Far

“I let some old guy convince me to buy a String of Pearls.”

A laugh escaped before you could stop it as you glanced over your shoulder at him.

Something softened in his face immediately, so quickly that it felt almost unfair - like he’d been waiting all day for proof you could still laugh.

“That’s like the hardest plant to keep alive.”

“I know."

His grin widened slightly.

"I didn’t have you there to talk me out of it.”

“I told you Frank Langdon doesn’t give paternal.” You answered as you shut your locker.

You turned and nearly walked straight into him.

Somehow he'd moved closer.

Standing close enough now that you could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. Close enough to notice the exhaustion etched around his eyes.

For a moment neither of you moved.

Then Frank reached up, his fingertip brushed lightly against the bandage above your eyebrow. The touch was so gentle it almost hurt, enough to make your breath hitch and your pulse stumble.

"It was coming loose." He explained, voice low.

You swallowed as his touch lingered. "Oh."

Frank's attention remained fix on your forehead as he smoothed out the edge.

"Robby did a good job."

"You'd hope so."

His hand lingered for a second longer than necessary, then finally fell away.

Your skin felt cold, like it was automatically starved of his touch.

You hated how aware you were of him.

You took a subtle step backwards, needing to create distance.

For a moment the two of you stood there eyeing each other. The room felt uncomfortably full with all of the unspoken things neither of you seemed capable of saying.

Eventually you gestured vaguely over your shoulder towards the exit.

"I should probably go."

Your voice sounded strange to your own ears.

"Doctor's orders and all that."

Frank shoved his hands into the pockets of his scrub pants, looking away briefly.

“Ok."

Something about the way he said it made you pause. He wasn't pushing, wasn't finding another excuse to keep you talking, wasn't trying to make you laugh.

The fluorescent light caught harshly against the tired lines of his face. For once, he didn’t look confident. He didn’t look amused or easy or untouchable. He didn't look like the version everyone else saw.

Instead he looked like someone bracing himself to be left behind.

Your chest pulled tight.

Frank opened his mouth.

For a second you thought he might finally say whatever had been sitting between the two of you for weeks.

“Goodnight.”

You nodded once.

“Goodnight.”

-

Your apartment was quiet when you got home. Oppressively so, like you were being squeezed from all sides and might burst.

You kicked your shoes off near the door and stood there for a moment in the dim entryway light, staring blankly at the unopened mail scattered across the counter and your clean laundry still in its basket from days ago. Everything looked strangely untouched, suspended in time while your life seemed to have detonated somewhere outside of it.

You exhaled slowly and wandered toward the kitchen, your head throbbing faintly as your painkillers wore off. The ache pulsed dully behind your stitches, but it was nothing compared to the pressure that had lodged itself beneath your ribs ever since Javadi’s party.

Your gaze drifted absently toward the fridge as you unscrewed your water bottle.

The photos were still tacked there.

Your stomach twisted.

You needed sleep. Or alcohol. Or to get hit again in the head but hard enough this time to make you slip into a coma.

You made it halfway to your bedroom before coming to a stand still.

The stupidly beautiful stained-glass lamp sat glowing softly in the corner of your living room, casting muted lilac and amber light across the walls.

You still hadn’t confronted Frank about it, mostly because doing so would require acknowledging why he'd bought it.

And acknowledging that felt dangerously close to acknowledging everything else.

You walked over slowly, fingertips brushing lightly against the cool glass petals. The light shifted across your skin.

Your chest tightened unexpectedly.

You tried to push thoughts of him out of your head.

Tried not to think about the way he remembered your coffee order despite complaining about it every single time. Or the way he automatically shifted during procedures because he knew where you preferred to stand. Or the way he always knew when to make a joke or when to leave you to wallow after a bad trauma.

The way he'd somehow inserted himself into hundreds of tiny corners of your life without you ever noticing it happening.

You sat down slowly on the edge of your bed, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of today's shift finally seep into your bones.

Your phone buzzed suddenly beside you, making you jump.

You reached for it automatically.

Three messages from Dennis.

hey sorry if this is weird but i just wanted to make sure your head is ok

Your heart twisted painfully.

Because even now - even after all of this - Dennis was still careful with you. Still giving you space. Still terrified of pushing too hard.

You typed back a quick confirmation that you were fine before tossing your phone further up the bed, unwilling to look at it any longer.

The apartment fell quiet again.

Your hand unconsciously drifted up to your forehead, brushing over your stitches.

Without permission, your brain conjured the memory of Frank's hand ghosting over your skin. The way his eyes locked with yours, the cut of his jaw as he scanned your face for signs of hurt.

You huffed, flopping onto your back. Your hands settled on your stomach as you stared up at your ceiling.

You thought about Dennis’ smile, his big eyes that made him look like a baby deer caught in headlights, the way his hand always hovered just close enough to yours to never quite be touching. The farm. The way he looked at you like you hung the moon.

Then, like always, Frank elbowed his way to the front of your conscious.

The way his eyes seemed to always find yours in any room, locking you in place. The way his hand had brushed your waist in the photo booth, the heat of him radiating into you. The way you were never quite sure what he was thinking when he looked at you.

The way his biceps bulged when he crossed his arms, the way his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he listened to you talk.

The way praise from him somehow mattered more than it should. The way you secretly loved how he treated you differently to everyone else at work. The way your body reacted whenever he was even in the same room as you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying and failing to get Frank Langdon out of your head.

Because no matter which direction your mind tried to run, it kept ending up in the same place.

“Fuck.”

-

The next few shifts passed the same way all the others had since Javadi’s birthday.

Except now, people's eyes flickered to the stitches above your eyebrow before darting between you, Frank and Dennis. Not obvious enough to call out, but not subtle enough to miss either.

It felt like the whole department was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

You threw yourself into work with almost frightening determination, clinging to routine like it might save you from having to think too hard. You picked up extra cases before anyone else could grab them, volunteered for procedures, spent longer than necessary updating your notes at the nurses station just so you always had something to look busy with.

It worked with most people.

Not with Frank.

Frank Langdon, unfortunately, had made a career out of noticing things other people missed.

Which meant he noticed the way you suddenly remembered somewhere else you needed to be whenever he entered a room. The way you conveniently found an excuse to swap out on his cases. The way your eyes slid past him whenever he spoke directly to you. The way your body seemed to recognise his presence before your brain did and immediately started looking for an escape route.

And because Frank was Frank, he doubled down. Even worse than he had been before the Ogilvie incident.

Your last name was the first he called when a trauma rolled in, he stood just a touch closer than absolutely necessary as he waited to sub in during compressions, and whenever you got thirty seconds to breathe, he appeared as though summoned by some invisible force neither of you understood.

And every morning, before Shen could reach you, an iced latte with your name scrawled on it would appear somewhere within your line of sight.

You never saw him leave them, but you knew.

By the end of the week you were beginning to suspect he possessed the supernatural ability to sense your exact location at all times.

It was nearing the end of another brutal shift when you found yourself alone in the breakroom trying to force down half a protein bar and enough caffeine to survive the last two hours.

Your body ached. Your feet hurt. Your forehead still throbbed if you bent down too quickly. And emotionally, you felt like someone had scraped you hollow.

The door to the breakroom opened behind you.

You didn’t even need to look up to know it was Frank.

He leaned back against the counter beside the coffee machine, studying you quietly while it brewed.

His arms were folded loosely across his chest, his expression was deceptively casual. His eyes weren't.

"You look exhausted."

"Gee hello to you too." You remarked dryly.

A soft huff of laughter left him at that.

The sound wrapped around your ribs before you could stop it.

"You don't look exactly like the picture of health either."

“Yeah, but mine’s from old age and substance abuse.” He tilted his head slightly. “What’s your excuse?”

Your lips twitched as you shook your head.

“There’s something genuinely wrong with you.”

“I know." He nodded solemnly. "I've been diagnosed multiple times.”

A snort escaped before you could stop it.

Something in his expression softened immediately, like every tiny crack in your composure felt monumental to him now.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, which somehow made it worse.

Frank glanced down at the half eaten protein bar in your hand.

“Those things tastes like drywall.”

“You’ve had one?”

“Multiple. I lost a bet to Robby once and had to eat them for a week straight.”

You grimaced.

"That feels like a health risk."

"It was."

Before you could react, Frank leant forward and took a bite out of it while it was still sitting in your hand.

You blinked.

Frank pulled back, chewing thoughtfully. His eyes flicked up to yours as he winced.

"Yep." He said through a mouthful. "Still tastes like shit."

You stared at him.

"You did not just do that."

"Do what?"

You looked down at the mangled remains of your protein bar, then back at him.

"I don't remember consenting to you contaminating my food with your germs."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Oh please."

He pointed at the remaining piece.

"I could physically see you losing the will to live trying to finish that thing."

His hand gestured vaguely.

"I've done you a favour."

You laughed before you could stop yourself. A real one this time, the kind that bubbled out unexpectedly.

Frank grinned as he watched you laugh, like he was committing it to memory.

Like he'd forgotten whatever he was going to say next. Like hearing you laugh after weeks of distance had affected him more than he wanted to admit.

And for a brief moment, everything felt normal again.

Princess suddenly appeared at the doorway, the sound of your last name making you turn.

"Robby's looking for you."

You sighed, tossing the remains of the protein bar into the bin,.

"On it." You nodded.

When you turned back to Frank, his smile had faded. You felt your heart jump in your chest as his gaze met yours.

"I'll see you later."

His gaze held yours for a beat too long. Then he nodded, his Adams apple bobbing as he swallowed. "See you."

-

Two shifts later and you were in the supply closet, trying to find a very specific size of sutures.

Or at least that was the official reason you were there.

Unofficially, you were hiding.

The department had been relentless all day. Every room felt too crowded. Every interaction felt loaded. Every time you turned around it seemed like someone was watching you, waiting for whatever inevitable explosion everyone seemed convinced was coming.

"You know." A voice remarked casually behind you. "At this point I'm starting to think you genuinely hate me."

You nearly dropped the packet of suture kits in your hands.

“Jesus Christ.” You muttered, pressing a hand briefly to your chest as you turned to meet Frank's eyes. “Do you always move that quietly or are you doing it on purpose now?”

His mouth twitched.

Not an admission, but not a denial either.

You turned back to the shelves before your traitorous body could react any further.

“I’m serious.” His voice sounded closer this time. “You’ve fled from me four times today.”

You grabbed another box.

“I have not.”

“You literally turned around mid-conversation with Princess and walked into a curtain.”

Heat climbed your neck.

“That was unrelated.”

Frank hummed, unconvinced.

“Can I help you with something?” You asked, continuing to inspect shelves that no longer held anything you actually needed.

"Not really, I just like spending my spare time in supply closets."

You shut your eyes briefly.

There it was.

That stupid humour. That effortless ability to slip beneath your defences before you even realised they were lowering.

“Frank.”

His expression softened slightly at your tone.

"Are we going to keep doing this?"

The humour had vanished entirely when you turned around.

"Doing what?"

He shot you a knowing look.

The kind that made you feel far too seen.

The kind that always seemed to strip away every excuse you'd carefully prepared beforehand.

Your cheeks warmed instantly.

"Can we not do this at work?"

"We're always at work." He countered.

"That's not-"

"You've been avoiding me."

"I've been avoiding both of you."

The words came out sharper than you intended.

Frank’s face flickered.

"Yeah, I've noticed."

You swallowed, glancing down at the floor as your chest tightened.

You hated how well he knew you.

You looked at him properly then, frustration finally breaking through.

“What exactly am I supposed to do in this situation, Frank?”

Something flashed across his face.

Hope. Even after the party. After the silence. After you’d practically been running from him for over a week.

Frank studied you quietly for a moment before speaking.

“Talk to me.”

The simplicity of it nearly undid you.

Because underneath all the jokes and pushing and relentless attempts to corner you into engaging with him, that was all he’d really been asking for.

Not even to choose him. Just asking to not shut him out.

Your throat tightened painfully.

“I don’t know how to do this without hurting someone.”

For the first time in days, Frank stopped trying to be funny.

The humour left his face completely, exposing something far more dangerous underneath.

"Dragging yourself through hell trying not to make anyone unhappy is only going to hurt everyone else more. Especially you."

The honesty of it landed like a physical blow.

You looked away immediately, trying to ignore the way your heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of your chest out of your chest.

Before you could spiral further, Frank unexpectedly stepped closer. Close enough that you immediately became aware of every inch separating you.

"What are you doing?"

His arm lifted, resting against the shelf above your head.

"Helping."

Your eyebrows shut up. "Helping?"

His mouth twitched. "You seem stuck."

You hated him. Hated him for making your heart race at the worst possible moments, for looking at you like that, for refusing to let things stay simple.

You forced yourself to jut your chin up to meet his gaze.

"And how is this helping me, exactly?"

Frank's smile disappeared. His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.

The movement sent heat shooting through you.

"Tell me you feel nothing."

"What?"

"Between us." He clarified, his eyes dragging over your face. "Tell me you feel nothing-“ He swallowed. “-and that this is all in my head.”

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the small space in that moment. The mood shifted as any trace of amusement shifted from his features.

“Tell me-“ He repeated again, his voice quietening to a strained whisper. “-and I'll leave you alone. No more supply closet ambushes, no more coffees, perfectly respectable co-worker boundaries only.”

Your eyes involuntarily dragged from his forearm, to his bicep, all the way to his face, lingering on his mouth.

You swallowed, your pulse roaring in your ears. "Frank-"

"Tell me." And for the first time since you'd known him, it sounded dangerously close to pleading. Like he he needed to hear the confirmation so he could stop hoping, stop waiting.

You froze like a startled deer, your heart pounding in your chest as you felt his arm brush against yours.

“I-“ You started, your eyes involuntarily flickering down to his mouth, then back to his eyes.

You felt yourself inch just a touch closer. Barely noticeable, but Frank spotted it, his breathing changing instantly.

“I…”

The door to the supply closet swung open. The spell shattered instantly The sounds of the department rushed in at a brutal pace, the fluorescent lights streaming in.

Frank pulled away immediately, but not quick enough.

Dana stood there, one hand on her hip, brows raised as she glanced between the two of you.

You reacted on impulse.

“Found what I was looking for.” You announced to no one in particular as you blindly snatched a packet of sutures from behind you.

You ducked under Dana’s arm that was leaning on the edge of the doorframe, shooting her a sheepish grin before disappearing with the grace of a newly born lamb.

Dana turned and watched you go before settling her gaze on Frank.

“I was just-“

She raised a hand up to stop him. “I don’t want to know.”

Frank remained exactly where he'd been left standing, staring at the doorway like he could somehow will you back through it.

Then her expression involuntarily softened, letting out a small sigh as she studied his pathetic expression.

"You have to stop playing these games, kid."

Frank looked down at the packet of saline he'd apparently picked up at some point.

He couldn't remember doing it.

"Tell her how you feel."

A bitter smile tugged at his mouth.

"I'm trying."

Dana snorted.

"No. You're flirting."

Frank opened his mouth. Closed it again.

"What's the actual plan here?"

Frank didn't answer. Because he didn't have one.

At first he'd convinced himself that if he was patient enough, funny enough, persistent enough, eventually things would settle. Eventually you'd stop avoiding him. Eventually you'd look at him the way you used to.

But now, he couldn't help but wonder if you'd made your choice. A possibility that had been sitting quietly in the back of his mind for days.

He'd just been trying very hard not to look directly at it.

Dennis. The thought alone made something unpleasant twist in his chest. Kind, safe, the sort of guy people introduced to their parents.

The sort of guy who didn't have entire sections of his life he wished he could erase.

Frank swallowed.

Dana's expression shifted. She'd known him too long, seen too much.

"Tell her."

"What if I'm too late?"

Dana held his gaze.

She didn't tell him what she could see so plainly - that you and him were so clearly inevitable. That you were so clearly scared of the intensity of the connection the two of you shared.

"Then at least she'll know." Was all she said instead.

The words lingered long after she left.

Frank remained standing in the supply closet alone, staring at the doorway you'd disappeared through.

For the first time in weeks, he didn't immediately think about how to get you to talk to him. Or what excuse he could invent to keep you in the same room.

Instead he found himself wondering something far more dangerous. Whether Dana was right. Whether he'd already lost. Whether he'd be able to survive it.

And if he had, whether he was brave enough to tell you anyway.

-

Sleep proved impossible that night.

Your brain felt like someone had thrown every thought, feeling and memory you possessed into a blender and hit start.

You lasted maybe twenty minutes lying in bed before frustration finally forced you upright again.

The apartment was dark except for the lamp.

Soft lilac and amber light spilled across the tiles as you wandered barefoot into the living room, your oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder as you passed the couch.

The city glowed softly outside, the muted sounds of cars driving past offering some comfort that there were at least some other people that were still awake.

You were exhausted.

But every time you closed your eyes, your mind immediately betrayed you.

Dennis smiling softly across a diner booth.

Frank’s hand settling beneath your ribs in the photobooth.

Dennis asking if you wanted to come to his farm.

Frank saying I missed you like it had cost him something to admit.

You groaned quietly and dropped face first onto the couch cushions.

The apartment, unsurprisingly, offered no solutions.

After a moment, you rolled onto your back and stared blankly up at the ceiling.

Objectively speaking, the answer should have been easy.

Dennis was kind. Steady. Safe.

He listened carefully when you spoke. He noticed small things. He made space for people. He was one of your best friends. You socialised in the same circle of people. Your lives fit together neatly, logically.

So why did every thought somehow keep circling back to Frank?

Your eyes caught on the book sitting on your coffee table. You reached for it absentmindedly, hoping reading a few chapters might distract you and bring on sleep.

You barely managed to open it before something slipped free from between the pages, falling onto your lap.

Your breath caught.

The spare copy of the photo booth photos you had forgotten to give Frank.

You stared at them in your hand, at the softened edges, the slight bend through the middle from repeated use.

You’d been using it as a bookmark.

Not consciously. Not deliberately. Just… naturally.

A shaky laugh escaped you, the sound swallowed up by the empty apartment.

Your thumb brushed over the image instinctively.

Frank looking at you instead of the camera in each frame, like he physically couldn’t stop himself. And somehow, despite every logical instinct screaming otherwise, you looked at him the same way.

Because he’d seen you at your highs and your lowest of lows in this job. Seen you covered in snot, shivering in the stairwell after one of your first unsuccessful reductions. Seen you on days you weren't particularly likeable. Seen the mistakes, the self-doubt and had just accepted it. Accepted you.

Even now with all of this he’d never made you feel judged. Until Javadi’s, had never taken an opportunity to talk Dennis down, had respected your wishes to leave Dennis alone. All the while hiding his own feelings.

You had no doubt that he would be accepting of you being friends with Dennis. That he wouldn’t treat you any different if you didn’t choose him.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Because that was the thing you hadn’t fully let yourself acknowledge until now. Frank saw you.

The same way you saw him.

You knew every fault, every ugly scar, every secret and yet, despite that or more correctly because of that, you still wanted him.

And suddenly you understood why you’d been so desperate to avoid him these past weeks.

It wasn’t because you were confused anymore. It was because somewhere deep down, you already knew.

And knowing meant eventually having to say it out loud. Which meant hurting Dennis, risking friendships, changing things.

Your gaze drifted back toward the lamp glowing softly in the corner.

You were tired of this.

Tired of fighting your own reactions to him. Tired of pretending you didn’t feel the atmosphere shift every time he walked into a room. Tired of acting like your pulse didn’t immediately spike whenever he looked at you for too long.

Tired of fighting something that seemed determined to follow you wherever you went.

Tired of pretending that he didn't feel inevitable.

For the first time since Javadi's party, the panic that had been following you everywhere began to loosen its grip.

Not because the situation was any less complicated, but because you finally had the truth.

And as terrifying as it was, there was something strangely freeing about that.

You weren't trying to decide between Dennis and Frank anymore.

You were trying to figure out how to live with the fact that you'd already chosen.

And that was a very different problem.

-

You found Dennis during your next shift without really meaning to.

You had both just come out of back to back traumas, a multiple vehicle collision. Numerous resuscitations, intubations - the works. By the time you finally escaped, your scrubs felt glued to your skin and your head was pounding behind your eyes.

The ambulance bay was meant to be a welcome reprieve. Instead, you stopped short when you found the back of one of the parked ambulances already occupied.

He was sitting on the back step of one of the ambulances, elbows resting on his knees as he stared out across the parking lot. The afternoon sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the concrete.

His curls were messier than usual, flattened in places where he'd clearly been dragging his hands through them all day. There were dark circles beneath his eyes too, the kind exhaustion alone didn't entirely explain.

As if sensing you looking at him, Dennis glanced up.

And froze.

The reaction was subtle enough most people wouldn’t have caught it. But you did.

The way he straightened slightly. The immediate softness in his expression. The almost imperceptible panic that followed right after it.

"Sorry-" You started. "I didn't mean to interrupt-"

"It's fine." Dennis brushed off your apology, gesturing to the space beside him. "You're not interrupting."

He wiped his hands on his scrubs as you came to sit beside him.

The metal beneath you was warm from the sun.

The distant sounds of the pitt drifted through the open bay doors behind you.

"Your cut looks like it’s healing well.” Dennis said after a moment.

"Yeah. Robby would probably kill me if I didn't follow the proper aftercare."

Dennis' mouth twitched, nodding in understanding as he fiddled with his watch strap.

Silence settled awkwardly between you. It was worlds apart to when you'd last been out here, when you'd seen Dennis flex his hand out of the corner of your eye and had wondered if he might take yours in his.

Now it was like both of you were standing on opposite sides of thin ice trying not to crack it further.

“This is weird.”

You huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah it really fucking is.”

Dennis rubbed the back of his neck lightly before speaking again.

"You don't have to worry you know."

Your brows knitted. "What?"

He shot you a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“About me making things harder.”

Your chest constricted painfully.

“Den-"

“No, it’s okay.” He shook his head gently before you could continue. “I mean it.”

The steadiness in his voice somehow made it worse. Because you could hear how hard he was working to keep it that way.

Your throat tightened.

Because somehow, even now, he was trying to make things easier for you.

“I didn’t want any of this.”

“I know.”

He studied you for a moment.

"That day he came back-" Dennis looked away. “I knew.”

The confession landed softly between you, like something he'd been carrying for a very long time.

You didn't interrupt.

Dennis stared out towards the parking lot.

“You two have this thing.”

He glanced down briefly, like he was trying to find the right words.

“The way you look for eachother in a room. The way you somehow always end up next to each other, the way you work like you’re in each other’s heads…” He trailed off as he swallowed heavily.

You stared at him, unable to speak.

“You may not realise it yet but...” A sad smile pulled briefly at his mouth. “I think it’s always been him."

Dennis shook his head slightly as glanced down at his hands. "Even if I don't really understand why."

"If it makes you feel any better... I don't understand it either." You murmured after a moment.

There was a moment of heavy silence. You saw something flicker across Dennis' face. Because you hadn't denied it, hadn't tried to explain your actions. You'd only confirmed he was right without actually saying it.

"It doesn't."

The honesty of it landed hard.

When he looked back at you, there was no accusation in his expression. Just vulnerability. Raw and unguarded in a way Dennis rarely allowed himself to be.

"I think... I think I'm going to need some space."

You knew it was coming, but it didn't make the blow land any less heavy.

"Of course." Your voice cracked slightly.

Dennis nodded, more to himself than anything. He glanced down at his hands again, trying to hide the wetness of his eyes.

And suddenly every instinct you had screamed at you to fix it.

You wanted to hug him, to tell him he was one of your best friends and that nothing had to change - but you couldn’t. Because both of you knew that would be a lie.

"I'll always care about you Den."

The second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

Dennis visibly flinched. Not dramatically, but enough that it felt like watching a bruise form.

"Whitaker." He corrected quietly.

"Please."

Your chest had constricted so sharply you thought it might cave in entirely.

Because you knew he was trying to put distance between himself and something that hurt. Trying to become your coworker again because being your Dennis was no longer an option.

"Whitaker." You repeated quietly.

Dennis looked up at you after a moment.

"I'll always care about you too."

For a second neither of you moved.

Then he let out a long breath and scrubbed both hands down his face.

“Even if your taste in men is objectively questionable.”

That broke the tension just enough for you to huff out a watery laugh.

And even though he smiled again, you could still see the pain written all over his face.

And as you sat beside him in the fading afternoon light, watching him stare out across the parking lot, you found yourself desperately hoping that time would eventually give you back some version of what you'd lost.

-

Despite your conversation with Dennis, you were still doing your best to avoid Frank.

You knew it was unfair, bordering on immature and most definitely cowardly.

The confusion that had been plaguing you for weeks was gone now, replaced by a terrifying sort of certainty that felt infinitely harder to deal with.

Because confusion at least gave you somewhere to hide. Confusion meant you could tell yourself you didn't know. That you needed more time. That eventually everything would sort itself out.

Now you had no such cover. Instead, you now had to figure out how you were going to say the things you wanted to say out loud.

And once you did that, there would be no taking it back.

You lasted exactly three more days before everything fell apart.

You were in the last half of a relatively uneventful shift by pitt standards when Dana asked you (or really, told you) to assess a new patient in room 5.

"Can do." You answered, rerouting to the other end of the hall.

"Langdon's already assessed her in triage."

You ignored the way your stomach fluttered at the sound of his name. God, you were pathetic.

"Thanks."

Princess appeared beside you and handed over a tablet as the two of you headed down the hall.

"Patient is Rosie McLean, 74 years old, came in complaining of intermittent chest pain and general fatigue. Vitals are stable.”

You nodded, flicking through the file notes as Princess opened the door.

"Hi Rosie, I’m-“

You stopped short for a moment, your name dying on your tongue as you took in the patient in front of you.

It was the lady who owned the vintage store.

Maybe she wouldn't remember you, she must see hundreds of people every-

You watched as her eyes lit up with unmistakable recognition immediately, sparking panic through your entire system.

"I know who you are, you're the lovely girl from the other week." Rosie beamed.

Princess shot you a look that demanded an explanation.

"Rosie here owns a very nice vintage store." You explained in response as you pumped a handful of sanitiser onto your hands. "And helped me decorate about half my apartment."

"You didn't tell me you and your boyfriend were doctors dear." Rosie continued happily.

Princess' head snapped towards you so fast you were surprised she didn't sustain whiplash.

"Boyfriend?"

Fuck.

"He's not my boyfriend." You corrected lightly. "Anyway, should we talk about what's brought you in today-"

Rosie frowned. "What do you mean he's not your boyfriend?"

You laughed awkwardly. "He's just a friend." You insisted, ignoring Princess' eyes practically burning holes into the side of your face.

"Nonsense." Rosie scoffed, waving a dismissive hand

"When that boy came back to buy you that lamp he couldn't stop talking about you." Rosie shook her head, apparently delighted at the idea of having an audience.

"Going on about how you worked so hard and never bought yourself anything nice and that you deserved something beautiful for your new apartment. How he wanted to give you a little piece of himself for your new place."

Your heart was now actively attempting to leave your body.

The room suddenly felt much smaller.

Princess looked moments away from exploding.

Rosie glanced towards her. "Now what kind of friend says that?"

"Not a single one I've ever had." Princess agreed, a smirk so wide it was almost offensive.

"And the way he looked at her." Rosie shook her head. "That's true love my dears."

"I'd pay very good money to see that."

You shot Princess a look, which she very intentionally ignored.

“Anyway." You cleared your throat pointedly. "Let’s get back to-“

The door opened before you could continue.

Your stomach dropped when you locked eyes with Frank.

“Sorry to interrupt.” His eyes flickered to Princess. “Did we get those results back yet on our patient in Room 3?”

“Not yet.” Princess answered.

“Ok thanks.”

Frank’s eyes lingered on you for a moment.

That was all it took.

"There." Rosie immediately pointed between the two of you.

"See?"

Your soul left your body.

“Meant to be.”

Princess froze, then slowly turned towards you and Frank.

"Wait-" Her eyes widened. “Langdon’s the guy you were in the vintage store with?”

Nobody answered.

"Oh my god."

You wanted the floor to open beneath you. Frank looked like he was considering throwing himself into traffic. And Rosie looked thrilled.

-

You somehow managed to get through Rosie’s consult without anymore mentions of Frank or you collapsing into an embarrassed pile of mush on the floor.

But by the time you were stripping off your gloves, your entire body felt wound impossibly tight.

Because now there was another person that was going to start telling you what you'd already started admitting to yourself.

You threw your gloves into the bin and hurried out of the room before Princess could corner you and demand answers.

You could practically feel her running to tell Perlah everything, which meant that by the end of your shift the entire floor would know.

The pitt suddenly felt far too small.

Your breathing had started to feel strangely uneven by the time you reached the hallway. You turned sharply, heading straight for the on-call rooms.

Just five minutes to yourself, that’s all you needed.

But of course, that wasn’t what the universe had planned for you.

You’d barely shut the door behind you when you heard a faint knock.

“Yeah?” You called out, unable to hide your exasperation.

“Sorry.”

Your stomach flipped violently when the door opened.

“It’s fine.” You said, watching as Frank took that as permission to step inside.

“You ok?”

The door clicked shut behind him.

“Yeah I just-“ You inhaled sharply. “Don’t think I was ready for Princess of all people to find all of that information out.”

Frank nodded in understanding, eyes tracking every micro expression on your features.

“I get it, going furniture shopping with me is pretty much rock bottom.”

“Yeah that was my cry for help if you didn't realise.”

“I know, that’s why I’ve booked you in for one of our complimentary psych sessions.”

The tension eased just enough as your mouth curved slightly.

His eyes sparked as he watched your face.

Like always, Frank knew exactly what to say to get you to stop spiralling, to make you feel like you could actually take a breath.

You leant against the hospital bed, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Thank you.” You said quietly after a moment.

His brows knitted. “For what?”

“The lamp. I never said thank you. It's..." You glanced away briefly before looking up at him through your lashes. "It's perfect."

“It was nothing." He shrugged lightly. "You deserve it."

You studied him for a moment.

“Did you really say all that stuff to Rosie when you went back to buy it?”

"What stuff?"

You shot him a pointed look.

"The stuff about me working hard and deserving something nice."

"Yeah I did."

"Frank..."

"What?"

A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "You do work hard and you never buy yourself nice things. The least I could do was buy you that lamp."

The honesty in his voice stole the air from your lungs. Like he couldn't even understand why any of that would be surprising. Of course he'd wanted to give you something that would make you happy.

"And did you say the other thing?"

A faint flush crept up the back of Frank's neck. It was subtle. If you hadn't spent years studying his expressions, you might have missed it entirely.

Frank let out a breathless sort of laugh, dragging a hand over his jaw.

"What? About me wanting to give you a piece of myself for your new place?"

He took a step towards you.

"Because I said that too."

The air shifted between you then.

That dangerous pull that always seemed to happen when the two of you were alone too long.

Frank seemed to feel it too because his expression changed almost imperceptibly, humour fading into something quieter. More vulnerable.

"You know, you never gave me an answer the other day."

“Frank-“

“No, wait.” His voice came out rougher than intended. Softer. “Just - give me like… thirty more seconds before you start avoiding me again.”

You stared at him.

He took your silence as permission to continue.

“I need to say some things. And then you can give me your answer.”

And suddenly all the confidence people associated with Frank Langdon felt paper thin.

Your stomach contorted painfully, your nerves making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Okay.” You breathed out.

Frank looked down briefly, like he was trying to organise thoughts he usually kept hidden behind jokes and sarcasm and easy charm.

Then he looked back at you.

And for the first time since you’d known him, Frank Langdon seemed genuinely nervous.

“Last year when Robby found the drugs in my locker…” He swallowed once. “My first thought wasn’t about my job.”

Your breath caught.

Frank’s eyes stayed fixed on yours.

“It wasn’t about what other people would think. About the fact I might lose my job or go to prison. About letting Robby down.”

His mouth twisted slightly.

“It was you.”

Your chest constricted violently.

“All I could think about was you finding out.” He continued quietly.

Frank laughed softly under his breath, but there was no humour in it.

“I hated the idea of you looking at me differently. Of losing your respect and trust.” His voice roughened further now, every carefully constructed layer of confidence starting to splinter apart in front of you.

“And then you showed up at rehab with a bag full of contraband takeout.”

“You have no idea what I had to go through to sneak that in there by the way.” You joked faintly.

A small smile twisted up on his lips.

“And then even after I told you what I'd done, I came back here and you still looked at me like…” He stopped himself, jaw tightening briefly. “Like I was still me.”

Frank shook his head once, almost frustrated with himself.

“And you know what the really fucked up part is?” He asked quietly.

Your stomach flipped.

“What?”

“When I came back…” He exhaled slowly through his nose. “I saw how much you'd grown, saw the connections you'd made. And I told myself that I'd give you space, that I'd already fucked up my chance."

Your pulse thudded painfully.

“But then you’d smile at me.” His laugh was quiet and wrecked at the edges. “Or make a joke. Or look at me like my opinion mattered…” He cut himself off briefly. “And then I couldn't stay away."

The room felt unbearably warm suddenly, because you knew exactly what he meant.

Frank’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting again, restraint visibly tightening through his shoulders.

"And I was too selfish and scared to let you go." He admitted.

That shattered something in you completely.

Because beneath all the teasing and persistence and pushing, you finally understood the truth, Frank hadn’t been chasing you because he thought he was entitled to you. He’d been chasing you because he was terrified that if he stopped reaching for you, you’d stop seeing him.

You pushed off the edge of the bed to move towards him.

"Luckily for you, that's not your decision to make."

You felt yourself step closer before you consciously decided to.

Frank stilled.

"That thing between us…" You breathed out, your voice quieter now, stripped of all the excuses and deflections you'd been hiding behind for weeks. "Every time I'm in the same room as you, every time I think about you, every time I look at that lamp sitting in my apartment…"

A helpless laugh escaped you.

"I feel it, Frank."

He looked at you like the ground beneath him had shifted.

His eyes searched your face carefully, as though he was looking for hesitation, for uncertainty, for any sign that you might take the words back.

He didn't find it.

"And I was so scared to admit it." You continued. "Because once I admitted it, it became real. And real meant consequences."

Your eyes drifted briefly to his mouth before finding his gaze again.

"But now I have, I can't fight it anymore."

The corner of your mouth lifted.

"I don't want to fight it anymore."

Every inch of him was focused entirely on you as you took another step closer.

"There's your answer."

Frank looked at you for a long moment.

Like he was trying to convince himself he'd heard correctly. Like he was terrified this was another dream he was about to wake up from.

Then something inside him finally gave way. Pure, overwhelming relief. The kind that came from carrying something heavy for so long you'd forgotten what it felt like to put it down.

He moved, bringing the two of you close enough now that your breath tangled together.

“If I kiss you right now." He said quietly, voice rough enough to make your stomach flip violently, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back."

Your breath caught.

No games, no ambiguity. Just Frank standing in front of you offering his heart with shaking hands.

"I don't want to go back, ever."

For a second neither of you moved.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with anticipation and relief and every feeling that had been building for months.

Then Frank's hand lifted slowly to your jaw, his touch careful.

You leaned into it instinctively.

And then he kissed you.

The kiss was soft at first, more emotion than urgency, years of friendship and months of longing finally finding somewhere to go. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck as he drew you closer, and the moment your fingers tangled in the front of his scrubs you felt the last of his restraint disappear.

The kiss deepened instantly. Your back met the edge of the hospital bed, Frank stepping closer without breaking the kiss. His hand settled at your waist, squeezing tightly like he was grounding himself just as much as he was grounding you.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing a little harder than before.

Frank rested his forehead against yours and let out a disbelieving laugh.

"Jesus Christ."

A helpless smile spread across your face.

"Yeah."

He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, his gaze moving slowly across your face as though he was committing every detail to memory.

"You're so fucking beautiful."

You actually thought your heart might burst out of your chest at that.

You reached up instinctively, brushing your thumb lightly along the line of his jaw.

Frank's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, blindly finding your other hand and squeezing it gently.

And in that moment, everything finally felt exactly the way it was supposed to.

"Careful Langdon." You murmured after a moment, your tone making his lashes flutter open.

"That's starting to sound like preferential treatment."

His eyes darkened a touch, the Frank Langdon smirk you knew too well reappearing on his lips.

“Trust me, you haven’t seen what actual preferential treatment looks like yet.” He murmured.

“Is that so?” You whispered, nose bumping against his.

He hummed against your mouth, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

“Well." You continued, your hands fisting the material of his scrubs again. "You know I've always been a visual learner.”

That was all it took for him to hastily press his lips against yours again.

-

The next few days at the Pitt felt strangely fragile.

Not bad. Not awkward in the catastrophic, world-ending way you’d feared.

Just… delicate.

Like the three of you had survived an explosion and were now carefully stepping through the debris trying not to trigger another one.

You knew that Santos knew. You could see it in the way she looked at you, at the disappointment that flashed across her features. That was another unintended fallout that you were desperately trying to piece back together.

You and Frank had decided it was best to keep everything under wraps, which was proving to be impossible because Frank constantly looked like he was visibly restraining himself from touching you.

A few weeks later, the photobooth strip quietly appeared on the inside of Frank’s locker.

Then you started arriving to work together, a coffee already in your hand before Shen could pass you one.

And then one evening Dana caught the two of you making out in Frank's car.

If people hadn’t caught on by then, they certainly had now.

Dennis was still making a very concentrated effort to avoid being alone with either of you for too long. And although it hurt, you understood that he needed a little space to reassemble himself. But, you’d seen flickers of your past friendship emerge in stressful situations - enough to give you hope that things would eventually settle into something comfortable.

Frank understood, even encouraged you to talk about how you missed Dennis being in your life, comforted you when you confided in him.

All of which only made you fall for him harder. Because he was the same calm, secure man he’d always been. Still only wanted whatever would make you happy.

“You’re staring again.” You muttered under your breath as you updated your charts.

“I’m literally reading a patient file.”

You glanced sideways.

Frank was, in fact, not reading the patient file.

He was looking directly at you over the top of it, staring at you with the same intensity that he always did.

“You’re annoying.”

“Funny, that’s not what you said last night.”

Heat flared immediately up your neck.

Unfortunately, McKay happened to be walking past at the same time.

“You know, there’s a thing called appropriate workplace behaviour, and this conversation most certainly does not fall into that category.”

Frank grinned unapologetically.

“You’ll survive.”

“I actually might not.”

Javadi snorted beside her.

Frank glanced over at you, shooting you a wink before heading to his next patient. You couldn't hide the smile on your face as you turned back to your charting.

The ease of it startled you sometimes.

How quickly you and Frank had fallen into this.

Or maybe not fallen. Maybe just… stopped resisting.

Because now that everything was out in the open, it felt almost absurdly obvious.

The way you automatically orbited each other. The way your humour bounced off each other effortlessly. The way you read each others minds. The way he looked for you in every room like it was instinct.

You noticed all of it now.

And apparently so did everybody else.

“You know.” Mateo mused later that same shift when he found himself beside you in the breakroom. “I always thought after you and Langdon finally hooked up it would resolve your weird sexual tension, but it just seems to have made it worse.”

You nearly spat your coffee out.

“What?”

Mateo shrugged casually.

“It’s almost uncomfortable for the rest of us dude.”

“Oh my god.”

From one of the chairs, Princess pointed at you.

“See? Look how red she gets whenever someone mentions him.”

“I do not-“

“You’re practically a tomato.”

-

Later, you were back at the nurses station and of course, Frank was hovering nearby.

“Everyone knows.” You murmured low enough to ensure that it only reached his ears, keeping your eyes fixed on the screen in front of you.

“Knows what?”

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“About us.”

Frank hummed thoughtfully.

“Well it’s not exactly hard to figure out, what with you practically drooling over me constantly.”

Your lips pursed as you tried to fight a smile.

“Don’t pretend you’re not the obsessed one Langdon.”

“Never said I wasn’t.” He shot back smoothly.

The answer came so quickly that you actually looked up from your screen.

A laugh escaped before you could stop it when he winked at you.

You shook your head and turned back to your computer.

“So…” He added after a moment. “Mine tonight? I may or may not have got a booking at that new place around the corner.”

Your smile widened. “Sounds perfect.”

“Cool.”

After a moment, Frank's hand brushed yours beneath the desk, the touch brief enough that nobody else would notice.

You glanced sideways instinctively.

Frank was already looking at you.

His mouth twitched slightly when he caught you staring back.

And somehow, for the first time in a very long time, everything felt steady.

Frank glanced down at your hand still resting beside his. Then back at you.

That familiar look settled across his features, the one that had followed you through through years of friendship and months of denial.

The one you'd finally stopped pretending not to understand.

Your stomach fluttered anyway.

“Your staring is becoming a workplace hazard."

Frank's smile widened.

“Guess you'll just have to file another comp claim."

You rolled your eyes.

But your hand turned over beneath the desk, threading briefly through his before one of the nurses called out for Langdon.

And as Frank disappeared down the hallway, you found yourself watching him go.

Halfway down the hall, he glanced back.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he disappeared around the corner.

And despite the chaos unfolding around you, you found yourself smiling too.

Because after months of fighting it, denying it and overthinking it into oblivion, you'd finally stopped asking yourself what if.

Finally stopped running from it and started running towards it.

Towards him.

And now, you didn't think you ever wanted to stop.

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You made it halfway to your car before you stopped moving altogether.

The thought of going home suddenly felt unbearable. Your apartment would be too quiet. Too much empty space and time to replay every conversation, every look, every almost-confession until your brain dissolved into static. And, perhaps most dangerously of all, too many reminders.

The photostrip from the vintage store. The lamp. The photos on your fridge. The sweater Dennis had leant you ages ago draped over your chair.

Without really thinking about it, your feet had already changed direction.

The night air hit your face in a cool rush the second you stepped outside.

Your legs carried you without any sense of direction. You shoved your hands deeper into your jacket pockets as you walked past darkened storefronts, a group of drunk corporate suits spilling out of a bar, a florist hosing down the pavement outside their shop.

A few more blocks passed before you finally slowed. Your stomach grumbled, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since mid-morning.

Your gaze lifted.

A familiar hidden red neon sign glowed softly against the dark street.

You stared at it for a moment before letting out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

Of course your stupid subconscious had brought you here.

The bell above the door jingled softly as you stepped inside, warmth wrapping around you instantly.

The diner was busier than the last time you’d been here with Dennis.

Two construction workers occupied a booth near the window, nursing coffees and looking exhausted. A mother sat near the counter trying unsuccessfully to stop her two children from turning sugar packets into confetti. Somewhere in the back, pans clattered loudly against one another followed by a stream of rapid Italian swearing.

You felt your mouth twitch despite yourself.

“Ah!”

Angelo appeared from the kitchen, his face immediately brightening when he spotted you.

“The lovely lady!” He spread his arms dramatically as he approached. “You come back!”

You smiled properly for what felt like the first time all day.

“Hi Angelo.”

He clicked his tongue as he ushered you towards the same booth you and Dennis had sat in the night of the fireworks.

“Where’s Topo?”

The nickname landed somewhere beneath your ribs.

You shrugged off your jacket and slid into the booth slowly, trying not to think about Dennis sitting opposite you last time, carefully picking capsicum off your pizza like it was second nature.

“Taking a break from me.”

The joke came out weaker than you intended. You glanced down at the menu to hide your face.

Angelo hummed knowingly, leaning a calloused hand against the table. He studied you more carefully then, his expression softening slightly.

“You look like a kicked puppy.”

The bluntness of it caught you off guard enough that your eyes widened.

“You got the face.” He gestured vaguely to your brow. “Even got the battle scars to match.”

You huffed out a startled laugh.

“Rough week.” You admitted eventually.

Angelo nodded immediately, as though that explained everything.

Without asking, he reached over and plucked the menu from your hands.

“You eat.” He declared.

Your eyes narrowed. “I’m not getting a choice again, am I?”

He raised a brow. “You think you know Italian food better than Angelo?”

You lifted your hands up in defeat. “Absolutely not.”

“Good.”

You shook your head, smiling to yourself faintly as he disappeared back into the kitchen.

Slowly, your gaze drifted around the diner, your smile fading.

The chipped counter. The faded Steelers poster near the door. The tiny crack in the salt shaker Dennis had pointed out because he'd apparently witnessed a drunk guy throw it during a game years ago.

It was ridiculous. The place was just a diner, and yet somehow every corner of it felt touched by him. Like he'd left pieces of himself here without meaning to.

Your phone sat heavily in your jean pocket.

Before you could really stop yourself, you pulled it out and opened your camera roll automatically. Your thumb moved, scrolling deeper into your trove of memories in an attempt to distract yourself.

Dennis asleep in the break room snuggled into the CPR dummy.

Dennis holding up a drill while assembling your dining table.

Dennis and you at karaoke, blurry from movement because you’d both been laughing too hard when Santos took it.

You stared at that one the longest.

Not because either of you looked particularly good, but because you remembered that was one of the first nights in a long time that you felt like you had friends.

You scrolled further.

A screenshot of a text thread between Dennis after a terrible shift:

u alive?

Your response:

physically no emotionally also no

And his:

cool same. wanna split mozzarella sticks and a monster after work?

Your lips involuntarily curved.

Before you could stop yourself, you were on his instagram scrolling. You scrolled further back than you'd ever bothered to before. Past the few photos he'd uploaded during the time you'd known him, past med school, until you reached Nebraska.

Your thumb hovered. He looked so much younger, his smile wide as he stood beside a cow, permanently frozen in time.

You came to a stop at a photo of him on a farm. His farm, surely.

The one he had invited you to come visit.

The invitation felt different now as realisation dawned on you.

Because Dennis didn't let people in, not really. He was friendly, kind, probably too willing to help anyone who asked. But he protected the things that mattered - always vague at work about his family, the farm, the things he missed, the things he loved.

But not with you. Somehow, over the past 10 months, he'd been handing those pieces to you one at a time. Never making a big deal of it or asking for anything in return. Just quietly making room for you.

Before you realised what was happening, your imagination filled in the gaps.

Being woken up by a rooster at some ungodly hour, groaning as you buried your face back into his chest. Dirt roads stretching endlessly beneath pale hues of pink and gold. Dennis teaching you how to ride horses while trying not to laugh at how painfully suburban you were. Leaning on his shoulder watching the sunset from the porch as cicadas hummed around you.

The image settled somewhere deep inside you with startling ease, warmth spreading out from it and seeping into you.

The strange thing was it didn't feel new, as if those images had already existed somewhere inside you. As though some part of you had already quietly started building a future with him.

You thought about the fireworks. The humid summer air. His fingers resting beside yours on the bench like he wanted to hold your hand but was too scared to cross the line.

Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

You shoved your phone back into your pocket when Angelo reappeared shepherding a pizza and a glass bottle of coke towards your table.

"This will fix you."

Your stomach growled immediately.

"Thank you Angelo."

"Of course, anything for a friend of Topo."

You elected to ignore his emphasise on friend as you eagerly reached forward to grab your first slice.

Angelo remained where he was, hovering. He cleared his throat after a moment.

"You know.... this is probably not my place to say."

You watched him sling his dishrag over his shoulder, one beefy arm leaning against the booth.

"That boy has come here more times than I can count." Angelo gestured to the booth. "But that night he brought you here, I've never seen Topo like that before."

Your pulse stumbled.

"He looks at you like you hung a moon pie."

You tried to laugh it off.

"I'm sure that's not true."

Angelo's expression softened.

"You know how many times that boy has sat in this exact booth talking about you? Honestly I think I know more about you than I know about my own daughter."

Your cheeks flushed an offensive shade of red.

"Of course he never said your name but the second you walked in here-" Angelo shook his head. "I knew."

You stared down at the table for a long moment, fingertips tracing absent circles against the condensation pooling beneath your soda bottle.

"He's a good boy."

You smiled softly. "Yeah...yeah he is."

Angelo studied you for a moment, then nodded once as though he'd just received confirmation of something he'd already known.

"Eat." He ordered, wrapping his knuckles once on the chipped lacor. "Let the bread soak up your sadness."

You let out a breathy laugh as Angelo disappeared into the kitchen.

And as you ate your pizza and listened to the hum of the diner around you, for the first time in days, the knot in your chest began to loosen.

Because somewhere deep down, beneath all the panic and confusion and fear of ruining everything, you finally allowed yourself to admit the truth.

When you pictured your life, one that was happy, calm, steady - every version of it somehow led back to Dennis Whitaker.

Abbot's voice echoed back through your head.

I think deep down you already know.

Except this time, you didn’t argue with him.

-

The next shift felt unbearable from the second you walked through the doors.

Every instinctive movement you’d once brushed off as normal suddenly felt charged with unbearable clarity.

You understood too much now. Weighed down with the realisation of what you wanted - of who you wanted. Which somehow made walking into work infinitely worse.

You barely made it to your locker before you spotted Dennis already at his.

He was digging through his locker with the same chaotic lack of organisation he'd always possessed. Something warm unfurled instinctively in your chest at the sight of him. Before you could overthink it, the greeting slipped out.

"Hey."

You winced at how strained your voice sounded, like you were trying way too hard to be casual.

He jumped slightly at the sound of your voice, nearly hitting his head on his open locker door as he turned.

The second his gaze landed on you properly, concern immediately replaced whatever else had been there before. The fluorescent lights overhead caught against the dark circles beneath his eyes as he tried to shift his features into something neutral.

"Hey." He answered, watching you as you opened your locker beside his.

“How’s your head?”

Your fingers instinctively brushed the bandage taped above your eyebrow.

“Oh.” You forced a small smile. “Still attached, surprisingly.”

Dennis huffed a quiet laugh, though it didn’t quite disguise the nervousness sitting underneath it.

"Ogilvie's been asking everyone for updates." His mouth twitched faintly. "I think he's waiting to get fired."

"Or for me to sue him." You remarked.

That earned a real laugh.

For a moment neither of you spoke. It wasn't uncomfortable exactly, more unfamiliar than anything. And you hated it.

Because standing here felt painfully normal. Dennis still looked at you the same way. Still angled himself towards you unconsciously like he always had. Still held onto that gentle attentiveness that made you feel like the centre of his entire world whenever he focused on you.

But now you could see it.

Every tiny thing Santos and McKay had pointed out suddenly felt blindingly obvious.

And judging by the slight tension in Dennis’ shoulders, the careful distance he was forcing between the two of you, he knew that you knew.

Your chest tightened.

"So-

"Anyway-"

The two of you began at the same time.

You both stopped, staring at eachother for a moment.

Dennis let out an awkward huff of laughter and gestured for you to continue.

You withheld a sigh. "I was going to make a joke that surely this shift can't be worse than the last one but then...

"You realise you jinx yourself when you say shit like that?"

"Exactly."

A faint smile tugged at his mouth, but it faded almost immediately, like he'd caught himself doing something he shouldn't.

He glanced over his shoulder, like he was looking towards the escape route. And before you could say anything else, he took a step backwards.

"I should-" He pointed vaguely behind him. "Need to check something before handover."

"Oh. Yeah. Of course."

You tried to hide the disappointment that hit harder than it should have.

His eyes met yours briefly, long enough for something conflicted to flicker across his face.

Then he nodded.

"I'll see you around."

And before you could stop him, he was gone.

-

It had only been a week since your run in with the surgical light and yet, it felt like a year.

Dennis was still treating you like a glass figure. It wasn't in an obvious way to anyone else, but it was jarring to you.

The way his eyes would widen slightly whenever he spotted you before immediately darting somewhere else. The way he always seemed to find something urgently important to do whenever you started walking in his direction. The way he now positioned himself just far enough away that he couldn't accidentally brush your shoulder in a crowded trauma bay.

Like proximity itself had become dangerous.

Like one wrong move would have you permanently shattered across the floor of the ED.

You were miserable.

You hadn't realised how deeply Dennis had woven himself into your life until the threads started disappearing.

You'd missed the gym the past three days because you hadn't had Dennis pushing you to go, your phone felt strangely quiet without Dennis spamming you with stupid reels that were always perfectly curated for you, every time you opened your cupboard at home you realised you had no snacks because Dennis hadn't snuck a packet into your work bag when you weren't looking.

And the worst part was that despite everything, despite the emotional clarity currently bulldozing through your nervous system, despite the panic and confusion and weeks of emotional whiplash - you still smiled instinctively whenever you saw him.

Like your body had already made the decision before your brain caught up.

You tried to focus on work instead.

Unfortunately, the universe seemed determined to make that impossible too.

You were in the descrubbing bay after a trauma, trying to come down from the inevitable adrenaline rush.

“Careful.”

Frank’s voice appeared beside you just as you nearly walked directly into the monitor behind you.

His hand settled briefly against your elbow, steadying you before immediately dropping away again.

You looked up.

Somehow he was still able to look directly at you in a way that made it feel like he was peeling back layers you hadn’t given him permission to touch.

You broke eye contact quickly. Looking at him had become difficult, because every time you did, guilt followed shortly after.

“You trying to get another claim?” He asked lightly.

A laugh escaped automatically before you could stop it.

Something softened in Frank’s expression at the sound, like he'd been starving for that reaction.

"Hoping this one might take me out of action for a bit longer."

Frank smiled properly then, small but genuine.

"Bold strategy."

And there it was again. That horrible pull.

Even now, even after all the chaos and confusion and emotional fallout - being around him still felt magnetic.

But somewhere over the past few weeks, you'd finally realised something important.

Being around Frank felt exciting, almost like you were doing something you shouldn't. If you pulled back the layers, you probably would figure it was because you had looked up to him for so long.

But being around Dennis was something else entirely. He felt like an anchor, like he was steadily pulling you into a safe harbour. Like he was a steady, warm presence that was always meant to exist in your life.

"So, you ever going to stop avoiding me?" His words were light, but you could hear the edge veiled behind them.

You swallowed, glancing down at your sneakers.

When you looked back up, Frank was already watching you.

The shift in his expression was subtle, but unmistakable.

And suddenly it hit you. He knew. Not because you or anyone else had told him. But because Frank Langdon noticed things, particularly when they involved you.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

"You figured it out."

Not a question. Not accusatory. Not angry. Just an observation.

And somehow that made it worse.

"How did you know?"

Frank exhaled softly through his nose, gaze dropping briefly toward the floor. When he looked back up, he seemed oddly vulnerable. Like he was debating how honest he wanted to be.

"I think I've known for a while." He spoke quietly. "Ever since I've been back I've felt... out of place."

His gaze drifted towards the department beyond the curtain. "I've felt like I've been trying to catch up to a version of you that's outgrown me."

Your brow furrowed slightly, but you bit your tongue, granting him the space to let the words tumble out.

"You and Dennis make sense. You're both ambitious, you work well together, you have each other's backs...." His mouth twitched. "And he looks at you like you personally invented caffeine."

"Frank..."

He shook his head almost immediately.

"You don't need to explain."

"I care about you." You breathed out.

His expression faltered for a second.

"I know."

"I haven't outgrown you I just...." You trailed off, unable to find the right words.

"I know."

Emotion climbed sharply into your throat.

The sounds of the department drifted through the curtain, reminding you that life was carrying on around the two of you.

His mouth twitched faintly, though it didn’t fully reach his eyes.

“You know, for the record…” He glanced back at the curtain. “He’s been miserable.”

You blinked.

Frank huffed quietly.

“Like genuinely painful to watch.” He paused. “Which has honestly made this whole thing a lot less fun for me.”

A watery laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Frank smiled softly at the sound. Then something flickered across his face, gone almost instantly. But you saw it. The heartbreak. The kind that came from finally accepting something you couldn't change.

“Well.” He cleared his throat lightly. “Guess Nebraska finally wins something.”

Your eyes burned immediately.

“Frank-"

“No seriously.” He shook his head with a quiet laugh. “I’m trying to be mature here. Don’t ruin it.”

You let out another shaky laugh, pressing your lips together hard.

For a moment he just looked at you, like he was committing you to memory.

The curtain to the descrubbing bay shifted.

The two of you turned instinctively. You froze as your eyes met Dennis'.

For a moment, it was like the three of you were suspended in time. Dennis stood rooted in place, his eyes darting between the two of you, taking in how close you were standing, the expressions on your faces.

You watched a dozen different conclusions flash across his features.

Then, his face morphed. His jaw clenching as he took a step back.

Something in your chest cracked clean down the middle.

"Den-"

He was gone before you could even get the word out.

Your hands fell limp at your sides, a curse falling softly from your lips.

Beside you, Frank followed your gaze for a moment before looking back at you.

"You should probably go talk to him."

You turned to him as he folded his arms. The smallest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"You know before he goes and crashes his tractor or something."

Your brow knitted. "How long have you been sitting on that one?"

Frank's smirk widened. "A while."

-

By the time you finished descrubbing, Dennis was no where to be found.

Dennis wasn't particularly difficult to find under normal circumstances. He tended to orbit the same handful of places whenever he needed a moment to himself.

But this time he wasn't near the nurses station, not in the stairwell, not by the ambulance bay, not in the breakroom.

The image of his face in the descrubbing bay replayed itself relentlessly in your mind.

You approached Santos and McKay, your heart beating painfully against your ribcage.

"Have you guys seen Den?"

Both of them looked up.

Santos raised an eyebrow instantly.

"Ah yeah, a little bit ago."

"I passed him maybe ten minutes back." McKay offered.

Your heart climbed into your throat.

"Where?"

The two of them exchanged a glance.

"Not sure." McKay frowned slightly. "He said something about needing air."

You nodded, your pulse roaring in your ears. "Ok um-" You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Can you tell Robby I'm taking a break or something..." You said vaguely, already moving past them before they could ask anything further.

Santos watched you disappear through the ambulance bay doors.

The heavy doors hadn't even finished swinging shut before she turned back towards McKay.

"A break? In the pitt?"

McKay folded her arms. "That's how you know it's serious."

Santos stared thoughtfully towards the doors for another second.

"If Robby asks, I think it's safer for everyone if we just tell him she's been hit by a car."

McKay snorted.

"And it'd probably involve less paperwork than whatever's actually happening."

-

The late afternoon sun hung low over Pittsburgh by the time you slipped out through the ambulance bay doors, washing the city in muted gold.

The heat from earlier had finally started to break, replaced by a breeze drifting in from the river that lifted loose strands of hair from the back of your neck as you crossed the street.

Your pulse thudded harder with every step, your pace quickening as your legs guided you to the place you somehow knew Dennis would be.

For weeks you'd been desperate for clarity and now that you finally had it, you weren't sure what to do with it.

Because the terrifying part was that once you said it out loud, everything would change. And if you fucked this up, you were going to lose one of the most important people in your life.

Part of you wanted to turn around. To walk back into work and pretend none of this had happened. Pretend that you hadn't gone to Angelo's, pretend that you hadn't spent hours staring at photos of Nebraska. Pretend you hadn't realised that every version of your life you imagined automatically weaved Dennis in somehow.

The path along the river was busier than the last time Dennis led you here.

A couple sat beneath a tree sharing headphones. Someone jogged over the pedestrian bridge with a dog straining excitedly against its leash.

You came to a stop.

Dennis was there, seated on the same bench. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands loosely clasped together as he stared out across the water.

For a second you just stood there watching him.

Your footsteps must have been louder than you realised because Dennis looked up suddenly, his entire body going rigid at the sight of you.

Your stomach flipped.

“Hey.”

His throat bobbed visibly before he straightened slightly on the bench.

“Hey.”

Neither of you moved.

Dennis glanced away first, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Can I sit?” You said after a moment.

His eyes widened slightly as his head jerked back up to you.

“Yeah.” He shifted immediately, making more room for you even though there’d already been plenty. “Of course."

You sat beside him carefully, close enough that your shoulders almost brushed.

The river rolled steadily in front of you, sunlight breaking across the water in fractured streaks of golds and pinks.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Dennis’ knee bounced once, then twice, then he pressed his palm hard against it to stop himself.

You realised then how out of place the two of you must look, still in your scrubs, faces pale from exhaustion, sitting far enough apart that the interaction didn't look natural.

"How did you know I'd be here?"

You offered him a small shrug. "Just had a hunch."

Dennis hummed, nodding as he rubbed a hand over his jaw sheepishly. "I am kind of predictable."

"Yeah, turns out there's like only three places you go outside of work."

Dennis laughed quietly at that. "Guess I need some new spots."

When you glanced out of the corner of your eye, you could see Dennis already looking at you.

The two of you looked away.

Jesus Christ. This wasn't you. You didn't get nervous around Dennis Whitaker. You'd seen him do drunk karaoke, then seen him throw up after drunk karaoke, then had him carry you up the stairs after you threw up yourself.

He was one of your best friends, the two of you practically lived in each others pockets. Now you could barely keep eye contact with him.

You swallowed carefully before speaking again as a streak of courage surged through you.

"What you just walked in on with... Frank and I..."

The shift in Dennis was immediate. A flicker of pain flashed across his features before they settled into something resigned.

Like he'd already rehearsed whatever heartbreak was coming next.

"It isn't what you think."

Dennis' eyes shot up to meet yours again.

"What-" He swallowed nervously. "What do I think?"

The vulnerability in the question nearly broke you, because he genuinely didn't know. Because somewhere along the way he'd convinced himself he'd already lost.

You looked down at your hands, then back at the river, then finally at him.

"I went to Angelo's the other night."

Dennis froze, completely caught off guard by the change in conversation.

"I don't know why, I just didn't want to go home and somehow I ended up there, like my legs had a mind of their own." You fiddled with a loose thread of your scrub pants.

"...what did Angelo say?"

Your lips twitched involuntarily. "Nothing."

Dennis huffed. "You're a terrible liar."

"Do you really want to know?"

"No actually not really. I'm sure whatever it is will haunt me."

A proper laugh escaped you then.

This was the longest the two of you had been together since the night at the bar, and slowly - piece by piece - you were starting to feel how you used to, like you were finding your way back to each other.

The sound of your laugh seemed to pull him apart a little.

Because the second it faded, his expression shifted again. Nervousness creeping back in around the edges.

Like he still wasn’t sure where this conversation was heading.

Your heartbeat thudded painfully against your ribs.

"When I was sitting in there, I started thinking about your offer to go to the farm." Your eyes flickered back to the river in front of you, suddenly overwhelmed by how vulnerable this felt.

"I started picturing us doing all of this stuff together."

Dennis stilled beside you.

You twisted toward him more fully now, your hands curling together in your lap.

"A rooster waking me up at five in the morning... you teaching me how to ride a horse."

That earned you a proper smile.

"The weird thing was... it didn't feel far-fetched. It felt... familiar."

The breeze shifted around you as everything disappeared except him.

"And then I realised something."

His gaze stayed locked on you now, eyes dangerously hopeful.

"Every time something good happens lately, you're the person I want to tell." Your voice grew quiet. "When I have a terrible shift, you're the person I look for. When something makes me laugh, you're the person I want to send it to."

Your eyes burned.

“Every time I picture something good, something safe, something that feels like home..." Your voice caught slightly before you forced yourself onward.

"Somehow you're always there."

For a long moment neither of you spoke.

And for the first time since you'd arrived, Dennis stopped looking afraid. Instead, he looked at you like you'd handed him something he'd been hoping for so long he'd stopped believing it was real.

The late afternoon light caught against the green flecks in his eyes, turning them softer somehow.

A nervous laugh escaped him eventually.

"Wow."

"Wow?" You echoed.

"Sorry." He let out another bark of laughter as he dragged a hand over his face. "It's just - I had this whole other thing planned when I came back."

"A whole other thing?"

"Yeah."

You watched his cheeks flush.

"Dennis." You said slowly. "What whole other thing?"

"I can't."

"You can."

Dennis groaned. "It was bad."

"Like how bad?"

"Like if I'd actually gone through with it, Santos would've bullied me for the rest of my life."

A wry smile spread across your lips. "Santo is going to bully you for the rest of your life regardless."

"That's true."

"So..." You gestured for him to continue.

He sighed.

"It may have involved a speech..."

"A speech." You repeated slowly. "You... wrote and memorised a speech?"

"No god no, I only made bullet points."

Your eyebrows shot upwards. "You made notes?"

Dennis motioned to you.

"I can barely talk to you right now, you seriously think I could get through a speech without forgetting every single line?"

The sound of your laughter that followed seemed to loosen something inside him.

His smile lingered for a moment before slowly fading, the seriousness returning gradually.

"You know after Javadi’s, I figured the last thing you needed was me making things harder.” Dennis looked back out toward the river briefly before speaking again.

“So I thought if I just backed off enough eventually things would go back to normal.” He huffed quietly. “Which was stupid because apparently I’m physically incapable of acting normal around you.”

“Apparently that makes two of us.”

That earned you a soft laugh.

God, you’d missed this. Missed him. The easy rhythm that somehow existed even inside difficult conversations.

Dennis turned toward you a little more fully now, his expression growing more serious again.

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

Your brows pulled together. “For what?”

“For the party.” He looked down briefly. “For dragging you into all that weird macho bullshit.”

You blinked.

“Den-”

“No, seriously.” He shook his head. “You had some asshole grabbing you and instead of just focusing on helping you, I made it about…” He gestured vaguely, frustrated with himself. “Everything else.”

You reached out before you could second guess yourself, your fingers brushing lightly against his wrist.

Dennis went still instantly.

"You protected me. Made me feel safe." You said quietly. "And as for everything else... I should have realised sooner."

Dennis shook his head. "You never did anything wrong."

Your hand stayed resting against his wrist.

Dennis looked down at it briefly, then back at you.

"I thought I was too late." He admitted quietly.

The confession hit you square in the chest.

"When Langdon came back, and you guys just..." He searched for the words carefully. "Fit."

Emotion climbed thickly into your throat.

"The way you looked at each other. The way you worked together. The way you'd tell stories and finish each other's sentences."

His jaw flexed briefly.

"I kept thinking that if I'd been braver six months ago and told you how I really felt maybe things would've been different."

You squeezed his wrist gently, forcing his gaze back to yours.

"Frank and I do fit in some ways." You acknowledged. "We have the same sense of humour, we work well together but... he's not the one I rely on to get through the shit show that is our job. He’s not you.”

Dennis mouth curved upward slightly at that.

"I guess what I’m trying to say is… you weren't too late Den." You murmured.

Silence wrapped around you again, except this time neither of you rushed to fill it.

The sun had dropped lower now, the river now reflected streaks of gold and orange that were the same colours that had filled the sky the night of the fireworks.

"I should probably tell you something then." He whispered.

"What?" You whispered back.

"I like you." He confessed. "Like, I really like you."

Your heart thudded in your chest as you slid your hand from his wrist towards his palm. And then finally, your fingers threaded through his.

"I really like you too Den."

Dennis swallowed. "Yeah?"

You exhaled a shaky laugh. "Yeah."

A slow disbelieving smile spread across his face then.

And suddenly the nervousness that had followed you here began to dissolve.

Because this was Dennis.

The same person who sent you terrible reels at two in the morning. The same person who hid snacks in your work bag. The same person who'd spent weeks trying to protect your feelings even while his own heart was breaking.

Your Dennis.

Dennis' gaze dropped briefly to your mouth, then immediately shot back up.

The movement was so obvious it made your smile widen.

Dennis’ fingers tightened slightly around yours.

The breeze drifting from the river lifted a few strands of hair across your face. Before you could brush them away, Dennis reached over and tucked them gently behind your ear.

A breath caught in your throat.

Because now he was looking at you in that way again. That soft, overwhelmed look that somehow still carried enough intensity beneath it to make your stomach flip violently.

The air between you seemed to narrow suddenly.

You became hyperaware of everything all at once. The warmth of his hand. The way his chain glinted in the afternoon sun. The way his eyes flicked once more toward your mouth before dragging themselves back up again like he was desperately trying to remain respectful.

You swallowed carefully.

Dennis leaned in slowly, like he was still giving you time to change your mind.

Your heart hammered so hard you were convinced he could probably feel it through your hand.

“What are you waiting for Whitaker?"

That finally snapped the last thread of restraint holding him together.

His other hand lifted carefully to your face, fingers brushing lightly along your jaw before he kissed you.

Soft at first, almost cautious. Like he was afraid this might vanish beneath him if he pressed too hard.

You felt the quiet sound he made against your mouth more than heard it, something relieved and overwhelmed all at once, like kissing you was simultaneously everything he’d wanted and something he still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to have. Like it was full of all the things he’d apparently been carrying around silently for months.

You kissed him back harder before you could overthink it.

That finally broke whatever fragile restraint he’d been clinging to.

His hand slid more firmly against your jaw as he pulled you closer, the kiss deepening enough to leave your entire nervous system short-circuiting.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing slightly unevenly.

And in that moment, something in you settled.

Like a piece of yourself had quietly clicked back into place without you realising how off-balance you’d been before.

Dennis seemed to feel it too.

You watched it happen in real time across his face - the way some of the tension permanently lodged in his shoulders eased slightly, the way his thumb brushed unconsciously against the side of your hand like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you like this now.

Neither of you spoke for a few moments.

Dennis was the one who broke first.

"Wow." He murmured.

A smirk twisted onto your lips. "You said that already."

"I know."

Your smirk widened. "You might need to start preparing notes everytime you kiss me."

Dennis groaned. "I can't believe I told you that."

You giggled, pressing your forehead against his. "Unfortunately you're never living it down." You murmured as you placed another kiss to his lips.

“You know." You said after you pulled away. "Santos is going to be unbearable about this.”

Dennis laughed.

"Yeah no, we're never hearing the end of it."

You smiled.

And for the first time since Javadi's birthday, since the confusion and guilt and impossible choices, everything felt quiet.

"Can I ask you something?" You murmured against his lips.

"Anything."

You're not going to make me shovel horse shit on your farm are you?"

Dennis let out a real laugh, forehead pressed harder against yours.

"Not if you keep kissing me like that."

Your grin widened. "You don't need to tell me twice Whitaker."

-

Two weeks later and things in the pitt had finally started to settle.

The tension that had hung over the department since Javadi's birthday had finally begun to dissipate.

The three of you weren't walking on eggshells anymore.

Things with Frank were still a little awkward. But you were both trying. You could see it in the way he still sought you out on shift. In the way he still made terrible jokes whenever he caught you looking too stressed. In the way neither of you pretended the friendship wasn't worth saving.

You could sometimes feel Dennis’ eyes lingering on the two of you. But you could tell he was trying too, trying to learn to accept it for your sake, which only made you fall for him even harder.

"I approved your leave request."

You glanced over the top of your computer.

Robby sat across from you, the blue glow of his computer reflecting faintly against his glasses as he worked.

"Oh thanks Dr Robby."

"No problem."

His fingers continued to move across the keyboard.

"I noticed Whitaker's taking the same days off." He added after a moment.

Heat flooded your face so quickly it was almost impressive.

"Oh um-"

His lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "Relax." He finally glanced at you over his glasses. There was something suspiciously close to amusement in his expression.

"I'm happy for you two."

The embarrassment somehow intensified.

You muttered something completely unintelligible before immediately pretending to be very interested in your charting.

Once you were sure Robby was no longer looking at you, a grin slowly spread across your face at Robby's words.

“You’re smiling at your computer.”

You looked up to find Santos standing beside your desk wearing the most insufferably smug expression you’d ever seen in your life.

“I’m literally not.”

“You literally are.” She leant against the desk. “It’s actually disgusting.”

You fought the urge to smile harder, which only made her narrow her eyes further.

“Oh my god.” Santos pressed a dramatic hand to her chest. “You’re gone gone.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

McKay appeared beside her, looking significantly more pleased with herself than any normal person should.

“For the record.” She announced calmly. “I’d like it formally acknowledged that I handled this situation with considerably more emotional maturity than Santos.”

Santos scoffed loudly. “Oh please, I’m the only reason these idiots ever figured anything out.”

“You literally screamed they were both in love with her in a public bathroom.”

“And was I wrong?”

McKay begrudgingly paused.

“… no.”

“Can you two please act normal for like five minutes?”

“Absolutely not.” The answer came immediately and simultaneously.

Before you could respond, movement down the hall caught your attention instinctively.

Dennis.

Your stomach still did that stupid flipping thing every single time you saw him.

He was walking beside Donnie, brows furrowed in concentration while Donnie rambled beside him about something animatedly.

The second Dennis glanced up and spotted you at the nurses station, his entire expression softened automatically.

He shot you a small smile, and then he walked directly into a wheelchair, nearly hard enough to send him toppling to the ground.

Donnie barked out a laugh loud enough to echo down the corridor.

“Oh my god.” Santos whispered reverently beside you. “He’s somehow become even worse around you.”

You watched Dennis straighten quickly, cheeks flushing red as he muttered something defensive at Donnie before looking back toward you.

You were already grinning helplessly.

His embarrassed expression smoothed into a smile of his own.

McKay let out a deeply satisfied sigh beside you. “Nature is healing.”

“You’re both unbearable.”

Dennis finally made his way over a moment later, attempting and failing to look normal under the combined scrutiny of Santos and McKay.

“Hey.” His voice came out slightly softer when he looked at you.

“Hey.”

The word settled warmly between you. Different then it used to, but still easy.

His hand brushed lightly against the small of your back as he stepped around you to get to his own computer.

The touch was fleeting enough that technically nobody could call it inappropriate.

Unfortunately Santos witnessed it anyway.

You flashed her a warning glare. For once, she had the decency to stay quiet. The smug expression on her face suggested she was simply saving her commentary for later.

-

Hours later, after the chaos of shift change finally settled, you found Dennis waiting for you outside the ambulance bay.

The evening air was cool against your skin as you stepped outside, exhaustion pulling at your limbs.

Dennis looked up from his phone immediately when the doors slid open.

And there it was again. That expression. Like seeing you was still the best part of his day.

“You hungry?"

"Always."

You stepped closer until your shoulders brushed.

Then, gently, you hooked your fingers through his.

Dennis immediately relaxed at the touch.

"Robby approved my leave."

"Mine too."

Dennis squeezed your hand lightly as the two of you started walking toward Angelo's together.

“Fair warning." He said after a moment. “You are absolutely shovelling horse shit at least once.”

You faked a gasp.

"You promised."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did." Your eyes narrowed. "You're not an entrepreneur at all Whitaker."

"Oh yeah? What am I then?"

"You're a swindler."

Dennis laughed softly beside you, the sound carrying into the evening air as he placed a kiss to the crown of your head.

And as you walked, you realised that choosing him had never felt like choosing at all.

It felt like fireworks, like you and him against the world.

Like home.

As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍

Tags (I’m so sorry if I missed you!!!)

-

"I genuinely never thought that shift was going to end."

Dennis looked up as you approached.

You'd changed out of your scrubs, your hair down, a glisten of freshly applied gloss catching the clinical lighting. You looked softer, like you'd shed the weight of the day at the door.

"Yeah." He said, pushing off the wall. "You're telling me."

You checked the time on your phone, visibly deflating. "There's no way we can get anywhere with a good view point in time. We might just have to stay and watch it with everyone."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

You glanced up. "Really?"

"Really." He nodded toward the street. "Come on."

Dennis would be damned if this place stole one more second of his time alone with you.

You slung your bag over your shoulder as you fell into step with him.

“Did your last patient pull through?” He asked, holding the door open for you.

“Yeah… just.” You ducked under his arm, trying to not let your eyes linger on the way his bicep bulged at the action.

“We had to crike.”

Dennis let out a low whistle.

“Did you do it?”

“No. Shen did. Langdon and I weren’t game after a 14 hour day.”

“Probably wise.”

The door clicked shut behind you, finally sealing off the hot, unmoving air of the hospital.

You crossed the parking lot, following after him as he led you through the streets that skirted the hospital grounds.

The more space put between you and the hospital, the lighter Dennis felt. Like he could convince himself, at least for a short while, that it was just you and him.

“Where on earth are you taking me?”

“Patience.” He said lightly. “You’ll see in a second.”

After a few more minutes of walking, you opened your mouth to complain about how you'd already been on your feet for 14 hours, when Dennis guided you down a small, practically hidden path.

"Woah."

You'd been spat out onto a small walkway that ran parallel to one of Pittsburgh's many rivers. A pedestrian bridge was to your right, weeds curling over the rusted railings.

A bench that had definitely seen better days was to your left.

And right in front of you, a completely unobstructed view of the skyline.

You turned to him, "how on earth did you find this place?"

He shrugged as he dropped onto the bench. "Well when you live in a hospital you don't really tend to get the best sleep. I spent a lot of time just walking around to pass the time."

"That is..." You trailed off as you plonked down beside him.

"Sad?" He offered.

You snorted. "Maybe a little." You gestured to the view. "But being a little sad clearly pays off."

Dennis huffed a chuckle, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you rifled through your bag.

"Besides, I'm a little sad too because I've been thinking about this-" You pulled out a can of beer triumphantly. "-all day."

"What-" Dennis paused as you handed it to him. "It's cold, when did you get this?"

"Yesterday, snuck it into my lunchbox and put it in the work fridge this morning."

He shook his head, amusement evident on his features as he watched you pull out one for yourself. "Of course you did."

The hiss of the cans opening echoed softly around you.

You raised yours. “To surviving a completely fucked day.”

He clinked his against it. “Cheers to that.”

The first sip bordered on euphoric. You leant back further into the seat slightly, exhaling.

“So.” You said after a beat. “Is this the part where you murder me?”

Dennis snorted. “This would be a pretty good spot to kill someone.”

You raised a brow.

“You know, secluded, right near a river, perfect way of getting rid of a body, you'd just have to let it float upstream and-"

Dennis cut himself off, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks.

"Sorry. I watch a lot of true crime when I can't sleep." He mumbled into his can.

"You're weird." You simply stated, unable to disguise the fondness that threaded through your words.

You took another sip of your beer, tilting your head as you glanced toward the river.

"It's also actually not that great of a place." You added casually.

"The river bends, which means my body would probably get lodged on the embankment in perfect view from the bridge - which is probably used daily by local dog walkers."

Dennis slowly turned towards you.

"And I'm pretty sure some of the houses we passed have security cameras - meaning the cops would probably identify you within like two days of finding my body."

Dennis blinked. "And I'm the weird one?"

You met his gaze, holding it for a moment before both of you broke into quiet laughter.

Before you could start quizzing him about what true crime documentaries he'd been watching recently, soft cannon-like noises echoed down the river.

The two of you looked up as the sky became painted in splatters of reds, blues, golds.

"Wow." You breathed out as you shifted slightly, brancing one hand behind you.

"I know fireworks are terrible for the environment." You murmured after a moment. "But they are pretty."

Dennis didn't answer straight away.

He was too busy admiring how the fireworks reflected in your big, doe like eyes. How the colours cast you in a soft, ethereal glow.

"Yeah." He mumbled, his eyes never leaving you. "They are."

Dennis bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to look away from you as his shoulder brushed against yours.

You shifted your weight slightly, your fingers splaying.

You swallowed, keeping your gaze on the display in front of you when you felt your fingers ghost his.

Dennis tensed ever so slightly beside you, hesitating for a moment before pressing his hand further into the rotting wood, cementing his fingers beside yours.

Your breath hitched just slightly as the warmth of his finger seeped into yours.

Neither of you said anything, but neither of you moved.

By the time the fireworks ended, your stomach had made its presence known loudly enough to break whatever quiet had settled between you.

Dennis' brows shot up to his forehead, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.

"Food."

You let out a quite laugh. "Food."

“Come on.” He said, nodding down the street. “I know a place.”

The diner was easy to miss. Tucked between two dimly lit storefronts, its flickering sign doing very little to advertise its existence, the windows fogged slightly from the heat of the kitchen inside.

The second you stepped through the door, the smell hit you - dough, garlic, something rich that made your stomach twist with anticipation.

It was small. Intimate in that accidental way - mismatched chairs shoved in random spaces, worn booths, the kind of place that had clearly existed longer than it should have, held together by habit and loyalty more than anything else.

It was empty except for a man sat at the counter, hunched over his plate.

"Ah, Dennis!" An older man with a thick, greying moustache and an even thicker Italian accent called out from behind the counter, his face breaking into something bright and animated the second he spotted Dennis.

"I thought you'd forgotten us topo."

"Sorry Angelo." Dennis apologised as the two of you slid into a booth. "Work's been busy."

Angelo hummed disapprovingly as he came over to your table.

His attention landed on you immediately.

"And who's this?" His eyes were bright with curiosity as he observed you. There was something about the way he asked it that made you suddenly very aware of yourself.

Dennis answered a fraction too quickly. "She's a friend. From work."

"Nice to meet you." You smiled.

Angelo's grin widened.

"Ah." He nodded slowly. "A lady friend, eh?" He shot Dennis an overzealous wink.

You felt the corner of your mouth lift before you could stop it.

"You know - Dennis has never brought a lady friend here before."

Across from you, Dennis turned bright red.

You let out a laugh, but didn't correct him.

"I'm honoured." You said lightly instead, glancing at Dennis for just a second longer than necessary.

"This is a special event." Angelo clapped his hands together. "I bring you two something special!"

Without another word he disappeared into the kitchen, muttering something in Italian.

You leaned forward slightly, lowering your voice. "We're not getting a choice about what we eat, are we?"

"No, absolutely none."

You snorted.

You smiled, settling back into the booth, your foot brushing his under the table as you shifted.

Neither of you moved it away immediately.

"Also-" You said after a beat. "Topo?" You queried, raising a brow.

Dennis' blush re-appeared. "It uh- it means mouse." He explained. "Because, you know-" He gestured to himself.

You let out a laugh.

"Do I want to know how often you used to come here to be blessed with a nickname?"

He glanced down at the table, but there was a small smile tugging at his mouth. "Angelo used to let me eat for free if I'd give his staff free check ups."

"You're kidding."

"Nope." He answered smoothly. "Sometimes he'd throw in a soda too."

You shook your head in disbelief. "Who knew Whitaker was an entrepreneur?"

He offered you a casual shrug. "When you're broke you get creative."

Your foot nudged his again - absent, unconscious.

This time, he noticed.

"Anyway-" He said after a moment. "You still going to Javadi's birthday thing next weekend?"

"Definitely. God knows I need a night out." You sighed. "Are you?"

He nodded. "I'll be there."

"You sure Amy doesn't mind your co-workers stealing you away outside of work hours?" You teased.

"No she doesn't mind." He said a touch awkwardly. "I think she's just grateful for any help she can get."

It flickered through you so fast that you nearly missed it.

Jealousy.

You blinked, trying to grapple with the unexpected emotion that washed over you.

"What's the deal with you two anyway?" You asked casually, doing your best to sound conversational, like you were asking a question any friend would ask.

"Oh-" Dennis started, clearly taken aback. "We're just- I don't know-" He stammered.

"Relax." You teased, hoping he didn't pick up on the slight edge in your voice. "It's ok if you don't know."

"No it's not anything like that. At all." He insisted a touch too fiercly.

"She just... needs someone." He added, softer now. "And it's... nice. Being out there. Reminds me of home."

The edge in your chest eased, replaced by something warmer.

Your expression softened without you meaning it to.

"I think that's really sweet."

He exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Thanks."

He gestured to you after a moment. "Go ahead."

You frowned. "What?"

He tilted his head slightly, watching you. "Make the farm joke."

"I wasn't going to!" You protested.

"But you were thinking it."

"... maybe." You admitted. "But I know you don't like it."

"I don't usually." He corrected, his face softening. "But you're different."

Something about that - about the way he said it, like you were the exception to a rule he held for everyone else, made your heart stutter just slightly.

"Alright!" Angelo's booming voice cracked through whatever moment the two of you had just been having.

"For topo and the lovely lady - Angelo's signature!"

Plates hit the table in quick succession - pizza, pasta, garlic bread, more food than either of you could reasonably justify.

"Buon appetito!"

You both thanked him, your eyes widening as you took in the spread before you. Your stomach grumbled as you locked onto the pizza in front of you.

“Hang on.”

You stopped midreach.

Dennis had already picked up a slice, carefully pulling off pieces of capsicum with deliberate focus.

"What are you doing?"

“You don’t like red capsicum.”

You stilled.

There was no hesitation there. No question. Like it was something he’d filed away without thinking twice about it.

"Ok, now you can eat." He said as he placed the slice onto your plate.

He watched nervously as you picked it up and took a bite, analysing every micro-expression to try and figure out if you approved.

Your eyes widened almost immediately.

"This-" You gestured to the slice in your hand, still chewing, "-might be the best pizza I've ever had in my entire life."

Relief flickered across his face so quickly it almost made your chest ache.

"I told you it was good."

You paused, studying him for a moment, something indiscernible flickering across your features as the noise of the diner wrapped itself loosely around the two of you.

You shook your head, smile widening.

"You are full of surprises Dennis Whitaker."

He huffed out a quiet laugh, ducking his head as he reached for another slice, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the way you were looking at him.

"It’s a low bar." He muttered.

You nudged his foot lightly under the table. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Undersell yourself.” You said simply, before taking another bite of your pizza.

For a moment, he didn’t respond.

He just watched you - really watched you - in that quiet, careful way of his, like he was trying to memorise something without making it obvious.

"You know, I was thinking." Dennis continued after a moment. "Maybe when we both have some time off, you could.. come see the farm."

You blinked. "Amy's farm?"

"No - no." He said hastily. "My farm."

"In Nebraska?"

"Yeah but only if you wanted to." He said hastily. "I just... I think you'd like it. It's quieter. You can actually hear yourself think out there."

You stilled for a moment, something warm and unexpected blooming low in your chest.

“Yeah?” You said softly.

Dennis risked a glance up at you then, like he was bracing himself for you to brush it off.

“Yeah.” He nodded, quieter now.

You held his gaze for a second longer than you probably should have, your smile softening into something a little less teasing, a little more real.

“I think I’d like that.”

Dennis’ answering grin came slower this time, but it reached his eyes in a way it hadn’t before.

And just like that, something shifted - subtle, almost imperceptible, but there all the same.

The next morning Frank Langdon pulled up outside your apartment complex with two coffees balanced carefully in one hand, the other resting loosely against the steering wheel as he waited.

He noticed you the second you stepped out of the building.

There was something softer about you outside the hospital - your hair loose, your movements a little less clipped, your expression not weighed down by fluorescent lights and constant urgency.

The passenger door opened and you slipped inside, already reaching for the coffee.

“Oh my god thank you, you're a lifesaver." You gasped, wrapping your hands around the cup like it was something sacred.

"It physically pained me to ask the barista to add that much sweetener, just so you know." He answered, glancing sideways as you took your first sip.

You placed a hand over your heart. "The sacrifices you make for me Langdon."

He shook his head, but there was a quiet, involuntary smile pulling at his mouth as he started the engine, easing the car into the street.

"Alright, where are we going first?"

You paused after you gave him the address of the first homewares store, shooting him a grin that immediately made him wary.

"I may also have one request."

He cut you a sideways glance. "What?"

"Can we stop for a pastry on the way?"

His eyes flicked down briefly to your iced latte, then back to the road, a faint crease forming between his brows.

"Is that not technically a pastry?"

He shook his head slightly as he flicked on his indicator, but you could see on his face that he was already caving. "I suppose I can't really say no, this is your day."

Your smile grew wicked.

"Oh that was a dangerous thing to say Langdon."

You walked out of your favourite bakery with three pastries clutched triumphantly in brown paper bags, the warm scent of sugar and butter following you out onto the street.

One savoury and two sweet - because you couldn't decide and sharing was always better anyway, you'd insisted to Frank.

The first homewares store felt less like a shop and more like a showroom designed to intimidate people into silence.

Marble countertops gleamed under carefully placed lighting, pale timber shelves displayed perfectly arranged objects that looked more decorative than functional, and even the air carried that faint, curated scent of expensive minimalism.

The only other two customers in the store were middle aged women who looked like they exclusively shopped at Lululemon and Chanel and probably never checked price tags.

You wandered around, snacking on your pastry, stopping in front of a pair of hideous gold plated candle holders.

Frank cleared his throat as he appeared beside you.

"I don't mean to alarm you." He spoke quietly. "But I just saw a fruit bowl that cost $3,000."

The snort that left you was immediate and entirely uncontained, loud enough to make the woman near you shoot you a disapproving look.

"Do you reckon they'd take a tenner for it?" You shot back, not even attempting to lower your voice.

A pointed throat clear sounded behind you.

You both turned to find a woman with a too-dark spray tan and sharply lined lips watching you with open disapproval. Her name tag - Karen -felt almost too on the nose.

"We don't allow the consumption of food and drink in our store."

You froze mid-bite, then slowly lowered the pastry back into the bag, the paper crinkling loudly in the silence.

"Oh sorry, we didn't know."

She pointed upward with a perfectly manicured finger.

You followed the gesture to the sign above your heads: NO FOOD OR DRINK PLEASE.

Frank let out a quiet breath beside you, already stepping back.

"We were just leaving anyway."

The two of you exchanged a glance, bursting into a fit of giggles as you hurried out of the store like a pair of scolded primary school kids.

"Ok, you might need to get a bit more realistic with your budget." Frank said once the two of you were clear of the store.

"Oh I know. I was never going to buy anything there."

Frank raised a brow. "Then why did we go?"

"Because that's part of the experience." You explained. "You have to wonder around a few stores that are totally out of your price range and pick out things that you want as if you can afford it."

He frowned faintly. "Why?"

You shrugged. "For fun."

"I'm confused."

"You're a man." You corrected lightly. "You lack imagination."

"I'm practical." He countered.

"Yes but practical isn't what today is about." You patted him on the shoulder. "This is my day remember?"

Frank shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he tried to be serious. "I have serious regrets."

"No you don't." You teased.

Frank watched you for a moment, his eyes softening.

No, no he definitely didn't.

-

As the morning unfolded, the stores became smaller, less curated, more real. You moved through them with a growing sense of purpose, picking things up not just because they were pretty, but because they felt like they belonged to a version of your life you were slowly building.

You'd been relatively successful so far, picking up a photo frame, two prints, a candle and a book end set.

At one boutique, you and the sales assistant had cornered him into trying on a knit, insisting that olive green was “absolutely” in his colour palette.

He had rolled his eyes, but he bought it anyway, because the look on your face when he stepped out wearing it had been worth more than the price tag.

Despite not spending that much time together outside of work, you both felt completely at ease, like you'd done this sort of outing a hundred times before, as if this was a version of your lives that could exist outside the hospital.

The last store you went into was a vintage store.

Every surface was crowded with objects that carried history - chipped ceramics, faded fabrics, mismatched glassware, small things that had clearly belonged to other people before finding their way here.

Your entire expression shifted.

Frank noticed it immediately - the way you slowed down, the way your fingers brushed over things more carefully, as if you were trying to understand them rather than just look at them.

He found himself watching you instead of the shelves.

Your gaze lingered on a tiffany-style stained glass lamp shade, crafted into the shape of a lilac flower.

Definitely too expensive, and too fragile given your track record.

"Anything you're shopping for in particular dear?"

You glanced up to see an old lady hobbling out from the back room, smiling at you kindly over her glasses.

"Oh no, just having a look. Your store is beautiful."

"That's very kind of you sweetheart."

She glanced over your shoulder at Frank, who was currently looking at a set of hand painted war figurines.

"Is this your boyfriend?"

Your cheeks flushed. "Oh no he's-"

"-you two are a gorgeous couple." She continued, her eyes shining as she glanced between the two of you. "You would have beautiful children."

"That's what I keep saying." Frank chimed in instantly. "Right, honey?"

His smile widened as you shot him a glare.

"Right."

"Have you seen our vintage photobooth in the back?” She asked as she beckoned the two of you to follow her deeper into the store.

"You should try it, couples come in all the time and get the sweetest photos."

You opened your mouth to decline, but found yourself nodding instead, not willing to disappoint her.

"Sure."

She yanked open the curtain, ushering the two of you in so you had no way of backing out.

"Just pay up front when you're done dears."

The curtain fell closed behind you with a soft, final swish that left you enclosed in a space far too small for comfort.

Your knee pressed against his immediately. Your shoulder brushed his chest when you shifted. There was no way to sit without being aware of him - of the warmth of him, the solid presence that suddenly felt impossible to ignore.

"I think she just swindled us." Frank observed after a beat.

"I think so too." You remarked, focusing very deliberately on the control panel in front of you, as if that might steady something inside you that had started to tilt.

"We might as well do it, right?" You said casually, trying to act like you were totally fine with being in such a confined space with him.

"I think it's only right that you have a photo of me up in your apartment."

You shot him a look. "That's a bold assumption."

"Confident prediction."

You turned back to the screen, pressing the button before you could overthink it.

A countdown from three seconds appeared on the screen. "Shit!"

"Ok, what are we doing?" He asked.

"Uh I don't know just smile I guess-"

You leaned into him and quickly smiled, the flash nearly blinding you.

The photo appeared, revealing you bright and smiling and Frank... looking at you.

Your breath caught slightly, but you pushed past it.

"Ok, silly one."

You poked your tongue out as it flashed again.

Again, despite you pulling a face, Frank was still looking directly at you.

"You know you're supposed to look-" You turned to him, laughter ready on your lips, only for it to falter when you realised he was still looking at you.

A breathe caught in your throat as you met his gaze, something in his expression catching you off guard.

"I know." He murmured, answering a question you hadn’t quite managed to ask.

His hand shifted, settling lightly at your side, fingers pressing just enough to steady you - or himself, you weren’t entirely sure.

Your heart thumped obnoxiously against your ribcage and for a moment, the space felt smaller, the air heavier, like something had shifted into place that neither of you had named.

The final flash went off.

-

The drive back to your apartment was quieter.

“Do you ever think about having kids?” He asked eventually, eyes still on the road.

You kept your gaze focused out of your window. “Thinking about what that swindler said?”

Frank let out a huff of amusement. “Yeah.”

You paused for a moment. “I think I do.” You finally said. “I mean definitely not anytime soon but… eventually yeah.”

“I get that.”

You turned slightly. “You want kids?” You couldn’t hide the surprise in your voice.

“Yeah.”

There was no hesitation in it.

He turned onto your street, glancing at you briefly.

“What? Does recovering drug addict not give off paternal?”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “Frank Langdon doesn’t give off paternal.” You corrected.

A partial lie. You’d seen Frank with kids at work. He was great, much better than he gave himself credit for. But he was also a self professed workaholic, a life long bachelor because he could never draw himself away from work long enough to maintain a relationship.

He chuckled at that. “I could be.” He countered. “With the right person.”

You felt his eyes flit to you at that. You kept your gaze fixed outside as your stomach flipped.

Your apartment still felt hollow when you stepped inside, the echo of your footsteps carrying too easily through the space.

“Geez you weren’t kidding.” Frank remarked. “This place is depressing.”

“I told you.”

Bare white tiles and floors, with only a few plain pieces of furniture assembled - it more closely resembled a doctors office than an apartment.

“This looks like one of our family rooms, but worse.” He observed, as if he could read your mind.

You huffed a small laugh. “Not for much longer luckily.”

He set the bags down in the kitchen, his movements easy, familiar.

His attention drifted to the fridge.

There were only two things tacked onto it.

A polaroid of you, Whitaker, Santos and Javadi smiling.

And one of just you and Whitaker - caught mid-laugh, something unguarded and genuine in the moment.

Frank’s gaze lingered a fraction too long.

Something tightened in his chest before he forced himself to look away.

“Are you coming to Javadi’s thing next weekend?” You asked, crouching down beside one of the half-open boxes and peeling back the flaps, your attention split between him and the pile of still-wrapped homewares inside.

At his silence, you glanced up just in time to catch the faint crease of confusion pulling at his expression.

“Her 21st.” You clarified.

“Oh uh- I don’t think I got an invite to that.”

“Perlah and Princess organised it a while ago at work.” You said lightly, waving off the concern before it could settle. “You’re definitely invited.”

He didn’t answer straight away, and you didn’t miss the hesitation - the way his gaze drifted for a second, like he was weighing something up that had nothing to do with the party itself.

“It’ll be fun.” You insisted.

His eyes flicked back to you. “And you’re going?”

“Of course.”

Something in his expression shifted then, subtle, but enough. Like that had been the deciding factor all along.

“Alright." He said, the corner of his mouth lifting as he gave a small nod. "I’ll be there.”

He glanced down at his watch, trying to take his mind off the emotions pulsing through him.

“Shit - I gotta go, I need to get a few hours sleep in before my shift.”

You peered up at him from where you were crouched beside a box.

“I’m covering for Shen.”

Your brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would have told me not to come.” He said simply. “And I wanted to help.”

Your frown faltered.

“Well I’m not going to be held responsible for anything you stuff up due to sleep deprivation.” You warned, though the fondness in your voice softened the words.

He smiled faintly. “You’re in the clear.”

You studied him for a moment as you stood up, wiping your slightly sweaty hands on the back of your jeans. The realisation that your time together suddenly had a rapidly approaching expiration had thrown you.

“Thank you.” You said quietly after a moment. “For today.”

“Anytime,” He replied, and this time there was no humour in it, just something steady, certain.

You knew he meant it.

He paused at the door, his hand hovering over the handle. He swallowed, a rare glimpse at a nervous Frank Langdon momentarily exposed.

“Maybe I could come back and see the place once it’s fully decorated?”

“Seems only fair given your contribution.” You tried your best to keep your tone casual despite the way your body buzzed.

He smiled in a way that set your body alight.

“Might even let you convince me to watch that chick flick you’re always harping on about.” He answered, more confident this time.

“10 things I hate about you is not just a chick flick it’s a-“ You cut yourself off when you saw his smile widening, realising you’d taken the perfectly dangled bait.

“You’re an ass.”

“And I’ll bring Chinese from that place you like.”

You knew the place he was talking about. The one you’d gotten takeaway from and snuck in to him at rehab.

Your expression softened just a touch.

“Well how can I say no to that?”

-

Later, once he’d gone and the apartment had fallen back into silence, you returned to unpacking, working your way through the last of the boxes of things you’d bought today.

At the very bottom, something caught your attention.

Wrapped carefully in bubble wrap.

You frowned, pulling it free, your movements slowing as you peeled back the layers.

The lamp.

The lilac glass caught the light as you turned it in your hands, the delicate petals glowing faintly in the afternoon sun filtering through your window.

For a moment, your mind struggled to catch up, to place how it had ended up here when you were certain you hadn’t bought it. And then-

“Oh shit I think I dropped my wallet in there, hang on I’ll be right back.”

Frank’s voice echoed back, clear as if he were still standing in the room.

You sank back onto your heels slowly, the weight of the lamp settling into your hands in a way that felt heavier than it should have.

Your grip tightened around the stem.

“I promise I won’t break you.”

“I hate everything in my wardrobe.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Santos replied without even looking at you, her voice steady and unimpressed as she tilted her chin up toward the mirror and dragged her mascara wand carefully through her lashes.

“I’m not.” You insisted, pushing a hanger aside with more force than necessary. Fabric whispered and rustled in protest. “Everything looks terrible.”

“That’s absolutely not true.” McKay chimed in from where she was perched cross-legged on the end of your bed, expertly lining her lips like she hadn’t a care in the world.

You had impromptuely invited some of the girls to get ready at yours. Now they were all scattered over your apartment, every surface had been claimed: compact mirrors balanced on windowsills, makeup bags exploded across the coffee table, someone’s curling iron plugged into a plug near the kitchen sink.

From the living room, Kelly Clarkson was belting through your speakers at a volume that made the walls hum faintly. Mel had taken full control of the playlist, all of you suffering whiplash from going from what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger to thot shit.

In the kitchen, Emma stood behind Javadi, fingers deftly working through sections of her hair while Javadi swayed slightly on her feet, drink in hand, offering completely unhelpful commentary.

“I feel like this is giving… main character energy.” Javadi declared, gesturing vaguely at her own reflection in the microwave door.

"It’s giving you need to stop moving or I’m going to burn your scalp." Emma replied dryly.

Santos had, at some point, taken it upon herself to play bartender. The drink currently sweating on your dresser was by her own proud admission, 90% vodka with a splash of moral support, aka lemonade.

You’d taken several generous sips already, enough that a soft warmth had begun to bloom under your skin, loosening the tight coil of anxiety sitting in your chest.

You were already chasing the escape that a few drinks provided. Because every time your mind slowed for even a second, it circled back to the same, deeply inconvenient truth: you were fairly certain you had feelings for not one, but two of your co-workers.

“There is seriously nothing in here.” You insisted.

This time Santos did look at you, nothing short of entirely impressed.

She capped her mascara with a soft click, tossed it onto the bed without ceremony, and pushed herself up to her feet.

“Move.”

You shuffled aside as she stepped into your space, hands on hips as she surveyed your wardrobe. There was a beat of silence while she flicked through hangers, pushing aside dresses and tops with quick, efficient movements.

“This.”

She pulled something out and shoved it into your chest before you could even register what it was.

You looked down.

“This is going to be way too much-“

Santos didn’t even dignify that with a proper response. She just raised her eyebrows and pointed toward the bathroom.

“Go.”

You huffed and hurried into the bathroom.

The second the bathroom door clicked shut, Santos leaned in slightly toward McKay, her voice dropping.

“Did you see the photos on the fridge?”

McKay didn’t even look up at first. “Don’t start.”

“What?”

McKay finally glanced up, then quickly over her shoulder, checking that the bathroom door was firmly closed. Mel’s music conveniently swelled louder in the background, giving them a layer of cover.

“Don’t say anything to her tonight.”

Santos exhaled sharply, folding her arms as she turned fully toward her. “Someone needs to tell her before they get into a punch up in the middle of a trauma.”

“I agree.” McKay nodded. “But not tonight, especially when she’s already started drinking. She’ll get in her head and freak out.”

Santos studied her for a moment, weighing it up, before finally relenting with a small shrug. “Fine, but next week we’re staging an intervention.”

The bathroom door swung open before McKay could respond.

You stepped out slowly, one hand unconsciously smoothing down the fabric over your hip.

“Ok.” You announced, already shaking your head. “It’s way too much.”

McKay’s mouth actually dropped open.

Santos let out a low, appreciative whistle, dragging her gaze from your heels all the way up to your face like she was committing the image to memory.

“Holy shit.” She said, then repeated your last name with emphasis. “You look insane.”

“Second that.” McKay added, still staring.

You glanced down, sliding your hands down the tight fabric. “My colleagues cannot see me in this.”

From the doorway, Javadi, already visibly tipsy, let out a loud, scandalised gasp.

“Oh my fucking god you have to wear that.”

Obviously sensing your hesitation, she pushed herself off the doorframe and stumbled slightly into the room, pointing at you like she’d just uncovered something groundbreaking.

“As the birthday girl-“ She declared, straightening up with exaggerated authority, “I decree that you must wear this ridiculously hot dress.”

You stared at her for a beat. No one came to your rescue.

Then your shoulders slumped in surrender, a dramatic sigh leaving your lips.

“Whatever the birthday girl wants, the birthday girl gets.”

The room erupted instantly with cheers and whoops. You waved them off with a half-laugh, half-groan as you turned back toward the bathroom to finish getting ready.

Behind you, Santos leaned slightly toward McKay again, her voice low but smug.

“Whitaker and Langdon are going to lose their fucking minds.”

McKay snorted. “Oh absolutely.”

-

By the time you all toppled out of the uber, the night had already taken on that soft, buoyant quality that came with being a few drinks in - not drunk, not quite, but warm and loose around the edges.

Your feet were feeling gloriously numb in your heels, your body had relaxed in your dress, the tight coil of overthinking finally loosening its grip as laughter slipped easily from your lips, unfiltered and bright.

The bar pulsed with life the second you stepped inside, low lighting, bass heavy enough to feel in your chest, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder. It took you a moment to adjust, eyes scanning through the dim until you spotted them.

The pitt crew, clustered around a collection of high tables toward the back, gold balloons numbered 21 floating above them.

Javadi led the charge, her cheap plastic tiara with 21 swirled on it tilted precariously on her head, catching the light like a beacon. You all weaved through the crowd as greetings began to spark even before you’d reached them.

“Late for your own party Javadi?” Mateo called out as you approached, his grin wide and teasing as his eyes flitted down her figure.

“It takes time to look this good.”

You caught Emma’s eye beside you, the two of you exchanging a knowing grin.

“This is going to be fun night.” You murmured to her.

Across the room, Dennis had been half-listening to Donnie and Jesse, nodding at the appropriate moments while his attention flickered back to the entrance every few seconds.

Waiting for-

Everything else blurred out for a second when he saw you.

His fingers tightened instinctively around his glass.

You looked like you were floating as you approached the group, laughter spilling out of you as you leaned into one of the girls, your cheeks flushed, your whole body lit from within by something effortless and unguarded.

And your dress.

He swallowed hard.

Ethereal wasn’t a word he used often, but it was the only one that came close to doing you justice.

He mumbled something barely intelligible to Jesse and Donnie and then he was already moving, cutting through the crowd before he could second guess himself.

At almost the exact same moment, Frank stepped out of the bathroom, running a hand through his hair as he scanned the room.

He froze completely in place.

It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t controlled. It was like his body had just… stalled.

You were mid-greeting, smiling wide, with that easy, open expression he knew so well. But everything else felt different.

Your dress was hugging you in ways he wasn’t used to seeing, not when he was so accustomed to scrubs and worn-in denim and the quiet familiarity of your usual self.

This felt like seeing you for the first time again.

His brain scrambled to catch up as he realised that he was going to have to act like this didn’t affect him at all. That he was going to have to go back to work and pretend he hadn't seen you like this. That this hadn't fundamentally altered his reality.

He forced himself to move, taking a step forward -

Dennis beat him to it.

"If it isn't my favourite ray of sunshine." You greeted Dennis, your grin immediate and genuine as your attention snapped to him.

"Hey." Dennis shot you an awkward smile and for a split second he forgot every word in his vocabulary. "You look um- well you look-"

He could feel the heat rising in his face and silently prayed the shitty bar lighting would hide it.

"Drink?" He blurted instead, wincing internally at how abrupt it sounded.

A mischievous glint appeared in your eye. "Is that you saying I can cash in on your offer for drinks plural from last week?"

He huffed a nervous laugh. "Maybe."

You only got halfway to the bar when your paths crossed with Frank.

"Hey you."

"Hey." Frank shot you a tight smile as he glanced between you and Dennis.

"Hey man." Dennis greeted, the words coming out a touch stiffer than he intended.

You didn't seem to notice.

Your attention had already drifted downward, catching on the familiar shade of olive green stretched across Frank’s chest. Your smile widened instantly.

"Nice shirt."

Frank's smile loosened. "Thanks, had help picking it out."

"Oh yeah?" You glanced back up at him. "Well, they've got great taste."

His eyes dropped to your dress, slower this time, more deliberate.

"Clearly."

There was something in the way he said it, voice low, distracted, that made Dennis shift beside you, tension slipping into his shoulders before he could stop it.

You, blissfully unaware, only grinned wider as your gaze flicked back to Dennis.

"Careful Den." You teased. "I'll be styling you next."

Dennis let out a strange, half-laugh, half-hum, something caught between amusement and nerves, his brain still trying to recalibrate.

Before anything else could settle, your name rang out across the bar. You turned instantly, your entire expression lighting up at the sight of Samira.

"Be right back." You announced to neither of them in particular, Dennis' offer of a drink and Frank's shirt completely forgotten.

For a moment, the two men were left standing side by side in the wake of your absence.

The two of them stood there awkwardly for a split second, eyeing each other. Then, almost in sync, they turned and walked in opposite directions.

-

By the time the rest of the group had fully assembled, the energy had shifted into something louder, looser. Drinks in hand, bodies pressed closer, voices rising to compete with the music.

"Oh here we go." Princess mused.

Perlah followed her line of sight toward the bar. "Is that a record?"

Nearby conversations dipped as heads turned.

You were leaning against the bar, mid-conversation with a guy who had very clearly inserted himself into your space. He stood just a little too close, his body angled in, gaze lingering on your body in a way that wasn’t subtle.

“Not even close.” Santos answered. “One time she got hit on between getting out of the taxi and trying to get into a club.”

A few people laughed.

Neither Dennis nor Frank did.

Dennis watched the way you leaned back slightly, laughter spilling out as you responded to something the guy had said, your fingers brushing your glass, your lashes fluttering in a way that made something unpleasant twist in his chest.

He felt a wave of jealousy wash over him. He didn’t think you had looked at him like that, ever.

Across the group, Frank’s gaze had fixed just as firmly, though his expression was harder to read. Quieter. His jaw flexed slightly, his grip tightening around the edge of the table as he tracked the interaction with an intensity he didn’t bother to hide.

They watched as you said something before twisting around and pointing at your group.

“Unbelievable.” Princess chuckled, shaking her head as the guy immediately motioned to the bartender and pulled out his card.

Everyone watched as you made your back to the table a few minutes later, carefully navigating the crowd with a tray of tequila shots balanced precariously in your hands.

“Drink up kids.” You grinned, setting the tray down in the middle of the table with a flourish.

“How the hell did you manage to convince him to buy this many shots?” Emma asked.

You shrugged, your grin widening with faux innocence.

“I told him we were emergency doctors and saved people’s lives for a living, so the least he could do was buy us a drink.”

Howls of amusement, groans and a few impressed whistles erupted from the group.

“I’ll definitely drink to that.” Donnie declared, already reaching for a glass.

Around you, hands moved quickly, everyone grabbing a shot without hesitation.

Everyone except Frank.

He lingered slightly at the edge of the group, watching as the moment unfolded without him, that familiar, uncomfortable distance settling back into his chest.

This was the part he never quite got used to.

The easy camaraderie that revolved around alcohol. The way it bonded people, loosened them, made everything simpler. It wasn’t resentment exactly, more of a quiet, persistent reminder of the line he couldn’t cross anymore. Of the version of himself he’d had to leave behind because of his past decisions.

His gaze lifted when you slid a shot glass in front of him.

“Relax.” Your lips twitched when you caught the look on his face. “I asked him to order a water shot.”

Frank blinked, thrown for a second.

You lifted your own glass, nudging it lightly toward his.

“Can’t have you not participating." You added lightly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It’s an essential work bonding activity.”

You were already turning away again, attention snapping back to the group, laughter bubbling up as someone shouted something over the music.

Like what you’d just done hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary.

Like it hadn’t meant anything at all.

Like you hadn’t just done something so thoughtful he thought his heart might burst out of his chest.

-

As the night stretched on, the crew began to siphon off in that slow, natural way. People peeling off in pairs or small groups, chasing after food or scared away by the reminder that they had a twelve hour shift awaiting them in the morning.

Those that remained were rowdier, already well past the point of acting in a way that was probably acceptable for socialising with co-workers. Instead, everyone seemed to have adopted the approach of ''let's all agree that what happens here, stays here.”

You had, to your credit, been sticking to your plan of distracting yourself.

Mostly.

You spent the majority of your time on the dance floor with the girls, letting the music swallow you whole, or crammed into the bathroom taking blurry photos that you knew you’d laugh at in the morning. It was easier there, surrounded, distracted, buoyed by noise and movement and alcohol.

It meant you didn’t have to think too hard.

Didn’t have to notice the way your attention still, inevitably, drifted back toward two very specific people.

Across the room, Frank leaned against the edge of one of the high tables, fingers loosely curled around a glass of something non-alcoholic that had long since gone warm. He’d been debating leaving for the better part of twenty minutes now.

There was a limit to how enjoyable sobriety could be in a room full of people steadily losing theirs.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way his gaze kept finding you, and what came with it.

Every time he saw you laughing with Dennis, surrounded by the younger staff, it was a persistent reminder that he didn’t quite fit.

He was older. A senior resident. A recovering drug addict who stole from your place of work.

Was it selfish to let you orbit so closely to him, to let you potentially be tarred with the same brush when you were only just starting to blossom in your career?

And the longer he stood there watching you exist so easily in this space, the more the thought pressed in, the thought that if he hadn't fucked up so royally, maybe you would already be his.

Maybe he wouldn’t be standing on the outside of this. Maybe he wouldn’t feel like something you’d already outgrown, like he belonged to a version of your life that had already passed.

For Dennis, Frank was like a splinter in his side that wouldn’t budge. A constant, irritating presence that was impossible to ignore no matter how hard Dennis tried to focus on anything else.

Because no matter how much you laughed with the others, no matter how many people surrounded you, you always found time to gravitate back over to Frank.

Dennis told himself it was because you were kind. Because you noticed things like that. Because you didn’t want him to feel excluded. But there was something about the way you were with him that made his stomach churn.

The ease of it. The way conversations between you and Frank seemed to flow without effort, like you were picking up threads that had never really been dropped.

He’d overheard you both earlier talking about some case where a patient had come in after intentionally putting their hand through a receipt spike, and the way you'd told it...finishing each others sentences, laughing at the same moments.

It was like you were sharing a brain, both on a wave length that he couldn't quite tap into.

How could he ever compete with the history that the two of you shared? With the kind of familiarity that could only come from working together for so long? With the admiration, bordering on reverence, that you so clearly had for Frank both professionally and personally?

There was, however, one thing the two of them had in common tonight.

Whenever you were with one of them, the other was watching.

It wasn’t obvious, but it was there.

The brief moments of eye contact across the room. The mirrored tension. Tight jaws. Flexed hands. Something unspoken and building beneath the surface.

Like work last week, the bar was starting to feel like a pressure cooker.

-

You were at the bar, elbows resting lightly against the sticky surface, trying to catch the bartender’s eye as the crowd pressed in around you. The music thumped through your bones, your head still pleasantly light, your thoughts just slow enough to blur at the edges.

You barely registered the hand on your waist at first.

“Hi beautiful.”

You turned, smile automatic before recognition caught up. It was the guy from earlier who had bought you the tray of tequila shots.

“Oh, hey.” You shifted subtly, angling your body just enough to ease out of his grip.

“I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you again." He continued, leaning in slightly. "It’s hard to get you alone.”

“I’m here with friends.” You replied lightly, gesturing vaguely over your shoulder as you tried to turn back toward the bar.

His hand tightened. Not enough to hurt, but enough to stop you.

“Well, you’ve been with them all night." You didn't miss the way his tone sharpened slightly. "So maybe now you can talk to me for a bit.”

You let out a small, awkward laugh, trying to keep it easy.

“Sorry, they’re waiting on me.”

You felt the shift before you fully saw it.

The way his expression hardened. The easy charm slipping, replaced by something more brittle.

“I bought your whole table drinks.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly as your patience thinned. “And while that was very nice of you, it doesn’t mean I owe you anything.”

You saw it settle in his expression then, the familiar flicker of wounded ego curdling into something meaner.

His grip tightened into something bruising. He leant forward, the smell of whisky heavy on his breath.

“C’mon sweetheart, don’t be like that.”

“Let go of her.”

Dennis’ voice cut through the thumping base, edged with something that made you go still.

He was beside you before you even fully registered it, his presence warm and steadying.

The guy looked up, his eyes glassy as he took Dennis in.

“Who the fuck are you? Her boyfriend?”

“I said, let go of her.” Dennis repeated, slower this time.

You had never seen Dennis like this before. No hint of timidness or hesitation, just pure, palpable rage.

His fists were balled at his side, shoulders squared like he was ready, actually ready, to swing if it came to it.

The guy snorted. “Where were you when she was batting her lashes at me and fucking manipulating me into buying her drinks huh?”

“Is everything alright here?”

Frank appeared at your other side.

His eyes darted between you and the guy, before locking onto the hand gripping low on your waist.

His jaw ticked, his eyes dragging upward.

“Or were you just leaving?” Frank continued, his tone flat in a way that carried more weight than shouting ever could.

The guy's eyes darted between Frank and Dennis, something like calculation settling in despite the alcohol fogging his judgement. Even drunk, he could read the situation well enough. Could see it wasn’t worth the fight.

He finally relinquished his grip on you.

“What?" He sneered, stepping back. "She got you both pussy whipped hey?”

“Jesus, just go slink back into whatever hole you crawled out of already.” You snapped, the bite in your voice surprising even yourself.

“Fucking good luck to both of you.” He grumbled, muttering something ugly under his breath as he stalked off, disappearing into the crowd.

The second he gone, you let out a breath that you didn’t realise you’d been holding.

“Are you ok?”

They spoke at the same time.

You blinked, glancing between them, your head suddenly clearer than it had been all night.

“Yeah." You said quickly, forcing a small smile. "Men, am I right?”

You tried to brush it off, make light of it, but both of them could see you were rattled.

Their eyes were both still scanning you, searching.

“He didn’t hurt you did he?” Dennis asked.

You shook your head. “Only thing bruised is his ego.” You looked between them. “Thank you both for that."

They both nodded, the moment sitting awkwardly between them.

“Anyway.” You cleared your throat, desperate to grasp something lighter. “Let’s pretend that never happened.”

“Want another drink?” Dennis offered, sensing that you needed a distraction.

You smiled. “Have you ever known me to turn down a free drink?”

Frank’s gaze flicked between you, taking in the slight sway in your stance, the way your balance wasn’t quite as steady as it had been earlier.

“Maybe after you’ve had some water?” Frank suggested, aiming for casual and missing it by just enough to make the concern obvious.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “After I have some water.” You corrected yourself.

The way you did it automatically triggered something in Dennis.

He muttered something under his breath, not quiet enough to be swallowed up by the thumping bass.

Frank turned. “Sorry what was that?”

Your head snapped up, surprised by the edge in his tone.

Dennis straightened, the alcohol running through his veins pushing him past whatever restraint he might’ve had earlier.

“I said, you know she can make her own choices, right?”

Something unreadable flickered across Frank’s face, his posture shifting.

You glanced between them. The weight of Dennis’ words went completely over your head, but the tension was unmistakable, indicating that there was something going on here that you weren’t privy to.

“I’m aware.” Frank answered calmly. “I’m also the only one that’s sober.”

“Not because you want to be though, right?”

Your jaw dropped. “Dennis what the-“

“And there it is.” Frank cut you off, taking a step towards Dennis. “How long have you been sitting on that one huh?”

“Ever since you came back and thought you could slip right back into cracking jokes like nothing happened.”

Frank’s eyes narrowed, something sharper breaking through.

“You know, I figured you were a little unsure of yourself when I was told to ease up because you were an 'easy target'-" Frank held up his fingers in mock quotation marks, - "but I didn't think you were this insecure."

You saw the flicker of hurt across Dennis’ face before he could hide it, his gaze darting to you for half a second.

You felt your head start spinning, and not from the alcohol this time.

This didn't feel real. It couldn't be.

"Frank stop-"

"Oh yeah?" Dennis cut you off, his nostrils flaring. "Well I'd rather be insecure than someone who steals-"

“Enough!”

Finally, your voice cut through sharply.

Both of them turned to you and froze.

For the first time it hit them that you were standing right there. That you had heard everything, seen far too much.

“Seriously." You said, your chest rising and falling too fast, your pulse hammering in your ears. "What the fuck is going on between you two?”

The words hung heavy in the air.

You had finally called it out.

You glanced between them. Neither of them spoke, their mouths slightly ajar.

Something inside you snapped.

“Actually you know what-“ You shook your head, a hollow laugh slipping out as you threw your hands up. “I don’t want to fucking know."

Your voice waivered despite your best efforts.

"I’ve had enough of fragile male egos for one night.”

Without another word, you shouldered past them, marching towards the bathrooms as you felt angry, drunk tears threaten to spill down your cheeks.

The noise of the bar seemed to surge as you pushed through it, bodies brushing against yours, laughter and music and glass clinking together into something overwhelming. It pressed in on you from all sides, hot and suffocating, and suddenly the only thing you could focus on was getting out.

Behind you, you vaguely registered raised voices, your name maybe, but you didn’t turn back.

Santos and McKay, who had already been making their way towards the three of you, immediately diverted their course to chase after you.

By the time you reached the hallway leading to the bathrooms, your chest felt tight, like every breath had to fight its way in. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you tried to keep yourself together.

You didn’t quite manage it.

The second you pushed through the bathroom door, the harsh fluorescent lighting hit you, and something in you cracked.

Santos and McKay slipped in after you without a word, Santos flicking the lock on the disabled bathroom door behind them with a decisive click.

The quiet was jarring.

Not silent - there was still the dull, constant thud of bass vibrating through the walls. But it was contained. Muffled. Like the world had been shoved behind glass.

You braced both hands on the edge of the sink, head dipping forward as you tried to steady yourself. The cool porcelain bit into your palms, grounding you just enough to keep from completely unravelling.

“What the hell happened?" Santos voice cut through, sharp but edged with concern. "Are you ok?”

You squeezed your eyes shut as the words tumbled out of you.

“There was some creepy guy pestering me at the bar and Den and Frank came over to help me, and next minute they were at each others throats-

You broke off, the words tangling somewhere between your chest and your throat.

Your reflection stared back at you when you finally opened your eyes - slightly smudged eyeliner, flushed cheeks, styled curls still trying to hold on to some sort of shape.

“I just don’t understand what the fuck is going on with them.”

In the mirror, you saw it.

The split second glanced between Santos and McKay.

It was quick, but not quick enough.

Despite your buzz, you caught it.

“What?” You turned, straightening despite the slight sway in your balance.

“Nothing.” McKay said too quickly.

You glared at them.

“You know something.”

It was a statement, not a question.

They glanced at each other again, reflexive, involuntary, and something in your chest tightened.

“Tell me.” You insisted, more firmly this time.

McKay shifted, her gaze flicking to Santos like she was silently asking her to back off, to wait, to not do this here.

Santos didn’t look away.

“Guys.” You pressed, frustration bleeding in now. "You can’t just look at each other like that and then leave me in the dark. Not right now."

“I think we should wait until we’re all sober-“ McKay started carefully.

“If you don’t tell me I swear-“

“Jesus Christ, they’re both in love with you."

The words landed like a physical blow.

The room didn’t just go quiet, it stopped.

The bass still pulsed faintly through the floor, people still moved outside that door, the world still turned, but inside that small, fluorescent-lit space, everything froze.

You stared at her for a moment as your brain tried to process it.

McKay let out a soft, horrified groan, dragging her hands down her face.

“No.” You shook your head.

“Yes.”

“That can’t be it.” You shot back, letting out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking your head harder now. "It's got to be something else. Something to do with you, or Louis or-"

"You seriously think either of those things would end with them ready to throw punches in the middle of a bar?" Santos cut in.

"Think."

Your gaze flicked to McKay, searching, desperate for her to contradict it, to give you an out, an alternative explanation, anything.

"I'm sorry babe." She said quietly. "It's true."

Your brain started pulling threads.

Dennis in the stairwell.

You didn’t tell me Langdon was coming back.

The way his voice had tightened. The way he’d so uncharacteristically snapped.

Frank in the breakroom.

I missed you.

The breakroom tension.

The weird silence.

The way conversations would stall the second all three of you were in the same space, like oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

The way they couldn’t even walk past each other without it turning into… whatever that was.

The way you had moved between them so easily, laughing, teasing, leaning in without ever stopping to consider what it looked like from the outside.

Your stomach dropped.

You thought of your fridge. The new photostrip that sat there now, tucked beside the others.

You and Frank right next to you and Dennis.

Your heart started racing, too fast, too loud, like it was trying to claw its way out of your chest.

It all rearranged itself in your mind, every interaction snapping into place with brutal, undeniable clarity.

It hit you like a tonne of bricks.

"Oh my god. I’m an idiot.”

“No you’re not.” McKay assured you.

But you barely heard her.

Because now, there was no pretending you hadn’t noticed.

No pretending this was simple.

No pretending you weren’t standing directly in the middle of something that was going to demand an answer from you sooner rather than later.

“I can’t go back out there.”

“You don’t have to.” Santos answered, a rare glimpse of protectiveness sneaking through. “We’ll sneak you out and tell the others you’re not feeling well."

You nodded vaguely, though the motion felt disconnected, like your body was moving on autopilot.

Your hand dragged down your face, smearing what was left of your composure as you turned away from them, staring at the grimy, scuffed wall like it might anchor you.

It didn’t.

Because now you could see it.

And there was no going back.

Ever since Javadi’s 21st, something in the Pitt had shifted into a quieter, more uncomfortable shape - less like a fracture and more like a pressure change that everyone could feel but no one quite named.

Everyone noticed it, noticed it in the spaces between things.

The way you were no longer orbiting Langdon or Whitaker like you used to. The way conversations that once flowed easily were now clipped short. The way eye contact had become something carefully rationed, like it might cost too much if used incorrectly.

Some of the staff had put two and two together quickly enough.

Others had chosen, very deliberately, not to look too closely at the pattern forming in front of them.

You were still a professional first and foremost. You still spoke to both of them when needed, didn’t hesitate to jump in on a case with one of them if it was required.

But you weren’t at Langdon’s side everytime a trauma rolled in anymore. You weren’t drifting over to Whitaker during breaks, letting conversation spill out naturally while the hospital noise hummed around you.

The small rituals that had once anchored your shifts - shared glances across a bay, jokes to take your mind off the never ending stress, the silent coordination as you worked that made everything feel lighter than it was - had all quietly disappeared.

And with them, something in you had gone oddly weightless, as if you’d been untethered without permission.

It was your choice, and you knew that. You’d set the tone on your first shift back. But that didn’t make it easier.

There was a strange kind of drift to it all now. Like you were suspended just outside their reach, watching your own absence take shape in real time.

And as you’d drawn into yourself - Dennis and Frank’s personalities had been drawn out.

Dennis had immediately folded inward, all nerves and hesitation whenever you were near, as if even existing in your proximity required permission he was no longer sure he had. He moved around you carefully now, overly polite, like one wrong step might erase him entirely from your orbit.

Frank, on the other hand, had done the opposite. He seemed to have made it his mission to block your attempts at ignoring him. Where there was avoidance, he pushed in closer. Where there was distance, he filled it. Any chance he took to be in the same room as you, he grabbed fiercely. He lingered at thresholds of conversations, tried - quietly, persistently - to draw even a flicker of reaction from you.

It was almost as if both of them had decided, separately, that silence was worse than rejection.

And for a brief, fragile stretch of time, the tactic worked. The tension eased - not because anything was resolved, but because nothing was being fed.

And, you got to live in a delusion that none of this was real and therefore there was no need for you to address it.

Until Ogilvie happened.

You were at the tail end of your shift, dealing with a teenager who had come in after falling off a skateboard.

“Luckily it’s not too deep.” You said as you gently twisted their leg, examining the gash to their knee. “We can stitch it up right now for you.”

“Will it hurt?”

Ogilvie, who was still on his best behaviour and being way too enthusiastic after the humbling that was his first shift, dragged the surgical light over behind you preemptively.

“No, we’ll numb it up for you first. You won’t feel a thing.” You assured them, shooting them a smile.

You stood up from your stool, twisting as you went to grab the numbing needle from the tray - and collided head first into the edge of the surgical light.

“Shit!” The word slipped out before you could catch it as a blinding pain burst in your forehead.

You blinked rapidly as your vision blurred momentarily from the force of the impact. You instinctively reached up to touch your forehead. You winced as your fingers brushed against something warm, sticky and all too familiar.

"Great." You grumbled as you pulled your hand back revealing a coating of bright red over your fingers. You blindly reached for a cloth on the surgical tray beside you to press to the wound as blood started dripping down your forehead.

“Oh- oh my god I’m so sorry-“ Ogilvie's voice pitched upward in panic.

“It’s fine- I’m fine.” You assured him as you brushed off his hand on your shoulder.

"Just - stay with the patient." You said quickly, already moving.

"It looks quite deep I think maybe-"

Ogilvie didn't get to finish his sentence as a voice cut through the bay.

"Jesus."

It was low, immediate, sharp with recognition.

Frank.

Your stomach dropped in a way that had nothing to do with the injury.

He was already there before you could process it, moving through the chaos with that unnervingly direct focus of his. Ogilvie instinctively leapt aside as Frank reached you, his hand gently but firmly intercepting yours before you could press harder on the wound.

"Are you ok?"

You didn't resist as he moved your hand and the cloth out of the way to get a proper look at your forehead.

You hated the way your body reacted to him being this close again. The familiarity of it. The instinctive recalibration of distance.

"Yeah I'm fine."

Frank's stare hardened as he took in your injury, his eyes snapping instantly to Ogilvie.

"What the hell happened?"

"I-I-" Ogilvie stammered under Frank's glare. "I was just trying to-"

"-I had a run in with a surgical light." You cut in, saving Ogilvie from digging himself into an even deeper hole.

"More like a head on collision." Frank muttered, his attention back on you instantly.

"Come on."

Before you could protest, he placed a hand on your shoulder and guided you out of the bay, his other hand still pressed against your forehead.

"Dana!" He called out, "anything free?"

Dana looked up instantly, panic flashing across her features at the state of you. "Room 12 should be."

You could feel your co-workers eyes on you as Frank manoeuvred you through the chaos.

"Think I can get workers comp for this?" The joke slipped out easily, too easily. You'd been in his presence for under a minute and you were already folding back into your usual rhythm.

Frank huffed a laugh. "Claim some psychological damages while you're at it."

You barely had time to respond before another voice cut in.

"Hey-"

Dennis.

He was already moving toward you, concern written too openly across his face to be anything but instinctive.

Your name left him in a rush as he reached you, hand hovering briefly at your arm like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you anymore.

Despite everything, your stomach fluttered.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Den." You reassured him.

Something in his expression shifted at the nickname, the one he'd been starved of for weeks, relief and ache tangled together in the same breath.

"What happened?"

Before you could answer, you realised the three of you were now walking together into the same room. Frank on one side, Dennis on the other, you in the middle like a fault line neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

You tried not to let panic press down on your chest when you realised the three of you were now in the exact scenario you had been doing everything in your power to avoid.

"Ogilvie got too eager, moved the light behind me without telling me and then..." You gestured to your head as you sat down on the edge of the hospital bed.

Dennis shook his head. "I'm going to kill him."

“Agreed.” Frank muttered.

"It's ok, he didn't mean it." You insisted as you slowly removed the cloth, revealing a deep gash that was still spilling crimson down your face.

"Let me take a look." Frank and Dennis said in unison as they both simultaneously reached for the glove dispenser.

They froze.

The two of them had been so worried about you that they hadn’t had time to really register each other.

Until now.

“I’ve got this Whitaker.” Frank spoke first.

"I'm happy to do it." Dennis countered.

“Probably best a senior resident does it.” Frank tried to sound casual, professional - but it only came out strained.

Dennis’ jaw ticked. Frank pulling the seniority card made his pulse roar in his ears.

"Senior residents don't tend to do much stitching do they? You might be a bit rusty."

“Rusty?” Frank echoed slowly, letting out a scoff.

The temperature in the room increased.

“I know you’re from Nebraska." Frank's tone was practically dripping with condescension.

"But here in the civilised part of this country we tend to respect seniority.”

Your mouth nearly fell open.

"Go ahead." Dennis shot back, voice sharpening. "Make the farm joke I know you've been dying to say-"

"Please-" You cut in. "for the love of god will someone please just stitch me up so I can get back to work and finish this fucking shift?”

Silence snapped back into place.

Both of them looked at you at once, as if remembering, abruptly, that you were the reason they were in the room in the first place.

Dennis exhaled. "Sorry."

Frank nodded once. "Yeah, sorry."

He gestured between them. "You decide."

It was simple. Neutral. But it landed like something heavier than either of them intended, the implication hanging dangerously in the air.

You glanced between them, both of them staring at you expectedly.

You felt something tight forming low in your chest. Panic. Crawling up higher and higher, threatening to burst at any moment.

A throat cleared.

“Both of you out.”

Robby was standing in the doorway, his eyes darting between the three of you.

Frank and Dennis didn’t move.

His eyes narrowed. “Now.”

That broke it.

They left reluctantly, Frank glancing once at your forehead, Dennis a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

“And tell everyone to stop being so goddamn nosy and get back to work.”

Robby shut the door behind them.

The room cooled, just a fraction.

You swallowed as you sat up a little straighter, watching as he slipped on a pair of gloves.

He let out a low whistle as he came over to examine your wound.

“That lamp did a hell of a job on you.”

“You’re telling me.” You muttered.

You watched as he cleaned your wound. His movements precise and efficient, practiced in a way that only came with decades of experience.

“It wasn’t Ogilvie’s fault.” You said after a few moments. “He was trying to be helpful.”

“Trying to be helpful and being helpful are two very different things.” Robby murmured. “And clear communication and waiting to act until a superior tells you to do something are essential skills down here for an intern.”

You fell silent after that, letting him work as he carefully sutured your wound, only speaking when he asked you questions to clear you for a concussion.

“Alright, all done.” He announced as he clipped the final stitch.

“Thanks Dr Robby.”

“Don’t mention it." He said as he slid his gloves off, throwing them in the trashcan. "Now go home.”

“But I’ve still got-“

“- go home.” He said, a bit more gently this time, but still not a suggestion.

You stood slowly.

He paused at the door, hand hovering on the handle.

“Look-“ He cleared his throat as he turned back to you. “I don’t know what is going on between the three of you- well actually I do but-“

He cut himself off, letting out a weary sigh.

“It can’t continue like this. It's not working."

“I know.” You admitted quietly.

His gaze hardened slightly, morphing back into the look of your superior. Not unkind, but absolute in that way only someone with authority over chaos can be.

“Then fix it.”

-

The air was always cooler up on the roof of PTMC.

Higher up, the hospital stopped feeling like it was pressing in on you from all sides. The constant hum of machines, the antiseptic bite of cleaning products, the burnt bitterness of coffee that seeped into every other part of the hospital - all of it faded just enough up here to make breathing feel slightly easier.

A steady breeze caught up here, cutting clean lines through the heat trapped below, tugging at your sleeves and loosening the tight knot in your chest.

You sat curled into yourself near the edge, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them like you could physically hold yourself steady.

Down below, the city was alive in scattered light and movement. A reminder of why this place never rested.

"Hey kiddo."

You turned slightly at the sound of Abbot’s voice, catching him in the edge of your vision before letting your gaze drift back out toward the skyline.

"Hey."

You felt him sit on the ground beside you.

"Heard you had a rough day."

"More like a rough week."

Abbot hummed, leaning back against the low wall behind you. “Mine's been a rough decade."

That earned a faint shift in your expression - something almost like a smile, though it didn’t quite make it all the way.

He studied you for a moment, then waited, letting you silently know that you only had to talk if you wanted to.

"Robby told you what happened?" You asked after a few moments.

"He did."

"So you know about Whitaker and Langdon... how they're..." You hesitated to even say the words out loud, not sure if you were capable.

"Both fighting over you like territorial teenagers?” Abbot supplied casually.

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

A hollow laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. "Great, so everyone knows."

"Not everyone." He corrected.

You glanced over at him.

"Only people with functioning eyes and at least a passing understanding of human behaviour.” He added mildly. “Which is surprisingly hard to find in this place."

That got something out of you - small, breathless, almost a laugh. But it broke halfway through, catching in the back of your throat as your eyes unexpectedly stung.

"Oh- hey-" Abbot startled, his voice softening.

"Sorry." You shook your head, letting out a huff of frustration as you forcefully wiped your face with your sleeve. "I don't know why I'm crying."

"You don't need to apologise." He said gently, but firm.

The words didn’t stop it. They just made it worse in a different way.

"I just... I feel like this is all my fault."

Abbot frowned properly now. "It's not." He said firmly.

"But- but maybe if I'd realised sooner, or handled it differently I could have-"

He said your name gently, but decisively. "You can't control how other people feel. Or what they do with it.”

You swallowed, nodding once even though your throat felt tight. “I know.”

A pause stretched between you, filled only by wind and distant city noise.

“Besides, they’re only human. Who can blame them.” He nudged you, voice light.

A weak laugh slipped out of you at that, more breath than sound.

A few minutes passed, Abbot giving you a chance to steady your breathing and collect your thoughts.

"Do you think-" You hesitated for a moment, like the words themselves felt too exposing.

You tried again, quieter. "Do you think it's possible to like two people at once?"

Your voice didn’t sound like yours when you said. Smaller, almost childlike.

A harsh reminder for Jack of just how young you really were, that you were really just a kid in the grand scheme of the world, trying to survive a place like this.

Abbot didn’t answer immediately. When he did, it wasn’t rushed.

"I think." He said quietly. "That it's possible to be drawn to two different people. To care about them. To see things in both of them that matter to you.”

He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

"But, I think love tends to narrow things down eventually.”

Love?

You hadn’t even let yourself frame it like that yet. Not properly. Not in a way that had weight.

A breath caught in your throat.

You tried to deflect, because that was easier. "What about if I just switch to the night shift and avoid all my problems entirely?"

Abbot let out a chuckle.

"Nice try kiddo, even though I’d love for you to join the night crawlers, Robby would have my head."

You scoffed. "I doubt it."

Abbot glanced at you then, more serious again. “Robby may not be the best at showing it, but he trusts you, thinks you're a safe pair of hands. I can see it."

You blinked as you tried to process that information.

"And even though his delivery is sometimes… questionable. He’s not wrong about this either."

"About what?"

His expression softened. “That only you can sort this out.”

Your eyes dropped back to the city below, suddenly harder to look at.

“How?”

Abbot exhaled through his nose, like he already knew you wouldn’t like his answer.

“You stop letting it stay undefined. You put them out of their misery and make a choice.”

The words made your stomach twist. You squeezed your eyes shut and groaned.

“I don’t want to hurt them.” You admitted.

“I know.”

A pause.

“But leaving it like this, leaving them hanging in this weird unknown space, is already hurting them. Just slower.”

You swallowed, staring out at the blur of lights below. You hated that he was right.

“I don’t want to lose either of them.”

That one landed heavier than the rest.

Jack’s face faltered. “That part, I can’t guarantee you.” He said quietly. “There’ll be fallout either way. They’ll be hurt, probably want space.”

He studied you for a moment.

“People come back from things, although it might never be the same. Us doctors are resilient, have to be in a place like this.”

Silence settled again, deeper this time as you stared glumly at the darkening sky.

"Or I could just pick neither."

"You could definitely do that." Abbot answered quickly.

Too quickly.

You glanced at him. “Why do I feel a ‘but’ coming?"

A faint, knowing look crossed his face. “But-" He emphasised.

You almost smiled despite yourself.

"-why do that and deprive yourself of something that could end up being one of the best thing’s that's ever happened to you?"

He turned his hand slightly as he spoke, thumb unconsciously rotating the wedding ring on his finger. A habit that said more than the words did.

"And, I think-“ He added gently. “- deep down you already know which one of them might give you that.”

The wind picked up slightly then, pulling at the edges of your thoughts, scattering them just enough that you couldn’t hold all of them at once.

But not enough to make the truth feel any less there.

Not enough to displace the name and face at the forefront of your mind.

And that, somehow, was the worst part.

[alt endings will be coming 🙂‍↕️]

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Dennis felt something tighten low in his chest, sharp and immediate, like his body had reacted before his brain had time to catch up with it. A brief, involuntary bristling that he tried to swallow down just as quickly as it came.

You looked up first.

Your expression shifted instantly, your smile widening like it always did when you saw him.

“Morning sunshine.”

It hit him the same way it always did - quick and disarming, making him feel warmer than it should have in a place that already felt like it was overheating.

Frank turned, following your gaze. “Hey man, long time no see.”

Dennis forced himself to move again, stepping forward, reaching for his locker like everything was normal.

“Hey.” Dennis nodded, sending you both a tight lipped smile as he opened his locker. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks.”

As if he was satisfied that he'd discharged his duty to be a polite co-worker, Frank's attention slid back to you. As if that had always been the more natural place for it to rest, as if Dennis had simply been a brief interruption rather than someone worth lingering on.

"So, how much am I going to have to bribe you to get you to relinquish your top locker?"

You snorted. "Absolutely nothing." You patted your locker affectionately. "This kind of real estate is priceless."

"Not even a month's long supply of free double shot vanilla iced lattes?"

Your eyes narrowed playfully. "Points for a good attempt at manipulating me Langdon, but my answer is still no."

He shrugged as he rose to his full height. "That's alright, I'll wear you down eventually."

Dennis, who had been very intentionally keeping his focus on the inside of his locker, finally relented at that.

He peered over to see Frank smirking down at you, with an ease that suggested he’d slipped right back into place without resistance.

"It'll certainly be fun watching you try."

You glanced down at your watch.

"Come on, I want to show you what we've done to the break room since you've been gone before handover."

You locked eyes with Dennis over Frank's shoulder before he had time to avert his gaze.

You shot him a warm smile, one that never failed to make his heart speed up just a touch faster.

And then you were gone.

"What about six months?" Frank tried as he followed you out.

Your laughter drifted back in, curling through the air and settling somewhere low and uncomfortable in Dennis’ stomach.

"Did you know he was coming back today?"

Dennis looked up to see Santos approaching him, her thumb jerked back in Frank's direction.

"Nope." He couldn't quite manage to smooth the edge out of his voice as he stared at the doorway you had just walked through.

"Great, that's just what I need." She muttered.

She turned back to her locker, rummaging for a moment before adding, almost casually -

"Kinda sucks for you too I guess."

Dennis frowned. "Why?"

She paused, then said your last name slowly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What about her?"

She shut her locker, an unimpressed expression on her features. "Seriously?"

"What?"

She shook her head. "Don't you remember how she was practically Langdon's shadow?"

Something uncomfortable shifted in his chest.

He reached for his badge, clipping it onto his scrubs sharply, the plastic snapping lightly against the fabric.

"So?"

"So..." She gestured vaguely toward the hallway, like the answer should be obvious. "You're going to have to get used to sharing Huckleberry."

He didn’t respond to that.

Instead he swallowed, trying to ignore the lump forming in his throat, before shutting his locker a little harder then necessary.

-

By the time he reached the centre of the floor, the heat had already seeped into everything.

The pitt always ran warm, the air conditioning overworked, the vents struggling to push cool air into a space that demanded too much of it. But today it felt suffocating.

A sheen of sweat had already formed along the back of his neck, dampening the collar of his scrubs.

You were leaning against one of the counters, sipping an iced beverage no doubt left for you by Shen, condensation dripping down the side of the cup.

"Still taking it with too much sugar?" Frank asked, leaning against the opposite bench.

You shot him a look over the rim of your cup. "It’s not too much."

"It’d probably have to be legally classified as a dessert." He tutted mockingly. "I need to talk to Shen about limiting your intake."

"I never heard you complain when you got to finish it."

Frank smirked. "Waste not."

"You’re unbelievable." You said as you shook your head, but there was no bite to it.

Just… fondness.

It sat wrong in Dennis’ chest.

Dennis tried to listen to the handover, he really did. But his attention kept drifting to you and Langdon, dragged back like something physical, something he couldn’t quite control.

You were standing shoulder to shoulder. Frank leaned in slightly as you made a remark about one of the patients, your voice low but animated, completely at ease.

"Alright, let’s move, we’re already backed up." Robby called, clapping his hands once.

"Today's going to be a scorcher people, be prepared."

-

"Don't you remember how she was practically Langdon's shadow?"

Santos' words lingered, looping, catching, replaying at the most inconvenient moments as Dennis moved through the start of his shift, trying and failing to settle into a rhythm that usually came naturally to him.

Truthfully, he didn't remember.

He'd only worked one shift with you and Langdon together before. A shift that happened to be one of the worst days of his life.

He'd been a little too preoccupied with catching a rat and dealing with a mass casualty event to really notice anything as subtle as the dynamic between the two of you.

But as the morning wore on and he watched you and Langdon interact, fragments of your first shift together started to come back in pieces, stirred up by his subconscious.

Santos' assessment hadn't been far off.

Back then, you'd been an R1 and were clearly Langdon's favourite. Dennis remembered him shouting your last name as his first port of call when a trauma came through, how he'd leaned on you in ways that felt effortless rather than forced. You’d taken his teasing without flinching, never quite on the receiving end of anything harsher, even when you slipped up.

Dennis hadn’t noticed it then.

He noticed it now.

And it was everywhere.

Even with Langdon stuck in triage, somehow the two of you kept crossing paths, orbiting each other like it was instinct rather than intention.

He watched from afar as you worked together - so seamlessly it was like you shared one stream of consciousness, like no time had passed. When you stepped back, Langdon shifted automatically to give you space. When Langdon needed something you would have it in his hand before he could even ask for it.

There was no hesitation, no missteps.

You and Dennis worked like that too. Or, at least he thought you did.

Something began to take shape in his chest, slow and ugly. It crawled upward, heavy and unfamiliar, nesting somewhere under his ribs and refusing to move.

It was uncomfortable. He didn't get like this. This wasn't him.

He didn't do jealousy or possessiveness.

You weren’t an object that something to be hoarded. You weren’t his. You had never been his in the first place.

And yet for these past ten months, it felt like you had been... something.

Ten months of inside jokes, weekends at the gym, knock off drinks with Santos and Garcia. The quiet, steady presence of you at his side, shift after shift.

Ten months of just you and him.

And now... now the dynamic was all wrong, like the ground had shifted under his feet, like something unspoken had been quietly rewritten without his permission.

“See what I mean?”

Santos’ voice cut through his thoughts.

He followed the tilt of her head, his gaze landing once more on you and Langdon.

“Shadow.”

He felt the ER grow a degree hotter.

-

The first patient the three of you worked together came in not long after.

Middle-aged male. Heat exhaustion bordering on heat stroke.

"Pulse ox is dropping." Princess warned.

"Push fluids." Dennis replied, stepping in without hesitation.

Langdon was on the other side of the bed, calm, steady, slipping seamlessly back into the rhythm of the department like he’d never left.

"We need to cool him down fast." He said. "Ice packs-"

"-axilla and groin." You finished for him, already moving to put them in place.

Dennis watched you for a half a second too long. You were efficient, focused and completely in your element.

"Whitaker."

He snapped back, heat prickling under his skin. "Yeah."

Langdon’s gaze flicked to him briefly. "You with us?"

There wasn't any malice in it, it wasn't pointed, Frank was senior to him - he had every right to call him out.

But the way he said us, as if you and he were a little team - it made Dennis' stomach twist.

"I am." He replied, a touch too quick, a fraction too sharp.

Your eyes flitted to him briefly, your brow furrowing just a touch at his tone.

Langdon held his gaze for a second longer, then nodded. "Good."

-

"Did we get the CT back on our backflip girl yet?"

"No, still waiting."

Frank nodded, leaning over the desk as he tapped his fingers absentmindedly, taking a moment to watch you as you typed in your notes.

He knew you were good, you'd always been good. But in the past ten months, you'd clearly blossomed. You were more confident, carrying around an air of undemanded authority that you hadn't had before.

He hated the fact that he hadn't been here to watch you grow. That it was his fault for missing out on such a vital part of your career.

His eyes met Whitaker’s from across the room. Dennis looked away suddenly, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

It made Frank think about the tense interaction they’d had over Louis a little earlier.

"Whitaker seemed a little off earlier, don't you reckon?"

"During our heatstroke guy?"

"Yeah."

You peered over the top of your monitor and followed Frank's gaze through the glass into Trauma 1 where Whitaker stood.

"Yeah a little."

Frank hummed. "Maybe he was looking for another rat to kill."

He looked down at you, expecting to hear your laugh, the easy one you usually gave him.

Instead, your brows were knitted, your expression tightened just slightly.

"Don't be like that."

"Be like what?"

You gave him an incredulous look. "He's not the nervous student he was when you saw him last time you know. He’s a doctor now and he's good... really good."

Frank blinked, slightly taken aback.

"I know." Frank admitted slowly. "I've watched him this morning."

"Then you also know that he's an easy target."

Your eyes shifted to Dennis again for a moment, lingering.

"And he cops enough teasing from the others."

Frank watched you carefully.

"You guys are close, huh?"

You looked up at him through your lashes, the tension easing out of your expression. "Yeah. We are."

You sighed when Frank raised a brow, like that explanation wasn’t sufficient. "He cares, a lot. Sometimes too much." A small shrug. "I just don’t want people to take advantage of that.”

“You’ve got his back.” He observed.

“Yeah.” You replied without hesitation. “I do.”

“And he’s got yours?”

You smiled faintly. “For his sake, he better.”

Frank huffed out a quiet breath.

“Ok well that’s good enough for me.”

“So no more rat jokes?”

He mimed a cross over his heart. “No more rat jokes.”

Your smile made something twist behind his ribs.

“Thank you.”

Something unreadable flickered across his expression. Just for a moment, and then it was gone.

An uncomfortable truth curled up in the pit of his stomach.

That things that had kept growing here without him, some more than he'd realised or expected. And some that he hadn't foreseen at all.

-

You found Dennis in the stairwell not long after lunchtime.

The air in there was marginally cooler, but not by much, the faint echo of footsteps and distant voices bleeding through the concrete walls.

"Hiding already?"

Dennis looked up at you.

"Just...needed a breather."

"Yeah I feel that." You sighed as you leant against the wall opposite him.

A pause settled between you.

"I'm sorry about Louis."

Dennis exhaled quietly. "Thanks."

"You know you did everything you could, right?"

"I know... I just-" He shook his head. "I mean, I think I know that I did."

"Den. There was nothing else you could have done. This is not your fault."

The way you gently said his nickname slipped under his guard in a way nothing else had that day, soft and familiar and yours.

Dennis' jaw tightened.

You noticed it, like you always did.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

You studied him for a moment, something searching in your expression. "Nothing, I just feel like you've been a little off today."

A beat.

"You didn’t tell me Langdon was coming back today." The words slipped out before he could stop them.

You blinked, a little surprised. "I didn’t know. He told me HR cleared him but he didn't tell me when he was actually coming back."

The stark, casual revelation that the two of you talked outside of work dug it's claws into him.

"Oh, right."

Silence stretched.

"I know him being back must be kind of weird... given everything."

Weird.

That wasn’t the word he would’ve chosen.

From outside, faint but unmistakable, Langdon’s voice carried through the hallway.

Your attention flickered toward the sound without you even realizing it.

Something in him snapped.

"I just don't get how he gets to walk back in here like nothing happened."

You turned back towards him sharply, taken aback by Dennis' tone. "What?"

"He messed up.” Dennis continued, the words coming faster now, edged with something he couldn’t quite rein in. "And now he's just- what- joking around about being a drug addict like everything's fine? Like nothing happened?"

Your expression shifted, confusion giving way to something firmer. "He made a mistake."

"A pretty big one."

"And he paid for it." You fired back sharply. "He wasn't on a holiday for ten months Den, he was in rehab."

Dennis sighed. "I know that."

"Then what is it?" You pressed. "People are allowed to make mistakes. God knows we both have made plenty in this job."

"Yeah, except neither of us stole drugs from this hospital."

He saw it on your face instantly. You already knew.

The realisation was a slap in the face. That you were embracing Frank back with open arms, despite being armed with the full knowledge of the depth of his fuckup.

“You knew.” It landed like an accusation.

“Yes.”

He hated that there had been a small part of him that had hoped you didn’t know, that finding out would have circumvented all of this, would have brought you back to him.

"Trin shouldn't have told you that." You muttered after a moment, shaking your head.

"Yeah well.... she did."

You stared at him, something hurt and frustrated flickering behind your eyes.

“What is happening with everyone today?”

Dennis faltered.

"Everyone’s acting like I’m doing something wrong by talking to him." You continued, exasperated now. “He’s my friend.”

The word landed harder than it should have.

“Yeah,” Dennis muttered. “I can see that.”

He saw the hurt that flashed across your features again, except this time it was engrained deeper.

"You know, I expected some judgment from Santos." Your voice was quiet.

"But I didn't expect it from you."

The quiver in your voice was like a bucket of ice on his temper, dousing whatever heat had been building.

Somehow this felt worse than you yelling at him.

He let out a small groan, dragging a hand over his face.

"I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I don't know what's wrong with me today."

He did. He just couldn't say it.

"This shift has just already been a lot and Santos is upset and..."

"It's ok." You cut him off gently. "I get it."

Your understanding only made him feel worse.

"It's not ok." He insisted firmly, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

"You don't deserve to be treated like that, you're doing the right thing."

He exhaled, running a hand over the back of his neck.

"Dinner and drinks before the fireworks are on me tonight ok? And I'm not taking no for an answer. My way of apologising for chucking a tantrum."

Your expression warmed, just a little. "...and dessert?"

Despite everything, he let out a small chuckle at the hopefulness in your tone. "And dessert."

Your smiled widened slightly. "Ok. Deal."

You moved to leave, then hesitated, turning back.

"I know he was kind of a dick during your first day." You said carefully. "But he's a really good guy. I promise. Just... try and give him a chance?"

Dennis withheld a sigh as he studied you for a moment.

"...sure."

-

Frank did a double take from across the hall when he noticed you and Dennis step out of the stairwell.

He lingered on you for a moment, noting the way your smile seemed to be pulled tighter than usual, the usual sparkle in your eyes slightly dulled.

Then he looked at Whitaker, catching the way he seemed to keep glancing over at you anxiously, like he was waiting for something to break.

He forced himself to look away.

-

You tried to push your interaction with Dennis out of your mind as you made your way back into the chaos of the floor.

You ended up at the nursing station to see if any of your patients results had been dumped in their trays yet, flipping through charts with a little more force than necessary.

Movement caught your eye.

Dennis and Frank walking straight towards each other.

They both stepped to the right to move out of eachother's way, nearly bumping into one another.

Then, they both went left.

Finally they both stood still, each shooting the other a weird glare. Then, wordlessly, they finally passed each other with stiff shoulders and tight expressions.

You huffed, loud enough for Dana to glance over at you.

"You ok sweetheart?" Dana slipped her glasses off. "Not used to hearing those sort of grumblings out of you."

"It's nothing." You muttered. "It's just-" You slammed the papers down in frustration. "Why is everyone acting so weird today?"

Dana’s lips twitched, but she smoothed it out quickly. "The heat makes people crazy down here."

"Crazier than usual you mean." You grumbled just as you finally found the result you were looking for in the mountain of paperwork.

Dana watched with eagle eyes as you stalked off.

She glanced across the floor to see Langdon in one corner, his eyes on you despite being in the middle of a conversation with McKay.

Sure enough, when she spotted Whitaker by the bed of one of his patients - he was doing the exact same thing.

"....and love does to." She added under her breath.

-

It wasn't until well into the afternoon that you finally found a chance to slip into the breakroom.

You slowed as your eyes fell on Frank seated at one of the tables, his back leant against the poster littered wall.

"Hey." You called out.

"Hey."

You hesitated. "You want some alone time?"

"No, you're good."

He exhaled slowly. “I'm just....figuring out if I’m ready to be back here.”

You frowned.

“What makes you think you’re not ready?” You asked as you took a seat opposite him, just far away that your knees weren't brushing.

Frank shrugged, gaze drifting. “This shift has just been… rough. I don’t know I just… I feel like you and Mel are the only ones happy that I’m back.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? Robby’s been on my ass all shift and I feel like everyone else is either treating me like I'm made of glass or trying way too hard to be normal."

“Robby’s been on your ass all shift because he’s angry at himself because he feels like he failed you and doesn’t want to admit it."

He paused. "You think so?"

"That's my running theory."

Frank looked up at you for a moment. “Didn’t realise you were doing your residency in the psych ward.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “I did a psychology elective at uni, doesn’t that make me practically an expert?”

Frank huffed a laugh at that.

“As for everyone else… they’re happy you’re back. I think they’re probably just trying to be as normal as possible to not to make you feel weird about it.”

“Thanks.” He spoke quietly. “For supporting me.”

He hesitated for a moment.

“I’m sure it’s probably a bit weird for you with Santos and Whitaker.”

Your face faltered slightly. “You noticed that huh?”

“Just a little bit.”

Your attempt at a weak smile floundered as you shrugged. “I get it. You were a bit of a dick to Santos and she has her own shit going on and as for Whitaker…”

You glanced out towards the hum of the chaos, your interaction with Dennis replaying in your mind.

“I don’t know… I think he’s just a bit protective of her y’know? Being her roommate and everything.”

An unreadable expression flashed across Frank’s features. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.”

You shrugged. “They’ll get over it eventually.”

“Besides-" You continued, your tone lightening, "- they’ve only worked one shift with you. You’ve got plenty of time to charm them with your terrible jokes and tangents about your love of civil war reenactors.”

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

Frank huffed a laugh at that, his expression softening as he eyed you.

“You’ve made this shift bearable, you know that right?”

You offered up another shrug, trying to ignore the way heat wanted to creep up your neck at that.

“I’m just being a good R2.”

“You’re more than that, you’re-“ Frank stopped himself.

“I guess what I'm trying to say is-" He stopped again, huffing in frustration.

"- I missed you... that’s all.”

Your chest tightened.

“I missed you too.”

You eyed eachother.

Something unspoken lingered between you.

“Anyway.” You cleared your throat as you stood and grabbed his empty mug, needing movement to distract you from the emotions that you were too scared to dissect coursing through you. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“You doing anything for the fourth?” Frank asked as you approached the sink.

“Yeah Den and I- sorry- Whitaker and I are going to go watch the fireworks.”

Because your back was to him, you missed the way that Frank's expression flickered.

He watched you clean the mug in smooth, rhythmic movements, the way you moved when you were working on a patient.

“Oh that’ll be fun.”

“Yeah I’m keen." You smiled faintly. "I haven’t gone since I was a kid.”

You placed the mug on the edge of the sink to dry. “You doing anything?”

“Oh no, I’m off tomorrow so might stay up late and then enjoy a sleep in.”

“I’m off tomorrow too." You twisted around to face him, placing your hands on the bench behind you.

"I need to somehow force myself to go shopping for homewares. The new place is looking depressing.”

“I’ll go with you.” He said instantly.

You looked over at him in surprise. “Really?”

“I mean, only if you want the company.” He added quickly. “And totally ok if you say no because you want to you know…maintain professional boundaries.”

Your mouth twitched. “I came and visited you in rehab. I think we’re past that.”

“Touché.”

You studied him for a moment, then smiled. “You really want to come?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to spend time with you? Besides, my bachelor pad is equally depressing. I could use a pot plant or two.”

You both looked up at the sound of your last name being called. Princess stood in the doorway.

“They’re asking for you in Trauma 2.”

“Ok be right there."

You looked back at him, already moving.

“Do you even know how to look after a plant?”

“Do you?”

“No. That’s why I’ve only got fake ones.” You called over your shoulder.

His laugh followed you out.

-

"Anyone seen Whitaker?"

"Last time I saw him he was on his way outside to go and give Ogilvie a free therapy session."

You turned immediately to Santos, brows knitting. "What's wrong with Ogilvie?"

Santos didn’t look up from her shredding. "One of his patients died on the table."

"Oh the guy where he missed the-"

"-yep-“

"-shit."

"Yeah.” Santos sighed. “Apparently he's in a pretty bad way."

You were already moving.

"Ok, if anyone's looking for me tell them I'm outside with Whitaker." You called out over your shoulder.

"Will do."

Santos watched you go, then glanced down at her paperwork. "Except for Langdon." She muttered under her breath.

McKay snorted beside her.

The air outside was different.

Still hot, but moving steadily by a gentle breeze at least.

Sure enough, you found Dennis in the ambulance bay. His shoulders were slightly hunched, hands braced on either side of him, his expression more raw now that he was away from the prying eyes of his coworkers.

"Hey."

Dennis looked up, his face softening slightly at the sight of you.

"Hey."

You perched beside him, leaving just enough space between you that your shoulders didn’t touch, your legs swinging idly over the edge.

"You send Ogilvie home?"

"Yeah...” Dennis exhaled, glancing out towards the street. “He’s been through a lot today."

You nodded in understanding.

"Yeah, nothing on your first shift though huh?"

That loosened a short huff of laughter from him.

"You think he'll come back?"

Dennis shrugged. "Honestly.. I don't know. I tried to give him a little pep talk but I don't know if it stuck.”

"Oh yeah? What'd you say?"

"Oh you know just...” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish, “stuff about balance and acceptance."

Your mouth twitched as his cheeks reddened. "Geez I wonder where I've heard that before?"

"It's a good speech!" He defended quickly.

"No, no it is." You agreed, although your inability to control your laughter undermined your assurances. "I just can't believe you Robby'd the poor guy."

Dennis winced, bowing his head in defeat. "Yeah I guess I kinda did."

The laughter faded.

Your smile faltered as you studied his side profile for a few moments, noting the way his gaze kept drifting, like he couldn’t quite settle anywhere.

"Everything else ok?"

"Yeah." He said half heartedly. "I mean I'm a bit worried about Santos and-"

"I mean with you." You gently cut him off.

He blinked. "Me?"

"You’ve had a pretty shit day too. Or do you not remember your self-classified tantrum from earlier?”

“I’m fine.” He assured you, shooting you a small smile. “But thank you.”

Dennis could tell by the look on your face that you didn’t believe him, but you didn’t press it. Like always, you knew when to push and when to let things lie.

“That’s ok.” Your tone lightened. “Someone’s gotta be looking out for you while you’re busy talking everyone else off ledges.”

Dennis studied you for a moment, "and that person is...you?"

"Well obviously."

He let out a small, breathy laugh, "ok well... who's looking after you?"

"You are."

You said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like it wasn’t up for debate, just something that had always existed. Always would.

"That's how this works right? You and me, surviving this place together.”

"Yeah.” He said quietly, forcing himself to look away from you. “I guess it does."

He glanced down.

Your hand rested beside his, curled over the edge of the ambulance.

So close that he would only have to move an inch and his hand would brush yours.

Self-doubt flared.

His fingers flexed, but he didn’t move.

"I'm really glad you're here." He hadn't even really meant to say the words out loud, slipping out so quietly under his breath you almost didn't catch them.

A beat passed.

"Me too."

He missed the way you tucked your chin slightly, angling your face to hide the faint flush that crept into your cheeks.

"Alright." You announced, jumping off the ambulance and onto your feet after a few moments of silence stretched between you.

“Let's get back in there so we can still at least try and see some fireworks."

He hesitated. "You still want to go?"

"Yeah, of course." Your brow creased slightly. "Don't you?"

"Yeah no totally I just-um-well I wasn't sure-" He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind."

Your grin widened. "Let's go then Whitaker, these documents won't scan themselves."

For a brief moment, as the two of you walked instep back into the pitt, Dennis felt the pressure ease slightly.

Like maybe he’d overthought it. Like maybe the heat had just gotten to him, twisted things out of proportion, made something out of nothing.

Like maybe - this was still just you and him, whatever this was.

Unfortunately, that feeling didn't last long.

-

The three of you ended up being pulled into a MVA trauma not long after.

It went smoothly. Cleaner than most cases that chaotic.

By the time the patient stabilized, the tension in the room had eased just enough for everyone in the room to breathe again.

You pulled your gloves off with a small sigh. "Nice save boys."

Langdon glanced at you, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. "You led that."

You huffed a quiet laugh. "I did not."

"Are you kidding me?" He said your last name sharper this time, more deliberate, enough to make Dennis' skin crawl.

"Your call not to intubate probably saved his life. Seriously, that was a great pick up. Most doctors would have missed it."

You ducked your head just slightly, a soft smile slipping through as a faint flush crept up your cheeks.

To most, it would look like a junior glowing at receiving praise from their mentor.

But Dennis knew you too well.

He saw it in the way your expression shifted, subtle, quick - but unmistakable. You were flustered. Done by something more than just professional pride.

Something in Dennis' chest pulled tight. Hard.

The sweat at the base of his skull prickled like pins from the heat.

He walked out of the trauma bay without another word.

After that, things just kept getting worse.

His attempt at good karma got thwarted by a racist grandma resulting in a $250 charge to his card. Someone drank his last protein shake left in the fridge that he’d been saving.

Then, he lost his ID badge, the one he’d had for less then half a day.

His thoughts were already scattered, his patience worn thin, the heat pressing in again, suffocating, sticking to his skin like it wouldn’t let him breathe.

And then Langdon offered to help him look for it with enough sincerity in his voice that it made Dennis see red.

And lastly, Santos teased him for it, with Langdon behind her clearly trying not to laugh.

He felt like he was one step away from overheating completely.

-

The last thirteen hours felt like a weight around his neck as he stepped out of the chaos into the break room.

His last hope at finding his ID.

“Woah.” He muttered as he nearly collided with someone.

Langdon.

His eyes flickered down to the pills pressed tightly into Langdon’s palm. “Uh-hey.”

Frank’s eyes trained on him carefully as Dennis moved past him.

“Relax buddy, it’s Advil.”

Dennis turned back with a start at Frank’s clipped tone. "No, I didn't think you were-" He cut himself off with a sigh, not having the energy to try and explain.

"Headache?" He offered instead as he knelt down to look under the vending machine.

"Uh, I tweaked my back a little lifting that overheated kid." Frank twisted around after filling up his mug with water, leaning his back against the sink.

"Guess I should get used to playing through the pain again, huh?" He remarked dryly as he threw the Advil down.

Dennis was debating whether he respond when Frank continued.

"You look like you got into shape since I saw you last.” Dennis turned to face him. “Didn't peg you as a gym guy."

"Oh no um.. I mean I've been going a little bit." Dennis chuckled awkwardly. "And I've been helping a friend move. Been building some furniture and stuff, so..."

Frank nodded, then said your name.

Dennis stilled as he glanced up from the floor in surprise.

"Right?" Frank continued as he placed the mug onto the bench, crossing his arms over his chest. "She told me you were helping her out. That's nice of you to do that."

Dennis wasn't sure if he was just sleep deprived, or if there was actually an edge to Frank's words.

Either way, he found himself tighten further. The weight pressed heavier.

He was already frayed, already overheated, already one wrong word away from snapping - and this felt like the final straw.

Frank's mouth twitched slightly. "Now I'm picturing her ordering you around and getting you to change the angle of her sofa like fifty times-"

The pressure cooker boiled over.

"Can you cut the shit?"

The words left Dennis' mouth before he could stop them.

Frank froze, one hand on the door to the medicine cupboard. "Excuse me?"

The words tumbled out of him like smoke trying to escape out of a chimney.

"The sarcasm thing, the- the little buddy routine like you're what, you're the Skipper and I'm Gilligan?“ Dennis took a step towards him, squaring his shoulders. “You're not the Skipper, dude."

Frank blinked. "I know I'm not the Skipper. Robby is the Skipper."

"No Robby's the professor, Dana's the Skipper."

"Ok, somebody's watched a lot of Nick at Nite.” He paused carefully. “So what am I?”

Dennis sighed as he felt the anger start to ebb out of him, replaced by a crippling exhaustion.

"Play whatever part you like. Just…don't pick mine for me."

Frank studied him for a moment, something shifting behind his expression. "Ok, ok that's fair. You got it."

Dennis felt a flicker of guilt course through him at Frank’s understanding.

Dennis nodded once, turning toward the door.

"Thank you."

"But-"

Dennis stopped.

"-you should at least be honest about why you're pissed."

"What do you mean?"

Frank's brows raised as he stepped back to lean against the counter. "I know there's more to this then my lame jokes."

"Santos can take care of herself-"

"-I'm not talking about Santos." Frank said quietly.

Dennis held his gaze for a moment, then despite himself, he glanced through the glass.

You were out by the nurses station, laughing at something McKay had said as you scanned in your notes.

Blissfully unaware of the friction your existence had sparked.

When he looked back, Frank was watching him, a knowing look in his eye.

"You know... she was the only one who came to visit me in rehab." He admitted quietly.

The fight in Dennis faltered slightly.

“Of course she did.” He sighed, shaking his head. “She’s….”

"Yeah….she is."

Dennis saw it then, that unmistakable emotion flash across Frank's face. The one he hadn’t wanted to name all day. The one he saw every time he looked at himself in the mirror.

Longing.

"Her and I we...” Frank debated his next words, like he wasn’t exactly sure how to phrase it.

“…we work well together." Was what he settled on.

“So do we.”

The implication hung heavy in the air.

Frank studied him.

"So this is about you being territorial."

"That's not what this is about-"

"-isn't it?"

Dennis' stare hardened as he felt heat creeping up his neck, his pulse loud in his ears.

Frank pushed off the counter, taking a step closer - not aggressive, but grounded. Certain.

“You know she can make her own choices, right?"

"I know that." Dennis bit back. "But you've been gone for ten months. Things are different."

Dennis knew the words sounded pathetic the second they fell off his tongue.

They still hit their mark though. A barb lodged in Frank’s ribcage, reminding him how much had changed.

How Robby looked to Dennis during cases the way he used to look to Frank. How you had fallen into a routine with Dennis that you used to have with him and him alone.

Frank's brows pulled together slightly. "I'm not doing anything, I'm just trying to do my job."

Dennis scoffed, more bitterly than he'd intended.

"Yeah and you just get to waltz back in here and act like nothing happened." He muttered.

Frank went still.

The air shifted.

"So you're mad at me because she's decided to forgive me?"

Dennis didn’t answer.

Frank let out a slow breath, something sharper creeping into his expression now.

"Or mad at yourself because you had ten months to make a move and didn't?"

The harsh truth in Frank’s words cut Dennis deep, acting like salt in an already festering wound.

Frank took a step closer.

"Either way, that’s not on me."

Dennis straightened at that, meeting Frank's eyes with a glare of his own.

Frank moved towards the door, then paused.

"And I'm not going to stay away from her just because you have a crush."

Crush - like it was some childish fantasy. Like there wasn’t a possibility that there was something real between the two of you.

Dennis’ jaw clenched as he gritted out his next words.

"Guess that makes two of us."