Listen to me Olive Oil iwotlftlgesd

"She'll tell you what she knows," I heard Mr Lock say more clearly, to the police officer, before the door got pushed open.

I glanced at him as he feigned a smile for my sake, making his way over to his desk and sitting opposite me. The police officer followed after him, taking a seat at the edge of the desk and watching me with curious eyes like she was studying my every move.

"As you are probably aware, Miss Y/L/N, your friend Skye has gone missing," Mr Lock began to explain. "Her foster family have tried contacting her, but they can't find her."

I felt nervous with the police officer watching me, trying not to glance her way for fear she'd know I was hiding something.

"We just want to bring her home safely," Mr Lock continued. "And you're the closest person to her."

It wasn't a question – he knew I was the closest person to her. We'd done this back and forth many times before, every time Skye decided to run away. And it didn't get any easier.

I swallowed hard. "If you're asking me if I know where she is, I can promise you I don't."

Technically I wasn't lying, so that wasn't too much of a stretch.

"Have you had any contact with her since yesterday morning?" the police officer asked.

I shook my head and tried to ignore how warm I was getting. "I usually meet her by the entrance before class, but she wasn't there. I thought she was just pulling a sick day or something."

The officer hummed in response and the way she didn't give away what she was thinking didn't help with my nerves.

"So, you know nothing of Skye's disappearance?" Mr Lock asked with a raised eyebrow. "Anything you can tell us will be greatly appreciated. Her family just want her home and we all want her to be safe. You know the drill."

"I want that, too," I lied as confidently as I could. "You know she's done this before... she'll come back. She always does."

Mr Lock sighed and rested his head in his hands; he was clearly exhausted from having this same chat with me every few months Skye decided to leave.

"I think that's everything," the police officer said, before standing up straight. She glanced at me, adding, "Thank you for your cooperation. Please let your teacher know if you hear anything from her."

I nodded awkwardly. "Will do."

Mr Lock stood up, hand on his hip with mild frustration. He nodded my way and waved a hand dismissively. "Okay, you can go now, Y/N. Back to class, go on."

I nodded and looked between them both before grabbing my backpack and heading to the door. I could hear them talking quietly though, and felt mildly guilty for lying.

"...does this regularly now," the police officer was saying. "She'll turn up."

"She's wasting our time," Mr Lock was mumbling. "She always does this and for what?"

I sighed inwardly before leaving his office and heading back to class. I continued on with my school day as normal, up until lunchtime when I got a message from Skye herself.

Heading to the toilets to ensure nobody would see me, I slipped into a cubicle and pulled out the burner phone Skye gave me the first time she ever ran away a few years ago. She was always cautious of being caught out but still wanted to be able to contact me, so this was her solution. I didn't argue it as I only ever wanted to make sure she was okay and I could at least talk to her.

She'd texted me, it reading: Meet me by the ice cream truck in the park after school.

I was relieved to know she was okay, since it was the first text she'd sent me since she left yesterday morning. But it was frustrating that she'd disregarded my many concerned texts before that.

With a huff, I replied: I'm doing good, thanks for asking. You could've texted sooner, Skye.

It took a moment before she responded. Sorry, mom

I rolled my eyes, knowing she'd have that annoyingly cute smile on her face as she texted from wherever the hell she was.

Another text came through from her. Sorry I didn't reply sooner. Everything cool with the cops?

I sighed and hastily replied: Everything is as cool as it can be. I'll talk to you later when I see you. You safe?

Every time she left, she came back without a scratch to my relief, but it didn't make me feel any better when she would leave again and again. Running was her way of rebelling against everything – the countless foster families she went through, the teachers who ridiculed her, the other students who judged her. I didn't know where she went – it would change every time and I was sure she was making it up to make me feel better – but I covered for her because I cared about her and didn't want her to push me away like she did with everyone else. It was getting old though.

Her text came through and the heaviness on my shoulders lifted with relief. I'm always safe. But thanks for caring.

I always care. You know that.

I do. I'll see you later, Y/N. Love you.

I love you, too. See you later.

She stopped responding and I put the phone away before taking a deep breath. Seventeen and Skye had me feeling like a soldier's wife at freakin' war. She was gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.

—

"Over here."

I spun around and felt my racing heart calm down when I saw the familiar teasing smile of Skye watching me behind the abandoned ice cream truck.

"You're okay," I breathed out with relief before moving forward and pulling her in for a tight hug.

She laughed but wrapped her arms around me, squeezing gently. "I always am, I told you."

I refrained from rolling my eyes as I pulled away, meeting her gaze. "I'll always worry, Skye."

Momentarily, her playful demeanour disappeared and was replaced with something genuine. "I know... sorry. Thanks for coming."

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. "Skye, you can't keep running away like this. Mr Lock called me in again. Thinks I know where you are. Says your family are worried."

Skye snorted as she took a seat on the bench nearby. "They're probably throwing a party in my absence. This is just protocol for them. All of them."

I watched her with a pitiful gaze before taking a seat next to her. "The police came again."

"But you covered, right?" Skye asked with a quirked brow.

"Obviously," I said, making her smile, but I didn't return it. "I hate lying to them. It makes me feel... dirty."

"It's not like you're hiding the location of a war criminal, Y/N, chill," she teased, patting my knee.

"Where were you this time?" I asked, afraid to know the answer.

A grin appeared on her lips with remembrance as she reached into her backpack, pulling out a laptop.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Where d'you get that?" 

She seemed proud as she said, "I won it in a bet."

"Skye!"

"What? It was fair play and I happened to win," she said with a shrug.

I facepalmed. "Skye, if you needed a laptop, you should've asked. I could have asked my parents or– or– I don't know–"

"What? Fundraised for the poor foster girl in class who can't buy a laptop like everyone else?" she cut me off bitterly, before replacing the laptop in her bag. "I'd rather not."

I frowned, moving to rest a hand on her back, but she shook me off harshly before standing up.

"Skye, I didn't mean it like that," I said apologetically, standing up, too. "I just meant– I could have helped. I want to help. I don't want you to have to make bets to get stuff. I just want you to be safe."

Skye and I becoming friends was something I never could have seen coming, but when we were partnered in science class in middle school, we kind of just fell into each other's lives. I knew of her situation with her many foster families and always knew she deserved better. Sometimes though, I think she felt the difference in our lives when it came to little things like buying stuff, and I hated it.

"Skye–"

"It's okay," she interrupted, glancing at me with sad eyes. "I know you want to help. But I'm okay."

Treading carefully, I asked, "Where did you go then?"

She ran a hand through her hair. "Library."

I narrowed my eyes. "You expect me to believe that?"

She met my eyes and shrugged. "You don't have to, but it's the truth."

I couldn't be bothered arguing with her, so I simply played along. "Fine. You went to the library and won a bet with someone, getting their laptop."

"Exactly."

I gave her a knowing look. "When are you coming back? To school?"

She was about to respond, but her phone vibrated and she checked it quickly, her eyes lighting up. I tried not to roll my eyes at her change of mood, not wanting to imagine the bond she'd made with her new friends.

She finally answered. "A few days, I promise."

It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing, so I nodded. "Okay. A few days. You'll keep in touch though, yeah?"

"I will, I promise," she said with a small smile before moving forward and hugging me tightly. "Thanks, Y/N."

I sighed but returned her hug, knowing I couldn't stay mad at her for long. "Just please take care of yourself, Skye. And if you need anything – and I mean anything – just ask. Unfortunately, I have a soft spot for your dumbass."

She laughed and admittedly, my stomach did somersaults at the sound. She pulled away but kept within arm's reach, allowing me to see the honesty shining in her brown eyes.

"I'll see you in a few days," she promised. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I replied, watching as she stepped back to leave.

She sent a final smile my way before running away, leaving me standing there alone and with a worried heart.

"More than you'll know," I muttered to myself, knowing I could never tell her how I truly felt.

—

"Won't your mum kill you for this?"

I shrugged, leading Skye through the the party-goers and to the kitchen where the drinks were. "She's okay with it because she knows I'm responsible. Plus, I promised her I wouldn't get drunk."

Skye let out a laugh. "Right. You're at a high school party and you're not gonna drink. That's totally happening."

I poured myself and Skye a drink as I quirked a brow. "I never said I wasn't going to drink. Just that I wouldn't get drunk. There's a difference, Skye."

She seemed impressed as she nodded. "Sneaky."

I was invited to this party by some girl in class and thought it would be nice for Skye and I to go to since it had been a while since we'd hung out. She didn't want to go at first, but after a little convincing on my end, she joined me.

We ended up staying there for about an hour when Skye needed to go to the bathroom and I decided to grab a snack from the kitchen. As I was browsing the bowls and considering whether I wanted to risk grabbing food from a shared bowl, I felt someone tap my shoulder from behind me.

When I turned, I was surprised to see a very tall guy stood there with a smirk on his face.

"It's Y/N, right?" he began the conversation, before suddenly raising his hand and reaching for something in my hair. "Sorry, you had some fluff there."

I smiled awkwardly and pushed my hair behind my ear. "Er, thanks. Yeah, I'm Y/N. I'm sorry, I don't think I recognise you."

He shook his head. "I didn't think you would. We don't go to the same school. I saw you walking around and thought I'd introduce myself."

"Oh, er..." I didn't know what to say as I wasn't really interested in his clear advances.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked suddenly, still smirking at me.

"I already have one," I said conclusively, before aiming to move past him, but he put his arm in the way. I looked at it before raising my eyebrow at him. "You gonna let me go?"

He snickered. "Come on, just let me get you a drink."

"I'm not interested," I told him straightforwardly before attempting to make another move, but he pushed me back gently. "Dude, come on."

"What's one drink gonna do?" he asked persistently (and annoyingly).

"I–"

"She said back off," another voice came out of nowhere, and suddenly Skye appeared and pushed the guy back harshly, stepping between us.

"Skye, I–" I began, but the guy was already glaring down at her with a fake smile on his lips.

"Or what?" he asked rhetorically.

She returned his glare and said nothing. I rested a hand on her arm and tried to tug her backwards, but she wasn't moving. Always the stubborn one.

"What are you gonna do, Skye?" he repeated with bitter humour. "You gonna call the cops? I heard they know you pretty well by now, don't they?"

"Don't speak to her like that," I said angrily, glaring at him.

He began to laugh, shaking his head, before finally walking away. I released a deep breath and watched as Skye turned around to face me.

"Are you alright?" I asked her gently, resting a hand on her arm as I found her eyes.

"Are you?" she countered, looking over me with concern. "That guy was a jackass."

"He was, but I had it under control," I said with reassurance, before downing the rest of my drink and throwing the cup in the bin. "You didn't need to step in."

"Uh, yeah, I did," she said, stepping in my line of sight. "He was a creep."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "Okay, Skye, whatever you say. Thank you."

"You're welcome, now can we leave?"

I shoved her in the shoulder slightly. "We're not leaving. Not yet anyway. There's a foosball table in the other room I wanna play with and you're playing, too."

She sighed dramatically. "Fine."

I grinned at her before dragging her to the other room by her hand.

Another hour passed when I unfortunately began to feel the effects of my drink that I later came to learn was spiked by the arsehole who tried to hit on me. I wasn't particularly aware of my actions, otherwise I definitely wouldn't have done nor said half the things I did. Things like playing beer pong for the third time in a row and losing every game.

"It's just me an' you, Y/L/N," Kate, the girl I was playing with, said as we both a had a cup left. "Think you can win?"

I laughed as I rolled the ball between my fingers. "Third time's the charm...?"

The group of teenagers around us watched with anticipation as I aimed the shot up in my mind. It wasn't exactly helpful that I could barely stand up straight and my eyes were crossing over, making the cup move around slowly.

"One... two... three...," I counted down, before tossing the ball and watching it bounce off the side of the table and onto the floor. "Well, shit."

Everybody laughed as I ran a hand through my hair. Kate chuckled before grabbing the ball and lining it up. Miles better than I did, she aimed quickly and got it in the cup in one shot, resulting in cheers from everyone. I laughed and grabbed the cup, eyeballing the beer. I wasn't really a fan of beer, but a game was a game.

I downed the cup and pulled a face at how disgusting it tasted, before tossing the cup on the floor. I pushed away from the table I was leaning on, before falling back and hitting the floor, butt-first. I giggled to myself as I tried to stand up, but with great difficulty.

"Y/N, there you are!"

I looked up and lit up when I saw none other than Skye standing above me. She bent down and grabbed my hands before helping me stand up. I stumbled into her, but thankfully she caught my weight and let me lean on her for support.

"How did you get drunk so quickly?" she asked with surprise, leading me to the front door. "I've literally been with you. Until you ditched me twenty minutes ago which wasn't cool since I only came to this stupid party because of you."

I laughed. "I'm sorry. I saw the ping pong table and couldn't resist."

She sighed to herself before leading me outside. "You smell like alcohol."

"That's because I had some," I whispered not-so-quietly in her ear, before erupting into giggles.

"I gotta get you home," she mumbled, before searching my pockets. "Where are your keys?"

"My mum is gonna k-kill me," I realised, but a dopey smile was on my lips. "You have to sleepover."

She found my keys and began leading me to my car. "I'm gonna have to, aren't I? So much for not getting drunk."

I covered my mouth to try and stop the laughter from spilling out. She didn't seem amused as she managed to get me into the passenger's seat before rounding the car to the driver's seat. When she got comfortable, I watched her with a childish grin.

"You can't drive," I said in a know-it-all voice. "You didn't pass your test, silly."

She started the engine and began doing her mirror checks before pulling out, muttering, "Nobody has to know."

I watched as she drove, feeling exhausted but lighter than usual. She looked really pretty tonight. I wanted to tell her when we went to the party, but I didn't want her to get the wrong idea. Now however, it was all I could think about and my heart was fluttering at the thought.

"Here, drink this," she ordered, before throwing a bottle of water into my lap.

"But–"

"No buts, just drink it," she said authoritatively, glancing at me.

I didn't want to argue with her, so I began opening the bottle as I giggled to myself. "You said butts."

She groaned to herself and I drank the water as instructed, even if I really didn't want to.

Before I knew it, we had arrived at my house and Skye was helping me to the door.

"Your mum knows you're coming back late, so this shouldn't be a problem," she said quietly, mostly to herself. "Try not to make noise though, okay?"

I nodded obediently, before putting my finger to my mouth. "Sshhhh. Quiet."

She rolled her eyes before using my keys to open the door and drag me inside. I stayed as quiet as I could, letting her take me upstairs and to my room. Only, before we could go in, I heard my mum call out for me.

"Y/N, love, is that you?"

I stared blankly at Skye as she gave me a knowing look with wide eyes, nodding. I continued staring at her as my mum called my name again.

"Answer her!" she whisper-shouted to me.

"But you said to stay quiet," I said with confusion.

She facepalmed. "Just answer her," she said with frustration.

"Well then, no need to get crabby," I mumbled before calling out to mum, "It's me, mum! Skye and I are back!"

There was a pause before she called back, "Okay! Make sure you lock the front door!"

I snickered to myself as Skye shoved me into my bedroom before I could reply.

"Will do, Mrs Y/L/N!" Skye called out before slipping into my room with me.

She flicked on the light as I flopped onto my bed with a satisfied sigh. Suddenly, something was tossed onto my face making me groan as I pulled them off. I realised they were pyjamas.

"Get changed. Now."

I sat up and saw Skye watching me with a stern expression. I couldn't help but smile to myself, giggling. She looked really cute when she pretended to be angry.

"Y/N," she warned.

"I'm not tired," I lied, standing up. I wanted any excuse to keep on talking to her.

"I don't care," she said with a shrug. "You're going to bed whether you like it or not."

"But I wanna talk to you," I whined like a child, before moving forward to grab her hand.

She let go and gently pushed me to the bed. "Don't be a baby, Y/N."

I hugged her quickly, smiling to myself. "Thank you for being here. And for coming with me tonight."

"Yeah, yeah..."

"I'm serious," I said, pulling away and almost falling backwards, but she held me upright. "Thanks."

Her expression softened. "Unfortunately, that's what friends are for, Y/N. I wasn't gonna leave you."

I breathed out, momentarily startled by her sharp gaze. She had the most beautiful eyes, I always thought it. Somehow, she had the power to make me freeze up and forget everything I was thinking or going to say and I never knew why.

"I love you," I said truthfully, not caring what I was saying and too overcome with emotion to care.

She rolled her eyes, a smile of amusement dancing on her lips. "You gotta keep it down, Y/N."

I smiled widely. "But I do."

She gave me a knowing look. "I know you do. And I love you, too, but you have to get ready. Tomorrow morning is not gonna be kind to you."

"No, you don't get it, I really love you, Skye," I said, my mouth going dry as I stared at her with butterflies in my stomach.

"I know," she played along, patting me on the shoulder. "You done, idiot?"

"I'm in love with you," I blurted suddenly, smile disappearing. I stared at her, trying to ignore the blurriness in my vision. "I always have been."

Her smile seemed to fade when she realised how serious I had become. She licked her lips and shook her head slowly, lowering her hands.

"You don't know what you're saying, Y/N," she said quietly.

I grew distracted by her lips, barely acknowledging what was coming out of her mouth. "I do," I told her.

She didn't know what to say, and before I knew it, I had moved forward and pressed my lips to hers. It was something I'd wanted to do for so long and now that I was finally doing it, my shoulders felt lighter as if I wasn't carrying a huge secret on them anymore.

I closed my eyes and momentarily felt her kiss back, hands resting on my chest. It didn't last very long as she gently pushed me away, leaving me face to face with her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. I was sure I didn't look any different.

"You're drunk," she stated awkwardly.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and began to come to terms with what I'd just done, what I'd just ruined. I stepped back and shook my head.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and began to come to terms with what I'd just done, what I'd just ruined. I stepped back and shook my head.

"I'm so sorry, Skye. I–"

"It's okay," she reassured me. "Please, let's just get you ready for bed, okay?"

I avoided her eyes as I nodded, feeling my heart ache with discomfort.

When I woke up the next morning, I didn't remember much from the night before. At least not straight away. All I had to remind me of it was an insane headache that wouldn't go away and a rancid taste in my mouth. Thankfully, Skye caught me up with how drunk I was and how she had to stay with me to cover for me before she left me to shower and freshen up.

Unfortunately for me, showering and freshening up gave me enough time to remember parts of the night before, including the main bit where I kissed my best friend and expressed my feelings for her.

To say I was freaking out was an understatement. I couldn't believe I had done the very thing I had avoided for years. Seeing her at the breakfast table made me wonder why she hadn't mentioned it. Was she embarrassed? Did she want to pretend it never happened? Was she uncomfortable?

I wasn't sure whether to go along and pretend I couldn't remember it, or admit the truth and apologise profusely. In the end, I ended up doing the latter.

We were eating pancakes that she'd made with my mum as I spoke up.

"So, I, er, I'm kinda remembering some stuff from last night," I said awkwardly, glancing up at her.

She slowed down with her eating, avoiding my eyes. "You do?"

I nodded, looking back down to my food. "Yeah. Particularly the, well, I–"

"You don't have to say it," she assured me, and I looked up to see her watching me with a small smile.

"I'm really sorry," I got out with a deep breath. "I don't know why I did that. Or said those things. It was stupid."

"It was?"

"You should've left after that, but you didn't for some reason," I continued with a grimace of embarrassment. "We can totally pretend it didn't happen."

She chewed on the inside of her mouth as she nodded slowly in agreement. I nodded, too, eyes falling to my pancakes.

"Thanks," I mumbled. "And thank you for making sure I was okay. You're a really great friend."

She bit her lip to contain her grin as she patted the van's door proudly. "This is my new rig."

I almost laughed. "You're kidding."

Her smile lessened. "I'm not."

Now I definitely laughed. "Skye, c'mon, be serious. Whose van is this?"

Her smile disappeared as she clenched her jaw with annoyance. "It's mine. Sorry it isn't fancy enough for you, your majesty."

When I realised she was serious, I lost my smile and looked between the van and her. "Skye, where the hell did you get a van? You can't even drive!"

Clearly holding in her anger, she began to push past me and slide the doors shut. "He said you wouldn't get it," she mumbled to herself, but I heard.

"He?" I questioned with raised eyebrows. "Who the hell is he?"

"Miles," she snapped, stopping moving and looking to me. "Miles is the one who got me the van. He said it was a bad idea to show you and clearly he was right, Y/N. You took one look at it and laughed. He was right."

I smiled tightly, trying not to get worked up at the mention of Skye's new friend. She'd befriended this 'Miles' guy within the past few months and wouldn't stop meeting with him and his friends. He was in the grade above us, but just like her, he'd skip class and do God knows what.

Ever since she'd been hanging around them, she'd been standoffish and distant. She wouldn't contact me as much when she ran away, and she'd been skipping school more often than usual. They were clearly a bad influence on her, but she reassured me she was in control of her own life and knew what she was doing. Being the idiot I am, I fell for her pretty smile and convincing eyes, but this was getting too far now.

"No offence, Skye, but I wouldn't start listening to a guy who can't even make it to class on time," I said to her with a hint of annoyance. "Why do you need a van anyway?"

"Why not?" she countered with her arms crossed. "I thought you'd be happy that I'm finally taking responsibility. Growing up."

My expression softened. "I've never once said that you had to do either of those things."

"You don't need to say it," she mumbled, looking down at her shoes with a frown. "I know you think it. Everyone does."

I stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder and finding her eyes with mine. "Where is this coming from? Skye, I have never thought that. All I've ever wanted for you is to be safe and happy. I'm just worried."

She shrugged me off. "Well, now you don't need to be. I've got this."

"You're seventeen, you should be in school studying, not staying in a van," I said tiredly. "You've been missing so much. How are you gonna graduate?"

She avoided my eyes. "That's another thing... I've been thinking and, well, I don't think I want that."

I widened my eyes with disbelief. "What?"

Still avoiding my eyes, she continued, "I don't think I want to graduate."

I was too surprised to find words so quickly. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"How can you not want to graduate?!" I asked suddenly, finding my words. "It's what you do! It's what we all do!"

She met my eyes with apologetic ones. "It's what you do, Y/N. I don't want to be at a place that makes me feel like shit. I can't keep pretending I fit in when I don't."

"This isn't you," I told her sternly. "We were supposed to graduate together. You're not stupid, Skye. I can help you study. You can't just give up."

"I'm not," she said with certainty. "I finally know what I'm doing. That's all."

I squeezed my fists together to contain my frustration. "And what's that?"

"The Rising Tide–"

"For fuck's sake!" I cut her off, before hitting the van door with frustration.

"Miles has taught me a lot!" she defended. "They do a lot of good, Y/N! I just want to be apart of something bigger. Something that can help me help others. And something that can help me find my family. My real family."

I clenched my jaw, knowing I was too late in convincing her otherwise. Whatever Miles and the others had told her about their stupid hacking group had worked – she was dropping out of high school and there was nothing I could do to stop her.

"You're gonna be going to university and we both know I can't afford it," she said gently. "We couldn't stay together forever, Y/N. And my foster family definitely don't care what happens to me. I don't fit in anywhere."

I looked to her with glassy eyes. "You fit in with me. You always have."

She pursed her lips as she stayed quiet.

"I'm sorry I didn't make that clear enough," I added bitterly.

"That's not it and you know it," she muttered, shaking her head. "I have to do this. I have to figure myself out. Alone."

I felt stupid for letting her do everything she did leading up to this point. If I had just tried a little harder, maybe things could have been different.

"You're not alone though, are you?" I asked rhetorically. "You've got your new pals at the Rising Tide. It's their damn fault you're doing all this."

"They're not as bad as you think!"

"You've changed because of them!" I argued back. "They created a barrier between you and I. It's because of them that you've... that you've..."

"What?" she snapped, glaring at me. "That I'm finally thinking for myself?!"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and straightened up. "Forget it, just– forget it. I've got a midterm to study for."

She snickered harshly. "Of course. Don't want me slowing you down."

I stayed quiet and turned around to leave. I couldn't see past my anger as I left her with her stupid van. 

Of course, the two of us had been friends for a lot longer than that silly argument, so I was quick to realise how much I actually cared about her and her life, and wanted to apologise for how harsh and unsupportive I sounded.

The next day after school, I decided to head over to her foster family's place to hopefully talk to her. I'd had enough time to think about it and knew I was a lot more levelheaded now that I'd had some space.

I knocked on the front door and waited before an older blonde woman answered. I recognised her as Skye's foster mum, Sally.

"Hi, Mrs Collins," I greeted with a smile. "I'm looking for–”

"Mary doesn't live here anymore," Sally cut me off instantly, surprising me.

I had almost forgotten that Skye's foster family knew her as the name she was given by her orphanage – Mary Sue Poots.

"She doesn't?" I asked with confusion. "But I thought–"

"Goodbye, Miss Y/L/N," Sally interrupted, before slamming the door in my face.

I blinked with confusion before turning around and walking down the steps. It had been a while since I last visited Skye at home. In fact, she made sure I never visited her at home. I guess now I knew why. But then where the hell was she living?

As I walked around the neighbourhood trying to think about where Skye could be, I saw a familiar van parked up on the side of the street and put the pieces together.

Guiltily, I approached the van and sucked up a deep breath before knocking on the side. It didn't take long for the door to slide open and reveal Skye herself.

"Hey," I said quietly, noticing her surprised expression. "Can we talk?"

She licked her lips nervously and nodded, before moving to the side to let me in. I climbed inside and watched as she shut the door before settling on the seat in front of me. I looked around and realised the little details I hadn't noticed yesterday. The little things that made this place Skye's and nobody else's.

"I'd offer you a drink, but I don't have any," she joked to lighten the mood, and I couldn't help but crack a small smile.

I breathed out before meeting her eyes. "Skye, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have reacted like that. If I had known that this was your home, I–"

"You didn't know," she said, shaking her head with embarrassment. "I didn't want you to know. It's my fault."

I pursed my lips, watching as she looked away with pink cheeks. It hurt me to know that she was embarrassed when I didn't care about any of this, I just cared about her.

"I want you to know that I respect your decision to join the Rising Tide," I said gently, making her look up. "If it's what you want, you should go for it."

"It is," she said with certainty.

I chewed on the inside of my mouth before asking, "Is there no way you can finish high school though? Graduate with me?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to, Y/N."

"But that's the bare minimum," I pleaded. "Hacking isn't a lifestyle. You need to work, too, and I can promise you that most places won't look to hire a high school dropout."

She leaned back in her seat and shrugged nervously. "Miles isn't graduating either. And he's got some friends who haven't graduated. They're all doing fine."

I looked down and pinched the bridge of my nose to contain my frustration. I promised myself I wouldn't argue with her, but the mention of her other friends was like a trigger.

"What now?" she asked with annoyance, realising I was annoyed. "You clearly have something to say about them."

"It doesn't matter," I said, biting my tongue.

"Sure it doesn't," she played along.

"It doesn't," I agreed.

"Yeah, and the Hulk isn't bright green," she said sarcastically.

I looked up and glared at her. She stared back challengingly, practically daring me to speak. So, I did.

"Your new hacker friends are the reason you're making these choices," I told her straight. "They're the reason you're making a huge mistake. The reason you're dropping out. And for what? So you can hack like them?"

She rolled her eyes. "I know you look down on us, but we're more than that."

"Skye, I don't give a shit about them!" I shouted without meaning to. "I only care about you!"

"Then stop talking crap about my friends!" she returned angrily.

"Why do you care about them so much?!"

"They gave me a place to stay when I had nowhere! They made me feel like I belonged!"

I frowned, anger replacing with hurt. "I always offered you a place to stay. I only ever wanted you to be safe. You never needed to be different with me. You belonged. Always."

She swallowed hard and looked away from me ashamedly. "Well it doesn't matter anymore. I'm leaving."

I breathed out deeply. "School? Our town? Leaving what?"

"All of it," she said quietly. "I don't expect you to understand."

I looked down to my fumbling hands, a tear slipping from my eye. I had never felt so angry at someone before in my life. She was treating me like I was a stranger, as if I wasn't somebody who knew her inside out. She was treating me like she treated everyone else except her new friends. And I couldn't deal with it anymore.

"Fine," I said, before moving to open the door. I jumped out her van and didn't spare her a glance as I said, "Have fun with the rest of your life. Sorry I didn't care enough."

She didn't say anything and I didn't expect her to. With a broken heart and headache, I left and didn't bother turning back.

—

"What do you mean she's run away?"

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Mr Lock said apologetically. "Her foster family got the note this morning. They're doing what they can to find her. She always turns up, you know that."

I knew her family didn't care if she was gone or not, so I knew Skye definitely wouldn't be found. Unlike usual, Skye hadn't contacted me before leaving, so something told me she wouldn't be turning up.

Our argument was over a week ago and I hadn't seen her since. It had been eating away at me the way we'd left things, but I couldn't find it in myself to face her. I had no idea what to say anyway. And I wasn't sure when she was planning on leaving, so I didn't think it was important right now. Clearly, I was wrong.

"I just thought you should know," Mr Lock said with a nod. "The police will come by soon to get a statement from you."

As usual. Except this time, I actually had no idea where she was.

I nodded, my mouth going dry. "Thank you... can I go now?"

He nodded hesitantly. "Of course."

I left his office and headed straight outside behind the bleachers where nobody could hear or see me. The first thing I did was try to ring Skye, but there was no answer and no way to leave a voicemail. I tried several times, hoping she'd pick up, but she didn't. And that's when I remembered the burner phone.

Immediately pulling it out, I turned it on and saw the message from her appear on my screen. I was quick to open it, my heart racing like it did every time she ran away. I knew she wasn't coming back this time though.

Hey, Y/N. I know you probably hate me, but I felt like I owed you this. I said I was leaving and I have. I can't tell you where. And I'm not good at goodbyes. I've had too many of them and I couldn't bring myself to say it to you. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I never wanted to, but I guess some things are inevitable, huh? I've managed to do it all my life, this isn't any different. I'm just sorry if I hurt you in the process. Anyway, this is pretty long and I don't even know if you read it, but yeah. I'm sorry. I wish things could have been different.

"Just be careful," he warned.

"Will do," I promised, before checking my watch for the time. "Okay, I gotta go. See ya."

"Good luck," he finished, and I hung up before putting my phone away.

Looking around, I saw the village was quiet seeing as it was pretty late and everyone was in their homes. It was the perfect place to meet with a source for my story on human trafficking.

I headed down the street and waited outside the apartment building for my source. I had no idea what he looked like, but nobody else would be out this late into the night, so he couldn't be hard to spot.

A few minutes passed before I saw a guy approaching me, holding some files in his hands. I straightened up and held his gaze as he stopped before me. He glanced around before looking me up and down.

"You are Y/N?" he asked with a Burmese accent.

I nodded, speaking fluent Burmese as I said, "Yes. You must be Ohnmar? We can speak Burmese if you prefer."

"Okay. We talked earlier, but it wasn't safe then. I have information on the missing residents," he answered in Burmese, before shaking the files. "It's all in here, but you mustn't open it until you get home."

I accepted the files and nodded, though was mildly confused. "Is it about the labour they're doing? I have a theory, but I have no proof. I... I think it might be HYDRA."

He pursed his lips and I figured he was confirming my thoughts, which concerned me.

"I'm right," I realised, before moving to open the file. "I need to–"

"You should've stayed away," he suddenly said in English, and I looked up in confusion.

Before I could question him, he pulled a gun from behind him and hit me on the head, knocking me to the ground. I tried to blink my eyes open, but my vision was blurred and I eventually blacked out, unable to stay awake any longer.

I woke up in a dark room with an aching head and confused mind. It took a moment for me to catch myself up, but I soon realised I'd been tricked by my contact. I was so easily fooled and I felt stupid as I hadn't seen it coming, instead too blindsided by my need for information.

Looking around, I realised I was tied to a chair. The only light in the room was from a single electric lamp plugged in the corner, shedding light on the damaged walls and, to my dismay, a HYRDA logo.

"Well, fuck," I mumbled, before shaking my wrists to try and get free, but they were tied pretty tightly with rope, making me shift uncomfortably at the chafing.

Panic started to set in when the door slammed open in front of me, flooding the room with light and making me close my eyes with discomfort. I heard another slam and opened my eyes when I saw the door closed behind whoever entered.

Two people were in the room and one of them turned the lamp, shining it in my direction and also revealing my assailants' faces. One of them was Ohnmar, my contact, which I guess wasn't his real name. The other wasn't anybody I recognised, and they were both wearing uniforms with the HYDRA logo on the pocket.

"I wouldn't try to escape if I were you," the fake Ohnmar said.

I clicked my tongue and looked between the both of them. "I'm guessing I got a little too close to the truth which is why I'm here. Right?"

"You've been putting your nose in where it doesn't belong," the other guy said. "Did you really think you would get away with this? That we'd let you write about this?!"

I flinched at his loud volume before clearing my throat. "I didn't think I needed your permission. And in case you didn't notice, it's my job to report on this."

Fake Ohnmar scoffed. "We don't care what your job is. Now tell us what you know and what you've told your superiors back home."

I narrowed my eyes. "Do you really think this is the first time I've been captured? I've spent nine months in this village. If you think I'm going to throw that away for you, you better think again."

Fake Ohnmar's friend cracked his neck, pacing with discomfort, before pulling out a gun. I chewed on the inside of my mouth, nerves settling as I tried not to show it.

"We have someone going through your electronics as we speak," he told me, gripping his gun. "Your superiors will get their updates as expected, but you won't be giving them."

"Look, you're gonna kill me whether I tell you or no–"

I was cut off when he smacked me across the face with his gun, making me see stars momentarily. I felt something warm gush from my nose and realised I was bleeding.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with," he muttered, his face inches from my face as he stared me down threateningly. "Now tell us what you know of the missing villagers."

I wiped my nose on my shirt the best I could and chose not to speak. They couldn't do much without knowing what I knew. Everything I'd learnt had been sent back home to the news organisation I worked for, and if I didn't get back to them or call them, they'd know what happened.

"Two things I despise," he mumbled with irritation. "Journalists and Americans." He waved to his friend dismissively. "She won't talk. You know what to do."

Fake Ohnmar nodded obediently before suddenly punching me in the face, once again, leaving me dazed. This went on for a while, him beating me up as an attempt at torture, before the two of them left me alone to 'think about' if I wanted to tell them.

I had been in this situation, surprisingly, two times before in my journalistic career. Both times I was able to get out either by escaping myself or managing to get found by the authorities. Of course, in this case, the latter seemed impossible, so my only hope was escaping myself.

I looked around, but realised I was in too much pain to hatch a plan right now. They'd done a good job on me, and I was sure my ribs were bruised pretty badly. Honestly, I didn't expect nine months of investigative journalism in Myanmar to lead to HYDRA of all places.

—

"You've beat me, starved me..." I coughed because of how dry my throat was. "I'm not talking."

Fake Ohnmar placed something rectangular on the table in front of me. I realised it was my laptop – they must have taken it from where I'd left it in the room I'd been renting downtown.

"You're clever, I'll give you that," he said, crossing his arms and shaking his gun impatiently. "Where did you learn such complicated encryptions?"

I couldn't help but smile when I knew he couldn't get into my laptop. At least not the parts that exposed what I'd learnt so far.

"You do what I do and you learn from past mistakes," I told him, making him clench his jaw.

It wasn't much, probably the only trick in the book I knew as I wasn't exactly an expert with computers. Clearly it was benefiting me today though.

He slammed his hand on the table suddenly, making me jump. "Tell me the password, now!"

I licked my dry lips, choosing to stay quiet. I began to wonder just how advanced these guys were if they couldn't even afford to get a hacker to break through.

"So it's gonna be like that," he said with a shrug, before pointing his gun at my face.

He flicked off the safety and I closed my eyes as calmly as I could, already saying my goodbyes in my head. A few days in a HYDRA cell was like weeks anywhere else. I'd accepted my fate.

I expected the shot to go off any minute now, wondering what things would be like afterwards. Would it hurt? Would it be an instant death?

I certainly didn't expect my left ear to be ringing as an excruciating pain shot up my neck from my shoulder. My eyes opened and I tried to breathe through the pain whilst hoping my ear would stop ringing. The man began to laugh, but I couldn't hear him, only see his evil smile.

When I looked down, I saw blood seeping from a bullet wound in my left shoulder. Despite my experience in this profession, I can't say I'd ever been shot before. It certainly hurt a lot more than I'd imagined.

"You talk and I get you patched up," he said when my hearing returned to normal. I looked up and saw him watching me with narrowed eyes. "You stay quiet and we see how long it takes for you to bleed out."

I swallowed hard, squeezing my eyes shut to contain the pain, before opening them again.

"You're gonna move operations," I realised aloud. "You want to know whether you can. Because if I've told them about you, you know you can't stay here much longer. And if I haven't, you just get rid of me."

He squeezed his gun with irritation, watching as I spoke the truth.

"But either way I die," I repeated. "So why the hell would I want the last thing I do be to help you?"

He grabbed the laptop before kicking the table away with anger. "Call when you feel like talking. We can make your death quick and painless or long and painful."

I smiled bitterly as I watched him leave the room, slamming the door behind him. I released a deep breath as I looked down at my shoulder, trying to make out the damage. I didn't know much about first aid, but I was pretty sure there was no exit wound meaning the bullet was still in there. That was good, right? Or wasn't it...? I couldn't remember. I just knew it hurt like hell.

—

Hours had passed and I began to hallucinate. Silly things like cheeseburgers and dancing water bottles – lack of food and drink, the blood loss and the heat was making my head spin. I wasn't sure if this was where I wanted to die – in a small, dirty, hot room by myself. Was it worth it? Dying over a news story?

Of course it was. I pursued this story after some social media posts about disappearing villagers in Myanmar. I stayed here nine months with each day leading me closer and closer to the supposed human trafficking that was going on. I got to where I was because I wanted to get justice for those who suffered and stop anyone else from suffering. Yet the only people who knew were my editors back home, and I wasn't sure they'd ever know the full truth.

It was better than helping the enemy though.

Just when I thought cheeseburgers were the worst of my delusions, I saw a face I hadn't thought about in a long time. A person who I least expected my mind to drag up in a time like this.

The door opened and I was sure I was going to be questioned again, but in ran none other than Skye. The same Skye who had ran away all those years ago and wasn't to be found.

She looked a little older with her shorter hair, but otherwise she was just as I remembered.

"Hey, I'm gonna get you out of h– Y/N?" she started, before furrowing her eyebrows with confusion.

She even sounded the same, and if I could feel anything at that moment, I'm sure I would've felt my heart beating quickly at the sight of her.

"Can you hear me?"

I began to laugh with what little energy I had left. Is this what it was like to die? Seeing things that you'd pushed down for so long to stop your heart from hurting? It was strange. Why was my mind playing with me like this?

"Y/N, look at me, can you hear me?!" she asked quickly, grabbing my face and forcing me to meet her eyes.

I continued to laugh because it all felt so real. Her touch, her voice, her eyes that peered into me. I wished it was because maybe after all of these years I could have made things right.

—

"Miss, can you hear me? Y/N?"

I blinked the tiredness from my eyes and opened them, trying to remember what was happening. But I was confused and my body was numb and nothing made sense.

"Y/N, sweetie, can you hear me?"

I turned my head, realising I was laying in a bed. There was a woman beside my bed – a doctor, I presumed – staring down at me with a friendly smile on her face. I nodded slowly, my mouth dry.

I couldn't remember getting out of that cell, being rescued. Unless I wasn't rescued and this was still a trap.

At this thought, I widened my eyes and tried to move, panic setting in, but I was attached to a bunch of tubes and my body was still numb.

"Hey, it's okay, you're okay," the doctor tried to reassure, resting her hands on my arm, trying to keep me still. "You're safe here. You're on a S.H.I.E.L.D. quinjet. That's like a plane...? We got you out of that HYDRA cell and I've bandaged your wounds. You don't need to be afraid anymore."

I wasn't sure whether to believe her, but something about the way she spoke and the kindness in her eyes made me relax.

"My name is Agent Simmons," she introduced as she grabbed something from beside me, "but you can call me Jemma."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. On cue, she held a glass of water towards me and helped me sit up enough to have some from the straw. It felt good to have actual water in my system after not being given anything the past two days.

"Not too quickly," she said gently. "Take your time."

I listened to her before laying back down. It took a few tries, but I managed to get out, "Thank you, Jemma. I'm Y/N."

"Y/N Y/L/N, investigative journalist for the New York Times," she stated before an apologetic expression crossed her face. "Sorry. Facial recognition an' all... I hope that doesn't freak you out."

I sighed, not the slightest bit surprised. I knew enough about S.H.I.E.L.D. to know they had the resources to know exactly who I was.

"I don't remember you getting me," I said with confusion. "How did you I know I was there?"

Jemma took a seat on the stool beside my bed. "Well, technically it was Quake who got you out. We had reports of HYDRA activity in that area for a while and we knew an American journalist had been taken, but we didn't know it was you."

I nodded, though I was still confused. "Who's Quake?"

Jemma chuckled, thinking I was joking. But when I met her eyes with confused ones, she lost her smile.

"You're serious? You don't know who Quake is?"

I shook my head. "I've been in Myanmar for nine months, and not in the most advanced areas. I haven't had much access to American news."

"Seriously?" she asked with disbelief, before putting her arms out and shaking them. "Earthquake-causing, vibration-manipulating, tremor-shaking superhero Quake?"

I raised an eyebrow judgementally, making Jemma lower her arms sheepishly.

"Oh, well, she's a hero that works for S.H.I.E.L.D.," she explained.

I nodded slowly, deciding that was something to ask more about later on. For now, I was more concerned about my story.

"You said S.H.I.E.L.D. had been watching that area for a while," I recalled. "Does that mean you found out what happened to the missing villagers? I got as far as working out HYDRA had been using them for some sort of forced labour, but never beyond that."

Jemma got up from her stool and busied herself with other things. "I, er, that's actually classified...? You see, it's not good if we tell you, especially as you're a journalist..."

"But it's my story," I countered with annoyance. "I've been trying to work this out for almost a year. I deserve to know the outcome. Did you save those villagers? Were they all alive? Did the local authorities know?"

Jemma seemed to be getting uncomfortable the more questions I asked and I forced myself to sit up, groaning at the ache in my shoulder.

"You can't hide this from me," I told her. "Please, just tell me."

She grimaced. "It's not my place. I'm not in charge–"

"Then tell me who is!" I shouted with frustration, before taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I just– I've put a lot of work into this and it can't just be taken away. I need to know what happened."

She nodded, avoiding my eyes for fear I'd get angry again. "Look, I can talk to my superiors and find out what I can say. For now, you should really be resting."

I leaned back and breathed out slowly, already feeling my fatigue catching up to me.

"Okay," I said quietly, before asking, "You said we were on a plane. Where are we going?"

"That's actually classified as well," she said regretfully, making me sigh. "We're going to our headquarters. But after that, we'll be taking you home or wherever you want us to take you."

At the mention of home, I grew hopeful. It had been so long since I'd been back. I wasn't exactly in the right state to be living by myself, so I was glad that I had made the choice to leave my flat and move in with my parents before leaving for Myanmar. Plus, I had missed them dearly. To be back there was almost unimaginable.

"Can I ring my parents?" I asked hopefully. "Just to let them know I'm okay? And that I'm coming soon?"

Jemma nodded, offering a small smile. "Of course, Y/N. I'll go grab you a phone."

She left the room momentarily and I took that as my chance to get a good look around. It looked like a hospital room you'd find anywhere, except without windows and with card-activated doors that had tiny glass windows showing a narrow hallway. I didn't get to look around for too long as Jemma returned pretty quickly, handing me (what looked like) a normal mobile phone.

"I'll give you a moment of privacy, but please only call your parents," Jemma warned as politely as she could.

I cracked a small smile. "What – are you guys tracking the phone or something?"

She chewed on her lower lip as she looked down, making my smile fade as I realised that's exactly what they were doing. I wasn't surprised, I guess.

"Right, okay, no other calls, got it," I agreed with a nod.

She left me to it as I dialled my mum's mobile number and eventually spoke to both her and my dad. It was emotional to say the least, as I tried not to worry them too much without withholding the truth. They knew when I was lying so it was better to just be honest. Of course, they were happy to have me stay at theirs until I was back on my feet and the call ended with my mum scolding me for not resting as the doctor recommended.

Finally succumbing to the tiredness I was feeling, I fell asleep for God knows how long, but when I woke up, I felt more refreshed. Similar to before, Jemma was in the room, checking some charts. She caught my eye when I woke up and smiled reassuringly.

"Feeling better?" she asked, setting down the chart and rounding the bed.

I nodded. "Yeah, thanks... how long was I asleep for?"

"About six hours," she guessed, waving her hand. "We've landed at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ and our agents are debriefing. Once everything is sorted here, we can take you home to New York and arrange a driver to take you to wherever you want."

"My parents' house," I clarified.

She smiled and nodded. "Right. Your parents' house. How are you feeling?"

I tried to sit up and she helped me as I smiled gratefully in return.

"I'm not gonna lie, being shot hurts like a bitch," I admitted, grimacing as I glanced at my shoulder and arm in a sling.

"First time?"

"And hopefully the last," I retorted, before looking to her. "How long will this take to, y'know, get better?"

"Well, I'll need to keep you here for observation over the next few days," she explained. "When I'm happy with the outcome, I'll send you home and you'll need fortnightly checkups at the hospital. Overall I'd say a month? Maybe more if there's no... er... other issues."

"I know you mean PTSD," I told her bluntly, before frowning. "Doing what I do requires knowledge of that."

"There's going to be support available for you, both here and back home," Jemma reassured, resting a hand on mine and offering a small smile. "You're not alone, Y/N."

I nodded, clearing my throat. "I know... I know. Thanks."

She nodded and moved to the other side of the room to grab something, before wheeling a tray of food over to me.

"Hope you're hungry," she joked. "It's nothing fancy, but it's pretty good."

I smiled and accepted the food. "Means a lot, thanks."

I took a bite out of my sandwich as I remembered something. When I finished chewing, I wiped my face with the napkin before looking to Jemma who was at her desk.

"Er, Jemma," I called, making her look up. "Did you find out what happened to the villagers?"

She pursed her lips and nodded. "I've spoken to my superiors. I know you've been working on this and I'm only permitted to tell you so much."

I waited patiently, not wanting to snap at her like last time.

"The missing villagers were in fact taken by HYDRA, like you predicted," she explained. "They were forced into labour at a facility that was under the guise of a food warehouse."

"What was the labour?" I asked curiously.

She ran a hand through her hair. "I can't tell you much, but I can say that it was a nuclear weapon that could've hurt a lot of people. S.H.I.E.L.D. managed to stop it before they could finish it, which is when we found out that a journalist had been taken. That was when we came for you."

I released a deep breath, definitely not expecting that. At least they had been stopped.

"Did the missing people return to their families? Were they okay?" I asked hesitantly, remembering the many families I spoke to of the missing. I'd grown attached and I don't think I could have taken more bad news.

"Most of them, yes!" she exclaimed hopefully, but I could tell the following news wouldn't be good. "But not all of them were okay. There's some psychological damage and unfortunately physical damage, too. HYDRA did a number on them."

I massaged my head with my right hand, trying not to get upset, but the guilt in the pit of my stomach wasn't helping. I had one job, literally, and I couldn't even do it right.

"Y/N–"

"Do you have a list?" I asked, cutting her off. "A list of who made it?"

"Y/N, I don't think–"

"Please," I pleaded. "I spoke to the families of those who were missing. I got to know them. I need to know who's not getting their loved ones back."

She frowned, but nodded slowly. "I'm sure I can do something."

I sighed and my shoulders sunk with disappointment. Just another day on the job.

—

It had been a few days since being rescued by S.H.I.E.L.D. and I was itching to get home, but Jemma insisted I be observed for at least another day.

Under different circumstances, I would have been eager to explore the quinjet and get more information out of Jemma about her place of work, but I was too exhausted to care. Instead, I revelled in being taken care of and having a break from work.

I was laying in bed, reading a book, when Jemma walked in and caught my attention. I tried not to bother her as she was clearly working on other stuff, but it got pretty boring sitting in a room by yourself all day.

"Hey," I greeted with a smile, lowering my book.

"Hello," she returned as she took a seat at her desk, going on her computer. "You doing alright?"

"As alright as I can be, considering," I said, shrugging with my right shoulder. "Just a bit bored."

"The book not good?" she asked, nodding to my hand.

"I've read it," I admitted. "I just didn't wanna be a bother and ask for another one."

She chuckled. "You could have said something."

"It's okay," I assured her, before leaning back. "So, up to anything fun?"

She gave me a knowing look. "Are you seriously that bored?"

I nodded, pursing my lips, making her laugh. Eventually, she stared at me curiously.

"There's actually something I wanted to ask you," she admitted, crossing her arms and leaning back on her chair. "If you don't mind."

Wanting any distraction from my boredom, I nodded. "Go for it. I'm all ears."

"I've been reading some of your work," she shared. "You're really talented and you've been through your fair share of tough scrapes."

I chuckled. "I guess, yeah. And thank you. What's the question exactly?"

She looked at me like it was obvious. "What made you want to do this as a job? Investigative journalism?"

I played with the corner of the book as I answered thoughtfully, "Well, I guess I've always enjoyed writing and delving deep into stuff. The important stuff, y'know?" I looked down at my hands as I remembered Skye. "There was actually this girl I knew back in school. She was a friend and she, er... she was always wanting to find and expose truths. About herself, the world... I guess she kind of influenced me in a way."

I chewed on the inside of my mouth as I remembered my hallucination. Skye seemed to be coming up a lot more in my life lately, more than I was prepared for.

"I'm guessing she isn't with you anymore," Jemma realised, expression softening. "I'm sorry."

I forced a small smile, looking up and shaking my head reassuringly. "It's okay, it doesn't matter."

Jemma smiled in return, but I could see the pity present in her eyes. "I'm sure whoever she was, she'd be proud of you now. For everything you've done."

"Thank you, Jemma, but I... I'm not too sure about that."

"I am."

I froze at the sound of a familiar voice. Was I hallucinating again? No, that couldn't be. I was getting better. But that sounded so real...

"Proud of you, that is," the voice continued, and I risked looking towards the door where I saw none other than Skye standing there with a nervous smile on her lips.

When I met her gaze, I knew she wasn't a figment of my imagination. Those piercing brown eyes couldn't be fake.

"Hey," she got out, barely a whisper.

I licked my lips and tried to look away, but my heart was suddenly racing in my chest. She was just how I saw her last, but I guess that had been real now.

"I should give you guys a moment," Jemma said, pulling me from my reverie and making me look away.

She walked out, past Skye, leaving us both alone. I was still in shock though, too startled to say anything.

"How are you?" she asked gently, and I still couldn't believe I was hearing her voice after all these years. When I didn't say anything, she continued, "I know this is strange, but–"

"Strange?" I finally found my words, eyebrows raised. "What exactly is strange? The part where I'm sure I'm seeing a ghost right now as I you presumed you were dead after not being able to find you for years after you left, or the part where you've probably been at S.H.I.E.L.D. the whole time and didn't bother to tell me you were okay? Which part is strange exactly?"

She frowned guiltily, eyes falling to her shoes. "When I left–"

"Ran away," I corrected her, bitterness slashing through like a sharp knife, surprising the both of us.

She glanced at me, nodding. "Right... when I ran away, I left you a message."

I almost laughed, a sarcastic smile on my lips. "Don't even get me started on the excuse veiled as a message you left me. The cowardly way out you took because you couldn't face me."

She met my gaze nervously. "I didn't think you'd be this angry after all this time. It happened so long ago."

"Of course I'm angry!" I shouted with frustration, making me grimace at the pain in my shoulder, but I didn't stop. "You left without a single trace of Skye or Mary left behind! You left me with nothing but concern for your wellbeing! I thought you were dead!"

I hadn't realised how I angry I was after all this time, but it made sense. When she first left, I always imagined what I would say to her when I found her again, what our reunion would be like. But when the years went on and I accepted she was truly gone, all of that worry turned into bitterness and resentment. And now, seeing her here... I was furious.

"Y/N, I know you're upset, but–"

"Just get out," I told her with a glare. "I appreciate you saving me and all, but get out."

"Y/N," she pleaded, but I looked away and pressed the button on the side of my bed.

Jemma soon returned and looked between Skye and I with confusion and reluctance.

"Everything okay here?" she asked.

I looked up and met Skye's guilt-filled gaze. "My shoulder hurts."

Skye seemed to get the hint and nodded once more before finally leaving the room. I breathed out a shaky breath, before swallowing the lump in my throat and letting Jemma help me.

"...and just in case you happened to tune out to everything I said, it's all written here," Jemma finished, and I looked up to see her watching me with a knowing expression as she held out a piece of paper.

I accepted the paper and read the top; it was about the aftercare for my injuries.

"Sorry," I apologised quickly. "I really appreciate the help."

"It's okay, I know you've got other things on your mind," she said, leaning against the table as she watched me with concern. "I know it's not my place, but I've known Daisy a long time now and I know she's clearly apologetic about whatever happened between you both. She really wants to talk to you before you go."

I quirked a brow. "You mean Skye?"

She shook her head with realisation. "Sorry, yes. You know her as Skye."

Unable to stop my curiosity, I asked, "Why did she change her name?" Jemma seemed reluctant to respond, so I asked again. "Why, Jemma?"

"A lot has happened since you last saw her," she admitted. "She found out the truth about her family, her powers..."

"Her powers," I repeated slowly. "Because she's Quake."

"It's a long story," Jemma said conclusively. "You should talk to her though."

I looked down, considering what she was saying and definitely curious to who Skye was now, but I was also tired and wanting nothing more than to go home.

"When does the car come to pick me up?" I asked quietly.

Jemma sighed but straightened up. "Ten minutes. I'll have someone escort you out."

"Thanks," I mumbled, and she left to do just that.

As planned, I was allowed to leave the S.H.I.E.L.D. quinjet and go home, providing I agreed to some terms and conditions. I was allowed to write and publish my report on the human trafficking story, as long as I left out certain elements. I tried arguing it, but they were adamant and I guess, after all, I owed them my life, so I agreed.

When I reached home, my mum was the one to answer the door, already crying tears of happiness to my embarrassment.

"I can't believe you're here," she said between happy crying, whilst holding me tightly.

"Mum, I'm okay, I told you I was," I said, but couldn't stop the relieved smile from appearing on my lips. "I missed you."

She kissed the side of my head as she pulled away. "I missed you, too. Nine months, Y/N. Nine whole months."

"I know," I said, wiping away a tear that slipped from my eyes. "But I'm back now. Thank you for letting me stay with you."

"You know you're always welcome," she told me. "Speaking of, your dad is making up your bed now. C'mon, let's go see him."

I smiled, feeling myself fully relax now that I was in my childhood home.

–

S.H.I.E.L.D.'s new hero saves the day yet again!

Quake to the rescue!

Earth-trembling hero revealed as partner of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Avengers new competition with fellow hero QUAKE

I chewed on my lower lip as I read through the many articles about Skye AKA Quake. Not only was it startling that I had managed to miss a major plot twist in society by being MIA in Myanmar, but I could barely believe this crime-fighting superhero was Skye– Daisy, whatever her name was. She'd done so much good... and she'd saved me.

I leaned back in my chair, feeling like the seventeen year old I was when Skye left. I was back in the same house in the same neighbourhood as I was then and it felt like all of the feelings were rushing back. It was almost like a fever dream.

"Y/N?! Can you get the door?!"

"Okay, one sec!" I called back to my mum.

I took another look at the photos of Quake in the news from the past year. All I could think about was what Jemma said, about her finding her family and learning the truth. That was all she had wanted and now she finally had it. Looks like leaving was good for her...

Sliding my chair back, I got up and headed downstairs to the front door, but I saw my mum already there, about to open it.

She glanced at me disapprovingly. "If you say okay, would it kill you to get up? I was getting food out the oven."

"Sorry," I said with a sheepish smile.

She opened the door and I was about to head back up, but my mum's gasp took me by surprise.

"Miss Y/L/N, it's been a long time. It's great to see you."

"Oh my god, Skye..." My mum turned around and called, "Y/N, Skye is here!"

I pursed my lips and turned around, seeing her opening the door wider and pulling Skye inside.

"It's so good to see you, sweetie," my mum said, before pulling Skye in for a hug.

Skye was surprised, but a smile fell on her lips as she returned the hug.

"It's been so long, look at you," my mum said to her when she pulled away, before resting a hand on her shoulder. "You're all grown up."

Skye breathed out, looking down at herself before smiling up at my mum. "I– yeah. I have. And you look... well, exactly the same."

My mum chuckled before looking up to me as I stayed standing on the staircase. "Honey, look who it is!"

I forced a small smile, walking down the stairs. I met Skye's gaze and her smile faded as she looked to me apologetically.

"I'm gonna go get your father," my mum said to me, before looking to Skye with a look of disbelief. "Wow. We missed you so much, dear. I'm so glad you're okay."

She left before Skye could say anything, leaving me to close the front door and turn around to look at Skye with an emotionless gaze.

"I'm sorry for just barging in like this," she said instantly. "I was gonna call, but I needed to talk to you in person. Jemma said you came here and I just– I didn't think."

I swallowed hard. Now that I had time to get over my initial shock of her being, well, alive, I wasn't so easily triggered.

"I can leave," she said, when I didn't speak. "I can come back tomorrow if you want me to. I just had to see you."

I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. "I don't think my parents are gonna let you leave. At least not until you've eaten dinner with us."

She opened her mouth to respond, but as if on cue, my mum returned with my dad in tow. He seemed just as surprised as my mum was and immediately gave Skye a quick squeeze.

"You're here!" my dad said with shock. "When Y/M/N told me, I thought she'd confused a stranger for you again. You know, she's done that so many times in Walmart."

"It's good to see you, Mr. Y/L/N," Skye said with a small smile.

"I've said it a million times before and I'll say it again, please call us Y/M/N and Y/D/N," my mum insisted.

"Right, sorry," Skye apologised with embarrassment.

"You have to tell us everything," my mum continued excitedly. "Where you've been, how you are, if you're well. I've just taken the roast out the oven. You have to stay for dinner."

"Told you," I mumbled so only Skye could hear.

She glanced at me apologetically before looking to my parents. "I really appreciate the offer, guys, but I can't impose like that. I was just hoping to see Y/N and–"

"There'll be plenty of time for you both to catch up after dinner," my mum said, before pushing Skye gently towards the dining room. "You must stay."

I sighed to myself as my dad nudged me in the shoulder encouragingly. Him and my mum knew how badly I missed Skye when she left, how much she meant to me. And I think my mum knew she meant just a little more than a friend, so this must've been a big deal for me in their eyes. And it was, I guess. But too many things were happening at once and I wasn't sure I could keep up.

Heading into the dining room, I saw they'd already sat Skye at the table, opposite me with both my parents on either end.

"Take a seat, Y/N, I'll bring the food in now," my mum said, ushering me to the table.

"I can help–"

"With that shoulder? I don't think so," my dad said, before joining my mum in the kitchen.

I pressed my lips together and took a seat at the table, noticing they'd already made a setting for Skye. They really didn't waste time.

"If it's any consolation, she wouldn't let me help either," Skye said, trying to lighten the mood, but I wasn't amused.

My parents soon returned with the dinner and left it on the table before taking their seats. Well, my mum did whilst my dad began putting food in for everyone. Once everyone had their dinners, my mum was quick to begin the questioning.

"So, Skye, what's new with you? What are you doing these days?"

I distracted myself with my food as I saw Skye looking between my parents in my peripheral.

"Well, I actually go by Daisy now," she corrected politely. "Daisy Johnson. Which, I guess, I can say that I found my parents. My biological ones."

"Oh, Daisy, that's a beautiful name," my mum said with a gasp. "I'm so happy for you. That's huge."

I glanced up at Skye– Daisy, as she smiled to herself. So, she'd found her parents after all this time.

"Yeah, it is," she agreed, before continuing, "They were hard to track down, but I found them through S.H.I.E.L.D.. I work for them now, as a field agent."

"S.H.I.E.L.D....," my dad said, furrowing his brows, before looking to me. "Aren't they the ones who rescued you?"

I nodded awkwardly. "Yeah, dad... it was actually, er, Sky– Daisy, who rescued me."

"You found Y/N?" my dad asked, before smiling with disbelief. "You're like a superhero!"

"Quake, to be exact," I mumbled, before stabbing the meat in my plate with a fork.

"You're Quake?" my mum asked with raised brows. "That girl on the news with powers?!"

Daisy seemed embarrassed as she nodded. "Yeah. It's a really long story, but I'm an inhuman. I was taken from my parents as a baby. HYDRA. Some S.H.I.E.L.D. agents found me and tried to keep me safe by putting me in different foster homes."

"Daisy, sweetie..." My mum frowned as she heard her story.

As annoyed as I was, I couldn't help but listen intently as Daisy spoke. She'd always shared the different possibilities that she imagined about why her parents had given her up. This wasn't exactly one of them...

"It's okay though, because I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. now and they look after me," she finished with a smile. "And I got to meet my parents before they died, so it's not all bad."

I exchanged looks with my parents and knew they were pitying her all the same. She'd found her parents only to lose them again... that wasn't fair.

"We're happy you found the answers you were looking for," my mum said with a sad smile. "And I'm sorry we couldn't meet your parents, but I'm sure they were lovely people."

"Oh, I told them about you," Daisy said with a nod, before looking around at us all. "All of you. About how you were there for me when nobody else was. About how you treated me like family even though I wasn't. They wanted to meet you, too."

"Well, Daisy, you know you're still family to us," my dad said proudly. "You're always welcome here."

"We were hoping that one day you would show up," my mum admitted. "Y/N especially. She really missed you."

"Mum," I groaned, mildly embarrassed.

"Sorry," she laughed, "I don't mean to make you feel awkward. I guess what I'm trying to say is we're really happy you're back Daisy."

Daisy met my eyes with her apologetic ones. "Me, too."

–

Dinner pretty much consisted of my parents wanting to know every little thing about Daisy's life and proceeding to tell her about mine, even when I wasn't getting involved. To say I was glad it was over was an understatement.

"You sure you don't want a hand?" Daisy asked for the third time, as my parents began clearing the table.

"You guys should catch up," my mum said quietly, but of course I heard it.

Daisy nodded and smiled at them both before following me into the hall. I could tell she wanted to say something, but didn't know how. So, I spoke up.

"Wanna go for a walk?" I asked awkwardly.

"Sure," she agreed, and waited for me to put my shoes on before following me out the door.

The sun was setting over the city as we walked down the street, a silence between us. I think she was waiting for me to say something, but I didn't know how to begin.

"Er, where are we going exactly?" she asked, hands in her jacket pockets as she walked by my side.

I almost smiled. "Remember the ice cream truck?"

She looked up instantly, surprise on her face. "That's still here?"

"Oh, no. They got rid of it a few years back. Replaced it with some playground equipment."

"Huh," she said, looking ahead. "Who would've thought it?"

I cracked a small smile, accidentally admiring her side profile. When I caught myself doing so, I cleared my throat and looked forward, walking the rest of the way in silence. Eventually, the park came into sight and I led her to the swing set that now replaced the old ice cream truck. It was pretty much empty since it was getting late.

"Very nice," Daisy approved lightheartedly, before sitting on the swing and moving back and forth slowly.

I sat on the one beside her, holding onto the chain with my free hand and gently rocking with my feet.

"Sorry that dinner was awkward," she said, making me look to her. "I didn't think your mum would make me stay. I only wanted to talk to you."

I shrugged, looking down. "They missed you. I'm not surprised they made you stay."

Daisy hummed in response, but the awkwardness still lingered.

"I never thanked you properly for saving my life," I said suddenly, unable to meet her eyes. "I know I was angry back on the quinjet, but I should've said thank you without the shouting. So, thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," she replied, and I grew nervous as I felt her eyes on me. "I was just doing my job."

"Right."

It was silent between us again and I grimaced as I couldn't find the right words. I had so much to say to her, so much planned, but now that I had her here, I felt like I had stage fright.

"You were right what you said, about me being a coward for leaving you with that message," she said regretfully. "I should've said goodbye. In person."

I sighed. "Sky– Daisy, sorry. Daisy, I didn't mean to say all those things. I was still shaken up from the whole HYDRA thing and seeing you was like no time had passed. That you were still my best friend who left me. I reacted horribly."

"But you were right," she said simply.

I finally looked to her, seeing the guilt in her expression. I frowned, feeling bad.

"You were just a kid," I reminded her. "You were going through a lot. I wouldn't have understood." She didn't say anything, so I added, "Besides, if you hadn't gone, you wouldn't have found your real family. And that's all you'd ever wanted."

She pressed her lips together uncomfortably, nodding to show she was listening, but I knew her well enough to know the guilt was still present.

"Daisy's a pretty name," I changed the subject, offering a small smile. "It suits you."

Daisy smiled to herself, nodding. "Thank you. My dad chose it."

I breathed out, still in disbelief. "You really did it, huh? You found your parents."

"I found them by hacking S.H.I.E.L.D.'s systems," she explained, eyes flickering between me and the ground. "I found a redacted document with my name on it not long after I left here."

"So I guess hacking benefited you more than I thought," I tried to joke, but we both felt uncomfortable and I immediately regretted saying it.

"I wanted to contact you as soon as I found it," she admitted. "To tell you what I'd found and how I was one step closer."

My expression softened as I looked to her. "Why didn't you?"

She shook her head, distracting herself by swinging gently. "I couldn't bring myself to do it. We'd ended on such a bad note and–"

"I wouldn't have minded," I told her. "I was hoping you would. I waited, but you–" I sucked up a breath as I remembered. "You didn't. And I tried looking for you, but you didn't want to be found."

She smiled sadly, eyes reflecting how I felt. I felt a tug in my gut as I remembered all the time I spent looking for her, just wanting to know if she was okay. I presumed she was dead when I found nothing... it was like it happened yesterday.

"I thought living in the shadows would work," she explained. "I deleted myself from the world. But S.H.I.E.L.D. found me anyway, and from there, the rest is history."

"Well. it all worked out for you and I'm glad," I told her truthfully. "You're happier now. More confident than the seventeen year old girl I remember. It was all I wanted for you."

"I appreciate that," she said, shoulders relaxing and meeting my gaze.

As I looked between her brown eyes reflecting golden in the evening sun, I felt my insides turning to mush. She was still as beautiful as I remembered, still the girl I missed. And now she was back. She was finally back and that thought made me feel emotional all of a sudden.

"Daisy?"

She blinked. "Yeah?"

I pursed my lips, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I really missed you."

She laughed and it made my stomach flip. Her eyes were glassy as they met mine. "I missed you, too, Y/N."

I stood up and she seemed to get the hint as she met me halfway, stumbling into a tight hug. I used my good arm to squeeze her, afraid that if I loosened my grip, she'd be gone. I found it amazing how even after so long, she still felt the same and my body knew where to fit in with hers.

My head tucked into her neck as my arm wrapped around her waist. I felt her return the hug, arms around my shoulders as they always had been. It felt good to have her back.

—

"Mum, I'm home!" I called as I let myself into our house.

"In here!" she called back and I followed her voice to the kitchen, where I was surprised to see her washing up with the help of Daisy.

"Oh, hi," I said, mildly startled, as I saw the brunette drying the dishes.

"Hey," she greeted with a smile, though her cheeks were turning a little pink. "I was gonna call, then I realised I don't have your phone number. So, I stopped by and your mum kind of..."

"I thought she could wait here until you came back," my mum finished, glancing over her shoulder and shooting me a smile.

Daisy looked to me with an apologetic expression and I couldn't help but suppress a smile.

"I should probably give you my number," I said with amusement.

Her shoulders relaxed as she breathed out through her nose humorously. 

Since she'd stopped by last time, we hadn't really established what would happen from then on out. I wasn't sure she had time to visit or anything, since she was a literal superhero, but I guess I was wrong.

"How was your hospital appointment?" my mum asked, before nudging Daisy and adding, "I'll finish up, sweetie."

"It was alright," I told her as Daisy dried the last dish and stepped away. "Just a checkup."

"The doctor say anything important?" she asked with concern.

"Nothing you wouldn't expect," I mumbled, not exactly liking the hospital. "I'm fine, mum, I promise."

"Okay, if you say so," she said apologetically. "I just get worried."

I sighed, before looking to Daisy. "Anyway, what's up?"

"You eaten?" she asked with a quirked brow. "I thought we could grab lunch. We didn't properly catch up last time and yeah."

I smiled. "I'd like that. I'm pretty much ready to–"

I jumped at the sound of a pan hitting the kitchen floor, my ears ringing at the noise. I closed my eyes as a reflex, hoping the ringing would subside, but it only got louder, and then the pain in my shoulder got worse.

"Tell me the password, now!"

I tried to block his voice out, knowing I wouldn't give him what he wanted.

"So it's gonna be like that, is it?"

The shot was still loud and clear, sending my whole body into an aching, burning pain. I couldn't breathe, I felt like my lungs were shrinking and oxygen was disappearing.

"Hey, I'm gonna get you out of h– Y/N?!"

I shook my head frantically, tears pooling in the corner of my eyes. "You're not real... you're not real..."

"Y/N, hey, look at me."

I squeezed my eyes tighter, hoping her voice would go away. "Y-you're not real..."

I felt a hand rest on my shoulder and opened my eyes. Through my blurry vision, I could see Daisy kneeling in front of me, watching me with concern.

"I'm real, I'm right here," she said gently, eyes never leaving mine. "You're okay."

"You're not– you're– you're not here–"

"Focus on me, Y/N," she urged, before resting both hands on my arms. "You feel that? That's real. I'm real. I'm here."

The pounding in my ears subsided when I felt my insides jolt a little. Whatever Daisy was doing, I could feel my insides shaking, just a little, but enough for me to know it was real. That I wasn't still being held prisoner nor hallucinating.

My breathing calmed down as I blinked the tears away, able to see Daisy looking between my eyes with worry. I sucked up a deep breath and looked around, realising I was curled up on the kitchen floor, back to the cupboard. I could see the fear in my mum's expression by the sink as she watched over Daisy and I, and I could see the pan still on the floor where she'd dropped it.

"I'm sorry," I finally said something, eyebrows furrowing as I looked down to my shaking hands. "I'm so sorry."

"You don't need to apologise," Daisy said quickly, before holding out her hand. "It was a panic attack, it happens. But you're okay."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and avoided her eyes. Accepting her hand, I let her pull me up and I barely glanced to my mum.

"Honey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she said apologetically, stepping forward and pulling me in for a careful hug.

"It's not your fault," I tried to reassure her. "It was nothing."

"That wasn't nothing," she said, cupping my cheek with uncertainty. "Is it–"

"I don't wanna talk about it," I cut her off, still shaken up but not wanting to worry her anymore than I had. "I'm okay. I promise."

"How about we take a seat or something?" Daisy spoke up hesitantly, before looking to my mum. "Tea could help."

"I don't need to sit down or have t–"

"Tea, got it," my mum cut me off, making me roll my eyes. "Go sit inside with Daisy, Y/N."

I looked to Daisy who offered a small, reassuring smile. I breathed out, too tired to argue, and followed her into the living room to sit on the couch. She sat beside me and kicked her shoes off before pulling her legs onto the couch and facing me. I rolled my eyes and looked the other way. She was still watching me though.

"You gonna keep staring?" I asked sarcastically.

"Depends," she shrugged, "you gonna keep pretending you're okay when you're not?"

I finally looked to her and narrowed my eyes. "That's not your place."

Her expression softened as she lost any signs of playfulness. "Y/N, what happened back there? I've seen it before. With other agents. It's called–"

"I know what it's called," I interrupted, looking down to my lap.

"Then you know why you have it," she said softly. "I only want to help."

I stayed quiet, wiping away the wetness under my eyes from before.

"Has that happened to you before since you were, well, captured?"

I pursed my lips, using my nail to scratch at my jeans with distraction. I could feel her gaze on my profile, making me nervous.

"Y/N–"

I didn't mean to pull away when she reached out, it was a bad reflex is all. But I immediately regretted it when I saw the hurt flash across her expression.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she apologised, moving away slightly. "It was the only thing I could think of back there. You kept saying I wasn't real and I– I thought I could help."

My eyes flickered between her hands and her face. "It's not that. Sorry, I'm just–" I sighed impatiently. "I see it sometimes, when I'm asleep. I have nightmares. And they feel so real."

She nodded to show she was listening. "Have you told your doctor?"

I shook my head. "I thought I had it under control. I thought I was okay, that it would go away."

"It doesn't just go away," she said regretfully. "It takes time. And you have to talk about it."

I shook my head quickly. "I can't. Not to my parents. I can't worry them anymore than I have. They don't deserve that."

"I'm not talking about them," Daisy said knowingly. "S.H.I.E.L.D. are paying for your hospital bills. They can pay for therapy, too."

I refrained from rolling my eyes. "Yeah, I tried to tell them that I can look after myself, but they didn't listen. I don't need their help."

"Y/N, you need to–"

"Can you just drop it? Please?" I cut her off. "I'm fine."

She pursed her lips as she nodded. Just on time, my mum walked in with a cup of tea and set it in front of me on the coffee table.

"How are you feeling?" she asked carefully.

I gave her a small smile. "I'm okay, mum, I promise."

She nodded. "That's good to hear... you know, I was thinking and well, don't they offer therapy for stuff like this? To help you, I mean?"

I sighed quietly, not wanting to repeat the same conversation again.

"Maybe your work can offer something, right? Or we can find someone for you?" she continued hopefully.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. can help," Daisy inputted, and I looked up to see her glancing at me hesitantly. "They have a plethora of resources available. Therapists who have helped many agents and who can help Y/N."

"And you can organise this for her?" my mum asked.

"Of course," Daisy said matter-of-factly.

"Did you hear that, Y/N? Daisy can help," my mum said as if I wasn't even in the room.

"I said I'm fine," I said quietly, trying to resist the urge to get angry.

"But she knows people," my mum continued. "They can help you. I know you haven't been sleeping."

"I said I'm fine!" I said, not meaning to raise my voice. I breathed out, looking between them both. "I don't need help. I'm not a child. You don't need to babysit me and my health. I'll be okay, okay?"

I didn't leave them much space to respond as I stood up and left, deciding to head straight to my room. It's not that I wasn't appreciative of them, but it was none of their business! And the last thing I needed was them treating me like I was incapable.

"Hey, how are you doing?" she asked, pulling me in for a quick hug and making my insides melt where her body pressed to mine. God's sake, Y/N, pull yourself together.

"I'm good," I answered casually. "Thanks for picking me up. You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," she answered with a shrug, as the two of us made our way outside. "So... you gonna make me beg? How was your first day back?!"

I ignored the playful grin on her face and answered, "It was nice to be back. I took it slow, but it felt good to be somewhere other than the hospital or my room."

She nodded to show she was listening, eyes watching me intensely and making me nervous without realising. I cleared my throat and avoided meeting her eyes directly, knowing she'd render me speechless.

"Did they mention your amazing story at any point?" she tried to coax it out of me, nudging me in the side gently. "You know, the one that's everywhere I look?"

"It is not," I retorted.

She chuckled. "Kind of is. You know it's amazing, but I get it. One of us has to be the modest one and it's clearly not me."

"Clearly."

She laughed again, and I risked looking up, half regretting it because I was mesmerised at the sight of her. Eyes closed, crinkles by them betraying her joy, teeth on display and laugh lines surrounding her lips... I probably should have looked away, but of course I couldn't.

"So, how was your day?" I asked, attempting to change the subject and clear my mind. "Save any cats from trees?"

She glared teasingly. "Hilarious."

It was my turn to laugh now. "What? Isn't that what you do?"

She rolled her eyes, knowing I knew it wasn't what she did, but damn was it funny watching her get agitated.

"If you must know, I was S.H.I.E.L.D. and Quake duty-free today," she answered. "I've just been hanging about HQ annoying Jemma."

I snickered. "Bet she loved that."

"Oh, most definitely."

Giving her a disapproving look, she grinned childishly and continued to look forward. A comfortable silence fell between us as we walked on, though my editor's words from this morning came to mind and I figured now was a better time than ever to ask Daisy.

"Daisy," I got her attention. "Would you ever consider being interviewed for a feature article?"

She quirked a brow, glancing at me. "Like, as Quake?"

I nodded, rubbing my arm to ease my nerves. "Yeah... basically, my editor thought it could make a good piece. For the city to get to know one of their favourite heroes." She watched me as I spoke and when she didn't say anything, I ended up rambling to fill the silence. "But obviously, you don't have to say yes. I don't want you to feel forced. I get you've probably not spoken to the press for whatever reasons, and I'm sure S.H.I.E.L.D. has protocols on this sort of stuff."

Her lips curved into an entertained smile. "You done?"

I winced. "Yeah."

Her smiled widened. "I'd love to, Y/N."

"You would?"

She leaned into me slightly. "It's you asking the questions, right?"

Still surprised, I nodded and spluttered out, "Yes, yeah, it would be me."

Trying not to laugh at my bewilderment, she nodded. "Awesome. I'll do it then."

I exhaled with relief, glad I hadn't offended her or anything. "Great. Thanks."

And so, a week later, when I was well-adjusted at work and had done a few local news pieces to get me back into the swing of things, I invited Daisy in to conduct her interview.

"Are they expecting a show or something?" Daisy asked as I led her to the small conference room I'd booked out for the afternoon.

I furrowed my brows, wondering what she was talking about, but then I realised what she meant. As we were making our way through the building, all eyes were on her, probably recognising her as Quake, despite her casual attire.

"I can totally bust a hole through the wall if you want," she said sarcastically, and I could only think to smile apologetically.

"I'm sorry... I didn't even think about what bringing a hero to a building full of journalists would mean for you," I admitted, before adding jokingly, "I guess I just forget that you're actually a big deal sometimes."

"One more word and I'm out of here," she said with narrowed eyes, though a smile ghosted her lips.

"Wow. And a diva, too."

"Powers. Hands. Superhero. Remember?" She raised her hand threateningly, making me laugh.

"C'mon," I said, leading the way to the door of the conference room. "One sec."

I leaned the tripod in my hand against the door as I reached for my keys to the conference room. As I fumbled for the right one, Daisy's hand grabbed my arm and squeezed it excitedly.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, making me jump.

"Geez, what is it?" I asked, looking up to see her staring at my keys.

"You still have the keyring I made you in wood shop class!" she said like it was obvious.

I finished unlocking the door and pushed it open before looking at the keyring she was talking about. I'd had it for so long that I was used to it being apart of my keys, so much that I'd forgotten that I even had it in the first place.

"I guess so," I realised.

"The only thing I have to show for high school," she joked, before reaching out to touch it, her fingers brushing mine. "You kept it."

I glanced up at her, seeing the small smile on her face. It warmed my heart, and then I suddenly became aware of her fingertips still touching mine, her close proximity to me, the floral scent emanating from her neck...

"Yeah," I said, before putting my keys away and picking up the tripod. "It's just this way."

Not pausing to look back, I led the way inside and set up a place for me to interview her. It was nothing overly-intimidating as I didn't want her to feel uncomfortable – just a chair pulled next to a plain white wall and my tripod and phone set up before it.

"If you sit here, I can set up your mic," I said, motioning to the chair.

She did as I said after closing the door behind her, and I moved forward to clip the mic to her jacket, trying not to look at her as she watched me closely. Finally, I finished and took a seat beside the camera, clicking record, before facing her with a reassuring smile.

"Am I pretty enough for the camera?" she teased, tilting her head and grinning.

"Shut up," I mumbled, ignoring her laughter, before grabbing my notebook and pen. "Right. If you're ready to begin..."

"I'm ready when you are, Miss Y/L/N."

I gave her a warning look before clearing my throat. "Okay. First question. You're New York's favourite hero, but I think everybody wants to know what it's actually like to be Quake. What can you tell us?"

She smiled brightly, eyes dazzling in the sun that streamed through the window. "Well, I find it a privilege to be able to help people in this way. I'm an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. which is no secret, so keeping our planet safe is a number one priority. But having these powers is just a bonus. It definitely makes the threatening bad guys part of the job a lot easier." A nervous laugh escaped her lips as she added, "I'm sorry, was that bad?"

"No! No, that was good," I reassured with a smile. "You're doing good, Daisy. Just take a deep breath, yeah? You're doing fine."

She nodded, exhaling slightly, before saying, "Okay, thanks. It's just weird."

"So, you can take down HYDRA agents in one fell swoop, but you can't answer a few questions from a journalist?" I teased to ease her nerves.

"That's very different," she said knowingly, before crossing her leg over the other. "But I'm good to go."

"Perfect." I looked down to my notebook. "Okay, so being a hero comes with a lot of responsibility. How does it affect your personal life, if at all?"

She thought for a moment, before answering, "It took some adjusting... I mean, it's strange that people actually want to stop me to take a photo with them, or get my autograph, or something like that. But it means a lot, too, to know that people are thanking me for what I do."

"Those are quite positive things," I noticed. "Do you find it difficult at all? Because you're not exactly hiding your identity."

"Yeah, there's that side of things, too," she said with a slight grimace. "There's always that worry in the back of my mind that people I piss off– wait, can I say piss off?"

"You just said it twice. But yes."

She ignored the humoured smile on my face as she continued, "Right, well, yeah. There's always that worry that the people who I piss off might try to hurt the people I love."

"And how do you keep your loved ones safe? Apart from the obvious of course. I doubt anybody would mess with the Quake."

She chuckled. "You'd be surprised. But yeah, I try my best to keep my family safe. Which is easy since they're also S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and can look after themselves. I mean, most of the time, it's them keeping me safe."

I nodded encouragingly, subtly admiring how cute she looked when spoke about her S.H.I.E.L.D. family.

"They're always with me, so I don't have to go out of my way to worry about them," she continued. "But I do have another person in my life who isn't exactly an agent."

Realising she was talking about me, I rose an eyebrow. "Oh? And how exactly do you keep them safe?"

She studied me with pursed lips, a smile trying not to break out. "Easy. Nobody would ever hurt them. I wouldn't let them."

I was expecting a sarcastic or witty response, so when I saw the sincerity in her eyes and let her words settle, I felt the wind get knocked out of me a little. It was strange, having somebody care about me that much.

"You must be busy keeping everybody safe," I said gently, not realising what I was saying until it was too late. "How do you keep finding time to be around me?"

Her expression softened. "What?"

No going back now.

"Why are you still here, Daisy? I'm getting better. I appreciate you staying with me and being here for me, but I'm okay now. I just– I don't get it."

She frowned, shaking her head. "I don't need a reason to be here for you, Y/N. You're my best friend."

I swallowed hard, looking down. "It doesn't make sense is all."

She uncrossed her legs and straightened up, eyes trying to find mine. "I always wanted to come back and see you... Myanmar gave me that chance."

"But if that hadn't happened, would you have even found me again?" I asked what had been eating away at me since she returned. "Would you have told me that you were alive and okay?"

Her eyes flickered away guiltily and I sighed, knowing the answer already. It was what I feared, but what was I to expect? It had been nine years. Our meeting again was purely luck.

"Never mind," I muttered, shaking my head.

"It was only because I knew you had your life," she said quickly, before I could return to the interview. "I didn't want to ruin it. Interrupt it with my presence. I left. I couldn't just come back."

I frowned, a mixture of anger and sadness in my chest. "I was waiting for you, Daisy. This whole time, all I wanted was for you to come back. D'you think I would have cared if it interrupted my life?" She didn't say anything, so I continued, "If I had shown you that I cared just a little bit more, would you have stayed?"

She was confused. "What?"

Realising the implication of my words, I looked away and swallowed my next ones. "Never mind." I dropped my notebook on the table next to me and stopped recording. "Maybe I should get somebody else to do this. Or you can just forget it, I don't– I don't know."

"Don't do that, wait," she tried to stop me, but I ignored her as I packed away the tripod and put it back in its case.

She stood up and took off her microphone before tugging my arm so I was facing her. Inquisitive eyes searched mine.

"What do you mean by what you said, Y/N?"

I stared hard, the day she left wafting to the forefront of my mind. Our stupid argument before she did. That frustrating text. The pain in my chest when I realised she'd left without properly saying goodbye. It all returned, and as I stared at Daisy before me, I knew she knew what I meant. She had to, otherwise this whole thing was pointless.

"You were my best friend," I said quietly, the silence deafening. "I would have done anything for you. Anything to keep you with me... I was in love with you. And I can't help but wonder that if I had told you that back then, would you have stayed? Would it have changed anything?"

She opened her mouth to speak, surprised at my confession. I couldn't tell if it was a good or bad surprised. No words came out and I felt my heart crumbling little by little. I wasn't sure why I expected more.

"I didn't think so," I said with a regretful sigh, before stepping back. "Forget I said anything."

"Don't go," she pleaded when I was about to turn around. I paused, pressing my lips together with discomfort. She swallowed hard, pushing her hair from her eyes before looking to me apologetically. "I don't know. That's... that's the truth."

I chewed on my lip, feeling embarrassed as I looked away. "Thanks for answering... it was unfair of me to ask though."

"No, it wasn't."

"We were kids," I reminded her. "It's not fair of me to hold that against you. I just– I keep expecting you to get up and leave me again. But you don't owe me anything. Sorry."

She watched me with hopeful eyes. "Do you still feel the same?"

I didn't know what to say, opting to stay quiet and keep staring a hole into the carpet.

"Because I do," she continued, certainly taking me by surprise. "And I should have said something. Because you're the only person who's had my back since before S.H.I.E.L.D. even knew who I was. And don't get me wrong, I love them to bits, but nobody could ever replace you."

Looking back up to meet her gaze, I saw the way her lips trembled slightly with her confession, startling me because I never would have guessed that she felt like this. She'd left after all.

"I wanted to come back, every single day since I left," she continued. "But I couldn't face you. And I'll regret that forever. Which is why I'm back now. And I'd like to stay for as long as you'll have me. For good, I hope."

"Daisy..."

"I'm in love with you," she said confidently. "And I don't want to lose you. Not again."

My mouth went dry, mind comprehending her words in an agonisingly slow way. When they finally sank in, my insides went tingly with excitement.

"I don't want to lose you either," I admitted, stepping closer and raising my hand to cup her cheek. "And I'd like it if you stayed. For good."

She smiled with relief, leaning into my touch and resting her hand on mine. My skin was on fire where it made contact with hers, but I didn't want it any other way. Her gaze fell to my lips before she stepped even closer.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked softly.

I tried not to laugh. "I've only been wanting that since we were sixteen."

She mirrored my smile of amusement. "Sorry it took so long."

And with that, she placed her hand on the back of my neck before pulling me closer to connect our lips. I melted into her touch instantly, eyes fluttering close and hands slipping around her waist to keep her near. She was slow and gentle and loving and my heart was thumping so loudly in my chest that I hoped she couldn't hear it. For so long I'd wanted this, and now I finally had it.

Me: Layla you don't have to get me anything!

Layla: don't be annoying and tell me please thanks

I sighed, rolling my eyes.

Me: i'm serious, don't buy me anything. i don't want a gift

Layla: okay, i'll just take a guess and if you hate it, what a shame

Me: you're infuriating, d'you know that?

All she did was send a wink face emoji, making me roll my eyes yet again before pocketing my phone.

Things with Layla were going well, as well as they could considering I knew I was still in love with her. I tried so hard to keep it purely platonic between us, knowing it was what she wanted and what would be best for me, but I couldn't help how I felt for her. Even getting to know this older, mature version of her and catching up on everything I missed didn't change my feelings for her. It only made me fall harder.

I couldn't tell her, it wasn't fair to. She was here for me in the best way she could be and she didn't have to be. I needed to move on, I knew I did. Everything else in my life was making sense again – I had my retail job and was looking for new jobs, I'd made friends at work, I didn't hate going to my support group anymore and had even made a few friends there, too. It was all good again, but Layla... that was the one thing I was too selfish to not appreciate.

I wanted more because it had always been her and it always would be. Ever since we'd first met back at university, I knew she was the one...

"Okay, you have to leave because my new roommate is probably here now and going to think I need to hold my mum's hand for the first day," I said to mum when we were in the hallway of my new dorm.

My mum chuckled before handing me the final box of my belongings. "Okay, fine. But I'll have you know that I'm cooler than you think and I don't think your new roommate will disagree."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I said, eyes glancing down the hall and to my door distractedly.

"You'll be fine," my mum said with a reassuring smile when she caught me staring. "Give me a call tonight so I know your day went okay, yeah?"

I released a breath and looked to her, feeling a little better. "Thanks, mum. I promise."

She pulled me in for a hug which I returned with one arm since I was still holding the box. I gave her a kiss on the cheek before waving goodbye to her, then made my way to my new dorm for the year.

I'd moved all of my things in already, save for the box in my hands, and my new roommate hadn't shown up yet, so I wouldn't be surprised if she was there now. It was nerve wracking, I wouldn't lie, since it would be the first chance to make friends before the semester officially started, but I was excited, too.

Letting myself in to my room, I was correct because I spotted my new roommate sat on her phone on her bed, some of her things sprawled on top as if she'd just emptied her whole suitcase there before. When she heard the door open, she looked up and flashed me a smile, putting me at ease instantly.

"You must be my roommate," the girl said, waving a little. "I'm Layla."

I returned her smile, hoping she couldn't sense my nerves, and nodded towards her whilst putting my box on my bed. "Yeah, that's me. Nice to meet you, Layla, I'm Y/N."

She hummed, pulling her legs up comfortably and giving me all her attention. "So, Y/N. What are you majoring in?"

I took a seat on the edge of my bed, leaning back on my hands a little. "English Literature. How about you?"

"Oh, that's cool! I'm doing Archeological Science," she answered.

Trying to break the ice a little, I joked, "So, what are your assignments like? Do you just pull up to the local sandpit in the park and see what you can find?"

Her eyebrows creased a little, smile fading into one of confusion and, I think, offence, and that's when I realised that maybe she didn't have the same sense of humour that I did.

"Shit, I'm sorry," I said quickly, straightening up. "I didn't mean to offend you. It was just, erm, a silly joke."

She tilted her head, brown eyes studying me curiously. "You picked English Lit, you said?"

Embarrassed that I'd already made things bad between us, I nodded in response.

"So, what do you do? Go find Shakespeare's grave and reread him his own work?"

I blinked, it taking a few seconds for me to realise that she was poking fun like I had done to her. A smile appeared on her face and I let out a breath I was holding, beginning to laugh with relief.

"Fair enough," I said, and she laughed, too. It was then that I noticed she had a really pretty laugh. A pretty, smile, too.

"I don't have high hopes for the degree," she admitted once we both stopped laughing, "but I promised my dad I'd do it."

"But why archaeology?" I asked, curious, because it wasn't a common thing to choose to study.

A pride-filled smile appeared on her lips. "My dad is an archaeologist. Dr Abdallah El-Faouly. He taught me everything I know about my history and culture, and the beauty of discovering artefacts with a history in itself. I just want to be like him."

It was impossible not to smile as she spoke about her father and her love for his work. I could see her holding back her passion as she spoke, but it still seeped through and, honestly, it was lovely to witness.

"That sounds amazing," I admitted, and her expression softened. "I hope you get to follow in his footsteps someday, Layla."

All it took was for her to bite her lip to contain her joy, and that's when I knew she had me hooked. Curly brown hair, matching brown eyes, freckled face, stunning smile... yeah, I was hooked.

I should have known my attempt at being just friends with Layla wouldn't last long. It was almost four months after the snap, after my life had been turned upside down, after I had to readjust, that I realised I couldn't take it anymore.

Layla and I had watched a film at the cinema before deciding to get some dessert instead of savoury food. We were sat at a dessert shop nearby, eating ice cream and waffles, and I was enjoying every second because, as always, no effort was required to be a certain person or act a certain way – I could just be myself around her.

"I think the gold was a good choice," Layla said between bites of ice cream, nodding to my neck. "You suit it."

I looked down at the necklace I was wearing, the one she'd bought back as a souvenir from Egypt for me a week ago.

"Thanks," I said with a small smile, glancing up at her. "I love it."

She returned my smile, making my heart do somersaults in my chest. I hated the effect she had on me, but I loved it, too.

"So, tell me more about your new job," she said, motioning to me with her spoon. "When does it start?"

Recently, during my job hunt, I'd been lucky to receive a response and land a job at a publisher's house in the city. It was only an assistant's role, but it was something fun that I could see myself exploring further, so I was quite excited.

"A few weeks yet," I told her. "It'll give me time to finish my job up now and finally be done with retail."

She laughed at my shudder. "God, you really hate it, don't you?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Are you kidding? An old lady yelled at me the other day because I didn't know what size she was in cardigans. How is that fair?"

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, I'm happy for you, Y/N. You're moving onto better things. And it can only go up from here, right?"

I exhaled gently. "God, I hope so."

We spoke some more about my new job and what I would be getting up to, along with a few other random topics of conversation, before finishing up our dessert. Layla had driven us, so we took our time walking back to her car, enjoying the fresh air and walking off our desserts.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the cool air, before exhaling. "I love that. D'you not think the nighttime air smells different to the daytime?"

When Layla didn't respond, I glanced over at her, only to see her staring at me with a raised eyebrow and stifled smile.

"Don't look at me like that, you know what I mean," I said with a playful eye roll, feeling my face heat up.

She laughed, nudging me in the side slightly as we walked. "I know what you mean, 'ant ghabi (you idiot)."

A smile ghosted my lips at her insult; I only knew what she'd said because she regularly called me an idiot in Arabic all through university. I hadn't heard it in a while though.

"So, do you have any trips coming up soon?" I asked, changing the subject. "I know you just came back from Egypt, but you don't strike me as the type to sit still for too long."

She ran a hand through her hair, glancing at me. "Well, you'd be surprised to hear that no, I don't. Not at the moment." When I gave her a surprised look, she continued, "I might give it all a break."

Sensing this might be a bigger topic then I realised, I spotted a bench on our walk and nudged her gently, signalling for her to follow me. We both took a seat and I turned my body, giving her all of my attention.

"Okay, you may continue," I said lightheartedly, and she gave me a small smile before sighing quietly.

"I don't know, I just think that I might try something different," she clarified. "I was thinking of focusing on my dad's studies, you know? There's a lot of stuff he didn't get chance to publish before died and I just– I thought it might be nice to decipher it all somehow."

Layla hadn't mentioned her father since she'd told me about his death, and it wasn't something I brought up because I wasn't sure if it was appropriate. Right now though, as she spoke of him, I felt honoured that she trusted me with this. But I also felt guilty because it reminded me of how she had to lose him and I couldn't be there for her.

"That sounds like a good idea," I said softly, offering her a small smile, but it was halfhearted. She leaned back on the bench, and I couldn't help but say, "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you lost him."

Lifting her eyebrows, she looked to me. "Y/N, that wasn't your fault. You couldn't help it."

I frowned, shaking my head and looking down momentarily. "Still. I wish I could have been there for you. I don't like the thought of you having to have gone through it alone."

"I had your mum," she assured me, and I looked up to see her nodding. "She was kind to me. Always is, but especially then. I just... I know I should be used to it, to him being gone and to his death, but it makes me more angry than it does sad. He was murdered for doing his job and it isn't fair. I just want to keep his legacy alive somehow."

Acting instinctively, I rested my hand on hers, squeezing it gently and earning her attention.

"It's not fair, you're right," I agreed, "but what you're doing, and what you'll do, is amazing. You'll keep his legacy alive and create your own, too, Layla. I know you will."

A sweet smile fell on her lips as she met my gaze. "Thank you. For believing in me."

If only she knew I always would.

"Anytime, Layla," I settled with, returning her smile.

My favourite thing about her was the way her eyes would sparkle in the light, the brown appearing golden, even in the dark, and that's what they were doing right now. I couldn't help but get distracted again, my gaze drifting down the slope of her nose, the dip of her cupid's bow, the dimple in her cheek, the freckles dusting her skin, the softness of her lips...

She never looked more beautiful than when she was confident in herself, just like right now. And I so badly wanted to lean forward and kiss her. I missed her – her taste, her touch, being with her – even though she'd been with me this whole time. I'd made so much progress in accepting my new life these past few months, but it was as if that all went down the drain as soon as I looked at her. Really looked at her.

It wasn't fair that I had to lose everything and start over. It wasn't fair that I couldn't just lean forward and close the gap between us. It wasn't fair.

Suddenly, I let go of her hand, the absence of warmth as noticeable as the hurt in my expression.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, dipping her head to find my eyes, but I was afraid of what I'd do next if I looked at her, so I simply stood up and dusted myself off.

"Yeah, I'm good," I assured her. "We should head back though. It's getting late."

She nodded and stood up, too, joining me in walking back to her car. My thoughts were running a million miles a second, my heart following a similar pattern in my chest. I wasn't sure why this was any different to the time I'd spent with her thus far, but it was. My whole body was hurting, physical and undeniable pain, from not being able to be with her in the way that I wanted. I thought being friends could be enough, but it wasn't. I was in love with her. I always had been.

The car ride home was quiet, awkward because I'd made it that way, but I wasn't going to pretend I was okay when I wasn't. Layla asked me several times if I was and I had to lie, telling her I was just tired, when deep down my eyes were burning from trying not to cry at my whole situation. It hurt too much to just be friends, and I was beginning to think that not having her in my life at all would be easier.

When she finally reached my mum's house, she turned the engine off and paused, clearly about to say something. But I wasn't sure I could take sitting in her car anymore, so I mumbled a quick goodnight and got out like the vehicle was on fire.

"Y/N, wait," she said, but I'd already shut the door and began walking to the front door. Surprisingly, she got out the car and called my name again, but I ignored her.

I came to a halt halfway to the door when she ran in front of me, stopping me from going any further. She had a confused yet concerned expression on her face, eyes flickering over me to try and figure out what was wrong.

"What?" I said, staring at her through glassy eyes.

Her lips were pressed together into a frown. "What did I do wrong?"

I swallowed hard, my own frown appearing when I saw the worry in her eyes. I blinked, a tear rolling down my cheek, and shook my head apologetically.

"I can't do this anymore," I told her, knowing what I needed to do.

She didn't look away. "What? Do what?"

I took a small step back, motioning between us. "This. Us. I can't keep pretending that being your friend is enough, Layla, that is doesn't fucking hurt every time I'm with you."

"I don't understand," she said, taking a step forward and reaching out towards me, but I stepped further away. "Y/N, please, just–"

"No! I can't," I said, shaking my head quickly. "It's not fair.

She searched my eyes for an answer. "Y/N."

I met her gaze, the ache in my chest growing stronger. "I'm in love with you, Layla," I admitted, the tears running free. "I never stopped. And I know I may seem like I'm being ungrateful or childish or whining, but I don't care. Nothing changed for me. I can't not be in love with you. And I can't keep pretending that it doesn't break my heart that I can't be with you anymore. It's not fucking fair, okay? I lost five years of my life and I lost you. It's not–" I sucked up a breath, looking away from her. "It's not fair. And I can't pretend it is. So, I don't want it anymore. We shouldn't– we shouldn't see each other anymore."

I could feel her eyes boring into me and it made me feel exposed before her. It was probably a mistake telling her the truth, but it had to be done because my heart was crumbling the longer I pretended.

"I'm sorry," she finally spoke, and I glanced at her for a split second to see her own eyes tearing up, breaking my heart. I never wanted to upset her. "I didn't know this was hurting you, Y/N. That was never my intention."

"It doesn't matter," I said with a hoarse voice. "I know you've got your life. And I know I'm ten steps behind that. You grew up, I didn't. You've changed and I haven't. I understand that. I just can't handle it."

"No, wait," she stopped me. "Y/N, I don't think that."

I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "You don't need to explain, Layla. I just– I'm gonna go."

As I tried to sidestep her and walk away, she grabbed my wrist and tugged me back, making me freeze at the contact.

"Please, just let me speak," she said with a pleading voice, and all I could think about was the burning of my skin where her hand touched my wrist.

"What?" I muttered, reluctantly lifting my eyes to meet hers.

Her dark ones were filled with tears, flickering between mine, saying a million different things and also nothing at all. My heart was caught in my throat as I waited an eternity for her to speak. But then she did something else instead.

She kissed me.

Her hands cupped my neck, tugging me close as she pressed her lips to mine, and I fell into her with no hesitation. I'd missed her so much; the feeling of her lips against mine, the warmth she radiated, the tenderness of her hands on my skin – I'd missed it all way more than I realised. So much, in fact, that when she pulled away slightly, tears were rolling down my cheeks uncontrollably.

"I miss you so much," she mumbled against my lips, eyes still closed. "I should have told you sooner. I just– I thought things would be different. I thought I was different. And you needed a friend. But I was wrong. I–"

I rested my forehead against hers, screwing my eyes shut. "I miss you, too."

She exhaled softly with relief, her breath fanning my face. "I only want you, Y/N."

I lifted my hand to the back of her neck. "You always had me, Layla. Always will."

She smiled sadly, nodding, before closing the gap between us again, capturing my lips in a short, salty kiss.

"Don't go," she murmured once she pulled apart and put her head into my shoulder. "Please. I can't lose you again."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, pulling her close and hugging her tightly. "Not again," I promised her, kissing the side of her head. "Not if I can help it."

She nodded into my neck, and I felt a dampness on my shirt when I realised she was crying, too. I didn't let go of her, simply standing there in the dark, clutching her like she'd get torn away from me at any second.

After my breakdown following Layla's visit, I kept to myself. It wasn't intentional, but leaving my room would only remind me of what I'd lost out on, what had changed, so it was just easier to isolate myself and wallow in self-pity. It didn't help that my boxes from almost moving out were still stacked in the corner of my bedroom, constantly reminding me of what could have been.

At one point, I figured I should probably pack everything away since moving out was no longer my reality anymore, but it was probably a silly move since everything in there brought back bittersweet memories from my life with Layla. Photos, mementos, things she'd given me... I even found my phone, which I must have packed by accident or someone had thrown in here after I vanished. After charging it up, all I found were more painful memories of my old life. Photos of Layla and I, videos of us together at university, plans of our new place together.

I hadn't spoken to Layla since she'd visited and I was glad she was giving me the space because I had no idea what I would have said to her. It wasn't her fault, none of it was, but I couldn't bring myself to face her when I felt how I did. Even being with my mum hurt, watching her worry about me when I should have been a grown woman with a life of my own. There was something wrong with me and I didn't know how to fix it.

All the self-pity and isolation must have worried my mum more than she'd let on because after two weeks of it, she encouraged me to join a support group. Apparently she'd seen something about it around town when getting some groceries. It was a dedicated support group for people like me who had come back from the snap and couldn't deal with it. I didn't want to go, not at first, but after giving it a bit more thought, I knew it would be for the best. I wanted to get better and not feel so shitty, so I agreed to attend.

So, that's how I found myself sat in a circle of strangers at my local community centre. The attendees were a mixture of people whom I hadn't met before, all different ages. The person leading it, some qualified therapist, was patient with all of us and never pressured anyone to speak if they didn't want to which was lucky for me because I wasn't inclined to air my dirty laundry to a bunch of strangers.

Others seemed to like to speak though, and shared stories of how they were struggling to reintegrate back into society. It was comforting to know there were others like me who had missed out on so much, but it also hurt to know we were all going through it.

Everybody was experiencing different things – missing major milestones in their families lives, grieving over lost loved ones, being confused at what they would do next. I wasn't sure I was even supposed to be here because my problems seemed so small compared to, say, the guy who had returned to find his wife had remarried in his absence. But I stayed because of my mum and because I hoped it could help me, even a little.

"We've had a few newcomers in the past week which is great to see," Jayne, the lead therapist, was saying one session, "and I would never force anybody to speak if they don't want to, but I thought that it might be nice to have someone new share with the group."

Everybody stayed quiet as Jayne looked around at us all, eyes flickering between everyone. It felt like I was back in a lecture hall, waiting for the lecturer to pick on someone to answer a question. Talk about déjà vu.

"Y/N!"

And here it goes...

"Why don't you give it a go today?" Jayne asked gently, offering an encouraging smile.

I uncrossed my arms awkwardly as I straightened up in my seat, suddenly feeling everyone's eyes fall to me.

Clearing my throat, I shrugged. "Erm, I'm not– I– what do you want to know?"

Jayne spread her hands out. "Anything you want! What have you got on your mind?"

Chewing on the inside of my cheek nervously, I glanced around, seeing everybody staring at me. "Erm..."

"Maybe you can start with why you decided to attend," Jayne offered, and I was glad because I genuinely had no idea where to begin.

Nodding awkwardly, I tried to form a coherent thought. "Right... well, I came here because my mum wanted me to. She, er, she thought that it would help me to feel less shitty." Realising I swore, I looked up at Jayne apologetically. "Sorry, I didn't mean to– sorry."

"No need to apologise, Y/N," Jayne assured me. "Why do you feel that way?"

I gave her a questioning look. "Seriously?" She played dumb, and I'm not sure why, so I continued, "I lost five years of my life in seconds. I was supposed to move into a new apartment, start a life with my girlfriend, find a new job after graduation, but instead I'm back at home with no job, no girlfriend and no friends."

Jayne frowned. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, me and you both," I mumbled, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "I just– it's not fair. Everything moved on and I'm still stuck."

"You're not stuck," somebody in the group said, and I looked up to see a young man watching me with sympathy. I think his name was Zain, but I couldn't be sure. "It feels like that, but you're not. It's just an adjustment period."

I shook my head at him. "It's not though, is it? I came back and my life is completely different. So are the people in it. My girlfriend isn't my girlfriend anymore. She's got a life of her own, one that doesn't include me. And my mum is basically the same. It's almost like I shouldn't have come back. It would have been easier on both of them."

"That's not true," Jayne said with certainty.

"Isn't it?" I asked, crossing my arms again. "All I'm doing is disrupting everything. My mum is always worried about me. My ex had to drop everything to come and see me, only for me to break down at the fact that she moved on without me. It's stupid."

Jayne gave me a knowing look. "Do you really think that they would be better off without you? Your mother is worried because she cares about you, Y/N. Do you think that the past five years have been better for her? Better without her daughter?"

I pressed my lips together, unsure what to say.

"And by the sounds of it, your ex girlfriend sounds like she cares, too if she was willing to drop everything to see you," Jayne continued. "I know that it must feel like you're disrupting everything, but as Zain said, it's an adjustment period. For you and for them."

"And how long is that gonna take?" I asked with a frown. "How long until it makes sense again? Until my life is my own again?"

Jayne sighed, leaning back in her seat. "Well, that's down to you. Of course things aren't going to be the same as they were before the snap, but it doesn't mean everything has to stay different. You said you were looking for a job? You can still do that. You said you have no friends? Put yourself out there. Contact old school friends. Sad that your girlfriend has moved on? I'm not going to sugarcoat it, it's gonna hurt. But she still cares about you and you don't have to lose her in your life altogether."

"You make it sound so easy," I said, swallowing hard. "It's not."

Jayne began to smile with amusement. "Of course it's not. But all you have to do is start somewhere small. Nobody said to take it all on at once."

I looked down at my hands, trying to understand how I could do that, where I could begin.

"You don't have to listen to me," Jayne said, and I glanced up to see her looking my way, before she looked around at everybody. "None of you do. But starting small will do wonders."

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to start small. Maybe Jayne wasn't wrong.

I tried to take Jayne's advice on board. Even if it felt stupid, I started to make a list of all the things I wanted to work on for myself so I had a starting point.

The first thing was to make things right with Layla. Even though I knew what the outcome would be – us no longer being together anymore – it was something I needed to fix because it wasn't fair on either of us. So, after finally buying a new phone and adding Layla's number, I arranged for us to meet up at a coffee shop. Thankfully, she agreed.

I found her sat in the corner table when I entered. She hadn't noticed me yet since she was slightly angled away from the front door, but she stood out to me instantly. A small smile appeared on my lips when I saw her, feeling that comforting warmth spread through me that I always felt whenever I was with her. She was stunning, even when she looked nervous, and I had to remind myself what I'd come here to do before my feelings got the better of me.

Clearing my throat, I approached her from behind and earned her attention. Offering her a small smile, I paused as she stood up, looking over me with a guilty expression. When she didn't say anything, I leaned forward and hugged her, glad when she hugged me back just as tightly.

"I'm sorry," she muttered when we pulled away, but I shook my head at her frown.

"You don't need to be," I assured her, squeezing her arm before taking a seat at the table. She did the same and I added, "Thanks for meeting with me. I'm sorry it took so long for me to ask."

"No, it's okay, I get it," she said quickly. "I mean, I understand why. It was a lot. I shouldn't have– you needed time. I shouldn't have come so quickly and interrupted your– it was a lot."

She was trying so hard to say the right thing, second guessing herself with every word, and I could see the concern on her face as she constantly looked between my eyes for any sign of discomfort. If I wasn't already deeply in love with her, I would have fallen there and then.

"I know that everything is different now," I said, trying to disguise my sadness so she wouldn't feel bad. "It's hard to believe still because it seems like I only graduated not long ago."

She frowned but, thankfully, didn't interrupt.

"I know that you're living your life, Layla," I said as calmly as I could, remembering all that I had practiced beforehand, "and I don't want to get in the way of that."

"You need to know that I never stopped loving you, Y/N," she said suddenly, interrupting my train of thought. "I always will. But I... I had to move on. I couldn't wait forever."

Though her words stung, I smiled sadly, knowing she was right. "I wouldn't have wanted you to. And it's– it's okay. I'm sorry that I ran out last time. It was too soon, but it's not now. I get it. I'm coming to terms with what this new reality looks like for me, and I know that it isn't the same anymore. And I just– you don't need to stay in it–"

She opened her mouth to interrupt, but I shook my head before she could convince me otherwise.

"No, Layla, it's fine," I said with understanding. "I get it. We're not together anymore and there's no need for you to–"

"Stop it," she said authoritatively, shaking her head with a clenched jaw. "No. I'm in your life no matter what. We were friends before we dated, remember? I still care about you, Y/N. I'm here for you."

I pressed my lips together, sighing inwardly. As much as I appreciated that sentiment, I wasn't sure I could be her friend when I was still in love with her. But I also missed her too much to push her away completely, and if she was fine being my friend, then who was I to argue it?

"Thanks," was all I could say without giving away my true feelings.

She exhaled with relief, a beautiful smile appearing on her lips. "Now. How are you doing? I tried to keep my distance, but I've been so worried. I just want you to be okay."

I returned her smile, a little less enthusiastically but still there. "I appreciated the space. I've been going to a support group. Trying to sort my life out and figure out what it means for me. I guess, starting with you has helped."

Her smile widened. "Y/N, that's great! I'm so proud of you for getting help."

Whether it was friendly or not, her words meant the world to me, and I felt my face heat up at the compliment. Only Layla El-Faouly could have such an effect on me.

Another month passed since I officially got demoted from girlfriend to friend with Layla, and apart from the fact that I couldn't be with the woman I loved, life was slowly starting to feel like normal. I guess that was thanks to Jayne and the support group.

I was still attending, listening to others and even sharing my own progress in life, which included finding a temporary retail job to start making some money whilst I got my shit together. It wasn't anything special – just at a clothes store in town – but it gave me something to focus on whilst I reviewed my resumé and qualifications to apply for real jobs following graduation.

Having a job gave me a purpose again and it was one step closer to feeling normal. Plus, I had Layla. Even though she wasn't my girlfriend anymore and I had to push my love for her aside, I still had her as a friend. She would text me like she used to, visit the house to see my mum and I, hang out with me. It was just like it was before we started dating, but of course, that was when I fell for her, so I couldn't see this going any better the second time. Still, I valued having her in my life.

I enjoyed getting to know the older version of Layla, the one who wasn't a fresh graduate with a hope to be just like her father. I appreciated discovering her new interests whilst she still revelled in her old ones. And I especially enjoyed being with her, even if it was in a friendly setting. Though, sometimes, I'd be reminded that we were much more.

We were going shopping together one day when I was meeting her at her apartment so we could go together. It was the first time I was seeing her place, so when she let me in and pardoned herself to finish getting ready, I took that as my chance to explore her place and get a further insight to the new Layla.

Her place was clean and organised, just like she'd always been, save for a few corners and bookshelves which were total messes. It brought a smile to my lips, knowing she was still passionate enough to forget to put her shit away when she was working on something good. There were a few knickknacks dotted about – mementos from trips she'd been on, artefacts that she no doubt had kept from her many experiences exploring, photographs from memories I hadn't been present for. It was hard not to think about what our place used to look like, and what our new place could have looked like together.

We were so damn close. And being here in her apartment right now was bringing everything back up. No matter how much progress I'd made in accepting my new life, my old one still haunted me.

Trying to not let it get to me, I continued perusing her many bookshelves until I spotted a framed photograph on the end. I instantly recognised it and began to smile with disbelief, picking it up and studying it carefully.

in the photo, the two of us were stood side by side, my arms hooked around her shoulders as hers laced around my waist. Massive grins were on our faces as the landscape of a carnival was framed behind us. It was our first date – she'd asked me to go to the carnival that was happening in the park near our university, thinking I'd love it, and she wasn't wrong because I did.

I swallowed hard, smile fading as I remembered how perfect that day was. We stayed there for hours, playing all of the games, riding the bumper cars, eating all the food we could find. We watched the sunset together on the ferris wheel and she kissed me for the first time, right at the top, smiling with embarrassment when I accused her of planning the whole thing. It was one of the best moments of my relationship with her, of my life. I didn't think she'd keep the photo, especially not after all this time.

"Okay, so I finally found my purse, so I'm ready to go if you're– oh."

I looked up when Layla entered the room, her eyes drifting to the photograph in my hand. Clearing my throat, I awkwardly returned it to its spot on her bookshelf.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to snoop," I said, hoping all the effort I'd made to be her friend hadn't immediately been thrown down the drain. "I just– I saw it and– sorry."

"No, no, it's fine. It's–" She paused, stepping forward cautiously, eyes glancing at the photo before looking back to me. She offered me a small smile. "It was a good day. Wasn't it?"

I hoped my surprise wasn't obvious when she said that, as I definitely didn't expect her to acknowledge it at all.

"Yeah," I agreed slowly. "It was."

She pursed her lips, beginning to chew on her lower one as she stood beside me to get a better view of the photo. I glanced at her profile, wishing I knew what she was thinking.

"I hope you don't mind that I kept the photo," she said quietly, and I realised she was embarrassed, a faint pink blush dusting her cheeks. "It was just a way to keep you around when you weren't."

Her words warmed my heart, and then it set on fire when her brown eyes met mine in a softened glance.

"I don't mind," I said, not meaning for it to come out in a whisper.

She swallowed thickly, lips tugging into a half smile before she looked down at her shoes. I couldn't look away from her as she ran a hand through her curls before walking away.

"C'mon, we should go," she said, grabbing her keys from the kitchen counter. "You ready?"

I nodded. "Yeah..."

The weird energy between us remained when she drove us to the shopping centre, though maybe it was just me who felt it because she looked unfazed. I tried to push it to the back of my mind, not wanting my feelings for her to ruin the day and our relationship in general.

We looked around at a few stores, buying some clothes and catching up at the same time, and it was just a great feeling to be able to spend time with her. She always made everything easier.

"I like this for you," she was saying as we were shopping, and only when she looked my way did I realise she was talking to me. "What do you think?"

I cursed inwardly, telling myself to stop getting distracted by her, and looked to the jacket she was holding. It was a hooded red, blue and black jacket and she seemed really excited about the idea of me getting it.

Trying not to laugh, I quirked a brow at her. "Are you trying to make me look like a crayon or...?"

She shoved me in the shoulder before waving her hand at me impatiently. "C'mon, don't knock it until you try it. It'll look good!"

"Layla," I whined, but she ignored me as she was already unzipping my current jacket.

"Try it on," she said with a stern voice and knowing look.

I sighed dramatically and removed my jacket before putting on the one she chose. Once it was zipped up, I looked to her with narrowed eyes, feeling like a child trying on a school uniform for their mother. She let out an excited squeal as her hands clasped together and her eyes looked me up and down.

"Yeah, this looks awesome, I was right," she said before putting her hands on my shoulders and walking me to a nearby mirror.

"Layla–"

"Just look," she insisted, and I looked up to see the jacket still looking very much like a crayon set.

"I'm not so sure," I said with a raised eyebrow, turning around to get a look from behind, too. "I'm not sold."

She unzipped it for me and then stood behind me, forcing me to stand in different angles so I could see it from all sides. Now I definitely felt like a child with their mother.

"Okay, you're totally buying it," she said, having made up her mind. Her eyes met mine in the mirror, an amused smile on her lips as she added, "And if you don't, I'm buying it for you."

I didn't hate the jacket, but it definitely wasn't my favourite thing. But Layla looked so excited and my insides were turning into jelly as she watched me with glowing eyes, so I caved.

"Fine, I'll buy it," I gave in reluctantly, making her smile widen.

She began talking about how I needed to buy more things for myself, a familiar topic between us when we'd been a couple, but I don't think she realised. I was only half-listening because I grew distracted once more, eyes studying her face as she helped me take off the jacket and put my other one on.

Would I buy an ugly jacket just because she asked me to? It seemed so. Though I guess I knew that already. I'd do anything she asked me to.

After buying the jacket and browsing a few more stores, we got some food from the food court and enjoyed being off our feet. Layla was talking about a trip to Egypt she had coming up for work, something about unfinished business.

"So you lay low every time you go there because...?" I asked curiously, recalling her telling me how she had to be careful whenever she went.

An embarrassed smile appeared on her lips. "Well... let's just say that I haven't exactly been making friends whilst being over there."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Seriously? Is it safe?"

I knew she dealt with illegalities in her line of work, which I didn't care about since she was doing the right thing, but it still worried me that it concerned dangerous individuals. Layla could take care of herself and she was far from careless, but it still worried me.

"Look, it's nothing to worry about," she assured me nonchalantly, before silencing herself by taking a bite of her burger.

"Oh, yeah, that doesn't sound suspicious," I said with a knowing look before having some fries. "Maybe I'll let my mum know what you're up to if it's nothing to worry about, huh?"

She gave me a warning look, but a smile was threatening to break out on her face. "Don't you dare. I am an angel in Y/M/N's eyes. You're not ruining this for me."

I tried to hold in my laughter. "Better be careful then."

"I'm always careful."

I maintained her gaze, smile fading slightly. "I know you are are. But still."

Sensing that I wasn't joking anymore, her smile faded, too. "I'll be careful," she promised. "I'll even bring you something back. A souvenir."

I pursed my lips, tilting my head towards her. "I'm not five, Layla."

Her smile widened once more before she began to laugh, stirring a flutter of butterflies in my stomach as she always did.

"It's gonna be amazing," she said adorably, and I glanced up at her to see a soft smile gracing her lips, even in the dark of our room. Her eyes met mine as her smile widened and she said, "The first step of the rest of our lives, habibti (my love)."

My heart fluttered at the term of endearment that flew from her lips so effortlessly and I returned her smile, hand resting on her chest as I studied her expression. She was absolutely stunning.

"We're going to figure it all out together," I promised. "Nothing is gonna stop us."

"Except the millions of boxes we have to take with us tomorrow," she joked.

I rolled my eyes playfully. "We'll get it done, Layla, quit stressing." I slapped her playfully on the chest before getting comfortable again, curling into her side and linking my leg between hers under the cover. "We'll take the last few boxes with us tomorrow and then we'll go to our new apartment. Our place. Not a rented, broken, tiny apartment that happened to be available last minute when we started our master's degrees."

She chuckled beneath me, pulling me even closer if possible. "Hey, this place isn't too bad! It got us this far, didn't it?"

"Barely."

She continued to laugh before I felt her press a kiss to the top of my head.

"The new place is going to be everything we want and more," she assured me, and I trusted her every word. "Let's just enjoy our night here together one last time."

"Try not to hog the blanket then, yeah? I'd like to not freeze my butt off one last time," I mumbled, and she scoffed, making a smile curl on my lips.

"If you stopped clinging to me like a koala bear every time, maybe I wouldn't feel the need to take the blanket," she defended.

"Oh, shut up, you love it."

"Whatever."

I merely smiled widely and closed my eyes, holding onto her even tighter. It may have been our last night together here, but it was only going to get better starting from tomorrow. Because tomorrow would be the first day of the rest of our lives and nothing could get in the way of it.

The next morning, Layla and I were bringing all the boxes to the hallway so we could finally say goodbye to the apartment that had gotten us through our degrees and everything that came with it. My mum was going to pick us up with the last of our belongings, offering to drop us off to our new place, so we just had to bring together the last of our things.

"I think there's one more box in the bedroom," Layla said as she was taping up a final box in the kitchen. "Your mum is gonna be here any minute. Can you grab it?"

"Already on it," I said, before heading back to our bedroom.

It was strange walking through our apartment and seeing all of our belongings missing. The place had come furnished, so everything was still here apart from our personal touches and décor, so it was still weird. It only made me more excited to move into our new place though.

Spotting the box beside the bed, I began to walk over to it, thinking about how it was the last one and then we'd finally be ready to leave. We'd finally be able to–

–start the first chapter of our lives together, one outside of the usual academic confinements we'd put ourselves in over the past few years.

I stopped walking when I looked around, confused to how the hell the scarce-looking bedroom Layla and I had left behind was suddenly full of someone else's belongings. A tingle ran through my body as I spun around slowly, trying to figure how I merely blinked and it felt like I was transported elsewhere.

There were trinkets and clothes and belongings that weren't mine or Layla's – what the hell?

I tried to look back to where the box was, only to realise it was missing. And that, along with the sudden change in environment, was freaking me out.

"Layla?!" I called out nervously, unsure to what was going on. Nothing was making sense.

Layla didn't reply, making the anxiety in my chest worsen, so I turned around to go and find her. When I walked into the living area, I expected to find a bare-boned space as it had been moments ago, but just like with the bedroom, it was full of belongings and decorated with items that weren't mine.

I let out a scream when I realised two girls were standing in front of the couch, and they looked just as startled to see me, too, screaming in sync.

"Who the hell are you two?!" I shouted, keeping my distance before looking around and calling, "Layla?!"

"Don't move!" one of the girls shouted, though she was clinging to her friend and had a TV remote directed my way. "Do not move!"

"You're in my apartment!" I shouted, before grabbing the nearest thing to me – a weird vase, definitely not mine – and holding it in front of me defensively. "How the hell did you get in here?! And when did you–" I swallowed hard, looking around with panic, "–when did you move all of your stuff in here? What the fuck?!"

"This isn't your apartment, you–"

"Jess, wait!" the other girl said, shushing her friend and taking a hesitant step towards me. "Just wait. We need to talk."

"Laura–"

"You saw the news," this Jess girl said to her friend with a knowing look. "It's true. They're coming back."

I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but it sent an uneasy feeling down my spine. Nothing was making sense. Layla wasn't here. These strangers were in our home. The world looked different. What the hell was happening?

I didn't want to believe Jess and Laura's story when they told me, but it was the only thing that made sense of my confusion.

Five years ago, the world was snapped and half the population dusted into thin air. Today, those people were returning in minutes, popping up out of nowhere as if they'd never left, and that was exactly what had happened to me and why this place looked so different. Jess and Laura had moved in three years ago and lived here since. It didn't make sense, but it was the truth. And if I didn't believe them, the news channels confirmed it. Every single channel was showing live coverage of the spectacle all across the world.

"What about Layla?" I asked with confusion once they'd finished. "She was here with me. Shouldn't she be back, too?"

Laura shook her head. "Who is Layla?"

"My girlfriend," I said, growing more and more anxious the longer I waited. "She was here, too. If she didn't come back, does that mean she returned somewhere else? Did she even leave?"

The thought of Layla being confused and alone terrified me, even if I knew she was more than capable of looking after herself. I wasn't sure what would hurt more – her being alone or her having lived the last five years without me.

"We don't know, Y/N, sorry," Jess apologised. "Maybe you can call her and find out?"

"Call," I agreed, before patting my pockets. "Good idea." My optimism was short lived when I realised I didn't have my phone on me, since I'd put it down before packing the boxes earlier. Or rather, five years ago. "Fuck."

"Here, borrow mine," Laura offered, holding her phone out for me to use.

I sighed, accepting it. "Thank you."

Getting up, I stepped into the kitchen for a little space before dialling Layla's number. It was a long shot that she'd pick up, I knew that. Either her phone wouldn't work anymore because of whatever the snap meant, she didn't have it on her like me or, worse enough, she'd been living her life all this time and her number had changed. All the odds were stacked against me, but I would have given anything to hear her voice, so I waited for the call to hopefully go through.

"Hello?"

I let out a breath of relief at the sound of her voice, glad this had somehow miraculously worked.

"Layla, you answered," I spoke. "I was so worried this wouldn't work." There was a pause, confusing me, so I repeated, "Layla?"

Finally, after a moment of nothing, her voice came through. "Y/N? Is that you?"

I blinked, swallowing hard. "Of course it's me. Sorry, I didn't have my phone on me so I had to borrow someone's, but yeah." Realising she probably wasn't confused about the caller ID but rather my existence, I added, "I was getting that box you wanted, remember? But then I suddenly couldn't find it, and the apartment changed and then I called you, but you weren't here and I–" I sighed heavily. "I don't know."

On her end, her breathing was quiet – the only sign of her even listening – and I was beginning to get worried.

"Something is telling me that you didn't disappear like I did," I said reluctantly, remembering what Jess and Laura told me about only half the population dusting.

"I thought you were dead," Layla finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper, and it cut through me like a sharp knife because of how spooked she sounded. Layla rarely got scared, but right now, she sounded terrified.

That was all the confirmation I needed to know that she hadn't been snapped like I had, and I wasn't sure how to feel. For me, it felt like no time had passed at all. But for her...

"You disappeared," she said, clearing her throat. "There was no way to bring you back."

I frowned. "Layla, I don't..."

But I wasn't sure what to say because it still shocked me. I couldn't imagine how she must have felt.

"Your mum is going to be ecstatic," she said with a crack in her voice, before suddenly shouting, "Wait! Have you called her? Y/M/N?"

"Mum?" I furrowed my brows. "No. She's gonna pick me up once I've–"

I stopped myself as soon as I realised what I was about to say. That wasn't true. My mum wasn't coming for me like she'd said. That was minutes ago for me, but years to them.

"You need to call her, Y/N," Layla said, realising what I was about to say.

My mum had been without me for five years? Oh, God. She must have been so alone!

"I will," I agreed. "I'm gonna call her."

"You're at our old apartment?" Layla asked in a rushed tone. "The same place?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, call Y/M/N," she said confidently. "Go to her, okay? I'll be with you– give me a day. I'll see you tomorrow."

"What? Where are you?”

She hesitated. "Egypt."

My eyes widened a her answer. "You're in– huh?!"

"Just do what I said," she said dismissively. "I promise I'll be with you as soon as I can. I–" She paused, a soft exhale coming through the speaker. "I can't believe you're okay. After all this time."

It didn't make sense to me why this was such a big deal, even though I knew why. My brain was still playing catch up and the severity of everything didn't dawn on me until I heard a sniffle from the other side of the phone and I realised Layla was crying.

"Layla, hey, it's okay," I reassured her instinctively. "You're gonna be here soon and it'll all be okay. It's..."

But I wasn't sure how to finish comforting her because it was different now, wasn't it? She was still my girlfriend in my head, the girl I was head-over-heels in love with, but I was probably a stranger to her.

"I'm fine," she assured me after sucking up a breath. "I'll see you soon. Just find your mum."

"Okay, see you soon," I replied, massaging the tension between my eyebrows. "Love you, Layla, bye."

After hanging up, I immediately dialled my mum's number, knowing for certain that it would be the same because she'd had the same mobile number for over a decade.

"Hello?" her voice came through, and even though I'd only heard it half an hour ago, it brought me peace knowing she'd been okay without me all these years.

"Mum? It's me. It's Y/N."

Reuniting with my mum wasn't what I expected, since for me it felt like no time had passed, so it didn't make sense why she was sobbing into my arm and hugging me extremely tightly. But I let her do it because I couldn't even begin to imagine what it must have been like for her all these years, not knowing if I would return.

The reality of my situation wasn't becoming any easier to understand nor believe. I was half expecting myself to wake up from a nap and find Layla finishing off the packing before my mum picked us up, but no, that just wasn't it.

After saying our thank yous to Jess and Laura for helping me out and not being complete arseholes about my sudden return, my mum began to take me home – well, to the home I grew up in that I hadn't actually called home since starting university four years ago. Or, I guess, nine years now.

"So, if Jess and Laura moved into my old apartment, and Layla and I didn't move into our new one, where did all of my stuff go?" I asked my mum on the drive home.

"It's back at the house," my mum answered with a careful voice, the one she'd permanently stuck to after she got over her crying and disbelief. "Layla made sure it was all with me once you– once everything happened the way it did."

"Layla," I repeated slowly, knowing that the image I had in my mind of my beautiful girlfriend probably wasn't the way she looked today.

"She's been so good, she has," my mum said with a sad smile, glancing at me. "She was heartbroken when you left."

"Well, it wasn't an optional departure...," I mumbled bitterly, before wincing because I didn't mean to say it in that way.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that," my mum said apologetically. "I just meant that it hit us both hard. And as time went on, even though she eventually moved on, she still kept in touch with me and she didn't have to. At least once every week she calls me to make sure I'm okay."

"Move on?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "Move on from– from me?"

"Y/N, baby, she had to," my mum said with a sympathetic voice. "She couldn't mourn you forever. I made sure she moved on. I couldn't let her lose herself over this."

I frowned, looking down. Of course she would move on, start a life of her own without me. Five years was a long time and she couldn't just stay my girlfriend if I wasn't here, but the actual thought of it was making me nauseous. My girlfriend wasn't my girlfriend anymore.

"It's okay," my mum tried to reassure, resting her hand on mine and squeezing it gently. "Layla is coming back to see you. She missed you so much, Y/N."

I blinked. "What?"

"She texted me when I went to meet you before. She's at the airport. Getting the first flight back."

"Already?"

My mum nodded and I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat. She was coming back to me, but she wouldn't be the same.

"I said I love you," I blurted out with realisation.

My mum seemed confused. "What?"

I squeezed my eyes shut at the memory from earlier, cringing at my words. "Layla. On the phone before. I said I loved her before hanging up. Why did I do that? What if she's in a relationship? I made it weird already."

My mum began to laugh at my dismay, but I was dead serious. Sure, it hurt like hell not being able to seek comfort in my girlfriend, but the last thing I wanted to do was make things weird between us because I assumed we were still together even though she probably moved on without me.

"Honey, it's fine," my mum said with amusement. "Layla isn't stupid. She knows how strange this is. You're okay."

That didn't do much to reassure me, but I could only hope it was true.

"Besides," she continued, "as far as I'm aware, she isn't dating anyone right now. The last person she dated was over a year ago and it didn't last long."

Layla had dated somebody? Somebody that wasn't me? I wanted to vomit. I wanted to physically vomit at the mere thought of somebody else holding her hand, kissing her lips, seeing her at her most vulnerable. That wasn't for anyone else but me, her girlfriend. We were going to start our lives together!

How was it fair that within the space of an hour, my life had flipped completely upside down and I'd lost five years in the blink of an eye?

Seeing my belongings still boxed up as I'd left them was probably the only familiar thing in my life at the moment, for as soon as I arrived home, everything felt out of place.

It was no surprise that my mum had changed some things around, but I didn't expect it is all. Just like I wasn't expecting to be back here so soon. It was supposed to be a new apartment, a new start to life. This wasn't it.

Surprisingly, my bedroom was left the exact same, save for the boxes of my stuff filling the room. Apparently my mum didn't want to mess with anything or unpack in case I came back. She had hope these past five years, it was comforting to see and I guess that's what parents were for. But Layla had lost her hope a long time ago. At least that's what I got from what my mum was telling me.

As soon as I arrived home, I was watching the news constantly, trying to make as much sense of everything as possible. Headlines were solely focused around the return of half the population and the issues it was causing. I could only imagine how chaotic it would be to suddenly have an influx of people arrive somewhere they no longer belonged. Hearing about Thanos and the Avengers and the snap... it was hurting my head.

I wasn't sure exactly what to do, even though it had only been a few hours since my 'return' that didn't feel like a return. My mum was acting like I'd died and magically resurrected, so she was treating me like a queen. Being extra kind to me, offering to cook all my favourite foods for dinner, staring at me like I was going to disappear. I appreciated the love, but it felt strange to miss her like she did with me when I only saw her a few days ago.

She made me a wonderful dinner, helped to clean my room so I was comfortable and kissed me a million times before tucking me in. I felt like a child, especially because this wasn't supposed to be how today went.

I couldn't sleep at all that night. My thoughts were preoccupied by my situation and a certain Egyptian girl that had stolen my heart. Times like this, when my brain was conflicted and I wasn't sure how to feel, were when I would usually go to Layla for comfort. I missed her dearly, despite only seeing her this morning. She was coming back tomorrow, but I feared how she would react.

It was hard to fall asleep when my life was literally getting worse by the second.

"You're telling me three different iPhones have come out in the time I've been gone?" I asked my mum with disbelief.

She chuckled at my expression. "Yes, but I'll buy you one this week. I don't even know where your old phone is."

I sighed, watching as she wiped the kitchen surfaces down. We were both waiting for Layla to arrive, the latter giving my mum updates via text message since I didn't have my phone. I was nervous, leg constantly shaking under the counter, because I had no idea how she'd react with me. The uncertainty was what scared me the most, especially since I didn't understand why it had to be like this. It couldn't be possible that I blinked and missed five years, yet here it was happening.

A knock on the door eventually came and before my mum could stop me, I almost fell off my stool trying to answer it. Immediately opening it, I swallowed hard upon seeing Layla. I'd only seen her yesterday – at least it felt like that – but she'd changed in the smallest of ways. She still had the same dark eyes though, and as soon as they met mine, widened with shock, I pulled her in for a hug.

"I miss you," I mumbled into her shoulder, relieved when I felt her arms lacing around my back, squeezing me in response.

After a moment, I pulled away reluctantly, finally taking the time to get a better look at her. Her curly was pulled back out of her face into a ponytail, revealing her freckled face and sparkling eyes. She, admittedly, looked older than when I'd seen last seen her. Or rather, she'd matured into her features more. Though, I guess it made since she was 29 and no longer than fresh graduate I remembered her to be. It didn't matter though – she still took my breath away like always.

She was studying me, too, eyes taking in my whole appearance as if she couldn't believe I was here. I couldn't imagine how strange this must have been for her, seeing me again after so long. Just like my mum, she was processing, so I didn't rush her.

"You look exactly the same," she finally spoke, and I couldn't even begin to explain the comforting feeling that washed over me at the sound. Just like that, my anxieties vanished and I wasn't sure she even knew the effect she had on me.

"I feel the same," I admitted, meeting her curious gaze. "Nothing changed for me. But you..."

A bashful smile appeared on her lips as a chuckle escaped her lips. "I must look different."

A smile curled on my face at the sight of hers. "Still beautiful though. Some things don't change."

Her smile was soft, just as it had always been, but I sensed the discomfort and immediately lost my own smile.

Clearing my throat, I shook my head and looked away. "Sorry. I'm still trying to get used to– you know, get used to the fact that time has moved forward for you."

That you've got a life without me in it.

"Don't worry about it," she said gently, hand resting on my arm and getting my attention. "It's okay. This must be so strange for you."

I didn't know what to say and I hated the way she looked at me because it wasn't like she used to. I felt like a stranger to her, even though she felt like the world to me.

"Layla, you're here!" I heard my mum say from behind me, and that's when I let her into the house properly.

"Y/M/N!" Layla exclaimed with a bright smile, before letting herself be pulled into a hug from my mum. "It's so good to see you. How are you doing?"

They were closer than I realised. Layla had always gotten along with my mum, but clearly they'd been there for each other a lot these past five years because as they exchanged conversation before me, it was as if I was the third wheel rather than the other way around. I wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.

After some catching up between them, my mum gave us some privacy so we could catch up, too. Layla and I took a seat in the living room, opposite ends of the couch, and I hated that I couldn't just reach over and hold her hand. She wasn't mine anymore.

"So, you went to Egypt," I said with a small, proud smile. "I see the archaeologist pathway worked out for you. Your dad must be so proud, Layla."

"Something like that," she said with an awkward smile. "It started off that way. I started going on expeditions with him after you– after what happened. There wasn't anything else to do here because–" She paused, unsure how to finish.

"I get it," I said with a slight frown. "Everything changed. It must have been hard."

She sighed, looking down at her fiddling thumbs. "It was. Hardest on your mum though."

"Thank you for being there for her when I couldn't be," I said, unable to look away from her, even when she couldn't look at me. "I'm glad she wasn't alone. And I'm glad you had each other."

Layla smiled sadly, glancing at me. "She was there for me, too, Y/N. That's what I was trying to say. My dad, he– he was murdered on an expedition a few years ago. Some mercenaries who tried to steal his findings."

My eyes widened at her words, certainly not expecting that. "What?"

"Your mum was all I had," she continued, swallowing hard. "As for my job... it's probably best I don't say too much. But I'm not sure he'd be proud of me."

"Layla..." I started, but I had no words.

Her father? She'd lost him? And she didn't have anyone to help her through it other than my mum? All I wanted to do was lean forward and pull her in for a hug, but she clearly saw me as a stranger and I felt out of place.

"It's okay, you don't need to say anything," she said with a forced smile. "But yeah. My work takes me to Egypt sometimes. Not exactly what I thought I'd be doing, but hopefully making a difference. I try to retrieve stolen artefacts and stop them from being sold on the black market."

I studied her curiously. "Retrieve."

She tilted her head, giving me a knowing look. "Okay, fine, maybe not retrieve. But look, you can't steal what's already stolen."

I shook my head, expression softening. "I'm not judging, Layla."

She pursed her lips, eyes flickering between mine as if searching for said judgement, before looking away. "I haven't told your mum exactly what I do. I don't want to worry her."

"I understand."

She nodded, sucking up a breath, before looking to me. "So, I guess that's what I've been up to since– yeah."

"Sounds like a whole new life," I said without thinking.

"It is," she answered with a monotonous voice, so I couldn't tell if it was a good new life or not.

"You didn't think I was coming back," I said quietly, "did you?"

She clenched her jaw slightly, looking elsewhere, trying to find an answer. Maybe even lie to spare my feelings, who knew?

"Never mind," I mumbled, looking away, too. I felt like a child before her, hung up on a life that wasn't existent anymore. I was worried she viewed me as such, and it hurt to imagine.

"No, wait," she said quickly, before sighing. "At first, I did think you would come back. I didn't know what had happened, Y/N. One minute we were packing, the next you were gone. Then the news started to talk about the snap and I just– I couldn't believe it."

A painful frown was fixed on her face as she recalled the memory, eyebrows furrowed with sadness.

"I wanted to believe you'd come back," she said, eyes looking up to mine. "I really did. But after two years, I had to move forward with my life. I couldn't keep waiting for nothing to happen."

I recalled my mum's words from yesterday about her wanting Layla to move on. It made sense – I only wanted her to be happy, even if it was without me. But again, the thought of her moving on with somebody else made me want to throw up.

"Did you ever find anybody else?" I asked reluctantly.

"Y/N–"

"It's just a question," I said too quickly, ignoring the pity in her expression. "Did you?"

She swallowed visibly, debating whether or not to answer me. I waited patiently, the silence deafening the longer her eyes bore into mine. Finally, she spoke.

"There was one guy... it was two years ago. He was the longest relationship I had. Almost eight months we dated."

I clenched my jaw as she told me, a frown forming on my lips. The mature thing to do would've been to remain straight faced, or better yet, not even ask. But I couldn't act rationally when I was imagining another man in a relationship with my girlfriend.

"It didn't work out," she said, avoiding my eyes the whole time. "He was sweet and I thought that he might be able to– never mind. It just didn't work out and so I broke it off. Dated a bit since then, but never anything serious. That's it."

Dated? She'd dated other people? People that weren't me? Why would she do that? Why would she see other people when we were in a relationship? Why would she–

"Y/N?"

My breathing grew heavier when she stared at me with concern, leaning forward slightly. I stood up instantly, feeling my chest tighten and eyes burn with unshed tears. Without another word, I left the room and ignored her calling after me, going for the bathroom in the hall.

As soon as the door closed, muffling her voice as she followed after me, I found myself shaking against the door. The tears rolled down my cheeks in streams, warm against my skin and salty in my mouth. I sank to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest as I tried to quieten my sobs, but it was useless. Something was breaking inside of me and I didn't know what to do.

My life was gone. Everything I had was gone. The girl I'd loved for four years had her own life, one without me in it. She'd grown up in the past five years without me and I'd fallen behind, and I wasn't sure I could ever catch up. And it wasn't fair.

"Layla, what happened?" I heard my mum's voice in the hallway.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Y/M/N," Layla was repeating profusely. "I shouldn't have told her. She just came back. It was too soon. I'm such an idiot. I didn't think– God–" then she began to ramble in Arabic and I knew she felt guilty, but I didn't have the energy to do anything.

"It's okay, I think you should go for now," my mum said. "Y/N just needs some space. It's a lot. That's all."

Layla responded, but I couldn't hear above my own crying. I wasn't sure if she'd left, but the bathroom door soon opened and I looked up startled, seeing my mum's worried expression.

"Oh, baby...," she muttered, and I shook my head before another sob racked my body and had me crying all over again.

My mum sat beside me on the floor and pulled me into her lap, hugging me as I cried into her chest. She didn't need to say anything and I was grateful because I wasn't in the mood to talk.

"Hi," she says, a little out of breath, a little surprised. It pisses you off even more. Why should she be surprised that you made dinner? You always make dinner. She’s going to come home two hours late and act like it’s out of the ordinary for you to go out of your way to welcome her home?

"Hello," you reply shortly, stabbing at your room-temperature asparagus forcefully, pushing it into your mouth without even looking at her.

"....It smells great in here,” she tries, setting her bag down on the counter slowly. The hair on the back of her neck sticks up as she senses your terrible mood. “I sent you a message."

You glance at your phone. The screen is still dark, as it has been for the last two hours. "That’s weird, because I didn't get it."

She pulls her own phone out and frowns at it, pressing something. A beat later yours buzzes on the table. You look at the time stamp: nine forty-one. Six minutes ago. Running behind. Don't wait up.

You scoff at it, tossing your phone back down on the table where it clatters noisily. Baran raises an eyebrow at your petulance, already unimpressed.

"What?"

"Well, it’s not really helpful to send a message when you’re six minutes away from home when I’ve already been ‘waiting up,’"

you say. Baran makes a throaty sound, pulling her hair tie loose from her hair, letting her curls, messy from a long shift, tumble down her back.

"I know. I'm sorry. We had a stroke victim and a polytrauma back to back and it just—"

"Compounded?" you supply.

Her hands come behind her back, fingers laced in that formal, slightly braced posture she gets. "Yes."

"Right."

You push back from the table and pick up your plate, crossing to the kitchen. Your food has gone so cold that there’s a chill condensation on all your vegetables, so you won’t even try with the microwave. Plus, the action gives you somewhere to go and something to do while the thing you're not saying works its way up your throat. You scrape the plate into the bin.

Behind you, you hear Baran open the refrigerator. The soft sound of a container being taken out followed by the microwave door. This is the part where you're supposed to ask her how her day was, where you welcome her home with softness and care, where she stands at the counter with leftovers and you sit on the other side and she tells you the anonymized, de-identified version of her day and you tell her about yours.

"You could've called," you say instead, to the sink.

She hums the same pitch as the microwave. "I’m sorry, I know."

"Before nine-forty-one, I mean."

"I know." A tightening in it. "It was a busy shift."

"They're all busy shifts, Baran."

The microwave beeps one high tone, followed by several staccato notes that are piercing and annoying as fuck, but neither of you move to kill it.

"What does that mean?" she asks, tone inviting conversation. She's being careful. You turn around. Baran’s standing at the counter with her arms crossed and her food forgotten in the microwave. Her face is wearing the same careful open invitation but careful blankness she brings to patient rooms and team meetings and it makes your blood boil that she dares to shut down her emotions at you.

"Don’t do that," you huff, "You know what I’m talking about. It’s always a busy shift. I have been eating dinner alone at that table for three weeks and you don't — you didn't even — you didn't call! You didn't text until six minutes ago. I didn't know if you were even okay."

Baran's jaw tightens. "I'm clearly okay."

"No shit, I can see that now." You gesture at her. "Don’t patronize me. I didn't know that at seven o'clock!"

"You know what my job is," she says. "You've always known what my job is."

"I know." And you do and have never once asked her to be anything other than what she is. But it feels like she’s issuing a reminder and it sinks under your skin in a way you can't talk yourself back from tonight. "I'm not asking you to quit your job, Baran. I'm asking you to send your wife a goddamn text when you're going to be two hours late."

"I sent you a text!"

"When you were basically already home!"

"I was in a trauma bay before then, Y/N!"

"You weren't in a trauma bay from five-thirty to nine-forty, when you could've—"

"I was managing a department," she cuts you off and you can hear the cold settling in, the temperature dropping in her affect as she start to feel cornered. "I was covering for a resident who called out, handling a consult that should have taken twenty minutes and took ninety, and then yes, a trauma at seven. So no. I didn't have time to provide a running update on my whereabouts."

"A text. One text. At some point before nine forty-one."

"I'm sorry I didn't send it sooner." Offered the way she'd offer a concession across a conference table.

"Are you?" you ask.

The blankness falters. "What?"

"Are you actually sorry? Because you sound like you think I'm being unreasonable and are just saying that to get me off of your back."

"I think," she says, and you can hear the aggravation rising in her voice, "That you understand the demands of my job, and that we've had this conversation a thousand times!" "

“That's kind of my whole thing, Baran! We keep having it!"

Baran's chin comes up a fraction in indignation. You've learned to read her the way you learn the layout of a house you live in, the places where the floor dips, the light switch that's around the corner instead of beside the door. That small upward tilt of her chin means she's about to defend herself. "I am doing the best I can," she says. "I work twelve, sometimes fifteen hour shifts in a department that is chronically understaffed and I come home to you every night—"

"Oh, right, I’m sorry that that’s such a chore.”

Her eyes swarm with anger and confusion. "That is not at all what I just said."

"Pretty damn close to it though, no? This is a thing you do for me? On my behalf?"

"I was not—" She stops. Presses her lips together. When she speaks again the careful management is fraying at the edges, like she's having to hold the even tone with both hands. "I was making the point that I show up. Every single night I'm here."

"Congratulations that you come back to your home to your wife," you snap. "Oh my god! What the fuck was that even supposed to mean!? You come home to the life you set up and you're pissed about it?"

"Y/N—"

"It doesn’t actually count because you're not even here."

Baran's eyes flash red. "You keep just throwing that type of shit out. What is that supposed mean? Use your actual words!"

"I sit across from you at dinner and ask you how your day was and you give me bullshit," you cry out, hands flying up. "You don’t trust me to help you carry any of it so you dumb it down. And take out names because you don’t trust me to hold them. I ask you about your co-workers and your friends and your highlights only for you to give me shit because you don’t want me to know them! You keep your whole job in a separate room and then wonder why I feel like I'm on the outside of your life."

She stares at you incredulously, eyes darting around your face as if looking for a sign you’re kidding. "Y/N, I am legally and ethically obligated to protect my patients' privacy.”

"I know what HIPAA is, Baran."

"Then you know I cannot come home and narrate my shift to you! I am not ‘keeping my job in a separate room’ from you. I have professional standards to maintain that exist for very good reasons."

You scoff and watch a stronger kind of anger wash over her face. “It does, Y/N!"

"I'm not asking for patient files when I ask you to tell me about your day." The shaking starts somewhere in your hands, but quickly reaches your voice. "I just want to hear about you because I fucking miss my wife. You come to bed after I'm asleep and you're gone before I'm up. I miss you, Baran. When you're right here I miss you."

Baran stays silent and you feel your stomach turn with rage and sickness. "Say something, Baran."

"I don't know what you are looking from me right now,” her voice trembles. "You want me to tell you things I can't tell you, and when I find a way to protect the people in my care while still coming home to you every night, you tell me I'm not present enough? What's the right answer? I've already cut down my hours. What exactly else am I supposed to be doing differently?"

"I know you're trying," you say. "I know you work incredibly hard, Baran, I see it. I have never once asked you not to, but there's a difference between being busy and making me feel like the last thing on your list."

Her face drops from frustration to hurt. You both stand in that narrow kitchen for a few moments, puffing out heated breathes. Baran gets her act back together first.

"Eshgham, you could never be the last thing on my list."

"Baran," you say her name and watch her stop. "When did you last ask me how I was doing? Not how my day was. How I am. When did you last ask me something about my life that wasn't perfunctory just to get through a meal?”

Baran looks at you with something that could be the beginning of understanding, but there’s still something missing from your usually so emotionally intelligent wife. Maybe it’s the late hour or the grueling shift, who’s to say, but you are stunned by what she replies: "I think we need to stop. We’re just exhausted and this is turning into something larger than it is."

You know that she knows that’s a fucked up cop-out. That chin rises again and she squirms (as much as Baran Al-Hashimi ever squirms, anyway) with a little readjustment of her shoulders, a slight turn of her head. You can see her looking at you out of the corner of her eye, watching the first flicker of shock morph onto her face when your eyes start to water.

"Right," you whisper.

"I'm not dismissing you," she adds, eyes going a little softer, a little nervous at your reaction. "I’m just saying we're both tired, and maybe this isn't the right time to talk about this."

"Maybe this isn't the right time to talk about this," you repeat, feeling a humiliating burn rise in your throat. "Uh-huh. You've said that before."

Baran's jaw tightens again, getting defensive. "Because you tend to have these conversations when we're both depleted and nothing productive comes out of it."

"Well you never start them at all! I always have to. And every time you find a reason the timing is wrong, and then the morning comes and you're gone."

Baran scoffs in offense. "That is not what I do."

"You just told me I was making it into something larger than it is," you say, and your voice breaks on it this time, actually breaks, and you hate it, hate that you've gotten here, hate that this is the version of you she gets right now. "You literally just said I’m blowing this out of proportion but you won’t even let me finish."

"I didn't—" she starts.

"Yes you fucking did."

The microwave has been done for ten minutes and the food you made for your wife is getting cold again inside it. You are standing in your kitchen with your wife and you have never felt farther from her than right now.

Baran runs an exhausted hand over her face. "I just came off a twelve-hour shift, I walked in the door ten minutes ago, and—"

"And I've been here all night," you shoot back. "Waiting for you."

"I didn't ask you to do that!"

You gape. You have absolutely no response to that, and she falters at your shock. Those lips part slightly, brown eyes go a bit wider.

You breathe out a laugh. "Wow."

"Hold on. I didn't mean it like that."

"Okay."

"I was just—I'm saying you don't have to wait up—"

"Believe me, I heard you." You reach up and press your fingers against your eyes for a moment, breathe in through your nose, drop your hand and turn away.

"Please, Y/N, just pause for a second," she straightens up to follow you, and it's the most raw she's sounded all night. "I didn't mean that you shouldn't—"

"I know what you meant," you say, picking up your phone and storming out of the kitchen. "I'm going to bed."

"Y/N," she rounds the corner and is immediately on your tail, tone edged with panic. "Wait, please. That was entirely out of line. I cannot believe—I should not have said that. Can we just talk for a few more moments, please?"

"I'm tired." And you are. Past words, past the point of anything useful. "We'll talk in the morning."

You hear the silence behind you. She knows that you've borrowed the line. You go to the hallway and pause at the linen closet, pulling out the extra pillow and the blanket from the top shelf.

"What are you doing?" Baran's voice is upset behind you, thready and raspy.

"Getting some things," you say.

You hear a sniff and see her shadow moving from its reflection on the wall in front of you. She’s either wiping her eyes or anxiously running her fingers through her hair. "Are you not sleeping in our bed?"

You look at her over your shoulder. She's standing closer than you expected with her arms crossed over her chest like she's self-soothing. Her hair is tousled and tangled around her worn face. Her lip is trembling slightly from where she’s moving her mouth around in that familiar fidget you used to soothe with your gentle thumb over her soft lips. The most familiar person in the world to you. But also the most painful right now.

"I think I need some quiet right now," you say.

She opens her mouth and closes it, and it's so unlike her, that small faltering, that your chest aches with it. "Y/N," she whispers, taking a half step toward you. "Please. Don’t— don’t go down the hall.”

“Why not?”

Baran looks crushed that you even have to ask her that. "Because I do not want us to go to bed angry, and I said some very awful things I need to apologize for. That I want to apologize for.”

You purse your lips partially to look tough and partly because if you don’t your bottom lip with quiver again. “So now that I'm threatening to go, you want to be around me?"

Baran’s face crumbles. “I always want to be around you, azizam. That—that was never what this was about. You have to know how much I love you."

It comes out almost like a beg, or maybe bewilderment, like she can't quite fathom that you might have lost the thread of it. "You have to — even tonight, even when I was — you have to know that. Right?"

"I know you love me," you sigh.

She takes another step toward you and then seems to catch herself, she's not sure she's allowed. “I want to be around you. I chose this life with you. I will always choose this life with you,” She swallows her words and it hurts your heart. Baran always knows what she's going to say before she says it. She usually doesn’t hesitate. "I’m sorry. I was just trying to get through the shift and get home and I forgot that getting home isn't the finish line.

Her voice dips into a fragile octave. "You're not just— you're not just the place I land."

You tilt your head, swallowing around the thick, burning clamp in your throat. "But I can be if you’d let me."

Baran shakes her head immediately. “No. I mean you’re so much more than that to me. You're not just some… I don’t know. Soft surface meant to absorb my stress when I need it.”

Her hand comes up and she presses her fingers over her mouth for a second. "That is a horrible thing for me to make you feel," she says softly. "You are the only place I actually want to be. I've done a terrible job of reminding you of that, honey. I am so sorry."

Her eyes hold a wet, heavy brightness. She reaches out, the backs of her fingers dragging high and light against your arm, leaving the exit wide open. She leans in when you don’t pull away, her weight settling against you as she pulls you into her arms, cradling you to her body. The familiar scent of her (hospital sanitizer and the faint, warm amber of her perfume) floats around you. You are exhausted, and you are still so hurt, but Baran exhales—a long, shuddering breath that deflated her entire posture against you:

"I'm so sorry, eshgham. Please, please come to bed with me. At least for a little while. And then after, if you decide you still want to sleep in the guest bedroom, I'll help you set it up."

You pull back just far enough to look her in the eyes, breaking the comfort of the embrace before it could soften you too much. "Okay," you finally say, your voice quiet, flat, and entirely unembellished. "But I need you to know that you’re not just dragging me to bed so we can pretend everything is fine."

Her eyes, dark and pooling with unshed tears, scan your face. The exhaustion was there, but so was the hard line you had just drawn.

"If I come with you, we are dealing with this right now," you insist. "For real."

"Yes," she promises, her voice rough. "I am not looking to dodge this conversation, aziz. All we'll do is talk. I promise."

But promises to talk are cheap, and you know it. She hasn’t promised to actually change her behavior, and the sting of how easily she had brushed your feelings aside for most of the night was still burning. Her fingers slide down your wrist to find your hand, her grip tight and pleading. You don’t squeeze back. You let your hand stay limp in hers.

"I was really lonely tonight, Baran," you say into the dimly lit hallway, "And I feel like I can’t talk to you about that without this happening.”

Baran’s hands come up to cradle your face, tilting it toward what little light there is, like she needs to look directly at the damage she caused. "I am so sorry,” she breathes, eyes full of molten sorrow. “You should never have to navigate my exhaustion just to tell me you miss me.” She’s quiet for a second, biting at her shaking lip. “I don’t think I have said it yet, but I missed you too. I missed you the whole day and the whole drive home and I walked in the door and just—”

“I want to believe you,” you interrupt like a plea, “But, Baran. You couldn’t even send me a check-in message? And now you’re saying you missed me the whole day? I don’t know what to make of that. I don’t know how to believe that.”

Her thumbs are still against your face, so very still that you can see her actually working through it. "I think I compartmentalize in a way that isn't fair to you. I tuck you away somewhere safe in my head while I'm at work so I can get through it."

“But I can’t see that," you defend, "I guess it’s sweet to know you do think about me, but if you just lock it all inside of you, how am I supposed to know about it? You’re asking me to trust something invisible and that just isn’t fair."

Baran closes her eyes for just a second. "I’m sorry," she says. "You’re right. I bring that same containment home to you. That’s—"

"Fucked up?" you suggest.

Baran laughs, watery and lovely and relieved that you're opening up to her once more, even just a little bit. "Yes, very, very fucked up."

Her head tilts down to look at you more directly. You let her do her little analysis. You know that beautiful, brilliant, spinning brain inside that gorgeous head needs a few moments to finish its churning.

You count to ten-mississippi before taping your fingers where they’re still around her neck into the base of her skull. "Talk to me. That’s kinda the whole point here."

She exhales, slow and shaky. "I wasted tonight," she says quietly. "Well. Not just tonight, but I think you know what I mean."

You nod. "I do."

“I am so sorry. You keep making dinner and waiting up and asking me how I am and I just…" her voice goes small, "I took all of it and I gave you nothing back."

Her eyes trial down to your lips and she tilts her head down ever so slightly, telegraphing every micro movement. Her kiss is as soft as rain, meant to reassure and also repent, before she pulls away and continues.

"I have been so careless with you," she whispers into you parted mouth, and her first tears fall. You let fall into your arms. You rub a hand over the bumps of her spine, keep your other hand on the back of her neck.

"Baran," you say, into the side of her head.

"Mm."

You pull back just enough to see her face. Her eyes are wet and raw with an openness she doesn't always let out of its enclosure, and on any other night it would undo you completely. Tonight you hold onto yourself.

"You know I love you more than anything in this entire world, but I'm not doing this again. I can't keep having the same fight and going to bed with the same apology and waking up to nothing having changed. This is — I need you to understand that this is me telling you that I'm running out of road here."

"I understand," she says seriously, squeezing your head.

"Do you?"

Brown eyes meet yours and they do not waver, they do not flinch. They bare themselves completely to you as she replies, firmly: "Yes."

You look at her for a long moment. "Okay," you say finally. "Then come to bed."

໒꒱ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •

You’ve worked in the Avengers’ records room for a while now, largely left alone, unbothered by and uninvolved with the chaotic day to day that takes place outside of your small bubble. It’s quiet there, with just your filing system to keep you company.

And you like it that way.

You’re not an agent, not a superhero, not a fighter. You’re not built to withstand bullets or knives or pain… and it seems that you’re not built to withstand Natasha Romanoff either.

Records requests are online now—everything’s digitalized in this day and age, and especially so in the Avengers Tower—so when the Black Widow walks into your records office one morning to get a file in person rather than submitting a formal request, you’re already confused.

At first, you don’t realize anyone is there, too preoccupied with reorganizing your already organized archive, always trying to further optimize the system, and Natasha’s footsteps are almost completely silent on the polished concrete floor anyway.

But she makes herself known, an echoing “Hello?” called out into the seemingly empty room.

You frown from your position between the large shelves and filing cabinets when you hear someone’s voice. Who could possibly be here? No one’s ever here but you.

You make your way to the front counter, emerging from the labyrinth that is the records room, your eyes widening in surprise when you see Natasha standing there patiently waiting. One of her eyebrows is raised when you finally appear out of the depths.

“Can…” you trail off for a moment, brows furrowed as you just stare at her—a physical, tangible person—in front of you. “Can I help you?” you try again, this time finishing your sentence.

“I need subfile AVN-2208-B,” Natasha says, straight to the point.

“Okay,” you answer her, mentally running through all the possible locations that record could be in given the Avengers’ extensive archives. You easily track it down in your mind, but for some reason, you make no move to go retrieve it, your feet remaining firmly planted as if you can’t walk anymore, still just looking at her with open confusion.

“Are you… going to go get it for me?” Natasha asks, smirking.

The small pull of her lips only makes you want to freeze up more.

“Oh- oh! Be right back,” you reply, and then you’re quickly running off to the designated shelf, partially to grab the file, partially to flee. You return not long after rushing away, having tracked it down easily, and you jerkily offer the manila folder over to her.

“Here you are.” Your fingers brush on the pass off, and you practically recoil back away from her, the action heavily exaggerated in your panic.

Natasha’s smirk widens. “That was quick,” she remarks, and her eyes jump up from the dossier now in her hands to meet your own.

You can only hold eye contact with her for a few seconds, her intense gaze causing you to glance back at the floor, at the wall, at the file she’s now got in her grasp… anywhere but her. You begin straightening up some papers on the counter, attempting to give yourself something to do, something to distract yourself with instead of the redhead who you can feel still staring at you.

The way your fingers touched when you handed her the folder was purposeful on her part. What can she say? You’re cute, and she’s enjoying the nervous way you’re reacting to her. She hasn’t even said anything that brazen to you yet but look at you.

“Are you always like this when someone comes in?”

“Like what?”

“Jumpy,” she throws back simply.

You mouth opens and closes; you can’t answer. The small counter between you two right now doesn’t feel like enough.

If Natasha notices you short-circuiting, which she obviously does, she takes it in stride, not minding or commenting on your inability to speak when you remain silent. “Well, this was fun. See you soon,” she tosses over her shoulder as she heads toward the exit of the room.

‘Soon’? She’s coming back? Again? In person? How soon is ‘soon’? You’re fucked.

Apparently, ‘soon’ meant soon.

Natasha strolls back into your records room seven days later, seeking another classified report. You fumble through helping her yet again.

“I need AVN-0033 today.”

Your lips purse as you think. That’s an older number, not a file that you have readily available. For once, you’re not quite sure where to find something off the top of your head. So, you type the reference number into the computer database, fingers clacking wildly on the keyboard as you miss the correct keys and hit the incorrect ones, backspacing and typing over and over again. You enter the wrong case number twice.

“That’s… going to require some digging,” you tell her after you finally manage to successfully look up the documents’ whereabouts.

“No rush,” Natasha replies, smirking, “I like watching you work.”

You stand up abruptly from your desk chair when she says that, somehow managing to knock both it over and the cup of pens and pencils on the counter at the same time.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t see that.”

She returns once every week, sometimes more.

And the requests start getting more elaborate. Older mission files, cross-referenced documents, long-term archived reports that haven’t seen the light of day in years. Honestly, you’re beginning to suspect that some of the records don’t even exist, and when they do, they absolutely could’ve been requested online.

But still, there she is, standing in your office, all the time.

Despite her constant visits, you never get accustomed to her presence. You’re still a mess, bumping your head into open file cabinet drawers when you’re bent down looking for something, hitting your hip on the corner of the desk because you weren’t watching where you were going, walking in the completely wrong direction at first to collect a file that you should know is on the other side of the room.

Natasha never helps.

“That was almost a full sentence. Progress.”

“You’ve almost dropped that three times. Am I that distracting?”

“I’ve gotten faster responses in interrogations.”

And the worst one of all: “Relax. I already like you.”

One day, after multiple occasions filled with Natasha’s teasing and playful flirting, she comes in and, this time, doesn’t ask you for anything.

“Did you need another file?” you question when you see her leaning against the counter.

“Nope,” Natasha responds casually, “Just returning this.” She hands you the folder that she checked out last week.

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking it from her. You may not be surprised when your hands graze again, but that certainly doesn’t make the contact any easier to cope with.

“No problem,” she replies, and then she’s walking out of the room with no other words spoken to you.

Which is… weird. Usually Natasha always hangs around, always stalls, always delays her departure, wanting to draw out her time with you for as long as she can. It seems like it’s a fun little game to her: seeing how many times she can get you to stutter or fluster or make a fool of yourself in one visit, and she’s always trying to beat her high score.

This prompt exit is a bewildering break in the pattern you’ve come to know.

When you look down at the folder though, you see something scrawled on the top right corner.

You'd already been awake a few hours when Trinity woke up in your bed. You were over in the kitchen area of your studio apartment. Typing away on your laptop. Updating some of your documents for work tomorrow. 

"Oh you're awake." Trinity spoke. Normally she'd have slipped out before you were up. 

"I was in a lot of pain. It woke me up so I decided to get some work done." You told her, not really looking up. 

"Oh...well then I guess I'm gonna get dressed and go. I have to meet with someone." She says getting up from the bed. 

"That was fast." You deadpanned. 

"Not like that. Baran asked to meet up to discuss some things about the ED." Your eye physically twitched. You had stopped typing for a moment. 

"Okay." 

"Is it?" Trinity asks, walking over in nothing but one of your old band shirts. 

"I said it is." Her arms wrapped around you from behind. 

"Its okay of its not...or if it makes you jealous." She spoke softly, sending a shiver through you.

"Im not going to repeat myself Trinity." There was a bite to your voice. Your walls are going up and she knew it. 

Trinity’s smile faltered just slightly at the tone.

Not enough that most people would notice it.

But she’d spent enough mornings tangled in your sheets by now to recognize the difference between your sharp edges and your hurt ones.

Her chin rested against your shoulder anyway, stubborn about it.

“You get this wrinkle right here when you’re pissed,” she murmured, brushing her thumb between your brows. “Usually means I should start apologizing.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Mm.” She didn’t sound convinced.

You stared at the spreadsheet on your screen without actually reading it anymore. The cursor blinked accusingly in the middle of a half-finished sentence.

Behind you, Trinity shifted carefully, mindful of your body in that instinctive way she’d gotten lately. One hand stayed light against your waist instead of squeezing. The other rubbed slowly over your shoulder.

“You know,” she said softly, “most people would just say ‘yeah okay have fun.’”

“Most people aren’t me.”

“That’s true.” A tiny grin ghosted across her voice. “You’re meaner.”

That got the barest twitch at the corner of your mouth.

Trinity caught it immediately.

“There she is.”

You sighed through your nose, shoulders tight. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Manage me.”

Her arms loosened instantly.

Not offended. Not dramatic. Just enough space to show you she heard the boundary.

“You think that’s what I’m doing?”

You swallowed.

Your ex-wife used to talk to you like this too near the end. Gentle voice. Careful hands. Like every emotion you had needed to be diffused before it became inconvenient.

You hated how fast your mind went there.

“I think,” you said slowly, “that this is casual. And casual means I don’t get jealous when the girl I’m sleeping with runs off to see someone else in the morning.”

Trinity went quiet behind you. She stepped away from the chair and started gathering her clothes from around the apartment.

You tried to go back to typing, but you couldn’t focus. Your pain had settled deep into your joints overnight, leaving you exhausted and raw. Usually you were better at keeping the walls up when you felt like this.

Usually people didn’t stay long enough to notice the cracks.

Trinity disappeared into the bathroom for a minute, then came back dressed in yesterday’s clothes. She walked over to the kitchenette quietly, opening cabinets like she already knew where things were.

You frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Making coffee.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

The coffee pot clicked on.

You watched her move around your tiny apartment with annoying familiarity. Pulling down mugs. Finding the coffee grounds. Opening the fridge without asking.

Domestic.

Dangerously domestic.

“You’re staring,” she said without looking back.

“I’m trying to figure out why you’re still here.”

That finally made her turn.

There was something unexpectedly open in her expression now. Softer than her usual smirk.

“Because,” she said simply, “you were hurting before I even said Baran’s name.”

Your throat tightened. Trinity walked back over slowly until she stood beside your chair again.

“You don’t have to date me,” she said. “You don’t have to promise me anything. But I’m not gonna pretend I don’t care about you just because someone else taught you that caring always comes with conditions.”

You looked away first.

“You know Baran’s divorced.”

“I know.”

“You could go for her. I’ve seen how she looks at you and how you light up at her praise.”

“And she’s like fifteen years older than me.”

“And I’m almost ten years older,” you reminded her, finally looking up from your laptop with a raised eyebrow.

Trinity blinked.

Then huffed out a laugh.

“Okay, first of all, you are way hotter than Baran.”

“That wasn’t the point.”

“It was a point.”

You rolled your eyes despite yourself, but Trinity caught the way your mouth threatened to turn upward.

“There,” she said immediately, pointing at you. “That face. I’m winning.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And yet you keep letting me stay over.”

Your lips pressed together again, trying not to react to that one.

Trinity softened a little after a second.

“For real though,” she said more quietly, “you know I don’t care about the age difference, right?”

Something vulnerable flickered across your expression before you could stop it. Because it wasn’t really about the number. It was about history. About being left behind for someone easier. Healthier. Less complicated. Less tired.

“You don’t need someone with so much baggage, Trinity.” 

Trinity seemed to read enough of that off your face that her teasing faded completely.

“You know what I actually think this is?”

"Tell me oh wise one. What do you think this actually is?"

Trinity’s grin came back immediately at the oh wise one.

“There she is,” she murmured. “Mean and sarcastic. My favorite version of you.”

You snorted softly and leaned back in your chair just enough to look at her properly.

“Well? Enlighten me.”

Trinity shifted her weight against the counter, arms folding loosely over her chest. For once, she didn’t immediately go for a joke.

“I think,” she said slowly, “you decided a long time ago that needing people is humiliating.”

The words hit harder than you expected.

Your expression flattened automatically.

Trinity noticed.

“And I think,” she continued carefully, “that every time someone gets close enough to matter, you start looking for proof they’re gonna leave anyway.”

“That’s psychobabble.”

“You literally just got jealous over me getting coffee with my boss and you’re a psychiatrist!”

“She’s not your boss.”

“She signs my evaluations,” Trinity deadpanned.

That dragged a reluctant breath of laughter out of you.

Trinity smiled a little at the sound before stepping closer again, slower this time, giving you plenty of room to shut her out.

“You know what else I think?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think a lot for someone who just woke up.”

“I’m serious.”

That softened something in your chest despite yourself.

Trinity rested a hand lightly on the back of your chair.

“I think you’re used to people seeing your disability before they see you.” Her voice had gone quieter now. “And when they finally realize pain doesn’t magically go away? When things get hard? They leave.”

You went very still.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

Not completely.

Your ex-wife had loved you when you were still “manageable.” Back when the bad days were occasional instead of constant. Before mobility aids became normal. Before exhaustion started carving pieces out of you.

Trinity’s eyes searched your face carefully.

“So now you keep everything casual because if nobody’s allowed to matter,” she said softly, “then nobody gets the chance to abandon you.”

The apartment suddenly felt too quiet.

You stared at her for a long moment before looking away first.

“You can leave now, Trinity.”

The softness vanished from your voice completely.

Cold.

Sharp enough to cut.

Trinity blinked at the sudden shift. “Hey I didn’t-”

“I mean it.”

She straightened slowly from where she’d crouched beside your chair, confusion flickering across her face before frustration started creeping in around the edges.

“You’re seriously kicking me out because I said something true?”

Your jaw clenched.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you know me.”

Trinity scoffed softly, incredulous. “I am getting to know you, that’s literally the problem.”

“I said leave.” Your voice cracked like a whip this time. “Now.”

That finally shut the room up.

Trinity stared at you for a few long seconds.

You could actually watch the moment her expression closed off.

Not completely.

But enough.

She grabbed her jacket off the back of the couch harder than necessary.

“Whatever,” she muttered, anger bleeding into her voice now because hurt and anger always looked a little similar on her. “You’re pissed because I’m right.”

You didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because if you opened your mouth right now, something ugly and vulnerable would probably crawl out of it.

Trinity shoved her arms into the sleeves of her jacket.

“I’m still gonna be around though Y/N,” she said tightly. “I’m not disappearing, so just…” She laughed once without humor. “Text me when you wanna hook up again, I guess.”

The words landed like a punch. Because suddenly she sounded exactly like what you’d been trying to make this. Casual, easy, nothing important.And for some reason hearing her say it made you feel sick. Trinity hesitated at the door for half a second like she was waiting for you to stop her.

You didn’t.

So she left.

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the cheap frames on your wall.

Silence flooded the apartment afterward.

Heavy.

Immediate.

Your breathing felt uneven suddenly.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your hands came up to cover your face as your elbows rested on the desk.

Pain still burned through your body, hot and relentless beneath your skin, but it barely registered now over the ache opening up in your chest.

Because Trinity had been right.That was the worst part, it wasn’t the jealousy or the argument. It’s the fact she’d seen straight through you in a way nobody had in a very long time.

And instead of letting her or letting someone care about you without conditions…you’d shoved her out the second it got real. Your fingers curled against your forehead.

“Good job,” you muttered bitterly to yourself. “Really fucking nailed that one.”

The apartment still smelled like her shampoo.

Her coffee sat untouched on the counter.

And somewhere beneath all the anger and panic and instinctive self-protection was a horrible creeping realization that you might’ve just blown up the only genuinely good thing you’d let yourself have in years.

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

It took you a week to text her. A full week of typing messages out and deleting them. A full week of staring at your phone after shifts, wondering if Trinity was angry enough to ignore you now. Wondering if maybe she should.

In the end, the message you finally sent was painfully simple.

you busy tonight?

Trinity responded four minutes later.

depends. you gonna kick me out again?

You stared at that one for a long time before replying.

No. I promise.

Another pause.

Then:

okay. i’ll come by after shift

And somehow that almost made you throw your phone across the room from nerves alone.

By the time evening rolled around though, your body had other plans. One minute you’d been trying to clean your apartment, the next your joints felt like someone had poured molten glass into them. Nausea rolled through you hard enough you barely made it to the bathroom the first time.

You got yourself set up in bed, barely made it really.

You took your meds, hoping they’d help soon enough to still be able to do things with Trinity. You crawled into bed in one of your oversized sleep shirts, and told yourself you’d rest for twenty minutes before texting Trinity not to come. Instead, you passed out completely.

The knock at the door never woke you, but the sound of it opening did. Your eyes cracked open blearily to the sound of footsteps moving through your apartment. For one disoriented second panic flashed through you before your brain caught up.

Trinity.

“...shit,” you croaked. Your throat felt dry. You pushed yourself up slightly, immediately regretting it as pain flared through your spine, the room spinning a bit.

From the other room, Trinity froze. Then she appeared in the doorway a second later.

The tension that had been sitting between you both all week was obvious immediately. You could see it in the way she stopped short instead of walking in fully.

She looked exhausted from her shift. Backpack still slung over one shoulder. Hair down from the way she’d keep it up at work. Hoodie half unzipped.

But the second she actually saw you, her expression changed.

“Oh.” Not annoyance, concern; real, immediate concern. “You’re not feeling well.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled automatically.

Trinity’s eyebrows shot up.

“You look like death warmed over.”

“Wow. Charming.”

“You invited me over and then I had to sneak in.”

“How?”

“You gave me the code like three months ago.”

Right.

You closed your eyes briefly. “Forgot.”

Trinity stood there another second, watching you carefully. You hated that she could probably already tell.

The heating pad cord sticking out and keeping your lower back in a pleasant state. The untouched water on the nightstand. The trash can beside the bed just in case the nausea came back.

A flare up, a bad one. Suddenly embarrassment burned hotter than the pain did.

Because this,this was exactly why you kept people at arm’s length. You looked away from her. “You don’t have to stay.” The words came out quieter this time. Your voice almost cracking. Like you were expecting her to leave just like your ex. You were just hurt and tired. You’d been through this song and dance before.

Trinity didn’t answer immediately.

You heard the soft thud of her bag hitting the floor instead. Then her footsteps crossed the apartment toward the bed. When the mattress dipped beside you, you still couldn’t look. You knew she was studying your face with that same frustratingly perceptive expression. Then a hand under your chin, soft, helping guide you to meet her gaze.

“You took meds already?”

You nodded once.

“Nausea?”

Another nod.

“Pain scale.”

You gave her a flat look. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, humor me.”

“Trinity.”

She reached over and brushed your hair carefully back from your forehead anyway. The touch was gentle enough it made your chest ache.

“Baby,” she said softly, “what number?”

Your breath caught a little at the word. Not because she seemed to notice she’d said it, but because she didn’t. Like it had just slipped out naturally.

“…Eight,” you admitted finally.

Trinity exhaled quietly through her nose.

“Okay.” She glanced around the room once before looking back at you. “Did you eat anything?”

You hesitated too long.

“Oh my god.”

“I was gonna…”

“You invited me over while actively dying.”

“I wasn’t dying when I invited you.”

“Debatable.”

Despite yourself, a weak laugh escaped you.

Trinity’s face softened instantly at the sound, like she’d been waiting for proof you were still in there underneath the pain and pride and shame.

“I’m gonna make you toast,” she said, already standing again.

“You don’t have to take care of me.” She paused halfway to the kitchenette. Then looked back at you.

“I know.” Her voice was very quiet now. “I’m doing it anyway.”

You watched Trinity move around your tiny kitchenette in a strange sort of silence. Opening cabinets, finding the bread, filling a glass with fresh water like she already knew your routines.

It felt…weird…not bad. Just unfamiliar in a way that made your skin feel too tight.

Your ex-wife used to sigh when your flares got bad. Not always intentionally cruel about it. Sometimes just tired. Frustrated. Burnt out from the repetition of it all.

Another appointment. Another medication. Another ruined plan. Eventually she’d stopped asking what you needed altogether.

But Trinity had already asked three times in under ten minutes.

You swallowed hard and looked away when she glanced back toward the bed.

“You don’t have to hover.”

“I’m literally making toast.”

“You’re hovering emotionally.” You point out, tilting your head slightly.

That snorted a laugh out of her.

“God, you are impossible when you feel like shit.”

“I’m impossible all of the time.” You pulled the blanket higher over your stomach. “You worked all day.”

“So?”

“So now you’re here stuck playing doctor with me.”

The words came out sharper than you intended. Trinity slowed and took in your expression.

“My ex used to hate this part,” you admitted quietly before you could stop yourself. “The flares. The meds. Me cancelling things.” Your jaw tightened. “Said she already spent enough time taking care of people at work. She didn’t wanna come home and do it too.”

The apartment went still. Trinity set the butter knife down carefully. Then turned toward you fully. For once, there wasn’t a trace of teasing in her face.

“That’s what you think this is?” she asked softly.

You immediately regretted saying anything at all.

“Forget it.”

“No.”

You looked away stubbornly, but Trinity crossed the room anyway, carrying the plate over before sitting carefully on the edge of the bed again.

“You think I’m here because I have to be.”

“I think you’ve already spent twelve hours getting puked on and yelled at by patients,” you muttered. “I don’t exactly make a great after-work activity.” You mumbled out, looking down and playing with the edge of the blanket.

Something flickered across Trinity’s expression then.

Hurt.

Not offended hurt. The kind that came from hearing someone talk about themselves like they were fundamentally difficult to love.

She handed you the plate.

Your hands shook a little while taking it.

“Look at me for a second.”

You didn’t want to.

Which was exactly why she waited instead of pushing.

Eventually your eyes lifted to hers.

“I am here,” Trinity said carefully, “because I wanted to come here.”

Your throat tightened.

“I answered your text in four minutes,” she continued. “I spent the whole week wondering if you were gonna talk to me again.” A tiny huff of laughter escaped her. “I almost didn’t come tonight because I thought maybe you changed your mind.”

Guilt twisted low in your stomach.

Trinity leaned back slightly, giving you room to breathe.

“You know what I see right now?” she asked quietly.

You stared down at the toast in your lap. “A disaster?”

“I see someone who’s hurting.” Her voice softened. “And who’s so used to handling it alone that being cared for feels embarrassing.”

Your eyes burned suddenly. You looked away before she could notice. Except of course she noticed.

“You don’t have to perform being okay around me,” she said. “You don’t have to earn softness.”

A shaky breath left you.

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“No,” she said gently. “It’s easy for you to believe you’re only worth loving when you’re easy.”

Silence settled between you after that.

Trinity reached over eventually and tugged the blanket a little higher around your legs when she noticed you shiver.

The movement was so absentmindedly caring it almost hurt worse than the flare itself.

And for the first time in a very long time, you let someone take care of you without immediately pushing them away.

You managed a few bites before your hands started betraying you.

Tiny tremors.

The kind that got worse when your pain spiked or when you had forgotten to eat all day. You tried to hide it at first by adjusting your grip on the plate, but Trinity noticed immediately because apparently nothing escaped her attention when it came to you.

“Here,” she murmured softly. Her hand settled against your back, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. It was so soft, so gentle. It was as if she wanted to do something, anything to make it better.

You swallowed hard around the strange tightness in your throat and kept eating while she sat beside you, warm and steady against the mattress. Every so often she’d help in small ways without making a thing out of it. Moving the water closer when your reach faltered. Taking the plate before it became too heavy for your wrists. Adjusting the heating pad on your back.

Tiny acts of care so casual they almost undid you. The meds were finally taking the sharpest edge off the pain by the time you spoke again.

“We can’t do our usual, so…” Your eyes stayed fixed on the blanket in your lap. “You don’t have to stay late.”

The room went silent for half a second. Then Trinity turned toward you fully.

“You trying to get rid of me just because we can’t have sex?” she asked incredulously. “You think that’s why I stay around?”

Your face heated immediately. “I didn’t mean…I just…”

She paused suddenly, considering.

“Well,” she admitted, “that thing you do with your tongue is incredible.”

You let out a horrified noise while she burst into laughter.

“Oh my god, your face right now.”

“Trinity.”

“I’m being honest!”

“You’re the worst.”

“Mm. And yet you invited me back.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitched. Trinity’s expression softened almost immediately at the sight of it. Then she leaned over and bumped her shoulder gently against yours.

“But seriously,” she said quieter now, “I love spending time with you. I like being here.” Her fingers brushed lightly against your arm. “We can just lay here and veg out. I don’t care.”

Something warm and dangerous unfurled low in your chest at the words. Because she sounded sincere. Not trapped or obligated. Like she genuinely wanted this. Wanted you.

“H…” You cleared your throat softly. “How about a movie?”

Trinity brightened instantly.

“Okay. But it has to be your all-time favorite.”

You groaned. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

“You’ll judge me.” You whined out.

“I already sleep with you. The judgment stage has passed.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real heat behind it anymore. Trinity shifted closer while you reached shakily for the remote, until her thigh pressed warm against yours beneath the blankets.

Comfortable. Easy. The kind of intimacy that had nothing to do with sex at all and somehow that scared you more than anything else. The movie had barely been on ten minutes before you realized Trinity had slowly migrated closer. At first it was small things. Her knee brushing yours beneath the blankets. Her shoulder bumping against your arm whenever she laughed quietly at something onscreen. Then somewhere along the way she’d ended up fully pressed against your side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You became acutely aware of it all at once. The warmth of her. The steady rise and fall of her breathing. The way one of her hands rested lazily against your stomach beneath the blanket, absentmindedly tracing tiny patterns through the fabric of your shirt.

Your chest tightened strangely. Not panic…not exactly. Just…awareness.

You shifted slightly against the pillows and immediately regretted it when pain tugged through your hips.

Trinity noticed instantly.

“Sorry,” she murmured, already trying to pull away. “Am I squishing you?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

You hesitated a second too long.

Trinity started moving anyway, but before she could fully pull back, your arm was around her, tugging her back against you. It hurt a little, but it didn’t matter to you. The movement surprised both of you.

You swallowed hard.

“I just…” Your voice came out quieter than intended. “You’re okay. I promise”

Trinity went very still beside you.

Then softer than before, “Yeah?”

You nodded once, eyes fixed stubbornly on the TV instead of her face.

Because admitting you liked this felt weirdly intimate. More intimate than sex had ever been between you two. Trinity settled back carefully after a second, slower this time, making sure not to put weight on the parts of you that hurt. Her head ended up tucked near your shoulder.

You could feel the faint brush of her hair against your jaw.

Neither of you spoke for a little while after that.

The movie played quietly in the background while the rain tapped softly against your apartment windows.

And somewhere in the middle of all that warmth and exhaustion and lingering ache, you realized something deeply unsettling: you couldn’t remember the last time another person’s presence made you feel better instead of trapped.

Trinity’s thumb brushed once across your stomach absentmindedly.

“You know,” she murmured sleepily, “for someone supposedly doing casual, you’re kinda cuddly.”

You snorted softly.

“You literally attached yourself to me like a barnacle.”

“Mm.” You could hear the grin in her voice without looking. “And yet you pulled me back in.” Your fingers tightened slightly around the blanket. Because she was right.

Again.

Instead of answering, you let your head tilt carefully until it rested against hers. The smile Trinity gave at that was small.

After the eighth date, Cassie let you take her up to your apartment above your shop. It was full of rugs, old books, half melted candles. The apartment held a cozy feeling that seeped deep into her bones.

The moment you opened the door, you were the perfect gentlewoman. You had offered her something to drink, lit an incense stick and then proceeded to crawl on her lap and make out with her like it was the end of the world. Your silky, satin skirt (the one that kissed every line and curve of your body, making Cassie’s mouth water), despite being longer than your knees, had fully bunched up around your waist.

It could have been due to Cassie’s hands seeking out more of your warm skin to touch and feel. Every move against you being electric, like she had just stuck her hand on a live wire. She was twitchy and shaky in all the ways that belied enjoyment and anticipation.

“You feel so good,” Cassie managed to say, between attacks from your lips.

“Please keep touching me, baby,” you replied. Your lips trailed under her jaw and Cassie couldn’t hide the shiver you caused. “Fuck that’s so hot.”

“You’re so hot,” Cassie grumbled. She played with the hem of your sweater. “May I?”

“Please,” you sighed, leaning closer to her body.

Cassie’s hands slipped under your sweater and you jumped at their chill, but didn’t complain. It didn’t take long for them to warm against your body heat. There was a split second where you panicked about what Cassie was thinking about you and your body. It wasn’t small or stick thin. You weren’t lithe like Cassie herself. Any fear flew away the moment Cassie squeezed you and said,

“Fucking beautiful, oh my god.”

“Baby,” you whined.

She readjusted so you were reclining against your couch while she hovered over you. A thin gold chain dangled in front of your face and you said,

“I think I believe in hypnotism now.”

“Why’s that?” She asked, still caging your body with hers.

“With that chain and those hands, I think I’d do anything you’d tell me to do right now. Probably thank you for it,” you nearly whispered. Keeping eye contact you hooked a leg around her hip, not even to pull her down but to add another point of contact between your bodies.

“Keep telling me stuff like that and I might believe I can,” she laughed.

“Have I mentioned how much I love your voice?” You asked. “I could listen to you read the shampoo bottle and it would be one of the hottest things I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re giving me an ego, sweetheart,” she croaked.

“Good,” you replied kissing her again.

Time dilated as you both held each other, alternating from makeouts to gentle kisses to soft touches. It was all pg-13; Cassie had been clear about wanting an emotional connection before sex. You were fine with that, though your vibrator had been receiving more of a workout lately.

Dating Cassie was fun. She was fun. She was clever and had a subtle wit about her that snuck up on you. Every touch of her hands made you smile. Being near her was so exhilarating you couldn’t imagine needing an adrenaline rush.

It was like every opinion you agreed on and every story was funnier than the last. She adored her son and seemed to care desperately about him. While she hadn’t said much about his dad, you got the impression that their coparenting was a bit tense. On the first date she had disclosed her addiction and minor criminal record.

“I want everything to be on the table before we move forward,” she had said.

“Do you plan on any more assaults?” You had replied.

“No,” she said with a quirk of her mouth.

“Then I’m good until you suggest otherwise.”

After her disclosure you never purchased alcohol with her and had thrown out any random beers or white claws that may have haunted the back of your fridge. It’s not like you drank enough for it to really impact you. And now with her back in your apartment you felt good that there was nothing in your space that might make her feel uncomfortable.

“You look really good on my couch,” you told her in between kisses, laying face to face. Her nose lightly brushed your own.

“Your couch is stupid comfortable,” she replied making you giggle.

“When do you have the relieve your babysitter?”

“I have another few minutes before I start getting grumpy texts from my dad,” she laughed.

“He sounds like a laugh,” you told her.

“He’s really great. I’m fucking lucky,” she said. Her arm trailed up your waist, settling on your ribs. Her thumb brushed the underside of your breast.

“I hope you know that the moment you leave, I’m going to grab my vibrator and cum so hard to the thought of going down on you,” you told her simply.

Her eyes dilated and she inhaled sharply.

“You’re really testing my self control here,” she murmured placing a soft kiss against your lips.

“Nope, not asking for anything more. Just reminding you that I’ll jump your fucking bones when you’re ready—when we’re both ready,” you said. “Until then, do not think I am not a fan of making out on my couch.”

“Making out with you is certainly my new favorite pastime,” she hummed, her tongue tracing the seam of your lips.

“I think it’s an underrated experience,” you sighed. “I could do this for the rest of my life and be content. Even if I’d go through vibrators like a motherfucker.”

Cassie snorted and rolled you over so you were draped on top of her, face buried against her neck. You both relaxed against each other, but right when you were about to doze the alarm on her phone went off, signifying that the date was over and she had to get back to her son.

You whined as she sat up.

“Harrison goes back to his dad’s next week,” Cassie told you conversationally. She was sliding her belt back through her pants. You didn't even remember it coming off. Her sweater followed. You did remember that coming off to show her tank top and more specifically her shoulders.

Collapsed against the back of the couch you watched her dress and check for her keys and phone. God she was so hot.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me.”

“I’m not a liar, Cassie,” you replied simply. When she was ready you stood and walked her to the door.

To your surprise (and undignified squeak), she pushed you against the door jam and kissed you soundly.

“I really like you,” she said.

“I really like you, too.”

“Next week, maybe we could have an overnight date?” She asked.

You grinned. “Yes please.”

-- -- --

Cassie was leaning over the computer looking at baffling test results.

“You know,” Dana said slowly.

“I really don’t,” Cassie replied. “How the fuck does she have a normal white blood cell count.”

“Not what I was talking about,” replied Dana.

“Wait, what?”

“You’ve seemed chipper the last couple weeks.”

“I had Harrison,” Cassie told her.

“Uh-huh, I don’t think Harrison gave you that hickey,” Dana whispered.

“I don’t have a hickey,” Cassie scoffed. She had explicitly asked you not to leave visible marks. So while she did have a hickey a couple inches under her collarbone above the swell of her tit, she knew there wasn’t one where Dana could see.

“You should pull up your shirt,” Dana whispered.

Cassie immediately straightened and yanked the tank top up under her scrub shirt. Fuck, who all had seen that? A surreptitious glance around suggested no one else was paying attention to her. She didn’t mind people knowing about her personal life, necessarily. God knows, it had blown up at work more than once. But she kind of wanted to keep this to herself until she knew what it was.

“Thank you,” Cassie replied stiffly.

“Someone new then?”

“Yeah, she works near one of the street team stops and she asked me out,” Cassie whispered out of the side of her mouth.

“Why do you sound surprised by that?” asked Dana.

“I’m not exactly on the younger side of forty anymore,” Cassie laughed.

“So?”

Cassie paused. “Maybe I’m just nervous that she’s more interested in dating a doctor or something.”

Cassie briefly thought about the hungry look that lived on your face while she was getting dressed the other night.

“Or maybe I’m just letting nerves get to me,” she amended.

“That sounds more likely,” Dana agreed. “Can I see a picture?”

Cassie’s eyes scanned around looking for any eavesdroppers. Sighing she pulled her phone out of her pocket and showed Dana a photo of you at the small, amateur theater show you both went to. You had on a sleeveless dress that showed your art covered arms and jewelry laden chest.

“Wow,” Dana whistled. “She’s something. Is it serious?”

“Not yet, maybe soon.”

“Well, if it’s serious by the time my Christmas party rolls around, you better bring her,” Dana said.

“If it lasts that long, I will. But you know how dating is when you’re a medical worker and a mom.”

“Technically, I don’t. But I’ve seen it. The difference is that you’re not self destructive.”

“Well, not anymore.”

Dana walked away chuckling.

For the past six years whenever Cassie’s interest and energy aligned she had sought out companionship. Most of the time in one night stands or short flings. It hadn’t every felt like something she wanted to last longer than a few dates. But now with you….

Well, she knew she was holding off on sex because she was afraid of repeating her avoidant patterns. She really, really liked you and didn’t want you (or her own brain) to be content with just a hookup.

But, she was still looking forward to next week when she could finally get her hands on you. Maybe she’d ask about exclusivity, maybe she’d try and label it before she chickened out—or hid her feelings by going down on you, more realistically.

-- -- --

The drop off with Chad was, as always, emotionally exhausting. She had just gotten home from an overnight shift and brought Harrison his lunch he had forgotten. Her dad had offered to take him, but Chad would likely use that as ammunition for their next custody hearing, so she took a short nap and drove Harrison to the police station after school for the switch.

Cassie tried not to react when she saw Chad’s latest controversially younger girlfriend in his passenger seat. It was a shame he wasn’t a completely shitty dad, only a shitty ex-partner, because the way he copied Leonardo DiCaprio’s dating patterns made her cringe. Harrison, while still mostly unimpressed with his dad, didn’t hate spending time with him. Once her residency ended in a year she was going to petition for 50/50. The lawyer (her dad still paid for, she chafed at that) had said that consistency and patterns were key to success. Harrison would also be old enough to make a statement.

While she would not coach or ask her son to make a statement in her favor, she was pretty confident in what he would say.

Anyways the cluster fuck of the day meant that the plans with you that Cassie had looked forward to were dead in the water. There was no way she had the emotional or physical energy to be present tonight. With a heavy heart, she texted you asking for a rain check. Often this was the was the reality check for dating medical workers—plans were heavily dependent on how exhausted and emotionally drained they were.

To her surprise, you called.

“Hey?”

“Hey, I only have a couple minutes between customers,” you prefaced. “I’m totally fine with a rain check. But if you want to come over I’ll cook and we can sit on my couch doing nothing but watching shitty reality TV all evening.”

It sounded tempting but, “I really want to be in my own space. If I didn’t live with my dad, I’d invite you over.”

“Alas,” you replied. “Can I do something nice for you?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno drop off a cupcake at your house or something.”

“My dad will be home.”

“I’ll bring him one too. Gotta make a good impression.”

“Thinking of sticking around for a while?” Cassie asked with a smirk in her mouth.

“Keeping my options open,” you replied in your trademark cheeky tone.

“Yes, you can do something nice for me,” she told you.

“Perfect. Go home and get some rest. It sounds like it’s been a long day. I’ll miss you,” you said.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

And it wasn’t hard for Cassie to imagine saying “I love you” instead.

Still, Cassie went home and took an extra long shower before finally collapsing into her bed. She was so tired that she didn’t even need to draw her black out curtains. The moment her head hit the pillow she was out. Blissfully asleep without a dream or care in the world.

When she finally awoke, there was a dried line of drool on her cheek and the sky was dark outside. Looking at her clock, only a couple hours had passed—meaning her sleep schedule wasn’t completely fucked.

She stood, her back cracking like bubble wrap. For a moment she just stood, trying to reorient her brain to being awake. The older she got the harder these mid-afternoon naps were on her brain. At a snail’s pace, Cassie slowly stretched out her body—allowing all the tension that had been building to leak out. It wasn’t quite yoga but it would do for tonight.

Right as she walked downstairs to pillage something from the fridge she heard voices. It was rare for her dad to have someone over without giving her a heads up. Then again, she hadn’t looked at her phone before leaving her room. Actually, she wasn’t even sure if her phone made it out of the bathroom from when she had to listen to her pump up playlist to keep her awake during the shower.

Cassie heard a familar sounding laugh and turning the corner into the kitchen was surprised to find you sitting in her kitchen while her dad made dinner.

“Hey,” you said. “Your dad caught me dropping some stuff off for you and rightfully wanted to know why a random woman was leaving flowers and desserts on his doorstep.”

Neil snorted and said, “She didn’t want to come in, but I insisted.”

You looked at Cassie over Neil’s shoulder and mouthed, “Sorry.”

Cassie just gave you a small smile and walked over to you, sliding her arms around your waist, plastering herself to your back. She gave you a soft kiss on the cheek before separating. It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted you to come over, but it was a cockblock—romance block—to be at your girlfriend’s house, except it’s actually her dad’s house.

Cassie was looking for something to drink when she caught the thought. She had called herself your girlfriend, not something that either of you had discussed. But it had been over a month and Cassie certainly wasn’t seeing anyone else. A wash of cold fear ran through Cassie as she thought about how you might be seeing other people.

“She’s a bit of a bear when she wakes up from a nap,” Neil told you, in response to Cassie’s lack of verbal greeting.

“Don’t worry, I can talk enough for the both of us. Please continue the mini-golf story, Neil,” you said.

Cassie groaned, still not quite able to form words to protest. She heard you snicker. With a can of soda she slid onto the barstool next to you, overlooking the rest of the kitchen where her father seemed to be making some kind of stir fry.

“Well, Cassie was an insistent and independent seven year old. Which meant when she knocked the ball into the foliage she was hell bent on grabbing it herself. Her mother and I watched, obviously, but all the sudden we heard her little ferocious shout and we found her stuck. She wasn’t crying or even upset. Instead she was trying to unhook her tshirt from some fencing with the anger of a badger,” Neil laughed. “We didn’t even realize until that night she had punctured her shoulder on the fence.”

“Do you have a scar?” You asked, wiggling your eyebrows. Cassie rolled her eyes but pulled up the sleeve of her shirt. There was a tiny white pucker mark.

“Why are you telling her my terrible childhood stories?” Cassie finally asked. Her mouth finally felt connected to her brain.

“Because it seemed rude to go get the baby photos,” her dad replied glibly. You chuckled.

You pushed a vase of sunflowers towards her and she plucked the card from the bouquet. They were gorgeous. There was a delayed realization that she hadn’t owned that vase before today. It meant you had purchased the flowers and a vase for her. Chad had never purchased flowers, but if he had, she couldn’t have imagined him including a vase.

The note read:

“Sorry today was so shit. You’re very cool and very hot. xx”

Cassie felt her face warm with the care you so often doled out on her. It was hard not to jump you right then and there, even with her dad in the kitchen.

“Wait, did you bring stuff from Alma’s bakery?” Cassie asked, seeing the white branded box on the kitchen island.

“Yeah, I remembered you said it was your favorite. I wasn’t sure what you got, so I just got an assortment,” you replied.

“I already had the apricot tart,” Neil announced.

“He said you didn’t like them and I was too scared to stop him,” you whispered. Cassie laughed and threaded her fingers through yours.

“He loves apricots,” Cassie replied. She did actually like the apricot tart, but was more than happy to let her dad have it. A small way to show her gratitude for his love and help over the years.

“If you want some alone time, I can head out,” you told her.

“No, I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “Sorry, you had to meet my dad so early.”

“He’s really charming,” you said. “I see where you get it from.”

Cassie snorted. That was not a widely held opinion by any of her ex’s. Her dad was an excellent judge of character, something Cassie had only developed in the past ten years or so. If Neil liked you, it made Cassie feel a little better about eventually asking for something serious.

“Should I plug my ears?” Neil asked.

“Of course not, dad,” snorted Cassie.

“So you aren’t talking shit?” He asked, turning around with a grin.

“Never,” you said, crossing your heart. Neil laughed and finished the stir fry.

The three of you ate a simple dinner together. After which each person grabbed a pastry (Cassie went for the eclair while you grabbed the lemon tart—she filed that away for later) and then Neil whipped out the puzzle they had been working on.

Despite how boring Cassie thought it must seem to you, you listened intently to her father’s insane puzzle strategy and nodded like you gave a shit about his color theory and pile methods. Ever the good sport, you dutifully helped sort the pieces, sharing funny stories about your customers and neighborhood.

“When I was protesting against the union busting in the 70s, we could have used business support like yours,” Neil declared.

“Please don’t get him started on the union,” Cassie sighed.

“Their decline has resulted in significant consequences for the working and middle class,” he protested.

Then to Cassie’s horror, you both began to discuss the economic consequences of the decline in unions and labor protection. She had lost you to the political ramblings of her father. He had grown up in rural Pennsylvania with a coal miner dad and laundress mother. Then he was the first in the family to go to college. Then to law school. He spent most of his career fighting for worker’s rights.

It’s one of the many reasons he hated Chad. The Ashcrofts owned a lot of businesses, especially shipping and restaurants. While they had less of a stranglehold on the city nowadays, their family had been the thorn in Neil’s side for most of his career. Chad supposedly ran the business now. (Though both Neil and Cassie suspected it was in name only. Since he had spent most of his twenties and thirties managing his family's various restaurants instead of doing anything actually business related. He was basically an overgrown child.)

So you were the direct antithesis of a man her father despised. He acknowledged that Chad loved his grandson, but thought him largely oafish. Without a single indication from her father, Cassie could tell he held you in high esteem even after such a short amount of time. Though she also suspected he managed to get enough information out of you for a background check.

When he finally went to bed, Cassie pulled you to the couch and curled up in your arms.

“He’s going to do a background check on,” Cassie said as they sat in the dim glow of the lamp. They had turned the TV on, but the menu was all that showed.

“I figured that out when he asked for the city I was born in,” you laughed. “I’m kind of obsessed with him. Is that weird?”

“No, all my friends loved him growing up,” Cassie laughed.

“Is that what I am? A friend?”

Your tone was lighthearted, but it wasn’t hard to hear your actual question about that.

“I hope not,” Cassie said.

“Are you…” you trailed off and Cassie felt your tension in the arms wrapped around her. “Are you seeing anyone else?”

“Nope, not even if I had time.”

You laughed at that. “I’m not either.”

“Would you be interested in making that permanent?” Cassie asked. “Wait, that sounds like I’m proposing. Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Fuck yes,” you said.

Cassie tilted her head up and kissed you.

“Are you okay that you won’t meet Harrison for awhile?”

“Absolutely. That is not my decision. You do what’s best for him. Although, very gay of us that I met your dad on our…eighth date I think?”

“Want to move in?” Asked Cassie playfully. You snorted and settled back against her.

“Do you want to talk about your shit day?”

“Harrison’s dad is a dick and work was long,” Cassie said simply.

“I’ve always wanted to ask this: did you pull anything out of someone’s butt?”

“You’ve always wanted to ask?”

“I am not a normal person, Cass.”

“I like the nickname.”

“I’m glad but don’t dodge the question.”

“No we had no anal foreign bodies,” Cassie sighed.

“Anal foreign bodies?” You laughed. “I could not be a doctor. How do you keep a straight face?”

“Practice and also recognizing that this is the most embarrassing moment of their lives. But in the break room sometimes we do giggle.”

“Will you tell your new girlfriend the next time something insane ends up in someone’s butt?”

Cassie huffed quietly and tightened her grip around you. “Yeah, I’ll tell my new girlfriend. As long as she promises to keep using whatever soap I’m smelling.”

“Want one?”

“Can’t wear scented stuff to work.”

“Bummer. Live vicariously through me then,” you said.

For the rest of the night the pair of you curled up together on the couch. It was early hours in the morning when you finally left. She crept upstairs trying to ensure she didn’t wake her dad, but saw his bedroom light on. The door was cracked and she saw him reading his book with the big noise canceling headphones on. It was cute. She wasn’t sure if it was for her privacy or his comfort.

She pushed open the door and he glanced up. He slid off the headphones and put the book down before saying,

“Did she leave?”

“Yeah, what are you still doing up?”

Cassie sat next to her dad in bed, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Couldn’t sleep. I think I was too happy.”

“Happy?” Laughed Cassie.

“Well, yes,” he said. “Even in your post nap zombie state, you lit up when you saw her in the kitchen. She’s bright, funny, and has a lot of correct opinions.”

“That all seem to agree with yours,” she pointed out.

“Neither here nor there.”

Cassie laughed again.

“I’m glad you liked her. We…she’s…we’re official now.”

“You deserve good things, honey,” Neil said, leaning his head against hers.

Cassie just hummed. It was hard to believe sometimes, after the nightmare she had been for nearly seven years. But now she has lived sober longer than not, and it was becoming easier to believe that she wasn’t the misery she had once felt like and inflicted on others.

“Thank you for helping me achieve them,” she whispered quietly. “You don’t suck as a dad.”

Neil laughed. “Such kind words from my daughter. How was fuck-face?”

“Chad has a new girlfriend now that the last one’s brain is fully developed,” Cassie sighed.

“Hate that guy,” her dad grumbled.

Cassie just smiled and continued leaning against her dad.

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Cassie didn’t know what exactly she would do after her residency. She was considering a handful of fellowships, namely addiction and pain management. Different fellowships with the same outcomes—so to speak. Working with the street team had changed her even more than her own experiences changed her. Each person she treated had a story, a history, friends and family. They were owed dignity and respect. 

More than that, working with the community and other mutual aid groups kept her going on days when it felt like the world was no longer fighting for those that needed it. This country was big, vast, and unforgiving. It would eat you up and spit you out without a second thought. And yet, there were also people dedicated to caring, to pushing back on the jaws that tried to grind and destroy. Cassie hoped she was one of those. 

Every kind of person worked in mutual aid. While it was uncommon, there were handful of rich business people, more often than not though, it was young people who saw the changes in their community and wanted to push back. 

Cassie hadn’t been sure what to make of you, though. 

She first heard about you from Yasmin and Petunia, two older women who had probably been living on the streets longer than not. 

“The art and gift shop down the road, she lets us use her shower and her nice products,” Yasmin told Cassie conspiratorially. “And she helped re-bandage Jimmy’s foot.” 

“Really?” Cassie asked, her eyebrows raising. “Sounds generous.” 

“There are rules, but we all tend to abide by them.” 

“What rules?” Cassie asked. 

“Not to steal products, only take what you need, things like that. Sometimes, she cooks us dinner. It’s not very good, but she’s nice about it,” Petunia replied. 

“She lives above the shop, so when Carlos had his overdose, she is the one who called 911 and gave him narcan,” said Yasmin. 

There were a couple dozen or so homeless neighbors (Kiara preferred house-less, but Cassie didn’t mind either way. When she was homeless it wasn't just because she was lacking a house; she was lacking a home.) In the five block radius of the community clinic corner. Every week one of the street teams would deploy to this area and people would come by and seek out whatever services they needed. Cassie deployed a lot of methadone and gave away a lot of narcan. 

“She gives away sterile needles, too. She had a bin in her alleyway for people to get rid of them safely,” piped in Alexander. He was younger than the two women; they seemed to have adopted him. He had only been on the street for the last few months. Both women were trying to convince him to take advantage of more than just the medical services the street team provided. 

“That’s really kind of her,” Cassie replied. 

“She pays me to clean up the needles around the street. Gave me stick proof gloves and everything,” Alexander continued. He fished them out of his coat pocket and handed them to Cassie. 

Whoever this woman was, whoever you were, Cassie was determined to meet you before the day was up. 

After a long day walking along the homeless encampment under the bridge, Cassie trudged up to the high street and found the juxtaposition startling. The tree covered idyllic road was covered in pedestrians, cars, and young families taking advantage of the cool fall day. Each meandering person was so unaware that on the underside of the bridge were dozens of people who were never guaranteed food, water, or any kind of safety. 

But that’s often how people preferred it. 

Still, Cassie shouldered her backpack and made her way into the crowd eventually landing in front of your storefront. 

Uncommon Goods. 

The shop was the same orange-ish red brick as its neighbors, with an inset door and a wide window decorated with a display of goods. There were art pieces, herbs, jewelry and more based on the window. There was a hand painted sign that displayed: Local artisans. Local goods. Local prices.

Cassie thought it was a clever way of saying expensive, but she couldn’t begrudge. It was expensive just to exist now-a-days and if advertising unique hand-crafted goods with euphemistic pricing is how you stayed in business, well, so be it. 

Pushing through the door, there was a soft tinkle of bells above her. The smell was not as strong as Cassie had been expecting, not that Cassie could identify any of the scents. She had lost most of her sense of smell years ago. There were tall shelves full of beautiful artwork, decor, hand crafted items. There were also herbs and things that might suggest the store moonlighted as a witch’s coven. 

You were sitting at the counter, perched on a stool. It had been years since someone had taken her breath away. Frankly, Cassie had thought that she had been mostly desensitized to the visuals of a human body, considering how often she had seen it in so many different states. However, you were as close to a goddess as Cassie had ever seen in real life. Tattoos were covering your arms, jewelry stacked on your ears, fingers, and neck. 

Despite the eccentricities of the shop, you were wearing a simple shirt and jeans. Cassie suspected if she could peak behind your counter, heavy boots would adorn your feet. You looked exactly as she was expecting and also nothing at all. It was hard to pin an age on you and Cassie wasn’t too interested in trying. 

Instead, she moseyed around the shop, looking at hand crafted soaps, candles and even pottery. When the customer you had been helping finished, Cassie made her way over to you and said, 

“This is an impressive place.” 

You looked up from your computer and beamed at her. Briefly, Cassie wondered if this is what a heart attack felt like. She wanted all of your attention and none of it at the same time. It was like you had wrapped her in a magic spell, not that Cassie was in any hurry to leave. 

“Thank you,” you replied. Even your voice was magnetic. “First time in?” 

“Yeah, I got it on recommendation,” Cassie replied. 

“Oh? From whom?” 

Even your grammar was impeccable. 

“Petunia and Yasmin,” Cassie replied. 

“Really?” Your face was unreadable and Cassie realized you were waiting to see why Cassie was here. She wondered if the women below the bridge were still being harassed by the local PD after their protesting against demolishing the community center down the street. 

“I’m with PTMC’s street team. We come out to the bridge every week to check on the neighbors,” Cassie replied. 

Your smile relaxed and you said, “What’s your name?” 

“Cassie McKay.” 

“Oh! Yes! They’ve mentioned you.” 

“I wanted to meet the woman who is so kind to them,” Cassie replied. “I’ve grown to care about them a lot.” 

“They’re good people. They have a rotating schedule of who uses the showers so everyone gets water and a chance at being clean.” 

“Sounds like them, they run that place like the navy,” Cassie replied. “How long have you worked here?” 

“I opened the shop in 2022,” you replied. “Not very long, but long enough that I think we’re here for awhile.” 

“Everything is created by people in Pittsburgh?” 

“Definitely, the art, pottery, jewellery, everything.” 

“Do you make anything?” 

“I do the stained glass and some of the jewelry,” you replied. “Hold on a second.” 

You stood (Cassie was right about the boots) and disappeared through a beaded curtained off doorway. Shifting from foot to foot, Cassie found herself amused by the stickers and key chains waiting for an unsuspecting tourist on the counter. A cute cartoon bird that said “Support Your Local Murder” was emblazoned on a key chain and sticker. Cassie picked it up the sticker for Harrison and key chain for her name badge

When you returned, you had a small pair of earrings in your hand. They were a faded orange, like the last vestiges of a sunset. Neither were identical, instead, were a long oblong shape, maybe an inch long. Cassie thought they were beautiful. 

“For you,” you said, sliding them over to you. “For all the work you do for my neighbors.” 

“I can’t accept this,” Cassie said. “Let me pay for it.” 

“No way,” you leaned closer and whispered, “Between you and me I went viral on tiktok a while back. I’m not hurting for customers.” 

“At least let me pay for the sticker. It’s for my son,” Cassie said. She wasn’t sure why she mentioned Harrison. 

Your smile didn’t change, but you almost looked…disappointed? 

“Still, no. But if you tell me you want something for your husband and not wife, I might be inclined to charge you. We’re very pro women here, well, perhaps we’re anti-cis men,” you amended. 

Cassie felt her cheeks flush. “No husband or wife, or partner.” 

“Really?” You asked. “Shame.” 

“Shame?” 

“Well, not for us single women in Pittsburgh,” you said winking. 

“Are you flirting with me?” Cassie found herself spluttering. 

“I’m trying to.” 

“And what would you do if I flirted back?” 

“I’d ask the most beautiful doctor I’ve ever seen on a date and then brag about how I went on a date with a doctor. What else would I do?” 

“Just like that?” 

“Just like that.” 

“Even though I have a son?” 

“I’ve always had a thing for MILFs,” you said sitting back on your stool and crossing your legs. Cassie’s eyes couldn’t help follow the lines of your legs. 

“What if I’m a terrible person?” Cassie challenged. Why was she challenging this? A beautiful woman was kind of asking her out and she was fighting it?

“Then Petunia and Yasmin wouldn’t like you,” you said simply. “Do you have any other silly questions or can I get your phone number and pick you up the next time you’re free?” 

“I’m free tonight,” Cassie heard herself say. 

“You don’t say. Tell me, Cassie, do you like sushi?” 

“Yes.” 

“When do you get off your volunteering shift?” 

“In an hour.” 

“The shop closes at six.” 

“I could meet you back here. Maybe when I am not dressed in scrubs.” 

Your eyes clearly roved over her form. “They certainly do something for you.” 

“That is bullshit,” Cassie laughed. You just grinned at her and said, 

“Meet me here at six. I’ll wine you, dine you, and maybe if I’m lucky you’ll come upstairs with me.” 

“I don’t do that on the first date,” Cassie said, almost apologetic. 

“Well, I guess I should make sure I’m fun enough for a second date.” 

“I guess you should,” Cassie replied, still struck by how she walked in without a date and left with plans. “The earrings weren’t to bribe me on a date, were they?” 

You snorted but said, “No, they were thank you gifts for treating my friends with dignity. Anyone else from your team is welcome to stop in, too.” 

“I kind of want to keep you to myself,” Cassie muttered. She didn’t realize you could hear her until your wind chime laugh erupted. 

“Don’t worry, Dr. McKay. I think you’ve bewitched me too much for another to catch my eye so soon.” 

The heat that had been slowly building in Cassie's gut bloomed into butterflies. Not even Chad had spoken to her in such a blatantly flirty way. It wasn’t even true that she didn’t sleep with people on the first date—that’s almost exclusively what she did. But for some reason she didn’t want you to only be interested in sex. She wanted to keep you in her orbit for however long you were willing to stay. 

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

“Don’t worry, my actions will back me up, too,” you said. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Cassie.” 

“Yeah,” said Cassie. “You will.” 

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Baran could not stop thinking about you.

Ever since you’d showed up in the ED a couple weeks up, stitching up your own face, Baran found her thoughts constantly drifting to you. Your casual, flirtatious nature paired with competence and the obvious respect you garnered intrigued her. The more Baran thought about you, the more you became like a puzzle she was determined to solve.

When she had brought you up to Dana, the charge nurse simply waived her off. Thinking Baran had had a problem with your flirting, Dana told her, “Don’t worry about her. She’s a lover girl stuck on a surgeon’s schedule.”

Baran had asked a couple other people what they knew about you—subtly, of course—and the message was generally the same: you were a flirt, but a damn good doctor. She only wished you stopped by the ED more often so she could decide for herself.

As if you had heard her thoughts, your voice rang out, coming from the ambulance bay. “What’s open? I need a room prepped for a trach!”

“Trauma 2!” Someone yelled back, but Baran was focused on you, your crazed eyes and the way your entire front was splattered with blood.

Rushing over to walk alongside the moving gurney, already snapping on a pair of gloves, Baran called over McKay to assist.

“What do we have?” she asked as you entered the trauma room.

“Oxy overdose. Emesis and aspiration blocked the airway, so I went emergency circ,” you explained, barely giving her a second glance before turning to the paramedics. “On my count.”

As you transferred the man onto the trauma table, you started giving out orders, so naturally, Baran would have thought you were the trauma attending on call, not her.

“Somebody get Garcia in here,” you barked out to anybody who was listening as you readied yourself for a tracheostomy, putting on a gown, glasses, and gloves.

“Dr. Al-Hashimi.” Your urgent voice brought her out of her momentary shock from your commanding presence. “Lend a hand?”

As if like a switch, your tone changed from stern to flirtatious, and she wondered if this was how you always were. She ignored the slight coil in her stomach at the sight of the smirk pulling on your lips and stepped up to the table.

“So, you come here often?” Baran asked, trying to match your teasing tone, as she watched you carefully remove the emergency tube.

You laughed, looking up at briefly and wiggling your eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would actually,” Baran responded very matter-of-factly as she raised a challenging brow, her mouth forming a smirk of her own.

McKay snickered, causing you to glare at her.

“You ever do an emergency cric, Cass?” You put your friend on the spot, causing her to shake her head. “I’ll teach you,” you said slyly before looking back at Baran and winking. “You gotta be able to handle anything when you’re on street team.”

Baran’s eyes narrowed at this new piece of information about you. She’d thought learning more about you would help clear things up for her, but if anything, this only further confused her. Why would a plastic surgeon spend her off-time doing street team?

“Wow, you look like shit,” Garcia snarked, as she pushed open the door, hands already gloved and ready.

“All for you, Yoyo,” you replied smoothly with a flash of your signature smirk, earning an eye roll from the other surgeon.

Baran did her best to ignore the twisting feeling in her stomach as she watched the exchange between you two. You really were like this with everyone. Maybe your reputation did precede you.

“What’d I miss?” Yolanda walked over to stand by the patient’s head.

“Emergency cric conversion to trach,” you explained before asking Princess for a ten blade.

“First a slach trach and now this?” Garcia shook her head, clearly annoyed.

You looked up, your curiosity piqued. “Slash trach? Someone did a slash trach?”

Instead of responding, Yolanda transferred her stare from you to Al-Hashimi, causing you to do the same.

“You did a slash trach?”

Baran’s expression instinctively became defensive, which told you all you needed to know, and you let out a low whistle.

“Impressive.”

The warm hum of your voice caused Baran’s cheeks to warm, and she mentally chided herself. She was a middle-aged divorcée with a son, and here she was acting like a middle schooler with a crush.

“Dr. Mckay?” Your switched back into surgeon-in-charge mode as you addressed the resident. “Would you like to do the honors? I’ll talk you through it.”

“You never stop, do you,” Cassie quipped under her breath, picking up on your teasing suggestiveness that seemed never quite absent from anything you said.

You handed her the tube and moved to stand next to Yolanda.

“I’ve already created the window at the third and fourth tracheal rings,” you told McKay. “Now what?”

Cassie looked up at Baran, her attending, who nodded, giving the go-ahead.

“Insert the tube from a lateral position and twist in,” Cassie answered. You raised your eyebrow, prompting her to continue. “Once in position, inflate the cuff and insert the inner tube.”

“Good.”

As you observed the resident insert the tube, Yolanda leaned towards you, muttering in your ear, “I thought you hated the ED.”

“Street team,” you answered her unspoken question. Yolanda gave you a once over, and finally noticed you weren’t dressed in your usual scrubs.

“Missing your MSF days?”

This caught Baran’s attention, and she looked up from the patient and over to you. “You were with Médecins Sans Frontières?”

Everything she learned about you just continued to confuse her even more. Why would a plastic surgeon do a stint with MSF?

Tilting your head slightly, you met her gaze with a soft smile. “I spent some time with them in Yemen,” you replied curtly.

Baran could tell this wasn’t a topic you enjoyed discussing, and based on what she knew about the hospital airstrikes in Yemen, she could understand why.

“Tube’s in place, cuff’s inflated, and airway is sealed,” Cassie declared, bringing you back to the moment.

“Good work, Dr. McKay.” You nodded shortly, your words tired.

Yolanda noticed your shift in demeanor, and she could tell you were crashing. There was a reason you chose plastics over trauma.

“I got it from here.” She squeezed your elbow lightly as she motioned for transfer. “Go clean yourself off, Carrie.”

You took a deep breath and ripped off the gown. Following Yolanda as she escorted the patient out of the trauma room, you peeled off the latex gloves and threw them in the trash. Your hands were still caked in blood from your emergency procedure earlier, and you realized they were starting to shake.

Catching your faint reflection in the glass of the trauma bay, you saw your face was splattered with the man’s blood and your shirt was completely stained. As your mind caught up with what just transpired, you felt your anxiety start to crawl in your gut.

You rushed over to the nurses’ station and found the nearest trashcan before emptying your insides. The sight of your bloodied hands gripping the rim of the bin made you even more nauseous. Shakily, you pushed yourself off the ground and tried to ignore the stares, some of worry and some of disgust.

“I’m fine,” you announced to no one in particular, but you could see Dana’s motherly concern watching you, and you could feel a certain pair of brown eyes following you.

“I’m fine,” you repeated to yourself. Weaving through the ED, you were in a daze, your only focus being on getting this blood off of you, and didn’t hear Cassie calling your name.

Before the resident could chase after you, someone calling her name pulled her in a different direction. “Dr. McKay–” Perlah approached the station with a tablet in her hand– “x-rays are back on your CP patient in thirteen, and the mom is asking for you.”

Cassie sighed and took the tablet, sparing a glance back in the direction of where you had retreated, an imperceptible action that Baran had noticed.

“I’ll go check on her.” The attending gave the other woman a small, reassuring smile.

“Thanks.” Cassie nodded as she walked away.

When Baran pushed open the bathroom door, the last thing she expected to see was you without your shirt on using the article of clothing as a cleaning rag, but alas there you were. For a moment, she could only stare, letting her eyes linger on the way your back muscles flexed with each movement and on the few patches of scar tissue that contrasted against your smooth skin. Baran couldn’t help but wonder what your skin would feel like under her fingertips.

“You know, if you wanted to see me naked you could’ve just asked,” you joked weakly as you met her stare in the mirror.

“You’re not naked,” Baran deadpanned, causing you to smirk lazily.

“Maybe next time then.”

Taking a couple steps forward, Baran leaned against the sink next to you, the cool tile digging into the small of her back. She didn’t say anything, though, simply observing you.

“What?” you chuckled nervously, suddenly feeling very exposed under her watchful eyes.

Noticing the goosebumps that started to decorate your skin, Baran tilted her head. She had only met you once before today, but she couldn’t imagine you were one to shrink easily. Yet, she had to admit she liked seeing you squirm.

Deciding to put you out of your misery, she finally asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you answered reflexively. Both of you knew that was a lie, but neither of you said anything. “I just need to get cleaned off. I’m actually need upstairs in—” glancing down at your watch, you sighed and ran your hands over your face– “ten minutes ago.”

“You sure you want to work after that?” Baran frowned, and you smiled softly at her concern.

“I just have a cleft palate and a free flap reconstruction on my plate today. Then on-call for the evening,” you said flippantly, causing the other woman to scoff.

“You say that as if both those operations aren’t multiple hours long.”

“I’ve had worse.” You shrugged, and after all that Baran had learned about you in the last hour, she believed you.

“Uh—” you held up your blood-soaked t-shirt awkwardly— “thanks for, um, checking up on me.”

Baran didn’t need to know you well to see how uncharacteristic your stuttering was, and she bit back a grin. As you moved towards the door, she realized you were still clad in only your sports bra.

“Wait.” Her voice echoed lightly against the empty stalls as she slipped off her jacket.

“Woah,” you laughed, turning on your heels. “At least buy me a drink first.”

Baran merely rolled her eyes. You were relentless.

“As much as I’m sure many people would appreciate the view, I’m not sure HR would want you walking around the hospital without a shirt.” She held out the jacket, which you accepted with a raised brow.

“Are you included in these ‘many people’?” You lowered your voice as you put on the jacket, zipping it up in one motion.

Ducking to hide the tint on her cheeks, Baran shook her head. “You wish,” she muttered.

You let out a noncommittal sound before tugging at the sleeves of the jacket.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice returning to a gentler tone.

“You’re welcome.” Baran saw her opportunity and pushed herself off the sink. “Though, I think you looked better without it.”

Your eyes widened, visibly taken-aback by her forwardness. With a satisfied smile, Baran slid past you and exited the bathroom, leaving you to swallow a taste of your own medicine.

The sound of the door closing behind her shook you out of your momentary stupor. Taking a deep breath, you were immediately enveloped by the smell of the faint perfume that clung to Baran’s jacket.

There was something about the scent that exuded a quiet boldness, a scent so undeniably her, and you couldn’t get enough.

You hated the emergency department—or “the pitt” as it was so fondly called by said department and trauma surgeons alike. It always amazed you how Walsh and Garcia so frequently made the trip down to the basement. You did your best to avoid emergency consults, often sending your residents down when you could, but being one of the best plastic surgeons, you couldn’t avoid the pitt forever—as much as you would’ve liked to.

It wasn’t that you were against emergency medicine or that you had some vendetta against the people who worked downstairs, but the chaos and frenzy of it all simply unnerved you. During your rotation at MassGen’s trauma center, you’d seen your fair share of MCIs and drunken accidents, too many for your liking actually. You also knew about the rising trends of violence in the ED, something you wanted to do your best to avoid.

Though, it would be just your luck that your first ED consult in months resulted in a laceration across the cheek, thanks to an unhappy—and misogynistic—patient, whose blood alcohol was definitely above the legal limit.

“Shit,” you hissed as one of the residents rolled a sodium-chloride-soaked cotton swab over your wound. “See, this is why I avoid it down here.”

“You got the right idea,” McKay huffed, and you could tell she’d already had a rough day. It was only ten, but that’s what emergency medicine did do to you.

As she draped a cloth over your shoulder, coming back with a needle holder in one hand and pair of forceps in the other, you frowned. “What are you doing?”

“You need stitches,” Cassie stated.

“I know,” you replied. You were the best plastic surgeon east of the Mississippi. Hell would have to have frozen over for you to let some resident do your stitches. “Hold the mirror.”

You lifted the hand-held mirror up for her to take. She gave you an incredulous look but nonetheless swapped her suture supplies for the mirror and held it up for you so you could stitch up your own face.

Across the floor, Baran walked out of a trauma room and approached the nurses’ station. Taking a quick scan of the department, her eyes landed on an attractive woman in Central 2 doing sutures on her own face. She watched as the doctor’s, the dark blue scrubs being a dead give away, hands moved expertly and swiftly, and she couldn’t stop the warmth from flooding her abdomen.

“Why is there a woman doing her own sutures in our emergency department?” Baran asked Dana, her gaze remaining on you.

The charge nurse bit back a smile at the single word choice, implying a shared responsibility, something Dana had come to admire—even like—about the new attending. Baran understood her rank and responsibility but never shouldered the burden alone.

“I doubt she’d let anyone else do ‘em,” Dana snorted as she quickly glanced up to see where Baran looking before returning to her tablet.

“Who is she?”

Dana told her your name. “Plastics surgeon,” she said with a certain tone as if to explain your actions.

Baran seemed to pick up what Dana was suggesting because she raised her eyebrows and nodded.

“Hey, hotshot,” Dana yelled over to you.

“Yeah?” You called back, still focused on your task at hand.

“When you’re done showing off, I got someone here I want you to meet.”

You chuckled lightly, careful not to disrupt your work. Baran watched as you smoothly tied up your sutures, exchanged a few words with McKay, a smug yet easy-going smirk on playing on your lips, and exited the trauma bay.

As you approached the central station, your eyes widened slightly at the unfamiliar woman who was leaning against the counter, her curly hair pulled back halfway so as to not get in her face. While you didn’t make frequent trips down to the pitt, you knew most, if not all, of the doctors and nurses—mainly through Emery and Garcia’s rants but that was a moot point—and you were sure you would remember a woman as striking as her.

“Barbie, this is Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi,” Dana said, motioning her hand between you and the other attending. “She’s here while Robby’s on sabbatical.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname the charge nurse had coined for you after you’d so generously fixed her broken nose, the first time.

Holding out your hand, you introduced your real name. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Baran shook your hand with a faint smirk, and you tried to ignore the way your insides fluttered at the feeling of her skin against yours.

“Impressive work,” she hummed, eyeing your sutures. She could see they were neat and precise. You’d be left with only a ghost of a scar.

“You should see what else I can do,” you replied with the arrogance of a surgeon, lowering your voice suggestively.

Baran raised her brow, struck by your forwardness.

“No flirting in front of me,” Dana snarked, shooting you a knowing look over the bridge of her glasses. You felt your cheeks warm, but your smirk widened.

“There’s plenty of me to go around, Evans,” you teased as you leaned forward against the station. She gave you a deadpan stare, used to your flirtatious remarks, and you snickered.

“Ignore her.” Dana turned to Baran, not giving you the satisfaction of a retort. “She’s not down here often anyways.”

As if on cue, your pager beeped against your hip. Briefly, you skimmed the message before looking back up at the new attending.

“Well, maybe now I have a reason to visit more often.”

You let your eyes linger in hers, momentarily getting lost in the warmth of her chocolate orbs, before pushing yourself off the station.

“Duty calls.” You held up your pager, which was buzzing again. “It’s been a pleasure, ladies.”

You glanced back at Dana, bowing your head slightly, and she simply dismissed you with a wave of her hand, but you could see a glint of affection in her eye.

“It was nice to meet you, Dr. Al-Hashimi.”

“Baran,” she corrected quickly, surprising even herself.

“Baran,” you echoed, a small and sincere smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

If she wasn’t enamored by you before, the way her name naturally rolled off your tongue surely did it in for her.

“Well, Baran, I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” she said your name, and you decided you’d never hear it the same way again.

Turning on your heels, you headed back towards the elevator, the stinging in your cheek replaced by the tingling feeling of Baran’s gaze on your retreating figure. As you pressed the button for your floor, you caught one last glimpse of her and nodded with a faint smirk before the elevator doors shut.

"Come down to visit us!" Clint said to you, your mind mimicking his voice unflatteringly. "It's been way too long since you guys came to stay with us."

It was a normal occurrence; you thought nothing of it. You, Wanda, and Natasha often went to stay with Clint and his family quarterly. Natasha visited more with her girlfriend, Wanda, and they invited you every time, but you settled that four times a year was enough. 

It was usually fun, and the time spent was enjoyable, so you really had thought nothing about it.

Until Clint decided he was actually the incarnate of the devil and condemned you for some undisclosed sin. 

"Oh, you three are cool sharing a room, right? The other spare bedroom is under renovation. I mean, one of you can take the couch but I highly don't recommend it with what the kids have spilled on it over the years."

No, it wasn't okay, you wanted to say at the time, but Wanda and Natasha nonchalantly waved Clint off and told him it was fine, and the conversation breezed on, never to be returned to again. 

Why would he invite all three of you if there wasn't enough space!? You tried to tell Wanda and Natasha that you could drive to the nearest hotel at night, but they looked at you strangely and asked if you hated them. It was jokingly, but you could hear a tinge of hurt in their voice, which silenced you from offering to leave again. 

But now you were suffering. 

The bed was way too small for three people but left enough room for just a couple of inches to keep you from coming into skin-to-skin contact with either redhead.

You stared at the ceiling, despite being unable to make out any details of the room in the darkness. 

Why the fuck were you in the middle?

You should've been on the edge. At least then, you could hang half your body off it to keep some distance. 

You started at the edge of the bed—make no mistake. But then Natasha came to your side and asked you to scootch over. You assumed she preferred sleeping on the right side, so you started to make your way down to the other side. But then, to your horror, Wanda climbed in from the other end, effectively trapping you in the middle. 

The words were caught in your throat as you tried to force them out and ask if you could have the edge, but Natasha and Wanda mumbled their goodnights before promptly falling asleep. 

This was unacceptable; you mentally cried. This was—weird. You know that Wanda and Natasha have been together for ages, and they probably didn't care, but it was strange to be in the middle of them like this. You're way too awkward for this. 

It brought up the unwanted feelings you've been trying to get rid of for months. 

The worst part was that it was winter, and this room was so fucking cold. Was Clint going through financial hardship? Why isn't there any heat in this room?

You wished him ill, you wished him ill, you wished bad things upon Clint Barton. 

You shifted, trying to pull the blanket up higher and shrink yourself to retain some of the heat. You turned on your side, facing Wanda's back, and frowned. You could practically feel the heat radiating off her and wanted to scoot away from her. But you couldn't. You'd scoot right into Natasha, who was also radiating heat as she faced your back.

At this moment, you hated them for being so unaware of their temptations. 

You swallowed. Moving a little closer to Wanda wouldn't be too bad, right? Just to steal a bit more of her warmth, so you could fall asleep and wake up early to get out of bed. 

You scooted a little closer, your nose just inches away from her back since there wasn't much wiggle room. Her heat emitted off her like a goddamn fireplace, and you sighed a little at the warmth on your nose and the parts of your cheeks. 

It was still pretty cold, and you shivered a little. 

Your movement seemed to wake Wanda as she lifted her head to look around at you. You looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Turning back, Wanda lay her head back down and shut her eyes with a yawn. 

You started to scoot back to where you were, but Wanda grabbed your wrist from under the blanket and pulled it over her waist as she shuffled back into you.

The warmth pressed against your front jolted you, and you were stiff, despite how good it felt. 

"любимая, she's cold," Wanda mumbled in the dark as she threaded her fingers through yours.

Wanda was clearly speaking to Natasha because the redhead behind you shifted and moved closer until she was pressed against your back snuggly. Her arms wrapped around your midsection as she tangled her legs through yours. 

You wanted to die. 

You wanted to kill Clint Barton and then run into oncoming traffic. 

"Um," you croaked. 

"Is this better?" Natasha mumbled sleepily, and she was so close you felt her lips move against your shoulder. 

No.

Yes.

No.

"Uh," you dragged out before finally deciding with an awkward stiff, "Yes."

It was warm—almost too warm now. You closed your eyes with a silent groan. 

You still remember the first day you met Trinity Santos. It was on the Fourth of July, so it was extra memorable.

When you came to PTMC, you were a third year med student. Despite your bubbly personality, you were so nervous. Your nerves settled, however, when you found out Joy Kwon, who you went to med school with, was on the same rotation as you.

"So what are your thoughts so far?" Joy mutters under her breath to you.

"I like it, everyone seems nice."

"Even Ogilvie?"

You shrug. "He's kind of annoying at times, but he's fine."

"Damn, there's really nothing that gets under your skin."

"Sure there is", you say as you prop your forearms on the counter of the nurses' station in front of you. "Aside from the obvious like abusers or bigots, people who talk over others, people don't have good hygiene, people who chew loudly or with their mouth open, people who don’t use turn signals, people who hate avocados—"

"Amen to that", someone cuts in. You look to your left and see a girl about your age enter the nurses' station. She sits at the desk opposite of the counter you're leaning against and looks up at you. "Add liars to that list too."

Somewhat in shock, you look down at her, expecting her to introduce herself. But she just looks at you confused.

"What?"

"Oh, sorry, we just haven't met before." You give the girl your name, and tell her that you're a third year med student and today's your first day.

"I figured. You have this sparkle in your eyes, and a smile that won't go away", she tells you, her tone sarcastic. "The longer you're here, the most depressing this place gets."

"Trust me, nothing's going to bring her down", Joy chimes in from beside you. "This is just who she is."

You look at Joy, an amused smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not at all, I'm just jealous of how happy you are all the time. You have this… constant chipperness."

"You mean my natural charm and beautiful smile?" You say, flashing your pearly whites.

The girl who still hasn't given you her names scoffs, so you look back to her to find her staring at you. "Are you really this sunny 24/7?"

"Are you really this grouchy 24/7?"

"Pretty much", she says with an exhausted sigh despite it not even being noon yet.

"You still haven't given me your name", you tell her.

She grabs her name tag that's dangling from her scrub top pocket, tugging it slightly forward to emphazie it. "I presume you know how to read."

You lean a little closer and read the name Trinity Santos. She's a doctor. You can't help but notice how cute she looks in her ID picture despite having a straight, grumpy face.

"Well, nice to meet you Dr. Trinity Santos."

"Likewise", Trinity replies, not looking up at you, instead sorting through paperwork.

You point to one of her tattoos that's showing, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. "I like your tattoo."

Trinity glances at you to see you pointing at her arm. She looks down, and then back up to you. "The tiger? Thanks."

For a brief second, you could've sworn you saw a hint of a smile trying to surface and replace the frown on her face.

"I've always loved tigers. They represent bravery and strength."

Trinity continues to stare at you, her expression unamused. "Yup."

You push off the counter. "Okay then... see you later Dr. Santos."

"Goodbye, sunshine."

As you turn around, a smile spreads across your face. You walk away, Joy at your side.

"Sunshine? Your first day and you've already gotten a nickname."

"I guess so." The faintest blush creeps up on your cheeks. "Sunshine", you affirm.

After a month of working in the Emergency Department of PTMC, you've fallen into a groove, and the once unfamiliar rhythm of the department now feels almost natural. While you wouldn't classify any of your coworkers as friend friends, you do have a handful of work friends.

Aside from Joy, you work well with Samira Mohan, and you see yourself in her in a lot of ways. Victoria Javadi is someone else who you consider a work friend. You even send each other TikToks off the clock. Mel King, a third year resident, is another person you've come to admire as not just a friend, but as a person.

Then there's Trinity Santos. You're sure she would not consider you guys friends — you're not even sure if you do — but she has opened up to you. Just a little bit.

Trinity seems to like working with you, even if she won't confess it or outright show it. You learned that she took in Dennis Whitaker because he didn't have a place to stay which warmed your heart. A week ago she told you about the situationship she's in with a hardass surgeon, Yolanda Garcia.

Based on what Trinity told you, it appears that she's falling for Garcia, more than she'd like to admit. However, the deal between them is strictly casual, and Garcia has made that evidently clear. Even though Trinity didn't ask for your advice, you gave it to her anyways. Speaking from personal experience, you advised her to get out now because it'll only hurt more down the line.

Yesterday, Trinity told you that she finally ended their arrangement. You asked her if there was anything she needs, but she said no. Trinity is hard to read at times, but you could tell she was hurting more than she let on. She's been in a worse mood than usual since she stopped seeing Garcia.

"Hey, Whitaker", you say as you jog up to his side, walking with him.

"Oh, hi."

"I have two Crumbl Cookies that I want to give to Santos, you can have one of them. I was wondering if you would be willing to give them to her? Sorry if that's weird, I know we don't really know each other very well, I actually don't even know Santos that well, but I just thought she'd appreciate it."

"That's so nice of you, of course."

"Great", you say with a smile.

"Can I ask why you don't give it to Trinity yourself?"

"I know I have this natural pep, and I don't want to annoy her." Your voice lowers, "Especially today after you know."

Confused, Whitaker looks at you. "Wait you know about her and Garcia?"

"Yeah, she told me. I thought most of you guys knew."

"As far as I'm aware, I'm the only person who she told besides you. I think some other people might know, but it's not because Trinity told them."

"Oh", you say, blinking a few times. "Um, well, I didn't tell anyone."

Whitaker shakes his head with a fond smile growing on his face. "No, it's okay, I'm just surprised she told you, that's all."

"At the end of our shift can I give the cookies to you?"

"Yeah, yeah, that works", Whitaker replies as he comes to a stop at the nurses' station. "Do you want me to tell her it's from you?"

"You don't have to. If you want, you can take the credit", you say with a small chuckle.

"Wow, thanks. I know she'll appreciate it, she definitely has a sweet tooth."

You nod, a smile still painted on your face. "You're welcome."

Then, you walk away to attend to one of your patients you picked up with Mel. It takes less than 10 minutes to follow up with him, all you had to do was go over blood test results, so now you're leaving to check on another patient.

As you open the curtain and take a step out, you ram into someone. "Sorry", you mumble. When you look up you see Trinity.

She inhales deeply before exhaling, her shoulders still tight. "It's okay." Trinity looks at you for a beat, and then continues the path she was on.

You hesitate for a moment before joining her, your steps in sync with hers. "Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Trinity replies fast and sharp.

"Sorry, just checking. I know ending something casual when you have feelings and the other person doesn't is hard." You take a breath before continuing your rambling. "And I know you're not me, but I've been through it, and it was hell. I had a crush on this girl long before we started hooking up, and I confessed my feelings a few months later, and she told me she still wants casual and doesn't think of me how I think of her. It was..." you huff out a laugh, "heartbreaking."

All of a sudden, Trinity comes to a stop, the two of you in front of pedes. You stop as well and turn your body to face hers. "Thanks", she mutters. She then rambles, the same pace as you just now. "I'm trying not to think about it, but yeah, it fucking hurts. I mean Garcia has seen so much of me that no one else has, and not only does she not want to be in a relationship, I don't think she cares about me at all. I've told her a lot of shit, I've shown her a lot of shit, and she just..." Trinity scoffs out an irritated sigh. "Doesn't care."

You nod, taking in everything Trinity just shared with you. "I'm sorry, you deserve better." You spot doubt and a little bit of insecurity in her eyes as she’s likely assuming you're just taking pity on her. "I mean it, Santos."

"Thank you", she tells you, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. Trinity crosses her arms and takes a steady breath, centering herself. "So, sunshine", Trinity starts, her tone now teasing, and her mouth twitching into a smirk, "you know what a lesbian situationship is like, huh?"

With a laugh, you shake your head. "Oh, trust me, I do."

Trinity laughs too, and you realize it's maybe the third or fourth time you've heard the sound of it since you've known her. For a few moments you just look at each other, awkward tension brewing in the air around you.

"Do you want to come over and watch a movie tomorrow with me and Huckleberry?" Trinity suddenly blurts.

Taken by surprise, your eyes widen, and you stare at her. Never in a million years did you think Trinity liked you, let alone enough to invite you to hang out outside of work.

"Sorry, you don't have to", Trinity begins, shoving her hands in her pockets. "Just forget—"

"Yeah, I'd love to you." You smile warmly, hoping to reassure her.

"Oh, okay, cool. I have your number from the work group chat, so I'll shoot you a text about it later. Huckleberry is playing house farmer's boy edition tonight, so it would just be us if we did it today."

You nod, unsure if Trinity is mentioning that because she wants Whitaker there for the hangout, she wants it to be just the two of you and she's giving you an in, or simply to explain why she picked tomorrow. If Trinity wanted to hang out with only you, she would've asked you to come over today… right?

"Anyways, I'm gonna go", Trinity says, her hands raising to grip the ends of the stethoscope around her neck. "See ya, sunshine."

"Bye", you murmur, still in shock.

Hm, maybe Trinity Santos liked you more than you thought.

You had just finished changing out of your scrubs, now dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a tank top. You sling your bag over your shoulder and lean against your locker, waiting for Trinity and Dennis.

A couple minutes go by, and they enter the locker room. Your eyes are glued to your phone.

"Yo", Trinity calls out.

You look up and see the two of them. You greet them with a smile and slide your phone into one of the side pockets of your sweatpants.

"Are you meeting us at our place?" Dennis asks you.

"Yeah."

"Cool. Do you have our address?"

"Yes", Trinity cuts in, her voice dramatic and sarcastic. "I obviously sent it to her."

"Obviously", you hear Dennis mumble mockingly which makes you press your lips together in an attempt to hold back a laugh, although, a smile still surfaces.

"We'll walk you to your car", Trinity tells you as she grabs her stuff out of her locker.

You lead the way, Trinity on your right, and Dennis on hers. No one is talking, and the quietness is kind of awkward.

"So a movie is your idea of a good Friday night, huh?" You ask Trinity, breaking the silence with a teasing smirk.

"Sunshine, don’t think I'm boring. I go out. I bar hop. I club."

"I go out like that on occasion, but it's not really my scene."

Trinity nudges your shoulder with hers. "That's because you haven't gone with me."

You look down at the ground and smile before looking back up and speaking. "Who do you usually go with?"

"I've dragged Dennis along a few times, once with Crash, but I usually go with a couple of my friends. Ever since I started med school, we've drifted apart and now with me working as a doctor, we have even less time for each other. When we go out, that's when we catch up. In between drinks and dancing." Trinity says that last sentence with a bitterness in her voice.

"I'm her only friend", Whitaker chimes in, his tone laced with humor.

"Shut the fuck up", Trinity says through a chuckle. "They're still my friends, they just don't know that much about me anymore."

"But Whitaker does", you say somewhat as a question, but more so as a confirmation.

"Dennis", he tells you, "but yes."

Trinity scoffs, and you catch a small smile on her face. Her smile makes you smile.

You point ahead at the car two spaces away from where you guys are currently at. "This is my car."

"It's blue", Trinity points out.

"Yes, it is. You're very observant", you joke.

Trinity rolls her eyes playfully. "Uh, huh."

Her and Dennis come to a stop behind your car as you walk over to the driver's side. You pull out your keys and unlock it.

"Thanks for walking me", you tell them.

"Of course", Trinity and Dennis say at the same time. They then turn to each other, something like disgust and offendedness on their faces. You giggle, finding it cute.

You open the driver's side door. "Okay, I'll see you again in like 15 minutes." You give a quick wave, and then get into your car.

After you set your bag on the passenger seat, you program Trinity and Dennis's address into your GPS. On the drive over you listen to a soft rock playlist.

You're waiting outside the apartment complex for Trinity and Dennis to come and show you to their apartment. You're only waiting for a minute before they come.

The walk over to their unit is filled with sibling-like bickery between Trinity and Dennis. Something about Trinity leaving her laundry in the dryer, and Dennis eating all the Lucky Charms. A chuckle escapes you every now and then upon hearing some of their comments and complaints.

Once you reach their apartment, Trinity unlocks it and steps inside. The duo gives you a mini tour, pointing out the kitchen, living room, and bathroom. They tell you to make yourself at home while they change.

Dennis comes back from his room not even two minutes later. He's wearing sweatpants like you along with a blue t-shirt that has a vintage style print of a state, you think it's Nebraska. You're on the couch, and he joins you, sitting on the opposite end.

"Do you want something to eat?"

Truth be told, you are hungry, but you don't want to impose. Instead, you just shrug. "Eh, I'm okay."

Dennis examines your expression for a few seconds before standing up. "We have some leftover lasagna I'm gonna heat up. I made it a couple days ago. Can I get you a plate?"

"Yeah, that would be good, thank you."

He nods and heads to the kitchen. You watch from the couch as he scoops servings for you and him. He also grabs a third plate, you assume for Trinity.

After Dennis heats it up, he brings you your plate and sets his own on the coffee table. He then goes back into the kitchen to grab the third plate. On his way back over to the living room, Trinity comes out.

"So what movie are we going to watch?"

You turn to her. Trinity's now wearing a pair of baggy boxers and a white tank top. You don't even realize how intense you're staring, but then Trinity makes eye contact with you. Immediately, you look away.

"I'm okay with anything", you say.

As Trinity and Dennis's paths cross, he hands her the plate of lasagna that’s in his hand. "What about Happy Gilmore? It's a lighthearted film", Dennis suggests.

"God, you have such bad taste. I forgot how much I still need to teach you", Trinity says with a small chuckle as she sits on the sofa. Dennis sits in the same corner he was previously at.

"Hey, I teach you things too. You really love my farmer's casserole."

"Don't flatter yourself, I like any casserole."

As the two settle in, you take a bite of the lasagna. "This is pretty good", you say after you finish chewing. "I didn't realize you cooked."

Dennis chuckles, almost embarrassed. "I don't really. Just a few family recipes."

"And they're all bomb as fuck", Trinity compliments even thought she just made a jab about Dennis's home cooked meals a second ago.

You notice how she's sitting, her back against the cushion, and her legs spread. Dennis leans against the arm of the couch and stretches his legs onto her lap.

"But seriously, what are we going to watch?" Trinity asks again.

"A musical?" Dennis answers, providing another suggestion.

"Aww, musicals are so cute", you say.

"Trinity loves them."

"Shut up, dumbass", Trinity tells Dennis, lightly smacking one of his ankles.

Dennis looks at you and lowers his voice despite Trinity being in the middle of you two. "She's embarrassed."

"This is shocking news", you giggle. "I would've never guessed."

"And that's why she's embarrassed."

"Fucking close your mouth", Trinity mutters, although there’s no real bite behind it.

You raise your eyebrows at Trinity, a grin still plastered across your face. "What's your favorite musical?"

She looks away from you and glances down at the plate in her hands, scooping a bite of food. "Hades Town", Trinity admits in a quiet grumble.

"I saw that on Broadway when I was 21."

You can see Trinity's face light up. She finishes her bite before responding to you. "Lucky."

"It was really good."

"How about Grease?" Dennis suddenly cuts in.

"Oh, I love Grease", you beam.

"Okay, yeah, let's do Grease", Trinity says.

But neither Trinity or Dennis move except to eat. After 10 seconds, Trinity turns to Dennis, an annoyed look on her face.

"What?" Dennis asks her, sass in his voice.

"Aren't you going to start the movie?"

He rolls his eyes and sets his plate down on the coffee table. He grabs the remote, finds the movie, and then starts it. Then he puts the remote on the coffee table and swaps it out for his plate.

You're enjoying watching a movie with them. Occasionally you'll glance over at Trinity and see her mouthing the lyrics, probably completely unaware that she's doing that. She'll make some witty comment every so often, and surprisingly Dennis even does once or twice.

Right after There Are Worse Things I Could Do, a song you learned is one of Trinity's favorites from Grease, Dennis gets a phone call. He excuses himself and goes to the kitchen. Trinity pauses the movie for him.

When he returns, he collects the dishes from the coffee table as he updates you and Trinity. "Amy's baby has a fever. His temp is barely 100°, but I'm going to go check to ease her mind and help out." He seems to be done talking, but then you see a flicker of realization cross his face. "Oh, Amy is this woman I help out. She lives on a farm", Dennis informs you.

"Cool."

"Damn, Huckleberry, that woman has got you whipped."

"Shut up", he says, annoyance in his voice but not any anger. "You better be nice while I'm gone." Dennis eyes Trinity, and then you, and then Trinity once more.

You've never seen this side of him before. It’s… entertaining. The two of them together are endearing.

"I'm always nice", Trinity shouts as Dennis puts the dishes in the sink. "Just not with people who always eat my avocados!"

Dennis slides on his shoes and side eyes his roommate from the entryway, waving her off before leaving. After you hear the door shut, you look to Trinity, holding back a laugh.

"That was…"

"Annoying? Yeah, sorry. He can be a real fuckleberry sometimes."

"It was kind of cute."

Trinity's eyes snap to yours. "What do you mean cute?"

"Just, you know, seeing how you interact with one another, your relationship."

She crosses her arms, almost offended. "There's nothing cute about it."

"I beg to differ", you say in a sing song voice.

"How is us annoying each other cute? I hate living with him sometimes", Trinity tells you, slumping against the couch. You can see right through the wall of feigned toughness she’s trying to put up.

"Sometimes?" you tease.

"Whatever", Trinity replies, shrugging you off.

You laugh softly, and you see a small smile spread on Trinity’s face. Her eyes meet yours, and you hold each other’s gazes for a few seconds. Trinity looks away first.

"Thanks for the cookies."

"Cookies?" You look at Trinity, confusion written on your face before it clicks. "Oh, right. Dennis told you they were from me?"

"Yeah, was he not supposed to? Why would you not want the credit?"

"All I cared about was getting you the cookies, and I didn't want to overwhelm you or annoy you or anything."

"Oh. Um, well, thank you. That was nice."

"You're welcome."

"And you wouldn't have annoyed me."

"Oh", you say in surprise.

You're about to make a joke or sarcastic comment back like "could've fooled me" or "that's a plot twist", but you can hear the sincerity of her tone. You just nod, not really sure what to say, but luckily for you, Trinity talks instead.

"Ready to start the movie again?"

Your eyes linger on Trinity a longer than necessary before you turn your attention back to the TV. "Go ahead."

Ever since movie night at Trinity and Dennis's apartment, Trinity has been talking to you much more than before. You love to annoy her with your liveliness and smiles. You think she secretly loves it too.

Most people just assume you're cheerful all the time, but what they don't know is that you've battled your own demons. As a teenager, you developed depression which carried into adulthood. You've since seen a psychiatrist and now go to therapy, so it's much better managed.

But that's why you try to appreciate the little things, look on the bright side, and raise people's spirits — especially being in this line of work. Because you know what it's like to have dark days and feel like life isn't worth living. And so, your shine can never be dimmed.

"Did you hear about the patient that pissed on Whitaker earlier?" Joy asks you.

"Yeah, poor guy", you say with a pout.

"You have to admit it's a little funny."

"Maybe, but would you be laughing if it happened to you?"

"Yes", Joy replies instantly without even thinking about it. "Maybe not in the moment, but yes, it's funny."

You chuckle and shake your head. "It is kind of funny", you admit. Before you can say anything else, another voice pops in.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" You turn around and see Whitaker.

"Yes." You look back to Joy. She has a questioning look on her face, and you mouth "I don't know" before turning back to Whitaker. You walk with him around the corner. "What's up?"

"Just, uh..." Dennis shifts his weight nervously. He hesitates for a moment like he's not sure if he should be asking you this. "Has Trinity said anything to you today? Anything that might raise any red flags?"

"What? No. What do you mean by that? Is she okay?"

"She seems kind of down, but she won't talk to me. I know that she found out last night that Garcia is seeing someone else, so it might be about that. I don't want Trinity to do anything... self destructive."

You nod, taking in this information. "I've only spoken to her a couple times so far today, and it was all case related besides me telling her a little bit about a show I just started. She seemed a little off, but I didn't want to push her."

"That sounds about right. I'm surprised she wasn't short with you at all."

"Do you want me to talk to her?"

"Eh, it's really up to you. I don't think you'll get anywhere, but you never know."

"I'll catch her at some point."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

With a comforting smile, you give Dennis a nod. Then, the two of you go back to work. You head to the nurses' station, and look up at the board. But out of the corner of your eye, you see Trinity.

You look to her, her back turned to you. She's in front of a suture cart. You take a grounding breath before walking over to her.

But before you get there, you see Trinity tuck a scalpel into her pocket. You watch as she walks away, never noticing you. In your gut you have a bad feeling, so you follow her.

Trinity enters the bathroom, and you pause outside of the door, unsure if you should follow her in. But something is telling you to go after her.

When you come in, Trinity's not in view. You bend over slightly and see only one pair of shoes, ones you instantly recognize as Trinity's. Cautiously, you walk over to where she is, the second to last stall.

You stand outside of her stall in thought. On one hand, Trinity might need space, something you know she needs more than the average person. However, on the other hand, you know Trinity isn’t good at accepting help.

So you decide to help her.

"Trin?"

Silence.

"Trinity?"

"What?"

"Can I come in?"

"No", she scoffs.

You bend down, getting on all fours and crawl under the stall door. Once you’re all the way in, you sit on tile, your back against the door. Trinity’s sitting on the toilet.

"What the fuck", Trinity mutters under her breath. You see her tuck something behind her. "I could've been peeing."

"I knew you weren't, and you wouldn’t open the door", you say as you bend your knees and rest your forearms on them.

She glances down at her feet. "Because I didn’t want you in here."

"I know."

You sit there in silence for about 20 seconds, not wanting to pressure Trinity, but letting her know you’re here.

"Why are you even here?" Trinity asks, finally meeting your gaze.

"Because I want to make sure you’re okay."

"I am, I just…" she draws in a shaky breath, "I'm fine, just tired."

"Trinity."

She holds your stare, your eyes locked like it’s a contest. She’s the one who loses. "Really, I'm fine, I just needed a little break", Trinity tells you, rolling her eyes.

"Hey", you start, your voice softer. "What did you hide from me when I came in?"

"You mean when you broke in."

"When I crawled in technically."

A small chuckle escapes both of you, and then silence sets in again. The air feels still and heavy.

"Trin."

With a sigh, she grabs what she tucked away. "It’s just this", Trinity tells you, holding the scalpel up, but not saying the actual name of the object. "For a patient I was going to go to."

"What patient was that scalpel for?"

"Um… oh, there's a kid with an abscesses."

"What room?"

"I don't remember exactly, south 17?"

"South 17 is my patient."

"South 16 then. I told you, I don't remember."

"Can I have it?" You extend your hand out to her.

"Why?" Trinity asks, her voice trembling just slightly.

"Because…" you pause, trying to figure out the most delicate way of saying this. "Now I’m not sure if you were going to, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself."

Trinity’s eyes flash to yours for a second before looking back down at her shoes. Hesitantly and without looking at you, she hands you the packaged scalpel. You tuck it in your pocket, and then gently touch one of her knees.

"I'm just going to stay with you if that's okay."

She looks up to you, her eyes glossy, and then nods and looks back down. "Fine", she whispers.

You rub circles around her knee, your touch light and careful. The two of you sit like that for at least two minutes before she breaks the silence.

"How did you know?" Trinity asks, her voice small and her eyes filled with hurt and something else you can’t quite place.

Slowly, you stand up. You then grab the waistband of your pants and tug them down.

"What are you—"

"Just look", you sternly tell her.

When your pants are just above your knees, you leave them there and put your attention back onto Trinity. She’s looking at you, confusion sketched all over her face. As she looks down and examines you, she lets out a small chuckle.

You follow her gaze and realize Trinity is looking at your hip tattoo of a star that's peeking out of your underwear.

"Nice tattoo, but I don't get why you're showing me this."

"Not that."

Trinity glances up at your face again before looking back to your legs. She leans in closer, and that’s when she sees it.

Lines of faint yet small rough bumps that make up a cluster of scars on your upper thighs. Trinity's eyes widen slightly as she takes in the marks on your skin. You hear her suck in some air, almost like a gasp. After a few moments, you pull your scrub bottoms back up.

"That's why."

"I'm sorry", Trinity says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Trinity stands, her pants pulled down but her underwear still on. When she was sitting on the toilet before, she was leaning forward and you couldn’t see her thighs very well. But now you can, and you see scars just like yours.

Trinity waits just long enough so you can get a quick look before pulling her pants back up. "I haven’t, um..." Trinity swallows, almost like she's getting rid of a lump in her throat before continuing, "I haven’t in little over a month."

"That’s good", you tell her with a soft smile. "I know you may not want to, but you can always call me, okay?" You pause for a second. "So… can I ask what drove you to do this today? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, Trin."

She crosses her arms and takes a deep breath. "Fucking Garcia."

"Garcia?"

"I know, it’s so stupid. I just found out she started fucking someone else, and it shouldn’t hurt me, but it does. Also, Whitaker has been spending so much more time at the farm, he’s barely home, and I just… I just have nobody."

"You have me", you reply immediately. "And Whitaker is there for you more than you know."

Trinity looks at you, for once with all her walls down, and nods. "Okay."

"I mean it. You're important Trinity. To patients, to the staff here, to Whitaker, to your friends, and to me."

Her breath catches in her throat for a moment.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, but I think it would be a good idea to talk to Whitaker. He's worried about you."

A half scoff, half laugh escapes Trinity, a small smile forming on her face. "He's so annoying", Trinity complains affectionately.

"Because he cares about you", you reply with a chuckle.

"Yeah, I know." Trinity's voice is soft — gentle even.

"Are you ready to get back to work or do you need more time?"

"I think I'm good."

"Are you sure? I can cover for you."

"No, no, really, I mean it."

You can see the genuineness in Trinity's eyes, her features seemingly lighter than when you first saw her. You give her a small, tender smile. "Okay." You turn around and unlock the stall door before turning back to Trinity. "After you."

It's been a little over a month since that day in the bathroom which Trinity. She ended up calling you once at midnight when you were about to go to bed. Instead, you came right over to her place, and brought some of her favorite late night snacks.

Since then, Trinity's been doing better. She doesn't just say that she is — you can see a difference in her. While Trinity is still crabby at times, you've noticed that she smiles and laughs more. Last week Dennis even brought that up to you.

You were laughing at a joke Trinity told, Whitaker and Javadi with you too. Trinity walked away to check on a patient, and that's when Whitaker turned to you.

"You know, she smiles more when she's around you."

"What?"

"It's true", Victoria chimes in.

You look between them, a smile still on your face, but now you have a puzzled look as well. "Trinity? Maybe I'm just naturally adorable."

Dennis lets out a little laugh, more so to himself. "You nailed it in one."

Skeptically, you raise your brows. "What does that mean?"

Victoria and Dennis exchange a look and chuckle. "Think about it", Victoria tells you before walking away.

"You'll figure it out", Dennis adds, a smirk on his face.

You stand there confused as ever for a few moments. Were they implying that Trinity thinks you're cute?

For the last week that's been on your mind. However, yesterday after work you went to pick up food and ran into your ex. So now you can't shake that interaction.

Your ex-girlfriend you ran into, when you were tragically looking exhausted and wearing smelly scrubs, had cheated on you. It happened almost two years ago, and you haven't dated anyone since her. Her actions really screwed you up, so you've guarded your heart since.

It would be one thing to just see her, but she was with someone else. To see that unexpectedly and after a long shift really hurt. So far today you've been distracted, your mind dwelling on the past.

You and Joy are near the nurses' station, presenting a case to Robby. Joy has just finished debriefing him on a diabetic patient the two of you are treating.

"Labs?"

"Ordered", Joy replies to Robby.

"What did you include?"

"Glucose levels, CBC, and CMP."

Robby says your name, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Hm?"

"Anything else to add?"

"Oh, uh, nope. Joy's got it covered."

"You're talking a lot less than usual", Robby says with a small snicker.

You shrug and force a smile. "I've just had a long week."

Robby nods and decides not to press further. "What about an EKG?"

"Yup." Joy turns to you, expecting you to confirm.

"Oh, hm? I thought you ordered that", you tell Joy.

"No, I did the labs."

"Someone better order it", Robby says.

"Fuck", you mutter under your breath, anger in your voice. "I got it."

You don't mean to leave as dramatically as you do, but you storm away. As quick as you can, you order an EKG, feeling stupid for not having already done it. When you're finished, you head to the break room, in need of a short rest, even if it's just for a minute or two.

As you enter, you notice that no one else is in here. From the fridge you grab a bottled Starbucks frappuccino that Trinity gave you this morning before walking over to the table and sitting down, slumping in a chair and covering your face with your hands. "Fuck", you curse to yourself.

The sound of the door opening makes you sit up straighter and remove your hands from your face. You see Trinity, her expression that meep face you've always found cute. She walks over to you, almost hesitant.

"You... okay?"

"Yeah, fine", you reply instantly, your voice flat.

Trinity nods and takes a seat in the chair across from you. "Are you sure? That wasn't like you back there with Robby and Joy."

You scoff, completely aware that Trinity was even in the vicinity of you in that moment. You take a sip of coffee before replying. "I know I fucked up, you don't have to remind me."

"All you did was forget to put in an order for an EKG. It's barely a mistake", Trinity tells you, attempting to reassure you.

"I still forgot. I never forget." You sigh and rest an elbow on the table, putting your face in your hand.

"What's up with you?"

"Nothing", you bite out.

"Damn, you're starting to sound like me."

A hollow laugh leaves you and cuts through the air. "Am I not allowed to just be for a minute?"

Trinity's silent for a few seconds, not really sure what to say. Guilt creeps up on you in the suffocating quiet. With a sigh, you look at her.

"Sorry", you tell Trinity, your voice barely loud enough for her to hear.

"So are you going to tell me why you're acting like your grandma died?" Immediately, Trinity cringes. "Shit, that was a bad joke, we're in an emergency room for fuck's sake. Did someone actually die? Shit, I'm sorry."

Your lips curve upwards, just a tad. You know Trinity was just trying to make a funny comment, likely to make you smile, but her backtracking on her words is what really gets you.

"No one died", you say, your tone softer and a little lighter.

"Oh, okay, good."

You draw in a shaky breath and clasp your hands together, fidgeting with your fingers. "I ran into an ex yesterday. She cheated on me, and it ended really badly, and it was just a terrible time in my life."

"Shit. I'm sorry, Sunshine."

Hearing the nickname Trinity gave you makes your mouth quirk up into a small smile. You don't even realize that you're even blushing a little bit.

"Hey, there's my Sunshine", Trinity tells you, a smile of her own crossing her face.

You chuckle and meet her gaze. There's something soft in her expression, something you've seen a few times before but haven't been able to pinpoint what it is. Affection? Nervousness? Care? Shyness? Love?

"C'mon." Trinity stands up and extends a hand to you. You look up to her and take it, a sly smirk on your face.

You're surprised by how Trinity actually yanks you up. She pulls you with such strength that once you're standing, you stumble closer to her. You look at Trinity, her hand still on yours.

Whatever you see in Trinity's eyes deepens, and suddenly she's pressing her lips against yours. You're taken by surprise, your body going still for a brief second, but after the initial shock, you kiss her back.

Trinity tastes like cherry chapstick, and her lips are soft and tender. You close your eyes, your mind now going blank.

But Trinity pulls back and drops your hand. You feel her body tense as she does so until there's no more contact.

"Oh, fuck. I-I, fuck, I'm sorry", Trinity stammers.

Your brows pull together, trying to figure out what Trinity's thinking right now. You can see a measure of anxiety scrawled all over her expression. Trinity looks away and fidgets with the hem of her top.

"I'm so fucking sorry. Just—"

Before she can finish, your hands find her cheeks. You look at her for a few seconds, communicating more than you ever could with words with your eyes. Then, you lean in and kiss her.

The kiss starts off soft and slow, like how it was when Trinity first pulled you in. However, this time, it deepens. You feel Trinity's arms wrap around your waist, bringing you closer to her body. Your hands leave her face and trail to the back of her neck, pushing her face further to yours.

After 20 seconds or so, you break the kiss. You kiss Trinity's cheek before resting your forehead on hers. Trinity stares deep into your eyes, taking in every detail of you. She then leans forward, her lips barely brushing yours.

When Trinity pulls back, your arms are still around her neck and her hands are on your hips. You're so smiling and so is she.

"You should smile more", you tease.

"But I love to frown", Trinity replies with a playful pout.

You chuckle softly. "And it's just as cute."

Trinity gives your lips a quick peck before giving your jaw a few kisses, moving up to your ear. "I'll smile as long as you're around, Sunshine."