Langdon are standing around the kitchen island, various takeout containers and bottles of alcohol littering the space. For some reason, Trinity, Dennis, and Robby are also present.

Samira and Langdon are engaged in what looks to be a rather animated discussion-slash-argument, and Mel is standing just a little closer to Langdon than what could be considered normal for friends. Trinity is very obviously ignoring Langdon’s general existence, bickering with Dennis on the couch, and Robby is seated in the armchair by the window, nursing a beer and watching both conversations unfold.

You sniff aggressively, and all heads snap to you.

“There are more of you here then there’s supposed to be,” You grumble, scrubbing at your face. “Why are you all here?”

Mel is the first to speak.

“It was Frank actually!” Trinity rolls her eyes, and part of you wants to share the sentiment, “He figured Trinity would be upset that something happened to you and he knew and didn’t tell her, so Trinity decided that me and Samira would get your stuff while everyone else stayed here in case you woke up before we came back!”

Wow, okay, that’s. A Lot.

You squint. “That doesn’t explain why you’re all here. I mean it does, but only like, why you’re here physically.”

Robby frowns. “We heard that you were going through a rough time and you had to stay with Jack, so we came.”

Trinity snorts on the couch and Dennis, next to her, looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.

Robby shoots her a look, but continues. “We care about you. We— I don’t want you to feel like you have to do everything on your own. In or out of the ED.”

Trinity blows out a loud sigh and low whistle. “Jee-zus Robby, give the woman some time to wake up before trying to induce tears again.”

Robby does look a little apologetic, maybe a teensy bit chastised (and annoyed that Trinity was the one doing the chastising) and turns his deep brown eyes back to you.

"Sorry. Can't help these Dad tendencies, you know."

Your face gets hot, maybe a tiny, wet prickle behind your eyes forms while Robby smiles, and the tension leaves the room all in one go, and you start to think that maybe things are in the right place.

–

At the ED, Jack Abbot, who's been checking his phone whenever he gets a free moment like a highschooler with a crush, opens the first text that pops up on his screen after hours of waiting.

It's a picture from Robby. You, with your head thrown back in a cackle of a laugh, not a single bit of stress evident in any of the lines of your body. There's one text accompanying the picture:

Please don't make me give you a shovel talk. I think you already know what's at stake here.

Jack snorts and pockets his phone, because yeah, he does.

–

When Jack finally gets back to his apartment, he's half-expecting to see the kind of mess that a large grouping of obnoxious people leave behind. Trash, maybe a few red solo cups, empty takeout containers, someone asleep on his couch, someone passed out on the floor.

He's not expecting to see a clean space. The only evidence that people were there at all is some rearranged pillows, a half-empty bottle of wine on the counter, and some new takeout menus on his fridge.

And then there's you. You're lying on the couch, eyes glued to the TV, watching a show he doesn't really recognize. There's a well-loved backpack on the floor, just under the coffee table. The shocking bit is Charlie, his resident asshole, is 'loafing' right on your chest, purring away.

You lift your head when you hear the jingle of his keys, a smile immediately brightening your face. He mentally takes a picture, right there, so he can remember this exact moment forever.

"What'd you bribe him with?" Jack says instead of something much more neurotic, like 'You don't have to go back to your place when the power comes back on.'

You shrug, unaware of his emotional and romantic pain. "You were right. He came out from under the bed after everybody left. He kind of growled at me for a little bit, but once I settled down here he just kind of... came right up."

You plant a little kiss to the top of his head, right in between furry ears. Great, now Jack's jealous of a senior cat with one ear who licks his own butt. "How could I resist this face? I see why you brought him home."

Jack rounds the end of the couch, shuffling by, and Charlie opens his eyes just enough to shoot him a look that Jack takes to mean: If you make her get up and move me, I will kill you in your sleep.

Jack does not disturb his cat as he sits down on the couch. There's a moment when things almost get hairy- you pull your legs back when he goes to sit, slightly jostling The Asshole, who pins his only ear back in annoyance.

Jack solves this problem by taking your legs, clad in some soft flannel pajama pants and pink fuzzy socks, and lays them across his lap. There. Problem solved.

The warmth of your legs on his lap and the look on your face is reward enough for him. He can't think of a way he'd rather spend his time.

Jack, in a rare show of mercy, does not tease you, and decides that you've probably had enough excitement for one day.

"So," He says instead, looking up at the TV and grimacing at the mutilated corpse on the screen, "What are we watching?"

He watches you shrink into yourself. He hates it when you do that. He hates that you feel like you have to.

"Uh, Bones. I can turn it off, though. I'm sure you don't want to watch this."

He doesn't answer the question you've not-subtly voiced, instead choosing to redirect the conversation.

"Why did you put it on?"

You start chewing on your lower lip. Your signature 'I don't want to answer this question so I'm going to think really hard about it' move.

"It's kind of my comfort show? I don't know. I watched it a lot growing up. We didn't have cable, but the hotels I stayed at sometimes did. I'd wait until my dad fell asleep and then I'd turn on the TV and watch from the sci-fi or drama channels. Watched a lot of Bones. Supernatural too, and sometimes Doctor Who, if it was on. But Bones was my favorite."

The characters on the screen are involved in some sort of car chase now, police siren flashing on a black SUV. Jack isn't paying attention to that at all, because this is the first time since the day you walked into the PTMC and introduced yourself that he's ever heard you talk about your childhood.

"How come?"

"I don't know. I've always liked procedural shows. Had a huge House MD phase. Death and bones and corpses and stuff has never really grossed me out, which is part of the reason I became a doctor. But also..."

You point to the male character. "You see him? That's Booth. Seeley Booth. They all have kind of crazy names. He's an FBI agent, and his partner is that woman there. Temperance Brennan. Booth calls her Bones."

"She doesn't look like an FBI agent."

You smile. "She's not. She's a forensic anthropologist, but she consults on murder cases and stuff like that because she's kind of a genius. She's smart, strong, and capable. She and Booth don't always get along, because they both can be headstrong and stubborn. But he respects and trusts her, implicitly. No matter what. They love each other."

Your throat bobs, but your voice is steady when you speak.

"And when Brennan needs him, if she's in trouble or she needs him by her side, even if she doesn't know she does, he's always there. He always saves her."

Jack can picture it, in his mind. You, small and alone, watching these characters on some shitty hotel TV and getting it into your head that this kind of thing only exists in TV shows. He pictures you dreaming of having a Booth, of having someone to be there for you, to pick you up when you fall. He thinks of you crying in the supply closet and how quietly you'd done it. Almost silent.

He thinks of what happens to a person to make them learn how to cry without making a sound.

He rests a hand on your ankle, fingers instinctively drifting towards the pulse point there- posterior tibial. He keeps two fingers on it, even though he can't feel it through your fuzzy socks. With his thumb he makes circles, because he's seen how you lean into Robby's shoulder grabs, how you preen at physical and verbal praise, how you'd slumped like a marionette with its strings cut into his arms just yesterday.

"Jack?" Your voice is tentative, unsure.

"Hmm?"

"Am I..." You start chewing your lip again, "Are you— I don't to assume anything. So if I fuck this up and make you uncomfortable—"

"I want to kiss you."

Jack has learned how to speak fluent you. He knows how to stop an incoming spiral, how to soothe old wounds rearing their heads.

He continues when you don't speak.

"I want you to wear my clothes. I want to take care of you. I want you, in whatever way you'll let me."

"Oh."

"I was laying it on pretty thick, kid."

You look away from him, and this is another moment he'd like to keep forever.

"I thought I was just reading into things!"

"Do you think I call every intern sweetheart?"

Jack is positive Charlie's presence on your stomach is the only thing keeping you from actively squirming in place.

"I thought maybe you were just one of those guys. Samira said it was possible!"

He rolls his eyes. "You can't ask Mohan for romantic advice. She's you in a different font."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

You turn back to your show, losing yourself in the plot for a while. When the murderer has been caught and the credits are playing, you look at him again.

"We don't. Um. Can we just keep doing this? For now?"

For the first time since meeting you, Jack gets to say exactly what he's thinking.

"We can do this forever. We can do whatever you want."

“Like a fucking sleep paralysis demon…” She muttered to herself while continuing her furious typing until about 5 minutes had passed and she'd reached her limit, “Huckleberry! What is up over there?”

From the opposite side of the computers, Dennis’s head popped over the monitor, looking in her direction. She waited until he was looking at her to motion towards Langdon with her lips, and she watched as his eyeline followed towards a small group made up of Langdon, Donnie and some of the guards. Dennis quickly leans back in his chair to get a view of the screen before standing up and walking over to her.

“It looks like some kind of massive fire at a building nearby, betting board I’m guessing?” Dennis talks in a low tone, trying not to let his voice carry. Just as he made it over to her desk, she watched as Langdon dashed over to Dana, his eyes constantly flicking back to the screen, and he spoke in what looked like hushed panic.

From the same corner came a chorus of gasps and exclamations to the tune of ‘Holy shit that just blew up.’ ‘That fully collapsed the building, aren’t people inside?’ which triggered Langdon running back to the TV and Dana frantically dialling someone, Trinity couldn’t quite hear.

“What the fuck?” Trinity whispers so only Dennis could hear as she moves her eyes between Dennis and Langdon. Dennis just shrugged in response but joined in, keeping his eyes flicking between Dana and Langdon trying to get some idea whats going on. Neither of them expected Dana to spin on her feet to stare straight at them.

“Santos, Whitaker, 2 traumas ETA 5 minutes. One of you go find Dr Robby, one of you go meet Dr Langdon and Dr Mohan outside.” Then she spun on her heels to continue delegating placements for the incoming trauma. Without a second thought, both of them split in different directions their earlier conversation forgotten.

When Trinity got outside, Langdon was already talking to Samira in a rushed voice. She was clearly trying to console him, but the worry seemed almost primal or instinctual so no words were going to help at the moment. She got closer to the two and coughed to make her presence known; both of them stopped speaking and snapped towards her.

“Dana sent me out here. Is there a plan?” Trinity spoke, swaying back and forth on her heels, trying to remain as casual as possible, as if she hadn’t been low-key eavesdropping moments ago.

“There are 2 incoming cars, you and I will take the first one, and Dr Langdon will take the second.” Just as Samira finished speaking, Trinity heard the sirens from a distance, and the lights slowly came into view. “Alright, let’s do this. Santos on me.”

The first ambulance pulled up, and the doors swung open, Trinity almost grimacing at the burnt tyre smell. How fast did they drive here for it to be that ba—oh shit it’s not the ambulance. Trinity listened intently to the handover from the EMTs, then to all the instructions Samira gave her. By this point, she'd forgotten the whole situation leading up to this

The injuries were too severe to be treated from down in the ER, all they were really doing was prepping the patient for the OR. It didn’t look good, 3rd and 2nd degree burns littered the patients body as well as a nasty cut along their back from the caving roof tiles. As the situation settled down and the patient was wheeled up to the OR, Trinity took a moment to look over at the other trauma room where the second car's patient was being treated. She noticed that the room had been cleared out quicker than this one; it was only Langdon, Robby and the patient in the room. Bit odd in her opinion.

She left the room, dispensing her gloves on the way out, and beelined towards the main nurses’ station where Dana was currently stood looking at the board. Trinity opened her mouth to speak and closed it just as fast when she saw Robby walking straight towards the station, followed by Langdon and the, now walking, patient. Maybe just eavesdropping was the best plan, she took a seat at her computer going back to typing a previous chart.

“How's she doing?” Dana wasnt trying to be subtle, thankfully, so her voice carried well enough for Trinity to hear from where she was sitting, pretending to chart.

“Oh shes fine, indestructible if anything. Nasty laceration across her face and a slight one on her chest from a piece of metal falling from the ceiling. He refused to let anyone else do the stitches.”

“That's quite sweet.”

“Tell that to Donnie, got a look of premeditated murder when he offered to do the stitches.” Dana couldn't hold in her sharp laugh at Robby's last comment, which finally got the attention of Langdon and the mystery patient who came bounding over confidently to the desk and engulfing Dana in a hug.

“Ah Thing 1 and Thing 2 how we doing, how you feeling missy?”

“I still don’t understand how I’m Thing 2.”

“Because I’m cooler than you?”

Dana held the woman's face in her hands, inspecting the injury, causing her to stick her tounge out towards Langdon at the show of affection from the charge nurse.

“I actually work here! This is ridiculous favouritism…” Langdon mumbled to himself slightly turning away from the situation.

As she was trying to chart to eavesdrop, Trinity felt a presence to her right, she had obviously been spotted. She took a slight glance only to notice it was Princess, she was instantly safe as Princess was probably also here to see what’s going on. Trinity motioned, with her lips, towards the woman and raised her eyebrow hoping Princess would already understand the question.

“Ading (younger sibling)” Princess said in a hushed voice.

“Kapatid niya yun?! (That’s his sister?!)” Trinity’s voice came out louder than she’s intended, luckily no one else around them kne—

“Sino ang pinag-uusapan natin? (Who are we talking about?)”

Both Trinity and Princess froze when they heard another voice talking. She knew that it had come from the mystery woman and that now she had 5 sets of eyes trained on her but she was taking the t-rex approach of if you don’t move they can’t see you.

“You speak tagalog?” Princess spoke first, Trinity could have got on her knees to praise her right there for taking the majority of the eyes from her, however she’d noticed a set of eyes still trained on her.

“Yeah, learnt it for an ex-girlfriend. You’re Princess right?” She said breaking eye contact with Trinity, walking around Landgon to reach her hand across to shake Princess’ hand “I think we met at a previous trauma call, however I wasn’t a patient last time thankfully.”

Trinity hadn’t failed to notice that this now meant she was stood on the corner next to Trinity’s desk, they no longer had a Dr. Langdon buffer in the middle of them. Princess laughed softly at the joke easing the tension from the previous moment, in a way only she could.

“I do remember! It’s lovely to see you again I’m glad you’re safe that news coverage looked scary!”

So that’s why he looked so stressed at the news earlier, Trinity thought to herself.

“He what?”

Trinity quickly realised the thought was very much not to herself, now she had 6 pairs of eyes on her. How do the numbers keep increasing? Oh well time to sink or swim she thought, this time actually to herself.

“Dr Langdon earlier, I could see him while I was charting now I understand the stress,” She took the moment to stand up actually meeting the womans eyeline, she knew she shouldn’t from the look on Langdon’s face but she couldn’t help herself, “I’m Trinity Santos, Second year resident, it’s nice to meet you…”

“Y/N,” She spoke extending her hand out to Trinity, “Langdon, that bit was a given though, it’s nice to meet some more of Frankie’s coworkers.”

“What have I said about calling me Frankie at work?” Langdon’s protests were cut off as she stuck her hand over his mouth causing him to mumble what was probably a protest to the action.

“So why is this the first time we’re meeting?” She asked, still having her hand covering his mouth so you could only see his eyes, that was enough to convey the emotion when he immediatly side-eyed her at the comment. Trinity couldn’t tell if she was genuinely flirting with her or just annoying her brother but the intensity the eye contact was giving her little space to think right now.

“I—I’m only a second year,” Trinity mentally kicked herself hearing how her own voice came out where has all of her game gone. Maybe it was performance anxiety with the fact there was at least 4 people watching this interaction, “Does your work really land you here that often?”

“The ER yes, this one specifically no. I try not to worry Frankie here.” Y/N laughing as she spoke using the hand that was originally covering Langdon’s mouth to ruffle his hair.

He swatted her hand away muttering, in a mood only a sibling can create, ‘frankie this, thing 2 that, i cannot escape’ as he stormed off to check in on another patient. Dana and Robby also took that as their queue to slowly walk away. Princess was another story, she had moved less than Dana but had somehow been joined by Perlah. Points for at least attempting to be subtle though.

“So how is 2nd year going so far?” Now the the crowd had dispersed there was a softness in her voice, her curiosity obviously genuine.

“Charting is kicking my ass, I’m behind on things that are yet to happen and I think my roommate spends every weekend at a farm with a widow and their ba— I’m sorry I don’t know why I said all of that.” Trinity laughed out the sudden honesty shocked Trinity as she spoke.

“It’s ok I asked, I wanted an honest answer,” Y/N wheeled a chair around as she spoke motioning Trinity to also sit down again, “I remember Frankie’s 2nd year, I was convinced a few months in that he was days away from turning into a zombie.”

Trinity couldn’t help the laugh that tore out of her, it was enough to make Langdon’s head snap back to you both.

“I’m serious! I didn’t think a human being could turn grey!” Y/N laughed out before rolling the chair she was sitting on even closer to Trinity. Their knees knocked and slightly intertwined as she reached over to grab a blank piece of paper scribbling down what was definetly a number, “I don’t want to keep you from your charting too long so he—”

“Allllrighty let’s get you checked out and back to your job.” Langdons voice cut her off, he pulled her chair leaving a jokingly large space between the two and tipping the chair forward forcing her to stand up.

“Alright Frankie I get it,” She immediatly turned her attention back to Trinity, “Sorry about that I guess he’s not a fan of me flirting with his coworkers.”

“Wait you were flirting?” Once again Trinity’s thoughts came out spoken, she was definetly blaming it on the lack of sleep. Both Langdon’s face’s widened with emotion but for vastly different reason.

“Was I not obvious enough?”

“Oh so help me god,”

He immediatly grabbed her wrist to walk her away and out of the ER but it wasn’t enough to stop the smirk on her face.

“Text me, I promise I’ll make it more obvious next time.”

“STOP flirting with my coworkers!”

“You can’t tell me what to do Frankie.”

“Stop with the Frankie! Jesus Christ I hate that I was worried about you.”

The bickering persisted all the was into the ambulance bay. Trinity was struggling to hold in her laughter at the sight. She looked down at the scribbled number and pocketed it before she forgot, or before Langdon stole it.

“Why are you so red faced was the trauma call that bad?” Dennis said as he saunted up to her side.

“You look like you’ve ran a marathon, do you need some water I can go grab some for you?” Mel’s voice appeared from the other side of her.

“No I, I just met Langdon’s sister,” She spoke.

“Aw that’s cool.”

“Was she here for an injury?”

“I didn’t know he had a sister.” Javadi’s voice had now joined

“She also flirted with me.” She was met with a collective stunned silence, “And gave me her number.”

Somehow the silence got even louder.

“So are you going to text her?” Dennis asked.

“Are you kidding me?” Trinity noticed Langdon walk back in so she made sure to lower her voice to just those surrounding her, “Of course I am. Dude she’s a firefighter.”

“Can you handle all that heat?” Dennis quipped.

“Okay we have been living together far too long, I’m not accepting this attitude from you Huckleberry I have charting to do.”

Victoria and Dennis walked away whispering amongst themselves

‘She’s still blushing’

‘I bet the number’s burning a hole in her pocket’

1. Robby

Dennis Whitaker isn’t what most would consider a private person. His coworkers know about his brothers and his hometown and his nieces and nephews, he just never mentioned a love life of any kind. They had assumed it was because his love life didn’t exist. It’s typical with med students, focused on school and their internship. Too busy to find time for another person in their hectic lives. No one judged him. Really, they understood. Then, a few weeks after his graduation, Dennis walks into work with a gold band shining on his left ring finger. 

Most of his coworkers didn’t even notice it at first. The ED is a place where people wear gloves more often than not. Bare hands are rarer than covered ones. Robby is the first one to spot it. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it, just shakes Dennis’ hand and shoots him a quiet congrats, kid. It’s not until Trinity spots the new jewelry that everyone finds out. Because Trinity Santos cannot keep her mouth shut to save her own life.

“You’re married!”

“Um, yeah?” Dennis rubs a hand across the back of his neck. He’s not sure if it’s always been a habit of his or if he picked it up from Robby. What he is sure of is that he hates the way every single doctor and nurse within earshot turns to study Dennis. Like he’s their newest toy. The grin on Princess’ face almost makes him wish he had stayed in bed with you this morning. (He wishes that every morning, though.)

“When did that happen?” It’s Mel’s voice this time. No judgement. No gleam in her eye. Just genuine curiosity that makes Dennis want to hug her. 

“After I graduated. We, uh, we’ve been dating since high school.” And Dennis hates how much his voice shakes. He should be able to boast about you to anyone who will listen because you’re the most amazing person he knows. But his cheeks are hot and his throat feels just a little tight. Dennis can see Trinity open her mouth, no doubt about to make fun of him for marrying his high school sweetheart. Then Dana is stepping in front of him, shooing away nosy residents with a wave of her hand and a single noise. Robby’s hand is on her shoulder again. 

“If you ever want to bring her with you after work, feel free.” Robby’s voice is soft and deep, a smile on his face that says nothing except pride. Dennis nods slowly and Robby squeezes his shoulder once before pulling back.

Dennis practically stumbles through the door. It’s late. A bit later than he wishes it was. The shift ran long because of a multi-vehicle crash on the highway. They didn’t lose anyone, but it was a hard-fought battle. Dennis can still smell blood in his nostrils. 

“Denny? That you?” Your voice is like a balm on the exhausted open wound that is Dennis Whitaker. He makes his way toward the living room of your tiny shared apartment to see you sitting on the couch. The television plays some nature documentary that he’s sure you’re not watching. You look over the back of the couch and smile so warmly that Dennis thinks he might melt. “Welcome home, baby. Dinner is staying warm in the oven for you.”

“I love you so much.” He can’t help muttering as he leans down to press a kiss to the crown of your head. You just laugh, reaching back to pat his hip before pushing off the couch. 

You follow Dennis into the kitchen, sitting at the rickety dining table with exactly two chairs at it. He pulls out the food you left in the oven, carrying it over to the table, just short of collapsing into the chair. You watch as he eats, crumbs falling back onto his plate, unable to hold back a smile. You’ve known the man for two decades and he still doesn’t know how to eat without making a mess. 

“So…how did it go?” You reach out to run a finger over Dennis’ wedding band. The gold is scuffed and scratched in a few places. You bought your rings together at a thrift store, old and used but no less loved. He flips his hand over, intertwining your fingers.

“Trin was loud. But Robby said you’re invited to our after-work hangout. If you ever want to.” Dennis pauses, running his thumb over your knuckles with such gentle reverence you would think he’d studied you in undergrad instead of theology. “They, uh, they want to meet you.”

“Do you want me to meet them?” You ask quietly, keeping your eyes on Dennis’ hand in yours. He squeezes slightly and you already know the answer. As much as Dennis loves his coworkers, there’s something about you being his and only his. Not having to combine his home and work lives. It gives him an escape. You just squeeze back, finally meeting his eyes. “Wanna wait a little longer?”

“I’m sorry.” He leans down, pressing his forehead against your joined hands. You just smile, running your free hand through his curls. He lets out a breath you’re sure he hadn’t known he was holding. “You are the most amazing wife ever, Mrs. Whitaker.”

“And you are the best husband I could ever want, Dr. Whitaker.” You pull back, standing from the chair with a creak of the old wood. “Now, come on. Shower, then bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

2. Dana

“What d’ya got there, kid?” Dana’s voice cuts through Dennis’ thoughts and he looks down at the large foil pan in his arms. Like, so big he needs both arms to carry it. He smiles that signature shaky smile and awkwardly readjusts the pan in his hold.

“Treats. From Mrs. Whitaker.” He can’t help the way he straightens up a bit when he says it. He loves that he gets to call you that now. Dennis told you at least five times the night before that you did not have to bake anything for his coworkers. You steadfastly ignored him as you carefully measured out the ingredients. He only stopped after five because you looked so cute with flour on your nose. Dennis peels back the lid to reveal chocolate and caramel and oats in some kind of layer bar, already cut and carefully arranged in the foil pan. Dennis doesn’t know what exactly went into them. He’s no chef. If it were up to him, Dennis would eat strictly fast food, takeout, and frozen dinners. “They’re carmelitas, I think?”

Dana reaches in and grabs one, taking a bite before Dennis can even say anything. She lets out a noise that Dennis really doesn’t want to hear from his coworker and shoves the rest of the square in her mouth.

“Whitaker, tell your wife that if she ever wants to divorce you, I am more than willing to take your place.” Dana mutters, grabbing another bar as she continues chewing. “Seriously, these things are gonna kill me and it’ll be worth it.”

“Aren’t you married?”

Dana just laughs, turning away without another word. Dennis can only shrug, continuing his journey to the staff break room to place the foil pan on the small counter by the fridge. He pulls the little paper sign you made out of his bag, placing it next to the tray before heading toward his locker. 

It takes about thirty seconds for every single nurse and doctor in the Pitt to realize they’ve been offered a sweet treat. Even the night shift stops by the break room on their way out. Dennis personally gets pats on the back from Dr. Abbot and Robby and about ten other people who he’s not sure he’s ever met before today. It feels…nice? A bit strange, to be thanked and congratulated for something he didn’t even do.

The day is dreadfully slow. As much as Dennis hates the idea of people in pain, it's starting to grate at him by the end of the day. Only two ambulances came in, one of which was from the nearby old folk’s home. And most of the people in the waiting room either ate something bad and are overreacting or are straight-up rude. It’s trying, but Dennis supposes it’s better than losing patients.

By the time he finally makes it around to the break room at the end of the day, hoping for a bite of the sweet treat you made, only crumbs are left in the bottom of the foil pan. He smiles. Not the shaky one he gives when people ask him questions (even when he knows the answer), but something soft and solid. Mostly because he knows how happy you’ll be when you find out that the staff of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center Emergency Department are, on most days, hungrier than a pack of wild hyenas. 

“I think our grocery bills are about to go up.” Dennis murmurs against your head as he places his customary greeting kiss there. You look over the back of the couch to see him empty handed and you grin.

“Are you telling me I’m required to bake for your coworkers now?” You tease, turning to lean forward against the back of the couch. Dennis just raises a brow, grinning down at you. You two know each other better than you know yourselves some days. “I’m not complaining, baby. They can be my guinea pigs when I try new recipes. And you know me. I have no idea how to cook for less than twenty people.” Dennis laughs and you think it’s the most wonderful sound you’ll ever hear. “Plus, I’m not the one who pays for groceries.”

“About that—” Dennis tugs his phone out of his back pocket, clicking open the bank app. He grimaces at the Loans tab and focuses on his Checking. “I got my first paycheck. I thought I could help out with rent this month.”

You smile softly, reaching out to play with the longer curls at his nape. “Dennis, we agreed. I graduated and got a job so you could focus on your student loans. I pay rent and bills, you get groceries and my own resident fix-it man.” You press a kiss to his cheek.

“I want to help you out.”

“I know, baby. But I want to help you more.” Your eyes close as you tug Dennis’ forehead against yours. He hums out a long sigh and you laugh softly. He’ll bring it up again and it’ll go exactly the same. You think that’s okay if it means you get to hold him like this.

3. Trinity

Around an hour before his shift ends every day, Dennis starts counting down the minutes. It’s a bad habit. He knows. It disappoints him more often than not. When the shift handoff goes long or there’s some kind of last minute trauma. So, yeah, it’s a terrible habit to have. But he can’t help it. He’s not counting down until his shift ends. He’s counting down until he can see you again.

“Hey, Whitaker!” The voice that comes from behind Dennis is unmistakably Trinity’s. He’s honestly surprised she actually used his name. “The residents are going to the bar on Grant.” 

“Uh, good for you?” Dennis murmurs, glancing back at the clock. 6:52. He’s probably only got thirty minutes before he can leave if handoff goes well. Not likely, but he can hope. That means no more than forty-five minutes until he can see you again. Dennis loves his job. He just hates how often it keeps the two of you apart. 

“Huckleberry.” Dennis turns away from the clock, back to Trinity. She has the most unimpressed look on her face that Dennis has ever seen. “All the residents.” Dennis just tilts his head, nodding along slowly. Trinity sighs as he doesn’t answer and reaches out to grip his shoulders. “That includes you, Doc.” 

She says it like it’s obvious, but Dennis hadn’t actually considered the idea that he would be invited along. That he would go. He sees these people almost every day for over twelve hours. Does he really want to spend even more time with them?

(Yes. Dennis loves the people he works with. It took Dennis almost ten years to feel as comfortable around you as he does around his coworkers friends. Probably something to do with trauma bonding in a place where horrid sights outnumber the people who can help them.)

“Oh. Uh, sorry. Can’t. My wife is expecting me at home.” Dennis says, maybe a bit too quickly. It sounds like an excuse even to his own ears and Trinity has never been one to give up.

“C’mon, invite Mrs. Huckleberry along then. I, for one, would love to meet the woman who agreed to marry you.” She grins, jabbing at Dennis’ ribs with her shockingly sharp elbows. He can’t help smiling.

“I know. I’m lucky.” Dennis looks back over at Trinity to see her pretending to gag, fist in front of her mouth. He rolls his eyes and swats at her arm. “You’re just jealous you don’t have a wife. Don’t worry, it only took me twenty years.”

“Twenty—I thought you were high school sweethearts.” Trinity stares at Dennis with wide eyes, brow furrowed tight as she looks him up and down.

“Well, yeah. But we’ve known each other since forever. I mean, there was only one school. And our year had a really small kindergarten class. It just…took me a while to finally ask her out.” Dennis smiles fondly at the memory. He had been continuously tripping over his words when you grabbed his—admittedly very sweaty—hands and said you’d love to go on a date with you, Dennis Whitaker. It was like his entire world paused for that single moment, captured in your warm gaze. Not that Dennis could ever tell Trinity that. She teased him enough already. 

“Nevermind. I don’t want to meet her if this is what I have to put up with.” Trinity actually shoves at his face with her hands, groaning as he laughs. 

“Do you really want to meet my coworkers?” Dennis asks, lights off as you both lay in bed. His warm chest is pressed against your back as he holds you against him. You always have trouble sleeping when he gets home late.

You shift, turning to face him. Light from the city outside your apartment illuminates his face. The window has curtains, Dennis just hasn’t gotten around to hanging them up yet. Always busy with work or spending time with you. Things that are more important than a piece of fabric. You don’t mind if it means you can see his face like this. 

“I mean, you seem really close. And it’d be nice to put a face to a name.” You lift a hand, running your fingers through his curls. He showered when he got home and his hair is still wet. He’ll wake up later, complaining about the damp spot on his pillow and move even closer to share yours. You’ll pretend to be annoyed. “But if you’re not ready for that, I can wait.”

“God, I don’t deserve you.” Dennis’ voice vibrates against the back of your neck, humid breath warming the skin. He wraps his arms tighter around your waist, like you’ll disappear if he lets go. You let him, even though you would never leave. You think that even if Dennis tried to push you away, you would stay glued to his side. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. Those were the vows you made when you married Dennis Whitaker. You had been practicing them in your head for almost a decade. 

“You’re stuck with me anyway, love.” You lift one of his hands to your lips, kissing the back softly. Sheets rustle as you tug them up over your shoulder. You press back against Dennis’ chest and hum softly. “Now go to sleep already.”

Dennis doesn’t say anything. Just pulls you impossibly closer and lets his eyes fall shut. Approximately three hours later, he shifts you both on the bed so his head rests on your pillow, murmuring something about how his pillow is wet. You pretend to be annoyed.

4. Mel

It’s a quiet day in the ED. Not that Dennis would ever say that out loud and risk incurring the wrath of whatever deity watches over the hospital. If any. So he keeps his mouth shut and focuses on the charts he’s been avoiding. Dennis prefers to chart by notepad, so he always ends up transcribing for hours on end. It’s a great way to practice his typing, he supposes. 

“Hey, Whitaker?” 

Dennis glances over to see Mel at the computer next to him, wringing her fingers nervously. He hums in reply, folding his notes away. Any excuse to avoid charting. His eyes feel like they’re about to slide out of their sockets.

“Why didn’t you tell any of us you were getting married?” Mel’s voice shakes slightly in that way Dennis has learned is low-level anxiety. The kind that builds the more you ignore it. In the half second before Dennis can speak, Mel is opening her mouth again, ears pink. “I just—I mean, we were all so surprised. And…well, I’ve never been to a wedding.” Dennis can’t help the tiny smile that grows on his lips, just barely quirking up. “Sorry, that was probably rude.”

“No, it’s just…” Dennis has to think for a moment. He loves you. He wants to show you off, let everyone know that you’ve already been snatched up. But, at the same time, he doesn’t want you to be connected to this part of his life. He doesn’t want the blood on his hands to stain his time with you. You’re his oasis from the world of antiseptic and death that he lives in every day. Compartmentalization, he’s heard it called before. It feels ugly to call it that. He doesn’t want to keep you hidden away in a box. But how the hell does he say that out loud? “Do you have someone that makes you just forget about all the bad things?”

The ED feels like it stops. Mel doesn’t answer for a moment, but her face is easy to read. She’s thinking about it. Like she wants to consider her answer before responding. Like it’s important. It makes something warm bloom in Dennis’ chest. 

“Becca. My sister. She, uh, yeah.”

“My wife, uh,” Your name rolls off his lips and he realizes that Mel is the first person he’s said it to. It’s always been my wife or Mrs. Whitaker. To define you as an individual, not simply an extension of Dennis, loosens something in the tense muscles of his shoulders. “She’s like, a break from it all? I just guess I don’t want to expose her to all this, if that makes any sense.”

“It does.” Mel’s voice is soft as she rolls closer. Her hand hovers near Dennis’ arm like she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to touch him. Dennis leans to the side just enough to make contact and Mel’s hand presses against his bicep. “I understand.”

And it’s that easy. 

The two don’t speak after that, silently typing away in a never-ending attempt to catch up with charting. Keys clack as doctors and nurses alike scurry by, busy with their own tasks and patients. It creates a pattern of background noise that lets Dennis fall into a rhythm in his charting. He glances over at Mel once. She smiles like she understands. 

“I think you should meet my coworkers.” 

He says it suddenly as you curl against him on the couch. The television buzzes quietly in the background, forgotten as you shift to look at your husband. (Oh god, he’s your husband. That fact still amazes you sometimes.)

“What?” Your voice wobbles a bit as you hold back a surprised laugh. Dennis moves underneath you, something nervous rumbling in his chest. You run a hand up his neck, carding your fingers through his curls. He leans into the touch “Hey, you mean that?”

“Yeah, I—” Dennis breaths in slowly and releases his breath with the same careful consideration. “Mel asked today. About why, y’know? I was explaining it to her and it felt…like an excuse? I don’t want to keep you in a box. Like I’m ashamed of you or something—”

“Den, Dennis. Look at me, baby.” You grab his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. His eyes shine wetly in the soft lamplight. The shadows on his face flicker as the TV continues to play, forgotten across the room. No matter how beautiful your husband may look in this moment, you hate to see him anything but happy. So you smile and press a soft kiss to one of his cheeks. “I know you’re not ashamed of me, Dennis.” You press a kiss to his other cheek. “And I get why you’re hesitating. It’s just been us since we moved here. It’s hard to change like that.” Another kiss, this one to his forehead. “But nothing will ever change that I am here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You are the love and light of my life.” Dennis’ lips press to yours softly and you both laugh into it. This is exactly how you think it should always be. By Dennis Whitaker’s side, both of you smiling like idiots. 

+ 1

Your phone rings while you’re at work. It’s not uncommon. What is strange is that it’s Dennis that’s calling you. He doesn’t call while you’re both at work, one of the many unspoken rules the two of you have. So when you see his smiling face light up your screen, you immediately answer it, panic growing in your chest. 

“Denny? What’s up?” You try to keep your voice even, taking long, deep breaths. 

“Mrs. Whitaker, this is Dr. Robinavitch at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. I’m calling about your husband.” The voice that comes through is deep and rough. A voice that wasn’t made for yelling but has adapted to it nonetheless. The panic writhes around in the pit of your stomach now, like a living thing. 

“Is Dennis okay? Did something happen to him?”

“Whitaker is fine. He was hit by a gurney and fell. He hit his head on the floor and has a mild concussion. We’ll probably keep him overnight just to make sure there are no complications.” The voice is stern and straight to business, but there’s a softness to the edges of his words. You hear him sigh on the other end of the line. “Dennis will be fine.”

You take a deep breath. Then another. The phone digs into your fingers as you grip it tightly. You take another breath and force your fingers to relax. Dennis is fine. He’s okay. Breathe. “Can I come see him?”

“Of course.”

Dr. Robinavitch quickly gives you directions to the hospital, even telling you which parking lot is closest and would have the most parking this time of day. You jot it all down as he speaks, messy handwriting you probably won’t be able to decipher later. Not that you need to. You call a cab to pick you up. Dennis had to get to work early, so you let him take the shared car and you took the bus. 

The line in the waiting room is long and the more you wait, the more panic grows up your throat. You scratch nervously at your neck as you glance around. It smells like metal. Red is everywhere. Drops on the floor from a kid with a bloody nose. Staining the towel of an older man as he holds it against his wrist. Blooming across a woman’s blouse as she cradles bruised knuckles. You look away. It’s not that you’re a stranger to blood, you just…prefer to be far away from it. 

“How can I help you, hon?” You hear. The woman behind the glass looks you up and down once. Then again. Makes sense. You’re not obviously injured. You feel your cheeks heat.

“Hi. Um, I’m visiting a patient. Dennis Whitaker? He works here.” 

“Mrs. Whitaker?” The woman brightens just slightly, the customer service mask slipping just enough for you to see a glint in her eye. It disappears just as quickly and she points toward the double doors. A young woman steps out, dark hair pulled back. “Santos! Mrs. Whitaker!”

Santos turns toward you immediately. Yeah, that’s definitely a glint. You suddenly know that this is Trinity. It’s the shirt under her scrubs that gives it away. Dennis has always liked that Trinity wears them. He always calls her in for pedes cases when Trinity’s shirt has a cartoon on it. Today you can see the tuft of Tweety Bird’s feathers atop his head.

“Mrs. Whitaker.” Trinity’s voice has a lilt to it that you recognize from Dennis’ brothers when they would tease the two of you. She seems to stalk closer and you meet her eyes slowly, anxiety still quietly simmering in your chest.

“You must be Trinity.” You hold your hand out for her to shake, offering up your first name. Trinity’s grip is solid, hard. Like she’s testing you. The thought makes you smile. Dennis’ oldest brother had done the same thing when the two of you announced your engagement. “Everyone keeps calling me Mrs. Whitaker. Must be confusing. You can use my first name.”

Trinity just shakes her head as she leads you toward the double doors. They buzz open as she scans her badge and it’s just as chaotic as it had been in the waiting room. More, even. Trinity swiftly guides you down a dizzying series of turns until you’re stopped in front of a room. You can feel eyes on you from the large desk in the middle of the open area. You try your best to ignore them, focusing on Trinity.

“That’s what Huckleberry calls you, so it stuck.” Trinity shrugs, pushing the door open. Another woman sits at his bedside, blonde hair braided back and glasses perched on the long ridge of his nose. Mel, maybe? Then, you turn back toward Trinity, one brow raised high. 

“Huckleberry?”

“Hey, baby.” Dennis’ voice comes from the cot on the other side of the room. You immediately turn toward him, surprised at the slow thickness of his voice. Your name rolls off his tongue and it sounds so sweet that you’re almost embarrassed. This is a mild concussion?

“Hey, Den. How’re you feeling?” The woman in the seat next to Dennis’ bed stands, letting you sit. You read the nametag, Dr. Melissa King. She smiles wide and bright. The chair is plastic and probably designed to be uncomfortable, but as you grab Dennis’ hand and he smiles up at you, you know this is where you want to be. 

“Been better. Why’re you here?” There’s a dinosaur bandage on his forehead, just above his brow bone. You reach up to soothe it softly, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to the shiny plastic. Dennis leans into it, giving you that familiar soft smile. You can’t help smoothing back his curls.

“Dr. Robinavitch called me. Said you fell.”

Dennis just hums. You glance around the room and realize it’s just the two of you. You’re not sure when Mel and Trinity left. You think you can remember seeing Mel drag the younger woman quietly out of the room. But as your gaze sweeps across the window, you can see a few people gathered around what seems to be the main desk. They occasionally glance over at the room. At you two. 

You can name some of them. The older blonde is obviously Dana. You look down at Dennis to see him following your line of sight. You grin. “Dana, right? I don’t know, Denny…I might just have to leave you if she asks.”

“Don’t even joke about that. She’d probably take you up on it.” You both laugh softly, Dennis squeezing your hand softly. The door clicks open quietly and an older man steps inside. He’s wearing glasses that you can only assume are readers with how far down his nose they are. “Dr. Robby.”

The man steps closer, tablet held under one arm as he looks Dennis over carefully. “Whitaker.” His voice is fond. Soft and warm like a parent. Or maybe just a teacher who cares too much. Robby turns toward you, holding out a hand. You stand and take it. “Mrs. Whitaker. Nice to finally meet you. Michael Robinavitch, we spoke on the phone.”

“You as well.” The chair is just as uncomfortable the second time you sit in it. “Thanks for watching out for Dennis. He’s told me all about you. Really admires you and the work you do.” Dennis groans on the bed, cheeks red. You grin, squeezing his hand tighter. Robby smiles as he watches the exchange. You don’t notice, too busy watching as Dennis tries to hide his face with a pillow. You pull it away before he can suffocate himself. “It’s the truth, Den. Did you want me to lie to your boss?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Robby smiles easily, typing something on the screen in his hands before turning back to Dennis. There it is again. That glint. “Ready for visitors, Whitaker?”

Dennis groans yet again. 

The night is spent with you never leaving Dennis’ side. He groans and grumbles as his coworkers share embarrassing work stories with you that he had purposefully not shared. You respond in kind, telling them about his sweaty hands when he asked you out and how he somehow managed to get a calf to imprint on him. Dana proposes to you twice, grin sharp. You only blush a little. 

You think you get it, why Dennis is already so close with these people. You loved Broken Bow. Still do. But the people there were always pretending to be perfect, putting up fronts so the neighbors wouldn’t know their dirty secrets. Here, in this hospital, everyone is just themselves. They laugh loudly, bully each other playfully, smile wide. You think you get it. Why Dennis has never brought up moving back to Nebraska. Why he wants to stay here. You do too. With him. With this new family the two of you have created. 

“Hey, Mrs. Huckleberry. You’re comin’ with us next Tuesday. That place on Grant. Whitaker knows where it is.” Trinity says as she files out of the room. Something about patients and how every single doctor in the ED cannot be visiting with Dennis. It’s not a question. Not even a request. You laugh.

“Sure thing, Trin.”

Extra

“My sister just texted me. Her wedding is next September.” You mention casually. Dennis nods, pulling out his phone calendar and jotting down the dates he’ll need off. You grin as another text pops up. “She wants to know when you’re gonna put a ring on my finger.”

Dennis doesn’t even look up from his phone as he responds. “After I graduate. You should marry a doctor, not a med student.”

Your eyes widen just a fraction and you smile so sweetly it feels like your teeth are already rotting. You can’t help grabbing his hand and pressing a kiss to the rough palm. 

“Yes.” You murmur against his palm. He tilts his head and you grin. “You can ask me again when you graduate, but I promise my answer will be the same. So, yes, Dennis Whitaker. I will marry you.”