dr. sunshine

---

By the time she reached your apartment, the sun had dipped low, painting the city streets in muted gold and gray.

You opened the door before she could knock.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, stepping aside to let her in.

“Hey,” Dana replied, brushing her scrubs slightly as she entered. She carried the takeout like it was both a peace offering and a shield, which, in a way, it was.

You helped her set it on the small coffee table in front of the couch.

“Couch okay?” she asked, almost nervous.

You grinned. “Perfect.”

And so you sat.

Side by side.

Feet stretched out.

Takeout between you.

A movie playing quietly on the TV. Something light. Something that didn’t demand your brain—didn’t demand anything except being here, being together.

---

Dana leaned back against the couch, shoulder brushing yours. The warmth from her body seeped through, grounding you both. You passed her a forkful of noodles, she passed you a piece of sushi. The simple rhythm of eating, sharing, laughing softly at a line from the movie—it felt normal. Safe.

Almost… peaceful.

---

And then, without consciously deciding to, Dana’s hand shifted.

Subtle at first. Idle, resting on the couch arm.

But then, almost imperceptibly, it wandered lower.

Until her fingers brushed against your belly.

---

Time slowed.

Dana froze mid-chew, eyes widening slightly. Her brain screamed at her to pull back, to move, to—

But she didn’t.

Something held her there.

Something impossibly small and fragile, but impossible to ignore.

She stared down at your belly, at the subtle curve there—the life she had glimpsed on that ultrasound just days ago—and felt her chest tighten.

And then—softly, subconsciously—her fingers flexed slightly, resting there. Not pressing. Not invasive. Just… touching.

---

Your hand hovered over hers for a moment, unsure, but you didn’t move it away either.

Dana’s eyes flicked up to yours. The movie played on, oblivious, the world outside the apartment ignored.

And for a second, the chaos of the ER, the mess of schedules, the exhaustion, the fear—it all faded.

It was just you. Her. And that tiny life growing inside you.

---

Her breath hitched slightly.

She swallowed. “…I—”

But she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. Not yet.

Instead, she rested her head lightly against your shoulder, letting the simple act of closeness anchor her.

You leaned into her naturally, arms wrapping around her side. Warm. Safe. Familiar.

Her hand didn’t move.

It stayed. Hovering over your belly. Brushing it gently. Curious. Protective. Almost reverent.

And when her mind screamed at her to pull back, to be professional, to be in control—she couldn’t.

She didn’t want to.

---

You glanced down at her hand and smiled softly. “It’s okay,” you murmured. “You don’t have to move it.”

Dana’s breath hitched again, just slightly, and her lips pressed into a faint line. “…Okay,” she whispered.

And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to just be here—completely, unguardedly, with you.

The movie played. The food sat half-eaten on the table.

But none of that mattered.

“Yes!” Dana barked softly, the volume low but intense. Her jaw was tight. Her usual composure didn’t falter completely, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her. “I should have been the first to see it!”

Santos held up her hands, palms out. “Whoa, hey. Calm down. I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. Y/N asked me not to give it to you yet. She wanted to tell you herself.”

Dana exhaled slowly, trying to reign in the storm of emotions. “You’re telling me I have to wait? After all that’s happened? After everything we’ve been through?” Her voice softened slightly, but the frustration lingered. “Trinity, she could’ve at least texted me. Something.”

“I get it,” Santos said quietly, her tone unusually serious. “I’m not saying it was ideal. But she trusted me to hold onto it for her. That’s all.”

Dana’s eyes flicked down toward the nurse’s station counter, then back at Santos. Her hands twitched slightly as she tried to process it. “…Okay,” she said finally, voice tight. “Fine. But…” She let the word hang there. “I need to see it now.”

Santos hesitated, then slid the ultrasound across the counter. Dana’s hands closed around the paper immediately, almost reverently.

She looked down.

Black and white shapes, grainy and tiny, but unmistakable.

Her breath caught.

Her eyes widened slightly, heart skipping a beat. For a moment, the ER, the beeping monitors, the bustling chaos—it all faded.

That small, moving shape on the paper… that was her baby. Her unborn child.

Dana’s hand trembled slightly as she lifted the image closer, scanning every curve, every shadow, trying to understand that this was real. That this little life was hers, too.

She felt a tug in her chest, a warmth she couldn’t name. A sense of awe, of wonder, that caught her completely off guard.

Santos watched quietly, letting her have the moment.

Dana blinked a few times, then exhaled slowly. “…It’s… real,” she whispered, almost to herself.

“Yes,” Santos said softly. “It is.”

Dana’s hand lingered on the paper, tracing the tiny outline with her thumb, as if she could connect with it through the paper itself. “It’s so small…” Her voice cracked slightly. “So… perfect.”

Santos gave her a small, encouraging nod. “Y/N wanted you to see it. And now you have.”

Dana’s eyes flicked up to meet Santos’, and for the first time since walking in, her expression softened—more vulnerable than anyone usually saw. “…Thank you,” she said quietly. “I… I needed to see it. Needed to know it’s really there.”

Santos didn’t say anything. Just nodded. Sometimes words weren’t necessary.

Dana slipped the ultrasound into her pocket carefully, almost as if it was fragile. She straightened, drawing a deep, steadying breath. “…I just… I don’t know what to do with all of this yet,” she admitted, softer now. “But seeing it… changes everything.”

Santos smiled faintly. “It’s a start.”

Dana exhaled again, more slowly this time, letting a fraction of the weight lift. She tucked the image closer, letting herself feel a spark of something she hadn’t allowed in months—hope.

---

Dana Evans stopped a few feet in front of you, her chest rising slightly faster than usual, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to piece something together.

“You had an appointment,” she said again.

Not accusing.

Just… landing on it.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

A beat.

“You didn’t tell me.”

There it was.

Not anger.

But not nothing, either.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you said quickly. “You were working and it was last minute and I just—I thought it’d be easier to just go and then tell you after—”

Dana’s jaw tightened.

Not harsh.

Just enough to tell you she was holding something back.

“You thought it’d be easier,” she repeated.

It wasn’t mocking.

If anything, it sounded like she was trying to understand it.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you added, softer now. “It was just the first appointment.”

The second the words left your mouth—

You knew that was the wrong thing to say.

Dana’s expression shifted.

Subtle.

But clear.

“Just,” she echoed quietly.

You winced. “That’s not—I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” she said.

But the way she said it—

She knew what you meant.

And what you didn’t.

---

A breeze cut through the space between you, but it didn’t ease the tension.

If anything, it made it sharper.

“You should’ve called,” Dana said.

Not loud.

Not harsh.

Just… steady.

And somehow, that made it hit harder.

“I know,” you admitted.

“Or texted.”

“I know.”

Another pause.

Dana looked away for a second, running a hand over the back of her neck like she was trying to reset.

Trying to keep this from becoming something bigger than it already was.

“I’m not saying that because I need control over everything,” she added. “I’m saying it because I wanted to be there.”

That—

That landed.

Right in your chest.

You looked at her, really looked this time.

And there it was.

Not anger.

Not frustration.

Something quieter.

Something that looked a lot like… hurt.

“I didn’t think—” you started, then stopped.

Because the truth was—

You hadn’t thought about that part enough.

“I know,” Dana said again, softer now. “You weren’t trying to leave me out.”

“No,” you said immediately. “I wasn’t.”

“I get that.”

A beat.

“But it still happened.”

---

Silence settled in.

Heavier this time.

Not because either of you were shutting down—

But because you were both actually feeling it.

---

“I saw it,” you said quietly.

Dana’s eyes flicked back to yours. “Yeah?”

You nodded, your grip tightening slightly on your keys.

“It’s… small,” you said, almost like you were still trying to process it. “Like, really small.”

A faint shift in her expression.

Curiosity.

Something softer.

“Yeah?” she asked.

You nodded again. “Yeah.”

A pause.

Then—

“I have a picture.”

Dana went still.

“…You do?”

You hesitated.

Because now—

Now came the part you couldn’t undo.

“I gave it to Trinity.”

There it was.

The moment.

Dana blinked once.

Then again.

Slow.

“…You what?”

“I asked her to give it to you,” you said quickly. “I just—I didn’t know how to—”

Dana exhaled sharply through her nose, looking off to the side for a second.

Not angry.

But definitely… processing.

“Of course you did,” she muttered.

You winced. “I was going to tell you—”

“I know,” she said, cutting in—not harsh, but firm. “I know you were.”

Another pause.

Then she looked back at you.

“And she didn’t tell me,” Dana added.

You hesitated. “I asked her not to.”

That earned a quiet, almost disbelieving huff.

“Yeah. That tracks.”

---

For a second, it almost felt like she might laugh.

But she didn’t.

Because this wasn’t funny.

Not really.

---

“I just didn’t want it to be a whole thing,” you said, quieter now.

Dana’s gaze softened slightly at that.

“It already is a whole thing,” she said.

You let out a breath. “Yeah. I’m starting to realize that.”

---

Another silence.

But this one—

This one didn’t feel as sharp.

More like something settling into place.

Not perfect.

Not fixed.

But… understood.

---

“Was everything okay?” Dana asked after a moment.

There it was.

The shift.

From hurt—

To concern.

Immediate.

Instinctive.

You nodded. “Yeah. Everything looked good.”

Her shoulders dropped slightly.

Relief.

She didn’t try to hide it.

“Good,” she said quietly.

---

A beat passed.

Then—

“Do you still have the picture?” she asked.

You shook your head. “No. They only gave me one.”

Dana nodded slowly, like she was filing that away.

“I’ll get it from Santos,” she said.

You huffed a small laugh. “Good luck with that.”

That almost pulled a smile from her.

Almost.

---

Another pause.

Then—

“Next time,” Dana said, more gently now, “you call me.”

You met her eyes.

There was no edge to it this time.

No frustration.

Just… something steady.

Something real.

“…Okay,” you said.

And this time—

It didn’t feel like a placeholder.

---

Dana studied you for a second longer.

Then nodded once.

“Okay.”

There it was again.

But now—

It felt different.

---

You shifted your weight slightly, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

“You left work,” you said, realizing it.

Dana glanced back toward the hospital. “Yeah.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I know.”

A small pause.

Then—

“I wanted to.”

---

That warmth hit again.

Unexpected.

Unsteady.

But there.

---

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Didn’t need to.

Because even with the missteps—

The missed call.

The wrong timing.

The everything—

You were still here.

Both of you.

Trying.

---

“Come on,” Dana said after a second, nodding toward your car. “I’ll walk you.”

You blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” she said again.

A faint hint of something softer tugged at her expression.

“But I’m already out here.”

---

You didn’t argue.

---

And as the two of you walked side by side through the parking lot—

Not quite touching.

Not quite distant—

It didn’t feel perfect.

But it felt…

Rounding the nurses’ station, your bag slung over one shoulder, your girlfriends’ dangling off the other, you reached Dana and plucked her badge off her scrub top.

“Come on.” You pocketed the ornament of cards in exchange for her purse. “I’m taking you home.”

The charge nurse pried her eyes away from the computer screen and scoffed, an incredulous but tired expression on her face.

“Thank you,” Lena interrupted from behind you. “I’ve been trying to get her to leave for the past ten minutes.”

“I’m right here you know.” Dana raised a brow at both of you as she stood up. She swiped back her badge with ease but made no move to re-clip it to her collar. “I gave you my locker code for emergencies,” she said to you, lowering her voice.

“Everything’s an emergency around here, babe,” you quipped, matching her discretion.

The two of you were keeping your fairly new relationship under wraps, not wanting to become the subject of the department’s gossip mill. You knew Ahmad’s betting pool would run rampant and Princess and Perlah would have an absolute field day.

“Handoffs all finished?” You turned to Lena, who was now occupying Dana’s seat. You could see the night shift nurse had logged Dana out, and you gave her a small smile in appreciation.

“We’re all good here,” Lena confirmed before leveling her counterpart with a knowing look. “Go home.”

“Come on,” you repeated as you subtly wrapped your arm around Dana’s waist, pulling her towards you. “I’m driving.”

Looking between you and Lena, Dana huffed, but let herself be dragged around the nurses’ station. “Can’t believe you two are ganging up on me.”

“It’s for your own good,” you whispered, causing her to chuckle.

“Hold down the fort.” Dana turned back to Lena and waved.

“Always do,” the other charge nurse chirped, returning the wave.

As the two of you stepped out into the cool Pittsburgh night, the crisp air sobering, you practically felt the tension leave Dana’s body as she melted into your side. You knew there was nothing to be said in the moment, the shift still clinging to the both of you, so you simply pressed a kiss to the side of her head and guided her to your car.

You turned on the radio, the soft hum of whatever current hit was popular filling the comfortable silence. Every couple of stop lights, you stole glances at your girlfriend, who was just staring out the window. You knew it wasn’t anger or guilt gripping her body, but pure exhaustion. Placing your hand on the gear shift, you reached out to her, an offer of comfort for her to take if she wanted.

A few moments later, you felt her slender hand atop yours. You looked at her out of the corner of your eye, but her eyes were closed, so you simply ran your thumb over the back of her hand and pressed on the gas as the light turned green.

The drive to your place was short, normal commute hour long passed. As she felt the car slow and come to a stop, Dana opened her eyes, frowning when she looked out the window.

“This isn’t my place.”

“How astute of you,” you teased with an easy smile. Noticing the flash of hesitancy in her eyes, you softened. “Let me take care of you, D.”

Sighing, Dana closed her eyes again and squeezed your hand that was still in hers. “I expect pancakes tomorrow morning.”

You chuckled and brought your interlaced hands up to your mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles. “Of course. I even have blueberries.”

Dana let out a sound that almost sounded like a chuckle and her eyes lightened. You took that as a win. Grabbing her bag from her feet and yours from the back seat, you stepped out of your car and quickly made your way around the hood to open her door. You held out your hand for her to take, and this time Dana laughed for real.

“And they say chivalry is dead.”

“Only for the best,” you replied smoothly, helping her out of the car.

The two of you dragged your feet up the stairs to your apartment, tired but eager to get out of your scrubs and into bed. As you unlocked and pushed open the door, Dana kicked aside a pair of shoes that were clearly too big to be yours.

“Roommates?” she asked quietly.

“Gone,” you replied with a yawn, pulling her straight towards your bedroom. To your fairness, your roommates were supposed to be gone; Trinity told you earlier she’d be staying at Garcia’s and Dennis had mentioned he was working a double.

As you entered your room, you dropped your bags on the floor by the door and rounded your bed to flick on the light. “Here.” You reaching into the adjoining bathroom to grab a spare towel and handed it to her. “Take a shower.”

“You saying I stink?” Dana joked but held out her hand nonetheless.

“Yes,” you deadpanned, taking a step towards her. “The antiseptic smell is ruining the mood.”

“Oh?” She lifted a brow and pulled you closer as she accepted the towel. “And what mood would that be?”

“The ‘I want to be in bed sleeping and cuddling my girlfriend’ mood,” you sassed.

Dana let out a low laugh, her eyes drifting down to your lips. “Join me?”

You hummed and closed the space between you, kissing her gently. “Tempting,” you mumbled against her lips. “But somebody has to make sure you eat.”

You gave her one more quick peck before gently pushing her towards the bathroom with a playful slap to her behind.

“Alright, alright,” Dana chuckled, shuffling her feet onto the tiled floor and shutting the door behind her.

She turned the faucet on before peeling off her scrubs, letting them pool at her feet. Stepping out of her clothes and into the steaming water, Dana sighed and closed her eyes as she braced herself against the shower wall. A bad shift wasn’t uncommon in the ED, and Dana was no stranger to this empty feeling, but that didn’t make it any easier.

The warm water helped calm her anxieties and soothe her aching muscles, and as she washed her hair—the scent of your shampoo enveloping her—Dana felt the day slowly rolling off her. You were right. She needed this.

Turning the water off, Dana stepped out and wrapped the spare towel you’d so graciously given her around her body. When she reentered your bedroom, Dana felt her chest swell. You had left out your old oversized Hopkins t-shirt for her, the one she’d worn the first time she’d spent the night and had off-handedly mentioned was criminally soft. She fondly shook her head at the sight of it. She couldn’t believe you’d remembered.

Slipping it over her head, Dana let the warm fabric drown her, the shirt dropping to her mid thigh. She then wrapped the towel around her hair before making her way out to the kitchen.

You were standing by the stove when she entered, your scrub top discarded, leaving you in your dark blue t-shirt, sleeves rolled up to your elbows.

“Grilled cheese?” Dana wrapped her arms around your midsection and rested her chin on your shoulder. “Fancy.”

“I’ll have you know there’s like seven dollars worth of Jarlsberg in here,” you scoffed with mock-offense as you leaned back into her embrace.

“It’s eight dollars, you nerd,” she laughed, pinching your waist.

“And yet you still got the reference,” you retorted and swatted away her offending hand. “Go sit down. Yours is on the table with the soup.”

“So bossy,” Dana mumbled as she unraveled her arms from you and sat down at the round wooden table. Along the way, she discarded her hair towel, hanging it on the back of the empty chair, letting her wet hair fall onto her neck.

Rolling your eyes fondly, you flipped the sandwich onto a plate and turned off the stove before joining your girlfriend.

“Dinner is served, my lovely lady.” You wore a silly grin as you took the seat next to her.

Despite her earlier teasing and your playful tone, Dana returned a sincere smile. “Thank you, hon.”

Sensing the weight in her words, you softened. “Always,” you replied easily. “Now eat.”

The two of you ate in silence, shoveling the food down into your eager stomachs. You weren’t sure the last time you’d eaten, and you could only vague recall seeing a half-eaten protein bar next to Dana’s computer earlier this afternoon. There was no awkwardness to the lack of conversation, both you of simply content to be in the comfort of each other’s presence.

As you finished your last bites, Dana’s plate and bowl already empty, you reached for the dishes and moved to stand up but were stopped by a hand on your shoulder.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart. I got this.” She took the stacked plates and bowls from your hand, giving you a stern look as if daring you to challenge her. “Go take a shower.”

“Now who’s bossy?” You muttered under your breath but nonetheless followed her directions. As you headed back towards your bedroom, you called over your shoulder, “Just throw them in the dishwasher.”

“Shower,” Dana responded pointedly like she was back in the hospital throwing out commands, but you knew it was her way of reassuring you. She got this.

After you quickly rinsed off, too tired to bother washing your hair, you slipped into a t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts. As you were brushing your teeth, the door to the bathroom open.

“You still got a toothbrush here for me?” Dana asked, a lazy smirk tugging on her lips.

“Right there.” Your words came out garbled but you pointed to the ceramic cup that held a blue toothbrush.

As you watched her brush her teeth, leaning against the counter, you felt a warmth flood your body. There was a certain ease and domesticity of it all that comforted you. You could get used to this.

After you both finished getting ready for the night, finally, you flicked off the bathroom light and pulled her to bed. “Come on. I need sleep.”

You climbed into bed, your muscles thanking you for a break, and Dana slipped under the covers next to you. Rolling over, you wrapped your arm around her waist and pressed a soft kiss behind her ear. “I got you, darling.”

“I still expect pancakes in the morning,” Dana murmured, instinctively melting into your touch.

But you didn’t respond, your eyes already closed and your breathing evening out. You were asleep, and Dana soon followed.

The next morning, Dana awoke to your arm still cocooned around her body as the light of dawn leaked in through the cracks of the curtain. She glanced at the clock on your bedside table and saw there was still about fifteen minutes before you usually got up. Slowly, Dana slipped out of bed, careful not to wake you, as she went to start the coffee.

As sleep still clouded her mind, Dana didn’t notice the hushed whispers coming from the kitchen. But when she rounded the corner from the hallway and stepped into the main area of the apartment, she was met with two pairs of wide eyes and the harsh sound of a mug dropping.

“Dana?”

Eyes widening, suddenly wide awake, she saw Trinity and Dennis staring at her like a fish out of water. Dana was now very conscious of the fact that she was clad in only an oversized t-shirt and her underwear.

She yelled out your name.

When you woke up to the sound of ceramic breaking along with your last name being shouted from the other room, you knew something was wrong. Then you saw the other side of your bed was empty, and you realized.

“Oh, shit,” you cursed, throwing the sheets off of you and scrambling out of bed.

As you stepped into the kitchen, three pairs of eyes staring at you for answers, you smiled sheepishly. “Good morning.”

“Santos and Whitaker are your roommates?” Dana gave you an exasperated look.

“Yes,” you said it like a question, as if that would keep you out of trouble.

“You didn’t think to tell me that?”

“It may have—” you winced at your own mistake— “slipped my mind.”

Dana huffed, and you could tell she was both annoyed and slightly embarrassed by the current predicament. You’d have a lot of groveling to do later.

“And what’s..this?” Trinity gestured between you and the charge nurse, unsuccessfully fighting off a smirk.

“We’re, um,” you stuttered and scratched the back of your neck, “kind of dating?”

Trinity’s face broke out into a shit-eating grin.

“Kind of dating?” Dana snorted, amused by the way your whole face had flushed pink.

You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling in your chest. This was not how you imagined this going.

“Okay, yes.” You leveled your gaze at both of your roommates. “We’ve been dating for about three months.”

Dennis’s eyes widened, and you could see the gears churning in Trinity’s head.

“Wait, that means when you were rambling on and on—”

“Okay.” You interrupted Trinity, clapping your hands as your cheeks burned impossibly warmer. “Who wants pancakes?”

You slid past your girlfriend, quickly pecking her cheek, purposefully ignoring her now smug smirk. As you nudged Dennis away from the refridgerator and pulled out the milk and eggs, you heard Trinity groan.

“Great, now I owe Perlah thirty bucks.”

“What is my life,” you mumbled under your breath as you dropped your head against the fridge door.

“This one’s on you, hon,” Dana whispered into your ear as she scooted by you.

---

You stared at your phone, thumb hovering over Dana’s contact.

Appointment — 2:30 PM

You hadn’t meant to schedule it during her shift.

It just… happened.

Earliest opening. You took it without thinking.

And now—

Now it felt too late to change it.

You could text her.

You should text her.

But the thought of interrupting her in the middle of a shift—pulling her out of that focused, controlled space she lived in at the hospital—

It made your chest tighten.

“She’s working,” you muttered to yourself. “She’s busy. It’s fine.”

It was just one appointment.

You could handle one appointment on your own.

---

The waiting room smelled faintly like disinfectant and something floral that didn’t quite cover it.

You sat with your hands folded in your lap, bouncing your knee slightly without realizing it.

Voices murmured around you. A TV played quietly in the corner.

Normal.

Everything felt normal.

Which somehow made your nerves worse.

---

“Y/N?”

You looked up quickly.

“That’s me.”

The nurse smiled gently. “Come on back.”

---

The exam room was smaller than you expected.

Colder, too.

You sat on the edge of the table, fingers gripping the paper lining slightly as you waited.

This was real.

This was—

The door opened again.

“Hi,” the doctor greeted, warm but efficient. “How are you feeling?”

You gave a small shrug. “Okay. Nervous.”

“That’s normal.”

You nodded, even though your heart was racing.

---

“Alright,” the doctor said after a few routine questions. “We’re just going to take a look, make sure everything’s progressing the way we expect.”

You swallowed. “Okay.”

The word came out softer than you meant it to.

---

You weren’t sure what you expected.

A feeling. A sign. Something big.

But when the screen flickered on—

At first, it just looked like shapes.

Blurry. Hard to understand.

Then—

“There,” the doctor said gently, pointing.

Your breath caught.

“Oh.”

It was small.

So small.

But it was there.

Real.

---

A knock sounded at the door.

You barely registered it.

“Come in,” the doctor called.

The door opened—

And you turned your head just enough to see—

“Trinity?”

Trinity Santos froze in the doorway, clearly not expecting to actually catch you mid-appointment.

“Well,” she said, recovering quickly, “this is one way to skip work.”

You let out a shaky breath, half-laughing despite everything. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you,” she replied, stepping inside. “You didn’t text Dana.”

Guilt flickered immediately.

“I didn’t want to bother her,” you said quietly.

Santos gave you a look—but it softened when she glanced at the screen.

And saw.

Her expression shifted instantly.

“…Oh.”

Yeah.

That about summed it up.

---

She moved a little closer, standing near your shoulder now.

Not saying much.

Didn’t need to.

Because the moment kind of spoke for itself.

---

A few minutes later, the appointment wrapped up.

Vitals good. Everything where it should be.

You barely processed half of it.

Your mind was still stuck on the image burned into your memory.

---

Back in the hallway, you clutched the printed ultrasound in your hand like it might disappear if you loosened your grip.

Santos leaned against the wall beside you, arms crossed—but her usual sharp edge was dulled.

“You okay?” she asked.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

A beat.

Then—

“Don’t tell her.”

Santos blinked. “What?”

“Dana,” you clarified. “Don’t tell her I came without her.”

“Y/N—”

“Please,” you said quickly. “I just—I didn’t want to mess with her shift, and now it’s done, and I’ll tell her myself, I just—” You exhaled shakily. “Not like this.”

Santos studied you.

Long enough to make you nervous.

Then—

“…Alright,” she said.

Relief hit fast. “Thank you.”

“But you are telling her,” she added.

“I know.”

“You better.”

“I will.”

---

You looked down at the ultrasound again.

Then back at her.

“…Can you give this to her?”

Santos raised an eyebrow. “You just said you wanted to tell her yourself.”

“I do,” you said. “I just—” You hesitated. “I want her to have it.”

Something in your voice made Santos pause.

Then she nodded, taking the photo carefully.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ll make sure she gets it.”

---

The parking lot was quieter than usual.

Late afternoon sun stretching long shadows across the pavement.

You walked slowly, keys in hand, your mind still catching up to everything that had just happened.

You should text her.

You knew you should.

But every time you thought about what to say—

Nothing felt right.

---

“Y/N!”

Your heart stopped.

You froze mid-step.

That voice—

You turned slowly.

And there she was.

Dana Evans stood a few rows over, still in her scrubs, eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your stomach drop.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

She was supposed to be at work.

Your mind raced.

Santos.

The ultrasound.

Oh no.

---

Dana closed the distance quickly.

Not rushed.

But purposeful.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, breath slightly uneven—not from exertion. From something else.

Concern.

Confusion.

Maybe both.

You swallowed. “I—”

Your voice caught.

Because now—

There was no avoiding it.

---

Dana’s gaze flicked briefly to your hands.

Then back to your face.

“…You had an appointment,” she said.

Not a question.

A realization.

---

And just like that—

---

You stared at your phone, rereading the message for what had to be the tenth time.

Trin: She’s outside. Smoke break. If you’re gonna do this, now’s your window.

Your stomach dropped.

Of course she would phrase it like that.

Your window.

Like this was some kind of timed opportunity you could miss if you hesitated too long.

Which—knowing Trinity Santos—it probably was.

You exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down your face.

“Okay,” you muttered. “Okay.”

Because this wasn’t out of nowhere.

Not really.

---

A week ago—

You’d been sitting on your bed, knees pulled to your chest, phone pressed to your ear.

“I think I’m keeping it.”

The words had come out quieter than you expected.

But once they were out—

They felt… right.

Not easy.

Definitely not simple.

But right.

On the other end of the line, Santos had gone quiet for a second.

“…Okay,” she said finally.

You huffed. “Wow. You and her really love that word.”

“That’s because it covers a lot,” she shot back. Then, softer— “Are you sure?”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

A pause.

Then—

“Alright,” Santos said. “Then we figure it out.”

And she meant it.

She always did.

---

Now—

A week later—

You were standing across the street from the hospital, heart racing like you were about to walk into something you couldn’t walk back out of.

Because you were.

Again.

Only this time, you knew what you were going to say.

Which somehow made it worse.

---

Your phone buzzed again.

Trin: Don’t overthink it.

You immediately typed back:

You: Too late.

Three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then—

Trin: She’s by the side entrance. Blue bench.

You looked up.

And there it was.

The side entrance you hadn’t noticed before.

A little out of the way. Less traffic. Less noise.

Of course that’s where she’d go.

---

Your feet moved before your brain could catch up.

Across the street.

Down the sidewalk.

Closer.

Closer.

And then—

You saw her.

Dana Evans sat on the bench, elbows resting on her knees, a cigarette burning between her fingers.

Her posture was different than it was inside.

Less rigid.

Still controlled—but looser. Like she let herself drop the weight just a little when no one was watching.

She stared out ahead, lost in thought.

Didn’t notice you.

Not yet.

Your steps slowed.

Because suddenly—

This felt real in a way it hadn’t before.

This wasn’t a hallway confrontation.

This wasn’t rushed or chaotic.

This was intentional.

And that made your chest tighten.

---

You stopped a few feet away.

“…Hey.”

Dana’s head turned instantly.

Her expression shifted the second she saw you—surprise first, then something softer underneath it.

“Hey,” she said, straightening slightly.

You glanced down at the cigarette, then back at her. “Didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t,” she replied.

You raised a brow.

She held your gaze for a second, then added, “Not usually.”

“…Bad day?”

A quiet huff left her. “Something like that.”

You nodded, stepping a little closer—but not too close.

There was still that space between you.

Unspoken.

Uncertain.

---

“You okay?” Dana asked after a moment, her tone shifting—more attentive now.

You nodded automatically. “Yeah. I mean—yeah.”

She didn’t look convinced.

But she didn’t push.

Instead, she tapped the cigarette lightly against the edge of the bench, eyes flicking back to you.

“You didn’t come all the way here just to ask about my questionable coping mechanisms,” she said.

A small, nervous smile tugged at your lips. “No. I didn’t.”

Silence settled for a second.

Not uncomfortable.

Just… waiting.

---

“I told Trinity,” you said finally.

Dana’s posture shifted slightly at that. “Yeah?”

“Last week.”

“And?”

You took a breath.

This was it.

No blurting it out in a crowded ER.

No panic.

Just… saying it.

“I’m keeping it.”

The words landed softer this time.

But they hit just as hard.

---

Dana didn’t respond right away.

Her gaze dropped briefly—to the ground, to the cigarette in her hand—before she crushed it out against the metal edge of the bench.

Buying time.

That familiar habit.

Then she looked back up at you.

And this time—

There was no distance.

No hospital wall between you.

Just her.

“…Okay,” she said.

You let out a breath, a small laugh slipping through. “There it is again.”

“Yeah,” she admitted quietly.

But she didn’t stop there this time.

Her jaw tightened slightly, like she was choosing her next words more carefully.

“You’re sure,” she said—not questioning. Just confirming.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

A beat.

Then—

Dana leaned back slightly, exhaling through her nose.

Processing.

Not shutting down.

Just… taking it in.

---

“Alright,” she said after a moment.

Your chest tightened again. “That’s still very vague.”

“I know,” she said, almost apologetic. “I’m working on it.”

That softened something in you.

“Take your time,” you said quietly.

Her eyes flicked up at that.

Something about your tone.

Something steady.

---

“I meant what I said,” Dana continued. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, slower this time. “I remember.”

“And I still mean it.”

There was more weight behind it now.

Because now there was a decision attached.

A future.

Not just a possibility.

---

A breeze moved through the space between you, light but enough to break the stillness.

Cars passed somewhere in the distance.

Inside the hospital, everything kept moving like normal.

But out here—

It felt like time had slowed just enough for this moment to exist on its own.

---

“I don’t expect you to have everything figured out,” you said after a second. “I don’t either.”

Dana huffed faintly. “Good.”

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

Then—

“But I wanted to tell you in person,” you added. “Not… like last time.”

That earned the smallest hint of a smile.

“Yeah,” she said. “This is better.”

---

You shifted your weight slightly, glancing at the bench.

“Can I—?”

Dana moved her hand immediately, giving you space.

“Yeah.”

You sat beside her.

Not too close.

But not far either.

---

For a minute, neither of you spoke.

You just sat there.

Side by side.

Letting the reality of it settle in without forcing it into words.

---

“…We’re really doing this,” you said quietly.

Dana let out a slow breath beside you.

“Yeah,” she replied.

Not scared.

Not overwhelmed.

Just honest.

---

And somehow—

Jealous!Baran Al-Hashimi who finds herself trailing after you the next time she sees you heading toward that patient's bay, even when it's not her case. And when you have the nerve to look surprised, she coolly reminds you that she is the attending on shift and is therefore responsible for patient oversight.

Jealous!Baran Al-Hashimi who immediately regrets it, because up close the flirting is even worse. Your patient is throwing you lingering looks and words filled with implications and hope and completely ignoring Baran's presence at all.

Jealous!Baran Al-Hashimi who has to physically reign herself in when the patient touches you again as she thanks you.

Jealous!Baran Al-Hashimi who does something both impulsive and deeply uncharacteristic when she moves to pass by you, both hands settling on either side of your waist to hold you steady, leaning just close enough to mumble "excuse me, Eshgham" in acknowledgement.

Jealous!Baran Al-Hashimi who feels you go still in surprise beneath her hand and has to force herself not to smile triumphantly.

Jealous!Baran Al-Hashimi who notices the patient taking notice of the change in the air, her smile faltering on her face as she looks between the two of you.

Jealous!Baran Al-Hashimi who does not wait for you out in the hallway as she exits the curtain. By the time you follow her out, she’s already halfway down the hallway, every inch of her back to the composed attending everyone knows.

Jealous!Baran Al-Hashimi who doesn’t say another word to you as she leaves you blushing and stunned at her total 180 - which of course is when you notice Dana watching from the nurses’ station over the rim of her glasses.

Jealous!Baran Al-Hashimi who has apparently not been nearly as discreet as she thought, because Dana’s expression is pure knew it, topped off with an eyebrow arched high enough to be felt from across the department.

Jealous!Baran Al-Hashimi who says nothing about it afterward and offers no explanation, because she doesn’t need to. The message was received, loud and clear. And the permanent smirk on her face for the rest of the shift tells you that you’ll be getting a very firm reminder of who you belong to later at home.

Not intrusive.

Just… present.

“You should eat,” she said after a moment.

You blinked, pulled out of your thoughts. “I am eating.”

“You’ve moved the same piece of food around your plate three times.”

“…I’m thinking.”

“I can tell.”

There wasn’t any judgment in her voice. If anything, there was something quieter. Softer.

You let out a small breath and finally took a bite.

It grounded you more than you expected.

Warm. Real. Simple.

Not like anything else about today.

“…This is actually really good,” you admitted.

Dana shrugged slightly, like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s basic.”

“It’s better than cereal.”

That earned the faintest hint of a smile.

“Low bar,” she said.

“Still counts.”

---

Silence slipped back in—but it wasn’t as sharp now.

You ate slower this time, actually tasting it. Letting your body catch up to everything your brain had been sprinting through all day.

Dana didn’t rush you.

Didn’t push.

She ate too—methodical, quiet, like she was used to grabbing meals in the middle of chaos and not thinking much about them.

For a while, that’s all it was.

Just two people at a table.

Eating.

Breathing.

Existing in the same space without trying to solve everything all at once.

---

“You cook a lot?” you asked after a few minutes, mostly to fill the quiet.

Dana shook her head slightly. “Not really.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I know enough to get by,” she said. “Comes in handy when I forget to eat all day.”

You glanced at her. “Which happens a lot?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“…More than it should,” she admitted.

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“No?”

“You seem like the kind of person who takes care of everyone else first.”

Dana’s gaze flicked up to yours.

Held it.

“…Occupational hazard,” she said lightly—but there was truth underneath it.

You nodded, picking at your food again.

“Still,” you added, quieter, “someone should be making sure you eat too.”

Something shifted in her expression at that.

Subtle.

But there.

“I manage,” she said.

You didn’t push.

---

Another stretch of quiet followed—but it felt… easier now.

Less like you were waiting for the next hard thing to be said.

More like you were both catching your breath between them.

Your eyes drifted back to her without really meaning to.

She looked different here.

Not because she was trying to.

But because she wasn’t on.

At the hospital, everything about her had been controlled—focused, sharp, locked into place.

Here—

She was still composed. Still steady.

But there were cracks.

Exhaustion in the way her shoulders sat a little lower.

Tension she wasn’t actively hiding.

It made her feel more real.

More reachable.

---

“You’re staring,” Dana said, not looking up from her plate.

You startled slightly. “I am not—”

“You are.”

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

That got another small flicker of a smile.

“What?” she asked.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “You’re different here.”

That made her pause.

“Different how?”

“Less…” You searched for the right word. “Untouchable.”

Dana let out a quiet breath through her nose. “That’s not usually the word people go with.”

“What do they go with?”

“Intimidating.”

You tilted your head. “You are that too.”

She huffed faintly. “Good to know.”

“But not right now,” you added.

Her eyes lifted to yours again.

And this time, she held the look a second longer.

“…No,” she said quietly. “Not right now.”

---

Something about that made your chest tighten.

Not in a bad way.

Just… unfamiliar.

You looked back down at your plate, taking another bite just to give yourself something to do.

Because if you stayed in that moment too long, you might start overthinking it.

And you were already doing enough of that.

---

“Hey,” Dana said after a bit.

You looked up.

“You don’t have to figure everything out tonight.”

Your shoulders dropped slightly, tension you hadn’t even realized you were holding loosening just a little.

“I know,” you said. “I just—my brain won’t shut up.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I get that.”

A beat passed.

Then—

“One step at a time,” she added.

There it was again.

You couldn’t help it—you smiled a little.

“Okay.”

Dana raised an eyebrow.

You sighed. “I’m not even gonna comment on it this time.”

“Smart choice.”

---

The rest of the meal went slower.

Easier.

You talked more—but not about the big, overwhelming things.

Small things.

Where you grew up.

Random stories.

The kind of conversation that didn’t carry the weight of everything else hanging between you.

And somehow—

That helped more than anything.

---

By the time you both finished eating, the tension hadn’t disappeared.

But it had softened.

Shifted into something you could actually sit with instead of being crushed under.

Dana gathered the plates without asking, moving toward the sink like it was automatic.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, standing halfway.

“I know.”

“You cooked.”

“And now I’m cleaning,” she replied simply.

You watched her for a second.

Then sat back down.

Because arguing with her about it felt pointless.

---

Water ran quietly in the sink.

The normalcy of it felt strange.

Comforting.

Like for a few minutes, the world had narrowed down to something manageable.

Something small.

Something you could breathe in.

---

When Dana turned back around, drying her hands on a towel, she didn’t immediately sit.

She leaned lightly against the counter instead, looking at you.

Not expectant.

Not pushing.

Just… there.

“We’ll figure this out,” she said.

Not a question.

Not a promise she couldn’t keep.

Just something steady.

Something real.

You held her gaze.

“…Yeah,” you said quietly.

And for now—

She looked… human.

Not untouchable. Not perfectly in control.

Just tired.

“…Can I come in?” she asked.

Not a demand.

Not even confident.

Just… careful.

You hesitated.

Not because you didn’t want her there—but because you weren’t sure what version of this conversation you were about to get.

Hospital Dana?

Or the one from that night?

“…Yeah,” you said finally, stepping back.

She nodded once, quietly, and walked past you.

---

Your apartment felt smaller with her in it.

Not in a bad way.

Just… fuller.

Dana paused just inside, taking a second to look around like she was grounding herself—like she needed to be sure this was real and not just another extension of her shift.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Neither of you spoke right away.

Then—

“I’m sorry.”

You blinked. “What?”

Dana ran a hand over the back of her neck, exhaling slowly. “For earlier. At the hospital.”

That wasn’t what you expected.

“I didn’t handle that well,” she continued. “I know that.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back slightly. “You told me to stop talking.”

“I did,” she admitted. “Because if I didn’t, you were about to tell half my department my personal life in real time.”

“…Yeah,” you muttered. “That wasn’t exactly the plan.”

A corner of her mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close.

Then it faded.

“I wasn’t trying to shut you down,” she said more seriously. “I just… needed control of the situation.”

That tracked.

Of course it did.

She was her.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I figured.”

A beat passed.

Then another.

Neither of you quite knew how to bridge the gap.

So Dana did what she always did when things got complicated—

She focused on the facts.

“You’re sure?” she asked again, gentler this time.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“How far along?”

“A week. Maybe a little more.”

Dana inhaled slowly, processing.

You could practically see the gears turning—clinical, methodical, the way someone trained to assess situations under pressure would.

But this wasn’t a patient.

This was you.

And that made it different.

“…Okay,” she said again, softer now.

You let out a small, frustrated laugh. “You really like that word.”

Dana huffed faintly. “It’s a good word.”

“It’s a vague word.”

“It’s a buying time word.”

That—

That actually made you pause.

“…Oh.”

She met your eyes.

“Yeah.”

---

The tension shifted slightly after that.

Not gone.

But… less sharp.

More real.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you admitted after a moment. “I didn’t even know if you’d—remember me.”

Dana didn’t hesitate. “I remember you.”

Your chest tightened a little at how immediate that was.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was steady, certain. “That wasn’t… forgettable.”

Heat crept up your neck despite everything.

“Good to know,” you mumbled.

Another pause.

Then—

“Why didn’t you call?” she asked.

You blinked. “I—what?”

“I gave you my number,” Dana said, brow furrowing slightly. “Before we left.”

You stared at her.

“…You did?”

Now it was her turn to pause.

“You don’t remember?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

Dana exhaled through her nose, something almost like disbelief flickering across her face.

“…I wrote it on your hand.”

Oh.

Oh god.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Okay—yeah—that explains a lot.”

“What happened?”

“I washed my hands?” you said, like it should be obvious. “Multiple times. It was a whole night. Things happened.”

That earned a real reaction—a quiet, tired laugh.

“Right,” she muttered. “Of course you did.”

“Sorry,” you added, a little sheepish now.

“Not your fault.”

But something about that seemed to settle a question she hadn’t voiced.

She wasn’t ignored.

You just… never got the chance.

---

Silence fell again—but it felt different now.

Less like a standoff.

More like… two people trying to figure out something neither of them expected.

“So,” you said finally, shifting your weight. “What now?”

Dana looked at you.

Really looked at you.

Not like she had at the hospital—quick, assessing, controlled.

But fully.

Present.

“…That depends,” she said carefully.

“On what?”

“On what you want.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I—” You hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Honest.

Terrifying.

Real.

Dana nodded slowly. “Okay.”

You let out a breath. “That’s it? No speech? No… reaction?”

She held your gaze.

“I’m trying not to make this about what I want before I know where you stand,” she said.

That—

That was… not what you expected.

“I mean, I want to know what you’re thinking,” you admitted.

Dana looked away briefly, like choosing her words mattered more than usual.

“It’s not simple,” she said.

“I didn’t think it would be.”

A small, almost humorless smile flickered across her face.

“Good.”

She leaned back slightly, arms crossing—not defensive, just grounding.

“I’m not someone who walks away from things like this,” she continued. “That’s not how I’m wired.”

Your chest tightened again—but this time, not in a bad way.

“And I’m not going to pretend this is nothing,” she added. “Because it’s not.”

“No,” you said softly. “It’s really not.”

Another pause.

Then—

“But,” Dana said, more gently now, “this also isn’t something we figure out in one conversation. Or one night.”

You nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“We take it one step at a time.”

“…Okay,” you said, a little smile slipping through despite everything.

Dana raised an eyebrow. “See? Good word.”

You huffed a quiet laugh.

---

The tension didn’t disappear.

But it changed.

Shifted into something steadier. Less panicked.

More… grounded.

Dana glanced toward your kitchen. “Have you eaten?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Today,” she clarified. “Have you eaten?”

“…I had cereal.”

“This morning?”

“…Yeah.”

Dana sighed, already moving. “Unbelievable.”

You watched her head into your kitchen like she’d been there a hundred times instead of zero.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t pass out while we’re having a life-altering conversation,” she called back.

Despite everything—

You smiled.

---

Maybe this wasn’t how you pictured things going.

Maybe it was messy and unexpected and a little overwhelming.

But as you leaned against the doorway, watching Dana Evans move around your kitchen like she’d quietly decided to stay—

It didn’t feel like a mistake.

Not entirely.

---

Later, when she finally sat back down across from you, two plates in hand, she didn’t rush the conversation.

Didn’t push.

Just—

Stayed.

And for now—

This was her world.

And you were about to walk straight into it.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself. “You can do this.”

You couldn’t.

But you stepped inside anyway.

---

The first thing you noticed was the pace.

No one stood still. Conversations overlapped, monitors beeped, phones rang—controlled chaos, the kind that somehow worked.

And then—

You saw her.

Dana Evans stood at the main station, posture straight, expression focused, flipping through a chart while talking to two nurses at once. Calm. Controlled. Like the night you met her hadn’t happened at all.

Like you hadn’t happened.

Your stomach twisted.

“That’s her,” you whispered.

Beside you, Trinity Santos closed her eyes briefly, already regretting everything.

“Okay,” Santos said under her breath, grabbing your arm before you could take another step. “Listen to me. You are not going to march up there and—”

“I have to tell her.”

“Yes. Eventually. Not like this.”

You shook your head. “No, I can’t just—wait. I’ve been freaking out for days, Trin, I can’t just schedule this.”

Santos pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh my god.”

You pulled away before she could stop you.

“Hey—!”

Too late.

---

Dana didn’t notice you at first.

Why would she?

She was mid-conversation, already juggling three things at once.

“…labs need to be repeated in an hour, and I want eyes on—”

“Dana.”

Her name cut through everything.

Not loud—but sharp enough to make her pause.

She looked up.

Recognition hit almost instantly.

It flickered across her face—quick, controlled, but there.

“…Hey,” she said, more cautious than surprised.

That hurt more than it should have.

“Hi,” you replied, suddenly very aware of the fact that everyone within a ten-foot radius could hear you.

Great.

Perfect.

No pressure.

“I, um—can we talk?”

Dana glanced around the station. Patients. Staff. Timing.

Now wasn’t—

“I’m kind of in the middle of—”

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

Complete, suffocating silence.

You didn’t even realize you’d said it that loud until every nearby conversation just… stopped.

Oh.

Oh no.

Behind you, Santos made a noise that sounded like her soul leaving her body.

Dana didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

For a second, you thought maybe she hadn’t heard you.

Then her jaw tightened.

“…What?”

Heat rushed to your face. “I—I took two tests. They were both positive, and I—look, I didn’t know how else to tell you, and—”

“Okay.” Dana held up a hand.

Not harsh.

But firm.

Professional.

“I need you to stop talking.”

That shut you up instantly.

Not because of the words—but because of the tone.

It wasn’t the voice she used with you at the bar.

It was the one she used here.

At work.

Where she was in control.

“Evans—” one of the nurses started, clearly unsure whether to intervene or disappear.

“I’ve got it,” Dana said, not taking her eyes off you.

Her expression had shifted completely now. Not cold—but… closed off. Focused in a way that made your chest tighten.

She stepped out from behind the desk.

“Walk with me.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

---

Santos watched the two of you go, hands on her hips.

“…Yeah,” she muttered. “That’s exactly how I pictured that going.”

(It wasn’t.)

---

The hallway was quieter.

Not silent—but far enough from the main floor that the weight of what just happened could settle.

Dana stopped walking.

Turned to face you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Up close, you could see the faint bruising still lingering along her cheekbone. Yellowed now, fading—but still there.

A reminder.

Of the night everything started.

“…Say it again,” she said finally.

Her voice was steady.

Too steady.

Your throat felt dry. “I’m pregnant.”

Dana exhaled slowly, looking away for a second like she was recalibrating.

Processing.

You watched it happen in real time—the way she compartmentalized, the way she forced emotion down in favor of something more manageable.

More controlled.

“…Okay,” she said after a moment.

That wasn’t the reaction you expected.

“Okay?” you repeated.

“What do you want me to say?” Dana asked, not unkindly—but not soft, either.

“I don’t know!” Your voice cracked despite your best effort. “Something other than okay?”

Her eyes flicked back to you.

And for a split second—

You saw it.

Not panic. Not anger.

Just… a crack in the armor.

“I’m at work,” she said quietly. “I can’t—react the way you want me to right now.”

That… made sense.

Didn’t make it feel any better.

“I just thought you should know,” you muttered, suddenly wishing you could take the entire interaction back.

Redo it.

Do it right.

Dana nodded once. “You did the right thing.”

Another pause.

Then—

“Are you sure?” she asked.

You blinked. “What?”

“The tests,” she clarified. “Were they—”

“Yes,” you cut in, a little sharper than you meant to. “I’m sure.”

She nodded again, slower this time.

“Okay.”

There it was again.

That word.

You hated that word.

“Okay,” you echoed, stepping back. “Cool. Great. Glad we had this talk.”

“Y/N—”

“I’m gonna go,” you said quickly.

Because if you stayed, you might cry.

And you refused to cry in the middle of a hospital hallway in front of her.

Dana didn’t try to stop you.

That hurt, too.

---

You were halfway out the doors before Santos caught up with you.

“Hey—hey, wait—”

“I told her,” you said, not slowing down.

“I noticed!”

You pushed outside into the cool air, finally breathing like your lungs worked again.

“That was a scene,” Santos added, slightly out of breath.

“I didn’t mean for it to be!”

“I know,” she said, softer now. “I know.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, staring out at the parking lot.

“She didn’t even react.”

Santos hesitated. “That’s not true.”

“It felt like it.”

“She’s… not good at that,” Santos admitted. “Especially not at work.”

You swallowed. “Yeah. I noticed.”

There was a long pause.

“…You wanna come over?” Santos offered.

You shook your head. “No. I just—I need to be alone for a bit.”

“Okay.” She squeezed your shoulder. “Text me when you get home.”

“Yeah.”

---

Dana didn’t go back to work right away.

She stood in that hallway long after you left, staring at nothing.

Pregnant.

The word echoed in her head, louder than any monitor alarm.

“Evans.”

She blinked, snapping back as Santos appeared at the end of the hall.

“You good?” Santos asked carefully.

Dana let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“…No.”

Santos nodded. “Yeah. That tracks.”

A beat.

Then—

“You gonna go after her?”

Dana looked toward the exit.

Thought about it.

About you.

About the look on your face when you walked away.

“…I can’t leave right now,” she said finally. “Not yet.”

Santos studied her for a second.

Then nodded.

“Don’t take too long.”

---

It was almost 10 p.m. when the knocking started.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

You almost didn’t answer.

But something in your chest told you to get up anyway.

Slowly, you made your way to the door, heart starting to race again for reasons you couldn’t explain.

You opened it.

And there she was.

Dana Evans stood on your doorstep, still in her scrubs, exhaustion written into every line of her posture.

But she was there.

Not at work.

Not behind a desk.

Just… her.

Her eyes met yours.

And this time—

There was no distance in them.

“Evans!”

She turned before the voice even finished her name, already moving.

A man in his forties—red-faced, sweating, pacing—was shouting at the front desk nurse. Loud. Aggressive. The kind of patient who thought volume translated to priority.

“I’ve been waiting for two hours—this is bullshit—”

Dana stepped in smoothly, voice calm, firm. “Sir, I need you to lower your voice.”

“I need a doctor!”

“You need to stop yelling at my staff.”

That was the moment it shifted.

His arm moved fast—faster than she expected—and suddenly—

Impact.

A sharp crack across her cheek. The taste of iron hit her tongue before the pain fully registered.

The ER stilled for half a second.

Then chaos.

Security. Shouting. Someone grabbing the man. A nurse swearing under her breath.

Dana didn’t fall. Didn’t even step back.

She just stood there, jaw tight, eyes locked forward like if she moved even an inch, the whole night would swallow her whole.

“I’m fine,” she said, before anyone could ask.

She wasn’t.

But there wasn’t time to not be.

---

Two hours later, the ambulance bay exploded.

“MULTIPLE INCOMING—PITTFEST—STAMPede—UNKNOWN NUMBERS—”

Of course it was.

Of course it was tonight.

Dana pressed the heel of her hand briefly against her throbbing cheek, already turning toward the doors as stretchers started flooding in.

“Alright—listen up!” Her voice cut clean through the noise. “Triage at the entrance. Critical to trauma one and two. Everyone else, we stabilize and move. No one stands still unless I tell you to—go!”

And they did.

Because when Dana Evans spoke, people moved.

---

The next few hours were a blur of blood, shouting, and controlled panic.

A teenage girl with a crushed ankle screaming for her mom.

A guy barely conscious, ribs moving wrong under his skin.

A kid—too young—clutching a PittFest wristband like it might anchor him to something normal.

Dana moved between them all like she was built for it. Orders. Assessments. Decisions that couldn’t be undone.

No hesitation.

No space to think about the ache in her face. Or the way her hands shook just slightly when no one was looking.

---

By the time it slowed—really slowed—the ER looked like a battlefield after the fighting stopped.

Exhaustion hit all at once.

Dana leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, head tipping forward for just a second.

“Hey.”

She didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Trinity Santos nudged her shoulder lightly.

“You’re still standing,” Santos said. “That’s impressive.”

Dana huffed. “Barely.”

Santos studied her face—specifically the bruising already forming along her cheekbone. “You should’ve gotten that checked.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that like ten times tonight.”

Dana didn’t answer.

Because if she stopped to actually think about it—the punch, the chaos, the way everything had stacked on top of each other—

She might not get back up.

Santos sighed, softer now. “We’re going out.”

Dana blinked. “We’re what?”

“Drinks. A few of us. You’re coming.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Santos cut in. “Before you go home and sit in the dark replaying everything like you always do.”

Dana gave her a look. “That is not—”

“It is exactly what you do.”

A beat.

Then, quieter—

“Come on, Evans. Just one night where you’re not the one holding everything together.”

Dana hesitated.

God, she was tired.

“…One drink,” she muttered.

Santos grinned. “That’s all it takes.”

---

The bar was dim, loud, and blessedly not a hospital.

Dana sat at the edge of the group, drink in hand, letting the noise wash over her. Conversations overlapped, laughter breaking through the exhaustion like cracks in concrete.

For the first time all day—she wasn’t in charge.

Didn’t have to be.

She took a slow sip, shoulders finally loosening—

—and that’s when she noticed you.

Across the bar.

You weren’t part of their group. Younger—definitely younger. Sitting with a drink you hadn’t touched much, scrolling your phone like you were debating whether to stay or leave.

Something about you pulled her attention.

Maybe it was the way you looked slightly out of place.

Maybe it was the way you glanced up—and your eyes met hers.

And didn’t look away.

Dana held the gaze for a second longer than she should have.

Then two.

Then—

She stood.

“Be right back,” she muttered to no one in particular.

Santos clocked it immediately, smirking into her glass.

---

“Seat taken?”

Your head snapped up slightly as Dana approached, voice low but steady.

Up close, she looked… older than you. Not in a bad way. Just… grounded. Worn in the way people get when they’ve lived through things.

And, yeah—very attractive.

“No,” you said quickly. “Go ahead.”

She slid into the seat across from you, setting her drink down.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“Long night?” you asked, gesturing vaguely toward her.

Dana huffed a quiet laugh. “You could say that.”

There was a pause.

Then you smiled—soft, a little nervous. “You look like you could use a distraction.”

Dana tilted her head slightly.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Maybe I could.”

---

You never planned to go home with her.

It just… happened.

One drink turned into two. Conversation got easier. Lighter. You made her laugh—really laugh—like something unclenched in her chest.

She didn’t tell you much about work. You didn’t press.

It didn’t matter.

Because for a few hours, she wasn’t the charge nurse holding an ER together.

She was just—

Dana.

---

Your apartment was quiet when you stumbled in, the world outside fading away the second the door shut.

There was a moment.

That pause.

The are we really doing this?

Dana’s hand brushed yours—hesitant, like she was giving you an out.

You didn’t take it.

And that was answer enough.

---

Fade to black.

---

One week later.

---

You stared at the test in your hand.

Then at the second one.

Then back again.

“…No way.”

Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

Positive.

Both of them.

Your heart pounded so loud it felt like it might shake the walls.

This wasn’t—

This couldn’t—

You sat down hard on the edge of your bed, mind racing.

There was only one person you could think to call.

---

“Okay, start from the beginning,” your sister said.

You paced your apartment, phone pressed to your ear. “It was just—one night, okay? I didn’t even think—”

“Clearly.”

“Trinity—”

“I’m listening,” she said, though you could hear the edge of concern underneath.

You exhaled shakily. “She was older. Confident. Dark hair. Kind of intense but… not in a bad way. Like she’s used to being in charge of everything.”

There was a pause.

“…Where did you meet her?”

“A bar near the hospital.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

“…Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“About what??”

Your sister inhaled slowly.

“You didn’t get her name?”

“…Dana.”

Silence.

Then—

“Yeah,” Trinity said flatly. “You need to come to the hospital.”