Galactic Oceans

When John had invited you to move in with him almost six months ago you thought all your problems were solved. You would no longer lose rent on a stuffy apartment you didn't even like, being kept up by frat parties that seemed to run all night. You'd share with Carter, be able to study together as you had since starting as med students together, be able to help each other out and share the rent.

“Oh my god, John!”

You hadn't thought about the noise. The moaning, the thudding of beds, the awkward greeting of the new girl of the week in the mornings where all you wanted to do was drink coffee and get ready for the day in peace.

Your bed was next to Carters, a wall separating the two of you.

This girl was blonde, slim, not from the hospital from what you could tell. They'd stumbled in at eleven and you'd heard him jingle at the door so you hid yourself away, running from the living room you paid rent for to offer them privacy and peace that they never offered you.

“John...” the girl had whined, you imagined her hands crawling up his chest, peeling off his coat and scarf, dragging her lips over his neck.

“Wait, wait, wait-” you heard John, probably making sure the coast was clear before he took her on the sofa. The sofa you'd paid for! He'd called your name, checking where you were. Gathering you'd hidden yourself away he carried on.

It wasn't the first night the sound of fucking next door had kept you up, in fact you'd lost count of the many of women John preferred to you. Slowly your patience was failing. Sleep as an intern in the ER was precious- like a gem stone. You shouldn't have been losing it in your own apartment.

You heard the mumble of medical procedures and thought you were in a nightmare.

“John, what are you doing?” the girl asked.

You knew what he was doing. To make himself last and drag on the night he thought about medical notes, the books you studied piled on the coffee table.

“Making it last,” you heard him say.

You wished he wouldn't.

When the low moaning started again you couldn't take it.

It was somewhere past four but you'd never known Mark Greene to turn away help.

“What are you doing here? You're not on till seven,” said Carol as you threw on your doctors coat, swinging on the stethoscope.

Outside it was dark, starting to rain and you'd drank two coffees on the way in. You weren't feeling awake but the hustle of the ER and the calls of trauma were better to hear than the moaning and slams of bed.

“Couldn't sleep, thought I'd get in early, early bird catches the.... something,” you said, eyeing the board. Abdominal pains, sores, vision blurs, the usual. There were plenty not taken up with a doctor.

“Couldn't sleep huh?” Carol asked, as familiar with the drill as you were.

“Nop.”

“And what was her name this time?”

“I didn't catch it.”

You didn't know if it was a head nurse thing or just a Hathaway thing but Carol had caught the feelings you had for John maybe even before you had.

She'd watch the two of you come in as fresh faced med students aiming for two different things. The two of you worked well on cases. You learnt how to take a more direct approach through Carters determination in surgery and John learnt to take closer care with his patients with your attentiveness in a pedes rotation.

“God, men are pigs,” said Carol.

“What have I done now?” asked Ross as he passed, leaving and picking up a chart. “You're in early,” he observed.

“I'm dedicated.”

“Wanna check out a cough in five?”

“I'll be there.”

You didn't need to stare to see Carol and Doug share a look. As you'd taken an interest in pedes work in the ER you'd been brought under Dough Ross's rather large wings. And if you were around Ross by proximity you were around Carol. And if you were around them Carter wasn't far.

It was a chain of terrible love stories.

“Eventually you'll get written up for overtime,” said Carol.

“A hospital that hates over-achievers, damn.”

“You should just talk to him.”

You turn to her, leaning on the counter. “And tell him what? I hate him having sex?”

“Well if he could be a little quieter,” she suggested.

“It's not him, it's the women.”

Carol was silent as you distracted yourself with the charts. You knew what she would say next, you knew what you would say after that and it would continue as it had for months. “You should tell him how you-”

“-no.”

“What's the worst that could happen?”

“He says he doesn't feel the same way, tells everyone, I'm left embarrassed, I lose my apartment, need I go on?”

Her eyes rolled. “No I get it.”

“Hey!” Ross called out. “Cough! Five! Let's go!”

You followed him on and used what you'd come to the Er to get: distractions. You followed Ross around from patient to patient, got called in on a trauma and even had time to change the the filters in the coffee machine before you were faced with John.

He was bright eyed, smiling with his dimples. Heck, you were even convinced his eyes lit up seeing you, with your coat hanging off, hair already falling out of its hold and he'd just left some blonde babe. Maybe she'd dropped him off at the hospital and he'd beg a lift back with you. Or he'd told her to let herself out the apartment.

Carter had no right to look at you like that.

“Hey,” he smiled. “You get in early? I thought you started at seven with me?”

“Oh yeah... I was paged in early.”

“Trauma?”

“Cough.”

He laughed. “You were paged in for a cough.”

“I know can you believe it,” you had tried to make it sarcastic, wanted it to seem like a passing comment but your lips didn't move into a smile and it fell weak into your stomach.

John leant next to you at the counter, tilting his body in a way to try to look at you. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Something's up, what?”

Maybe it was how close you’d worked, going from students to interns. Or it was your living together which made you both understand each other with small looks.

Clearly you didn’t know each other well enough, otherwise he’d note the bags under your eyes or the way your body didn’t lean into his like you used to.

John jutted his hip against yours with a chuckle. “Talk to me, c’mon.”

“I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” You admitted.

How stupid could men be?

John didn’t even catch on to what you were laying down. “How about we do something tonight? Catch a movie? Get some dinner?”

You and John used to do that sort of thing often. When you'd first moved in together it was all watching films with take out, taking it in turns to order your favourites. You could hardly recall what the films were about because the two of you spoke throughout them. It took a month then you knew everything there was to know about him.

But that was almost two years ago and things were different.

You were in love with him.

He had no idea.

Instead he had love for hours a night and that seemed to do him fine.

John was still waiting for an answer. “Dinner? Movie?”

You looked at him. Over his shoulder you spotted Carol, shaking her head. “Dinner sounds great.”

John's face broke out into a smile. “Yes!” he cheered. His lips pressed to your head quick, gone before you could get a feel of him.

“Carter!” Benton called.

Benton's ordering and bossing around of Carter had grated on his nerves for months but you'd never seen him smile so wide and all but skip to him.

Maybe things weren't being so bad.

“Why would you agree to go to dinner?” asked Carol.

Why would you? Because even if he wasn't your lover, he was still your friend. You'd take that. “Was I supposed to say no?”

“You're gonna hurt yourself,” she said.

But sadly you had hope, which was probably the only thing keeping you in the state you were in.

“It's just dinner with a friend,” you said, picking up a patients chart, any chart.

Carol clocked her head at you. “It's not though is it?”

“To him it is.”

John appeared at your side, hands bracing your arms as he leant over you. For a moment you panicked, imagining that he heard it all. His grin said different. “I'll book us Nona's, your favourite Italian, I'll get it for eight.”

He disappeared, rushing around the corner. You got a last look at his scrubs and gown.

When you turned back to Carol she'd gone too.

“And so I said to him, that's not his Appendix, that's his Kidney.”

Johns laughter bounced around the restaurant. As promised he’d booked your favourite Italian, a table in the window lit by a candle and golden lights around you.

There was an empty plate from a tiramisu you’d shared and several empty glasses of wine dotted around from the evening you’d shared, lipstick of your stained glasses you’d had.

John had entertained you all night, telling jokes, talking about work. His eyes had been lit up since you both sat down, talking animated and never letting a moment of quiet. He’d even dressed up, supporting a suit as if this was some kind of date.

With the lights down low and dragging your fingers over your glass of wine, you almost imagined it was.

The waiter came by and John waved him down.

“Another bottle of white,” he ordered, sharing the last dregs of the bottle between your two glasses.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re trying to get me drunk,” you joked.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he laughed. “I’ve missed you. It’s just nice that we get to do this, I didn’t see you at all yesterday. You were in bed when I got home.”

Home. Home with his date.

“We’ve been… busy,” you said.

Johns smile broke but only a fraction, some sort of disappointment floating by and marring his expression. “Yeah, I-I guess we have.”

There was a flicker of silence, the first sort there’d been in the night.

The wine was delivered.

“We should do this once a week,” suggested John, alight with the idea.

You laughed. “What, with our schedule?”

“Okay.” He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “Once a month, surely we can manage that, right? We’re capable people, capable doctors.”

There was more laughter, dulling the ache you’d been carrying.

At some point Johns hand had come down and touched yours.

You’d expected him to pay your hand friendly, move it away and make another crack at a joke.

His hand lingered. Stayed, his fingers stayed slowly moving against the back of your hand.

John watched as his fingers drew lazy circles over your skin. There was a smile playing on his lips.

You didn’t have it in you to move away. You chuckled lightly. “What are you doing?”

John looked at you, his other hand coming up to cup his chin as he rested there. “I’ve missed you.”

It was sincere, almost loving.

You laughed it away. “You’ve said that already.”

“What? A guy can’t say it again?”

“A guy can’t say but you…” you trailed off.

“I what?” asked John pointedly, tilting his head to get a better look of you.

It was almost cruel how unaware he was, or maybe acted he was. The thought that he knew your feelings that were oh so obvious to some and were using them against you made you feel sick.

You slipped your hand out of his and took a sip of your wine. “Nothing.”

“No, what?” he asked, nudging himself closer to the table. “What were you gonna say?”

You drained the glass of wine and picked up the bottle, pouring yourself more while John watched and waited. You laughed, doing your best to brush it off. “I dunno what I was gonna say, slipped by me.”

You could tell he didn't believe you. He seemed to like to chose when he wanted to believe you.

“I-” He'd just started to speak when his gaze drifted over your shoulder and widened at the door. “Oh god, don't turn around, don't look- don't look!”

Frowning you did just what he said not to do, wine still in hand.

Carter was busy slouching in his chair, trying to hide.

A girl walked in with two of her friends, peeling off their coats and handing them to the staff at the door. They were all large smiles and tanned skin, dresses that hugged perfectly and hands manicured. They were alight with life and not drowned in exhaustion like you.

You looked back to John and didn't even have to guess and why he was hiding from them. Your brows rose at him.

“I went to school with her,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck. “She has a massive crush on me.”

“Does she?” at least you weren't the only fool to love him.

John nodded, the front of his hair moving as he did.

You looked again and as if she sensed you, the girl turned.

“No... no... no....” chanted John as she seemed to recognise him, even half swallowed by the table as he was trying to be.

“John Carter!” the girl greeted with her arms out and her wide smile.

John was polite in standing and hugging her.

You were polite in occupying yourself with the wine.

“Oh my god, look at you it's been so long!” she said, pulling away. Her hand smoothed the jacket of his suit. “God when I last saw you you were winning horses races on... oh, what was your horses name, again?”

“Marigold,” said John.

“Marigold, that's right!” she laughed, hand slapping at his bicep and lingering.

You snorted at the obvious affection she was laying on. At least (you hoped) you were slightly more incredulous.

They both looked to you.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt,” she apologised.

John went to speak but you spoke before he had the chance.

“You didn't, actually, join us if you like,” you invited.

John's face fell. “What?”

“Oh, I mean I'm here with friends but, hey, what's one drink between old friends?” she pulled up a chair effortlessly, setting it between you and Carter.

Carter himself lingered up on his feet, pulling his jacket close and slotting a button in. He looked at you, almost with some betrayed ideas in his eyes. He sat down, deflated but his old friend from school - Samantha- was already taking his wine glass and filling it. She was already talking about the first time she met John.

You didn't know why you'd decided to interrupt your own night with him. Just as you didn't know why John seemed to perturbed that you had.

Two days later he was at it again.

“John! Oh, John!”

You didn't even get a glance at this one, you had no idea who it was. The old friend from the restaurants or a friend of hers that had joined you later in the night. Maybe it was patient or a friend or family of patients. It could've even been the new intern that had started. You didn't know.

They were all blending into one.

“John! John! John!”

You'd tried putting on headphone from you walk man. You'd tried smothering yourself with your cushion. You'd tried every trick under the sun but it was as if the sounds of pleasure had buried itself in your bones. Even if you couldn't hear it, you knew it was there and it was enough in your bones to have you tossing and turning.

“H, stands for hemolysis, the- the break down of red blood cells-”

You threw your covers off. It was nearing three a.m. The ER could always use an extra pair of hands. That's what you told yourself as you pulled on clothes in the dark, desperate to get out the apartment before you crawl out of your skin.

Perhaps turning on the light would have been beneficial.

You pulled up your pants, jumping to do so but sliding on a lose sock. You fell, hurtling to the ground and trying to catch yourself on the desk had only resulted in banging your head on the side.

For a moment, lying in the dark of your room with a new ache in your head you thought maybe you were concussed because there was suddenly no noise. No nothing.

“John-”

“- wait, shh, shh-”

Nope, still there.

You finally got your pants on without any more injury and left your room.

There were to empty beer bottles at the kitchen counter. You noticed them as you pulled kitchen roll onto your head, pulling it back you pulled open the fridge to check in the light. A little blood.

All the more reason to get to the ER.

You were just fetching your bag from the side when the squeak of a door behind you alerted you.

“Hey, what's going on?” John spoke up.

You didn't dare turn around. You knew if you did you'd find a recently fucked-out Carter, maybe his friend hanging off his arm like his other friends had two nights before at Nona's.

He called out your name.

“Nothing, John,” you dismissed, swinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Where are you going, it's like, three am?”

You didn't answer.

“Did the hospital call?”

“Just go back to bed, Carter.”

It could have been the head split, the fact you were running on little sleep as it was or that John was so insisting he cared when the noise of you falling had clearly broken him out of his blissed state.

You never called him Carter. If you did, it was a bad sign.

“Wait- wait- jus' a second, hold on-”

You turned, catching a glimpse of him retreating back in his room.

You dabbed at your cut again, seething at the pain it brought.

You doubted stitches were needed but maybe some glue. Heck, maybe you could find an on-call room and sleep off the wound.

John's door opened again and he was rushing out, tugging a shirt on with joggers already pulled up. He flicked the light on and you watched his eyes widen at the cut as if you'd been shot. “Woah-woah, hey-hey-”

“Leave it, John.”

“What happened? What'd you do?” he rushed to you, sliding on the floor as he cupped your cheeks, checking the cut in the light.

His clothes hung limp on him and you didn't even have to look close to see the blue and purple bruises at his neck, still fresh, a thin trail of kisses not yet settled. There was no slouch in him like you knew there to be in you. He was alert. The kind of attention sex required.

He was using all that energy- the energy he was stealing from you- to asses your wound.

“What were you doing, jumping-jacks?” he tried to joke.

You didn't feel like laughing. “Can you leave it, please?”

The crinkle at his eyes at his own teasing dropped. He became as dull as you felt.

“No, no I- I can't leave it,” he said, serious. “You're bleeding, you're hurt, what happened?”

You sighed. “I was dressing in the dark, I'm a clutz.”

He shook his head. “Why were you dressing at three am?”

“Because I'm going into work.”

“We're not on nights.”

“Then I'm going in for fun.”

“Like the other night when you were paged in for a cough that didn't exists?” he said. “Mark told me, so what's going on?”

You had hoped Mark Greene- your mentor- wouldn't be noticing the slow falling apart of your love life. No such luck there. “Nothing,” you told him. “Nothing is going on.”

“You running off in the night is something, in my books at least,” said John, stern. His arms fell to his side. “So, you want to tell me?”

You'd just done a thirty-six hour shift and was only reward with two hours sleep. You didn't have it in you to be kind to him while your own chest felt like it was caving in on itself. “No, I don't.”

John scoffed. “Well, I've got all night, I can wait.”

“No, you don't.”

He frowned.

At that moment his latest peeked out of the room. She'd had the decency to wrap herself up in his thin white sheet at least. Her hair was a mess, her body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She genuinely seemed sorry to be interrupting but clearly wanted to get back to the high she was chasing.

“Hey, John, is everything okay?”

She was so un-like you. She was everything you weren't. You didn't even know who she was but she wasn't you and seeing her coming out of John's room, wrapped up in his sheet and smell and faint marks of him you were reminded of that.

You didn't know why she- an odd number in his list of conquests- broke your heart. But it did.

You chocked on a sob, turning away from them both.

John's neck snapped to you at the noise. “Hey, hey-” his hands were soft on your forearms but you shrugged him off.

“John?” asked the girl again, a lazy drawl of her voice piercing your heart.

“Just, go back in, I'll- I'll be a second,” he said, dismissively.

It some how made it all the much worse because he didn't care for the other girls feelings. It was nothing serious to him, it never was. If it was serious, if he brought a girl back and took painstaking effort to introduce the two of you maybe you could pull on a brave face, pretend to be happy for him.

But he was constantly throwing it all in your face.

“John?” the girl asked again.

“Meg, seriously, I just need to sort this out-”

Sort it out? Like you were something on a check list?

You'd managed to make it to the front door before John caught you.

“Hey, wait! No- jus'-” his hand slammed down over you on the door, closing it before you could escape. “You're scaring me now, what's going on?”

“Nothing,” your own voice betrayed you, cracking as tears escaped you.

You rushed to wipe them away but John beat you to it.

“Hey, hey.” His thumb swept at the tears, voice laced in worry and pain. “Why are you crying? What's happened?”

You knew yourself well enough from the years of stress of medical school, from losing patients that were making promising progress and dying, from months of hearing John love on a girl that wasn't you to know when you couldn't trust your voice. All you could do was duck your head and sniff.

John was still close enough for you to smell the other girls perfume on him. “Why- why don't we sit down? I'll make you some tea.”

“I don't want tea,” you chuckled dryly.

John seemed startled. Tea was always what you offered him after the hard days. “Coffee?”

“I just want to go,” you admitted.

“Go? Go where?” he asked, voice almost as broken as yours. “You want to leave, you want to get out of here?”

He asked like he was almost understanding where you were coming from.

You nodded.

“Can I come with you?”

You shook your head.

John nodded with tight lips, like his own heart was breaking. “Okay them, I- I can't let you go. Not alone.”

You cried. “John-”

“It's three am it's dark out, I'm not letting you go anywhere alone-”

“John-”

“And frankly you're scaring me right now, I can't stand seeing you like this-”

“- I just don't want to be near you right now.”

The confession hung between the two of you like a hook caught in your hearts and tearing you both down. It was one thing you hurting because of John's actions but it wasn't like you'd told him how you felt. So really, you were hurting him for nothing.

“Okay, okay,” he said calmly. Turing for a second to gather himself up, patting the back of his hair down. “Okay you don't have to be anywhere near me but can you at least stay? So I know you're safe. I'll- I'll hide in my room or something. Out there, it's-it's not and I know you hate me right now but you will give me a heart attack if you go-”

“- I don't hate you,” you uttered.

“Well you just said you don't want to be near me,” he pointed out, the first angry notes in his voice. He took a deep breath and took a step closer, his hands clenched in together. John bent a little in the knees to get a look at you. “I'm sorry, whatever I did, I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

He hadn't. Nothing he'd done had been with you in mind.

John laughed at himself. “It's me, for Christ sake, I'd never do anything to hurt you, okay? You've got to believe me. You know me.... you know me!”

The door to his room opened again and in the dim light the both of you saw his girl- Meg- wander out. She was in one of his old grey shirts, flaunting herself with jutted out hips. She threw herself down on the sofa and watched, waiting.

You wiped your tears away, telling yourself to get a grip. “Can we just- can we do this later, John, please?”

You'd thought the tears and begging would have been enough but John looked at you, studying all over you. He took in a deep breath like he was getting his confidence from somewhere.

He shook his head, staring at you. “No. Okay, wait- just wait for for a second, one second.”

You did. You waited one second and watched as he returned to Meg, crouching at the sofa and talking low to her. He even put his hand on hers and spoke very calmly and clearly.

Whatever he was saying Meg seemed to not like, or really understand, her eyes flickered back up to yours accusingly.

That's when you slipped out the door and hailed down a taxi to take you to the ER.

Carol had offered to help but you said no, so did Lydia, practically following you down with the right kit to take care of the cut on your head. Genie had offered with a kind understanding smile but you'd hidden yourself away on an empty bed with a mirror.

Mark was the only one you'd let stay in the room, even then you weren't letting him get close enough to help. “We should get a CT, at least.”

“Geez, it's just a small cut,” you chuckled, putting the thin strips of tape over it to help bring it together. It was the sort of thing that wasn't even medical. Just common sense.

“Better safe than sorry,” he said.

“And do you want to be the one to tell Wheever you ordered un-neccary tests and wasted hospital rescourse and money?”

You'd thought that would have been enough to deter him but instead Mark leaned forward.

“Yes.”

Damn.

“As chief resident I don't have to have you working till you get the all cleared.”

You huffed. You could always find an on-call room to catch up on sleep but you feared you'd re-play John's heartbreak over again if you did. “Fine, book me the CT,” you said, slinging your stephscope back around your neck and pocketing your pocket mirror.

“Thank you,” said Mark and with one last look of conserved worry, he left.

But the door swung open a second later and Carter waltzed in, hands in the pocket of his lab coat. He paused and looked at you, as if you were a patient of his.

It was going on four. He'd followed you in.

You opened your mouth to say something. A sorry, maybe. An apology for ruining his sex time and for crying.

John beat you to it. “I know you said you didn't want to be around me but I'm sorry, I-” he laughed at the very idea that was true. He knew you too well for that. “I don't believe you.”

“What do you want me to do about that?”

“I want you to talk to me.” John grabbed the stool close and sat on it, pushing himself close in front of you like any attentive doctor would. He grabbed your hands. “Talk to me.”

You wondered what you should have told him first. That out of desperation for your well-being Chuni had offered up her spare room at her place till you could get a place of your own. That Mark was willing to move around the schedule and face Wheever's wrath in doing so. That you couldn't take one more night of not being the one John chose.

“I'm sorry for being mad earlier, at the apartment,” you said first, looking down to where he held your hands. His knuckles were bleached white from the tightness he held onto you to. “I'm not- I'm not mad at you.”

His body sagged in relief. “You're not?”

“No.”

“Oh - thank god.” His body curved over yours, breath fanning the envelope of your hands.

“It's just me, it's just stuff,” you dismissed.

“No, it's not just stuff,” he said, equally as dismissive. “If it's getting you up in the middle of the night, ending in you being hurt- I mean... we can sort it.”

His thumb was a delicate tough as he brushed over your cut.

It didn't feel as painful when he did.

John's gaze lingered on your cut before looking back at your eyes. There was nothing to indicate he knew what this was really about, only a small hurting sorrow that he didn't know how to help you.

It was enough to hurt you all over again.

But maybe pulling the band off at once was better than a slow, agonising pull.

You squeezed his hands. “John, I'm moving out.”

The words were like heavy stones sinking in the bottom of a lake. You saw his expression blanked, his hands release yours slowly and his face pale as if the world was ending. His eyes searched yours trying to detect a hint of amusement.

He found nothing.

Mark popped his head back in, saving you. “CT's ready for you.”

“Thanks Mark,” you said as he nodded once and left again.

John hadn't moved, frozen in place. He stared past your body.

“I'll um... I've got to go...” it was the cowards way out but the way you saw it you'd been tough a long time, lying in bed and crying yourself to sleep. Letting yourself feel pathetic for doing so when you had so much more in life to give it meaning. If you could just get away enough, create some distance so you didn't feel trapped you could at least keep his hand in friendship. At least still have the privilege of looking in his eyes everyday and know, just for a second, you once had a chance for it all with him.

When you got back to the door and looked back, John was still on the stool, eyes watering.

Three hours later your shift officially started but you were already four patients deep, a case in pedes with Ross, a trauma that had gone up to the OR, an elderly man with a nasty fall to his hip and possible schizophrenia. Your last was a young girl, complaining of stomach craps. You suspected pregnancy and was thinking as much when you glanced out the door to the front desk.

John was staring through the door at you, Carol at his side trying to talk to him also staring in at you.

It wasn't a good sign in any case, not when Carol knew everything and John knew so little. It didn't help he looked wrecked. Tie askew, hair sticking up in the way that indicated hands running through it in stress.

Then he rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

“Leanne, have you been sexually active recently?”

“With my boyfriend.”

“And how long ago was your last period?”

“Two weeks.”

“Are you late?”

“Not yet.”

You jotted it all down on the chart. “Ok, we're gonna get some blood work, start you on an IV and get a urine sample in-”

The door swung open and you and Maleek who was helping on the case looked up.

John stood there, breathless like he'd ran the ten or so paces it took to get here.

“John?” you asked.

“You love me?”

The world stilled. There was suddenly nothing but you and him. Him looking at you astonished, like he couldn't believe it. At a loss of words from the very idea.

“I'm sorry- what?”

He took a heavy step forward, a deep inahle seething. “You love me.”

It wasn't an accusation the second time.

You looked back to the fifteen year old and Maleek who seemed as startled as you. “Can we not- I'm with a patient-”

“It's okay, I got this,” said Maleek, stepping in the way.

And John Carter was still standing there, catching his breath and staring at you.

You, with little other choice, barged past him.

You heard Carol calling out for you as you marched around trying to find a private corner to have the dreaded confrontation.

“I'm sorry!” she called.

John was hot on your heels. “Don't apologise, I deserved to know!”

Benton had joined the crew of on lookers at the desk. “Do I want to know?” you heard him ask.

“Probably not,” Mark replied.

Exam room two was empty and you held the door open for Carter. He marched in, hands running over his hair again as he mumbled to himself. You closed the door behind, locking it and closing the blinds because you knew everyone was going to try to listen to your world crumble.

You gave yourself a two second head start in catching your breath before turning to him.

John stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, waiting. His lip tucked under his teeth. “You love me.”

“Who told you?”

“Carol,” he said. “I was so worried about you I asked if she knew what was going on but turns out everyone did. You know, I could've asked Doug, Mark, Susan, Genie, basically everyone I mean- was I the last one to know?”

“There was nothing for you to know.”

“Really?” he scoffed.

“Yes!” you snapped. “It was my feelings, you didn't need to know them!”

“Yes, I did! I needed to know!”

“Why?”

“Why? Because- because it's me!”

You groaned, frustration ripping through the tears you had cried that morning. “What does it matter, John? You don't love me!”

“Of course I love you!”

“Not in the way I love you, not like that!”

“Yes I do!” he all but screamed.

The room fell silent. You could hear the labour of his breath and the wheels and running outside the room. A trauma was called in yet nobody was rescuing you or John.

He stood there, exposed.

Yes I do!

It was the heat of the argument, you told yourself, as you shook the idea out of you. For a second you almost believed him.

John deflated, watching as you hugged yourself, as you didn't rush to him or smile at his confession. “Do you... do you think I don't love you?”

You levelled your gaze on him.

As if he could see the break of your heart through the windows to your soul he shattered.

“Oh my god. You think I don't love you?”

You lifted your shoulders in a tired shrug. “Was I supposed to believe you did? You fuck a different girl every night while I'm on the other side of the damn wall.” The words come out bitten and finally the penny dropped for John.

The sleepless nights, the times he knew you were tired, the way you hid around every corner, in every room. Slowly he fit all the pieces together and he didn't like what he was seeing.

“That wasn't- they were- they were nothing,” he stuttered.

It was your turn to scoff. “Yeah, it never sounded like nothing-”

“You have to believe me, okay, you- you have to-” he begged, rushing in front of you. His hands took yours without your offer and he held it close to him, over his chest where you could feel his racing heart by the palm of your hand. “- you can't- you have to-”

He clenched his jaw.

You waited for more. “Can't what?”

John screwed his eyes shut, uttering a curse before opening his eyes. They pleaded onto you. “You can't think they meant anything over you. You can't,” he said so definitely you almost believed him. Almost.

“You're not making sense.”

“I know- I- I know,” he said, moving closer to you. He rested his head on your shoulder and you didn't have the strength to move. There was no smell of any other girl, only your shampoo he used in his hair. You could feel the tremble of his body. “This isn't how I wanted this to go.”

You were still, like you were a bunny in the jaws of a lion.

John pulled back and you were shocked at the redness of his eyes, at the tears threatening to spill. “When I dreamt about this I dreamt roses and a better declaration,” he chuckled at himself.

“I'm glad you find this really amusing, John, but I-”

“I don't- I don't,” he said at once. But he still chuckled dryly. “I just think I've messed up my whole life and I- I don't know how to fix this.”

You weren't sure what he was saying because he couldn't be talking about whatever was going on between the two of you. Frankly, you weren't sure what was going on. There was confessions hanging in the air like dirty laundry and tears from him that you didn't know what to do with. None of it made sense.

Your brain went to the only sense it could make.

“You've ruined your life?” you asked, full of concern for him. “What? Is one of the girls pregnant?”

John swiped his hands over his face, roughly. “No. No, I've just realised I fucked everything up with you.”

You stared at him and laughed. “And that's your entire life ruined?”

Carter nodded earnestly.

He loved you? He was insisting he did. Looking at you like he did.

A fist grabbed your heart and squeezed. You counted every girl you'd met through him and tried to add it up to love. It only made your head hurt and you knew it had nothing to do with the cut.

“I can't- I can't do this right now,” you said. “I have patients. So do you.”

“Can we talk? Tonight. Can we- can we talk? Please. Back home,” he begged, voice quiet like you'd never heard him before. “Please don't leave me.”

You wanted to argue there was nothing to leave. That even if you were going to go you still had a room of things to pack and sort. “Okay, fine, tonight.”

For the rest of the day you and John avoided each other, only working side by side on traumas. It was the only clue anyone got about the two of you. Nobody had dared ask what was going on but as you threw yourself into work and John got back on the floor after a thorough self-pity party they were all smart enough to guess it didn't go well.

“So, you're talking?” asked Carol at the end of your shift as you finished passing off your charts.

“Tonight, yeah.”

“That's good, isn't it?”

You huffed, finding your bag. “He says he loves me, Carol.”

She didn't know whether to smile or not. “Yeah, I think he does.”

“So what were the girls?”

“Distractions? A bit of fun? Men don't always have to make sense. Even if they are in love,” she told you, knowing all too well the the ins and outs of men and stupid choices through Doug Ross and their famous on and off relationship. “But give him a chance, he might surprise you.”

A chance.

You were tired. The kind that came from a long shift and little sleep. The kind you'd become accustom to that it didn't shock you when you felt it knocking on your door.

Were you too tired for a chance?

A throat cleared behind you and Carol disappeared from your side.

John stood in front of you, sheepish, with a bouquet in hand. They were your favourite flowers. “For you.”

Ignoring the audience that was trying (and failing) at being subtle, you took them.

“Thank you.”

He nodded, shy, in a way you hadn't seen him be since the both of you first started in the ER.

Nobody knew what to say next.

“Can I, um, can I take you home now?”

You could have been petty and told him you'd catch the subway back. Or that you'd hail a cab but you were both going the same way and you'd end up in your living room, talking, one way or another.

The car ride was quiet with John trying to find a radio station that didn't grate on him and ended up in silence.

When he pulled up in front of your apartment building he rushed out the car like it was on fire. He pulled open your door before you got the chance and helped you with your bag and bouquet.

In the apartment it was just as un-touched as it had been in the morning.

You didn't realise until you saw it so that you'd been expecting a lingering guest.

But there was only signs of you and John.

He was watching you while he set both your things down. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, no thanks I think I should be sober for this,” you said. Amicable ground was trying to be found, keeping your voice neutral was the best you could do. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, no.”

The silence was invasive. An un-wanted guest.

You would start it, as you had with all your messed up feelings. You could finish it even if it hurt. “If you love me what were all the girls?”

John seemed to leap at the chance to defend himself. “Nothing. They were nothing, they were-” he paused, taking time to think about his next words. “They were just distractions. Meaningless. To get you out of my mind.”

“Cheap, John.” It was almost word for word what Carol said.

“Nothing I say can defend myself, I'm not trying to defend myself I'm trying to tell you the truth. I need you, and if I've ruined this I'm not letting you go without fighting.”

He approached you, giving you space and time to step back or flinch away. You didn't.

“I've loved you since I met you. Ever since you came up to me thinking I was a doctor and knew where labs were, I knew it. Love at first sight- if you think that's bullshit- I don't care because I knew it. But you made it clear, very clear you were here to be the best doctor you could be and I wanted that for you, I still do- I always will,” he said.

You remembered John years ago, tailored white coat and hopeful. You'd gone up to him because you were supposed to meet Doctor Greene in labs and had no idea where that was and he was the first person in a white coat and clipboard you'd seen.

You did twelve hours next to him that day, competing on stitches and sutures.

“You know, I had an apartment when I heard you were looking to move in with someone, cheap rent and that,” he said, laughing at himself. “I moved out of that apartment and got another one within the week with a spare room just so I could ask you to move in.”

The apartment you were stood in.

“What?”

John nodded like he knew it was ridiculous. “It worked.”

You knew the Carter family was rich beyond imagination. You'd always wondered why John insisted on a room mate when he could afford to live comfortably without one.

“When you told me you were thinking of moving in with Anna god I had a heart attack, practically begged her to back off.”

John had helped you pack your old place, had carried your stuff with care into his apartment. It had looked so much like him, so lived in you wouldn't even think to wonder how long he'd lived there. You'd never have guessed only a week till you invaded with your stuff.

“It was the closest I could have you without having you.”

“Why didn't you tell me then?” you asked.

His face screwed up like he regretted it. He did, you guessed. “Because we both get tired. We get irritable. I hate failing patients and you take on so many that you can't give yourself a minute to think during the day.”

You weren't sure if it was a compliment or not.

“We work together, we live together, take patients together I figured we'd crash and burn if I told you how I felt,” he admitted. “And- god, help me- if I had to live only being your friend it was better than living without you at all.”

But you and John had never argued. The both of you had figured out how to silently read each other. How to know when he needed space or a hug and a shoulder to cry on. He knew when you needed an extra pair of hands or to just put a stupid movie on to fall asleep too.

The nights you'd fallen asleep in his arms on the sofa and woke in your bed. The mornings where you were on and he wasn't but he was still up to get you a coffee. The days you worked close together and ignored everyone else. It all meant something else now.

“The girls were to forget,” said John. “It didn't work, hardly. All I could think about was you. And I know- I know it's wrong. I had to recite medical facts to myself just to get the thought of you out my head.”

“I thought you did that to make it last for them,” you admitted, realising now how silly it's all been.

He shook his head. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I'd rather cut off my own hands than make you cry. And I've made you cry and hurt you so just get a knife and-” he made a chopping motion, chocking on a laugh.

John wiped his tears with the back of his hand and he looked at you. “If you want to leave then leave but I can't let you go. I'll be around, I'll be really hard to get rid of.”

The both of your rooms stood behind you. Both dark. Both separate cages for the two of you.

“All I could think about when I saw you with those girls was how much they were never like me,” you spoke, quietly. “I thought you'd never... you know... think of me that way.”

John's hands were firm on your cheeks, gaining your attention. “It was always about you. You didn't deserve that, you didn't, I wish I could take it all back and tell you. But why didn't you tell me?”

Why? Because you were afraid. Knowing what you knew now it didn't seem a strong enough argument.

You laughed. “Are we stupid?”

John grinned through his own tears. He nodded, caressing your cheeks. “I think we are, I think so.”

Your foreheads leaned against each other as you laughed.

Slowly, it faded as he pressed his forehead into yours harder.

“I'm so sorry, baby.”

“I'm sorry,” you said, hands coming to hold his face, feeling the rough stubble in your palms.

“No, no, you have nothing to be sorry for, it's me, it's me,” he uttered, eyes closing. “If I've ruined this forever please tell me.”

You couldn't say he didn't have a point. Working long hours made you both difficult at times but never to each other. You couldn't say the girls wouldn't hurt you for some time more, that your insecurities weren't something you had to work on yourself.

Yet, you couldn't say you could manage without him.

“I don't think you have, no.”

John breathed out against you. “No?”

“No,” you shook your head against his. “I think if we love each other-”

“- we do, we do-”

“ -we should at least give it a try.”

“I'm not trying with you, I'm not trying- I'm doing,” John assured you, hands still moving along your cheeks, your hair, anything to hold you. “I'm not messing it up again, I'm not. I'd propose right now if you asked me to.”

You pulled back enough to stare at him seriously. “Don't.”

“Okay, okay, I won't,” he said. When he opened his eyes back at you he smirked, a twitch to his brows. “At least not today.”

There was laughter in place of tears and you knew that if you slept tonight there'd be no need to hurt. Maybe, instead, time to heal.

“Not for a long time,” you told him.

John nodded along, mockingly going along with you. “But eventually right?”

“Maybe you should kiss me before we get that far?”

The laughter died quietly. You were slowly brought into his arms as they wrapped around you, hands moving down your back without going further.

There was a gentle breeze of his warmth and the tips of his hair tickled you as he tilted his head, your own neck moving back to meet him.

It was soft and sweet. A small press of his lips like he was too scared to break you. It was your hands around his neck that brought him closer, it was his whimper that moved him on as his hands held your waist. You stayed pressing into each other, promising silent things as you did, until you both recognised the burn in your lungs for breath.

“I love you,” he said, slowly dragging his lips against yours again.

This time, you could admit to him without fear.