libby

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

The air in the room is thick with tension.

“I mean, really?” You scoff. “My sister?”

Dean looks down shamefully. “It wasn’t like that,” he murmurs.

“Bullshit. That’s exactly what it was and you know it! While I was at home, taking care of our children, you were out fucking my sister!” You seethe. “What am I supposed to tell them, huh? That Daddy’s not coming home anymore because he’s too busy playing happy family with Auntie Carol?!”

Dean looks up at you finally, his eyes filled with anger. “Maybe you should tell them that Daddy couldn’t take being in a loveless marriage anymore! You wanna know why I slept with Carol? At least, she was there for me.”

“That’s not—!”

“Admit it. You’ve resented me ever since I got laid off. You don’t even look at me like I’m a man anymore!” Dean shouts.

From the kitchen, Tucker glances at Logan, his voice a low whisper. “...What is going on right now?”

You and Dean are sitting on the floor of the living room, pinned between the couch and coffee table—where a handful of Littlest Pet Shops are sitting in a pile. The head of a grey cat is pinched between your fingers as you twist it wildly to match the words you’re saying to the brown and tan border collie in Dean’s fingers.

Logan lets out a tired sigh, rubbing his eyes. “They’re playing house.”

“—If you want me to treat you like a man then act like one, Lewis!”

“Don’t act like I’m the only one making mistakes here.” Dean wiggles his dog at you accusingly. “You think I don’t know what’s been going on? Why you always have to ‘stay late at the office’?”

You let your cat take a dramatic step forward. “We have a giant proposal coming up, I told you—,”

“I didn’t realize that involved having sex with your coworker! I smell his cologne on you when you come home, don’t even try to deny it. I mean, God, is there even a proposal at all or was that just a lie too?”

The two of you fall into silence, before Dean shakes his dog’s head sadly. “I think I should stay at Carol’s tonight.”

“Oh yeah, you do that.” You laugh bitterly. “Just run away from your problems. Classic Lewis.”

“That’s not fair—,”

“Just say goodbye to the kids and go, I can’t even look at you right now.” You turn your cat around dramatically and lift it up and down on the table to walk away. 

Your other hand moves to the pile of LPS and you pick through the different toys. “Hey, Tuck?” You call out without looking up.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna be the kid or the divorce attorney?”

“...Divorce attorney, please.”

“Okay, you can be mine and Logan can be Dean’s.” You nod in agreement.

Dean lets out an indignant squawk. “Wait, that’s not fair! Why do I get stuck with Logan?”

“Okay,” she’d said, because there were moments where compassion had to take priority over personal fulfilment. “We’re going to sleep.”

Garrett had made a muffled sound of protest into her skin.

“You just lost consciousness between my legs.”

“Didn’t.”

“Your mouth was open.”

He adjusted his face more firmly into her stomach. “It was already open.”

“That is not the defence you think it is.”

He had tried to lift himself onto one elbow, managed perhaps four inches and then dropped his face back against her with the exhausted dignity of a man being asked to complete one final push-up after the end of civilisation. “Give me five minutes.”

She’d taken one look at the grey shadows beneath his eyes, the tired drag at the corners of his mouth and the fading yellow bruise along one shoulder from the regional final, then pulled the blanket over both of them instead. Garrett had been asleep before she finished getting her underwear back on.

That was nearly two weeks ago. She hasn’t been fucked properly in three, which would be a more compelling personal tragedy if Garrett hadn’t spent those same three weeks skating like Briar University’s continued existence depended on him alone

The tournament has eaten all of them alive. Two regional wins to secure the Frozen Four. The semifinal two nights ago, won in overtime after Briar spent most of the third period trapped in its own zone and Garrett blocked a shot with his ankle badly enough that he limped until the next morning but still refused to acknowledge anything had happened. 

Film sessions. Practice. Recovery. Media. Team meetings. More film because Garrett had decided there might be a hidden tactic buried in the exact angle of an opposing winger’s shoulder if he watched the footage enough times.

He’s been sleeping in pieces. Forty minutes on her dorm bed before practice. Twenty in the passenger seat while Tucker drove. Once at her desk with his forehead resting on a chapter about community health, and one hand still wrapped loosely around her wrist like he had fallen asleep halfway through confirming she was there.

She has watched the tournament take him apart in small, ordinary ways nobody else would necessarily notice.

The protein bar wrappers multiplying in his gear bag because he keeps forgetting meals until she puts food directly into his hand. The way his jaw goes hard whenever somebody asks what it means to play the national championship at TD Garden, when everyone knows perfectly well what it means. 

The Bruins. His future. His father’s history hanging somewhere above all of it, invisible and still somehow taking up space. Garrett has answered every question correctly. He says it’s about Briar. About the boys. About finishing what they started. He means it too.

Garrett’s spent weeks carrying everyone else’s nerves so convincingly that half the team appears to have forgotten he possesses any of his own.

By the time she reaches the Garden, she feels like she has swallowed something carbonated. It moves beneath her ribs in bright, rising bubbles as she follows Lucy and Monique through the concourse, one hand wrapped around theirs to keep from losing either of them in the river of navy, silver and white pouring toward the arena. 

Everywhere she looks, somebody from Briar is there. Students she recognises from tutorials. Professors wearing team scarves over collared shirts. Alumni with old jerseys stretched across bodies that have changed significantly since graduation. Half the hockey house’s regular party population appears to have made the trip, suddenly united by school pride and the urgent need to buy beer before warm-ups begin.

The Garden itself feels too large to hold all of them. Light spills down from the high ceiling onto the ice in hard, clean sheets, making the rink look almost blue at the edges. Music pounds through the arena speakers while the scoreboard turns slowly above centre ice, cycling through team logos, player footage and the words NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP in letters large enough to make her stomach tighten every time they appear.

The air smells like cold metal, popcorn, spilled beer and the sharp synthetic chill that rises from a sheet of freshly cut ice. Even through her jeans and the long-sleeved top beneath Garrett’s jersey, she can feel the cold working its way in through her knees. She doesn’t care.

Their seats are down against the glass, close enough that she can see the scraped white line where the boards meet the ice and the little ridges the resurfacer left behind. Kendall, Paige and Sienna are already there when they arrive, occupying several seats in a loose cluster with enough bags, drinks and handmade signs to suggest they’re establishing a permanent settlement.

Kendall has silver stars beneath both eyes. Paige has somehow worked Garrett’s number into her eyeliner despite Garrett not being her boyfriend, which she claims is general captain support and not an act of targeted provocation. Sienna is holding a sign that reads DEAN, PLEASE TRY DEFENCE TODAY in thick navy letters.

“That’s so mean,” she says, accepting the silver face glitter Paige immediately begins pressing toward her cheek without permission.

“He’ll love it,” Sienna replies. “He responds well to criticism.”

“He responds loudly to criticism.”

Lucy has made a sign too, although hers simply says GO HAWKS because Lucy believes in encouragement without inviting retaliation from large men on skates.

Monique has brought no sign and is carrying emergency supplies instead: tissues, water, painkillers, two granola bars and a portable charger because, in her words, somebody in this group has to remain connected to civilisation.

“You look like you’re going to throw up,” Monique observes as Paige draws a small forty-four near the corner of her eye.

“I’m not.” She glances at the scoreboard. Five minutes, forty-eight seconds until warm-ups. “That’s basically now.”

Lucy loops an arm through hers and squeezes. “You excited?”

The question is absurdly insufficient. Excited is standing in line for concert tickets. Excited is finding out the difficult lecturer has cancelled class. This feels more like every part of her body has been tuned slightly too high, her skin warm beneath the cold arena air and her pulse sitting visibly in the base of her throat.

She looks down at the jersey instead. Garrett’s name stretches across her shoulders. Forty-four covers most of her back. It still smells faintly like his detergent even after being folded inside her overnight bag, and something stupid happens beneath her breastbone when she smooths one palm over the number on the sleeve.

“Normal amount,” she says.

Lucy looks at Monique. Monique nods gravely. “She’s going to throw up.”

She doesn’t throw up. She does, however, nearly crush Kendall’s hand when the lights shift and the first few players spill onto the ice.

The Briar section detonates. Noise surges up around them so quickly it seems to change the pressure inside her ears. People are already standing, banging hands against the glass, screaming names into the cold while the boys come through the tunnel in a loose stream of navy jerseys and silver helmets.

Tucker is one of the first out, skating directly toward centre with his head down and his stick loose in one hand, settling immediately into the quiet, economical movements he carries everywhere. Logan comes behind him faster, taking his first lap like he has something personal against the far boards.

Dean’s last only because Dean has decided entering the national championship requires choreography. He pushes onto the ice backward, both arms spread toward the Briar section like he’s rented the building for the evening. The response gets louder. Dean cups one glove to his ear, shakes his head as though disappointed and gestures for more.

Sienna slams her sign against the glass. Dean spots it. His mouth drops open beneath his cage. He points his stick at her, then at himself, then makes an offended gesture toward his chest as if he’s just been accused of a serious crime.

“TRY DEFENCE,” Sienna screams.

Dean skates past them shaking his head, one glove held over his heart.

“He’s going to bring that up for six months,” Paige says.

“He needed motivation.”

The rest of the boys circle out into warm-ups. Pucks scatter across the ice. Skates begin cutting sharp white lines through the untouched surface, the hard clack of sticks and pucks occasionally breaking through the music and crowd noise. She finds Garrett almost immediately.

Her body knows where he is before she properly registers the forty-four on his back. He’s near the blue line, taking two long strides before dropping into the familiar stretch he always does first, one knee bent deeply while the other leg extends behind him. 

His helmet is tipped forward. His gloves are tucked beneath one arm. For several seconds he stays there with his head lowered, shoulders rising and falling beneath the jersey. He looks tired. She sees it in the slowness when he stands, the careful roll of his shoulders and the way he flexes one ankle before starting toward the far end.

Then a puck comes to him. Everything changes. His stick catches it cleanly, and his body settles into the ice as though it has finally entered its natural environment. One stride, two, a quick shift onto his outside edge. 

He sends the puck hard into the top corner during the first shooting drill, circles behind the net and shouts something at Logan that makes Logan raise one glove without turning around.

The pressure beneath her ribs goes soft and hot. There are feelings that arrive with sensible names and manageable symptoms. Affection. Attraction. Pride. Things that can be discussed over coffee without anyone needing medical supervision.

Whatever she feels for Garrett has never behaved properly enough to qualify. It spreads through her bloodstream like she has been drinking on an empty stomach. Warm behind her face. Loose in her knees. Her brain a little slower and much happier whenever he looks at her. 

Sometimes she catches him standing barefoot in the kitchen eating cereal and has the deeply unreasonable thought that this may be the best thing that has ever happened to anyone. Not her. Anyone.

It feels rare in a way she doesn’t know how to say without sounding insane. Like something a person might stumble into once every several lifetimes if the timing is right and the universe briefly stops being an asshole.

Garrett takes another shot. The puck hits the post with a sharp metallic crack. She cheers anyway. He turns at the sound of the Briar section, lifting his head toward the glass. His eyes begin moving over the crowd.

She knows what he’s doing. The knowledge lands in her stomach with enough force that her fingers tighten around Lucy’s wrist.

“He’s looking for you,” Lucy says.

“I know.”

“Wave.”

“I’m trying to look normal,” she mutters.

“You’re wearing his jersey and gripping my arm,” Lucy replies.

“Wave,” Monique orders.

She lifts both hands. Garrett sees her. His face changes so completely that the whole arena seems briefly less important.

The hard focus around his mouth breaks first. Then his eyes soften and his grin comes in bright beneath the helmet, familiar enough to reach through the glass and settle directly beneath her ribs. He points his stick toward her, says something to Tucker as he passes and turns sharply toward the boards.

“Oh my God,” Kendall says. “Incoming.”

Garrett stops in front of them with a small spray of ice, one glove braced against the top of his stick. Up close, she can see the faint tiredness beneath his eyes and the flushed line across his cheeks where the cold has already caught him. Damp curls push out beneath the back of his helmet. His gaze drops immediately to the jersey, then returns to her face.

She leans toward the glass, grin stretching before she can even try to control it. “Hey, forty-four.”

“Hi, baby.”

She barely hears him over the music and the crowd, but she knows the shape of his mouth well enough to fill in whatever sound the glass steals. Garrett shifts closer, face tipped toward her through a narrow break between the panels, and for one second everyone around them appears to become extremely interested in watching something else while also listening with every available part of their bodies.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks.

Garrett nods once. “Good.”

It comes automatically. Captain answer. Media answer. The exact response he has been giving anyone who asks for the past three weeks. She narrows her eyes.

Garrett’s mouth twitches, but the expression doesn’t hold. He looks back toward centre ice, where the other team has begun its own warm-up, then returns his gaze to her. “I just–” He exhales, the breath fogging faintly against the glass. “They’ve been killing it this tournament, baby.”

She looks at him for half a second. “And you guys haven’t?”

His eyes drop briefly.

“Garrett.”

He nods. “I know.”

She presses closer to the glass, lowering her voice even though she has to speak louder to be heard. “You don’t have to drag them through this by yourself. Tuck’s been seeing everything before it happens. Logan looks like somebody put rocket fuel in his water. Dean’s so excited he might actually attempt defence just to surprise us.”

Garrett smiles properly at that.

“You’ve won every shitty game they’ve put in front of you,” she continues. “You won the one where half your bench could barely stand. You came back Thursday when everyone had already decided you were done. You’ve been killing it too.”

His gaze stays on hers.

“Okay?”

Garrett nods.

She shakes her head once. “Words, baby.”

That gets the full grin. Bright, sudden and so deeply him that her stomach tips. “Yeah. Okay.”

“You’ve got this, Garrett.”

His throat moves when he swallows. “Yeah.”

“You feeling good?”

He looks at her for another second, shoulders sitting lower now, his grip easier around the stick. “Yeah, Coach.”

She grins. “Good.”

A whistle cuts across the ice. Garrett’s head turns toward the bench. Coach is gesturing sharply, calling the first unit back toward centre for the final drill. Logan skates past behind Garrett and hits the back of his helmet with one glove.

“Stop flirting,” he yells. “National championship.”

Garrett twists around. “I’ll bench you.”

“You can’t.”

“Watch me.” Garrett looks back at her. The whistle goes again, longer and significantly less patient. “Gotta go, baby.”

She nods, still smiling so hard her cheeks ache. “Go.”

He pushes away from the boards, then turns while skating backward. One glove lifts to his mouth. Garrett blows her a kiss.

She catches it automatically, closing her hand against her chest with the same stupid little movement she’s done from stands and car parks and the end of hallways a hundred times before. “Love you, baby.”

The words leave her mouth without consulting anybody. Garrett’s already turning.

Tucker catches the shoulder of his jersey and pulls him toward the drill as Coach shouts something from the bench. Garrett’s head shifts slightly, perhaps toward her, perhaps only because Logan has said something at his other side. Then all four of them are moving, sticks dropping toward the ice while a puck slides into the face-off circle.

Her smile stays where it is for one full second, then her brain receives the sentence. Her hand opens against her chest.

“Oh,” she says.

Lucy slowly turns toward her. Monique’s eyes widen. Kendall’s mouth drops open, silver stars stretching at the corner of one eye. Paige stops halfway through lifting her drink. Sienna lowers the sign in front of her with the solemn care of somebody putting down a weapon.

“Did you just–” Lucy begins.

She slaps both hands over her mouth. “Oh my God.”

The words come out muffled into her palms. Heat climbs from her chest to her face so quickly she can feel it beneath Paige’s little silver forty-four.

Monique catches both her elbows. “You’re okay.”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I just told him I love him.”

“You did,” Kendall says, then winces when Monique looks at her. “Supportively.”

“I told Garrett Graham I love him through plexiglass before the national championship,” she squeaks.

Lucy reaches for one of her wrists, gently pulling her hand away from her mouth before she can smother herself. “It’s okay. It was cute.”

“It was not meant to happen.”

Lucy shrugs. “Most things aren’t.”

“It just came out.” She stares at the ice, where Garrett has dropped into position for the drill like her entire internal structure hasn’t just collapsed twenty feet away. “I didn’t decide anything. My mouth went… it went freelance.”

Paige presses her lips together.

Sienna points one warning finger at her. “Do not laugh.”

Paige shakes her head. “I’m not.”

She turns desperately toward Monique. “Do you think he heard?”

The girls all look toward the ice. The Garden is still roaring. Music pounds through the speakers. Hundreds of Briar students are chanting something about Burlington’s goalie that will almost certainly lead to an email from university administration. Pucks slam against the boards, whistles splitting the cold air while the players call to one another through helmets and crowd noise.

Kendall tilts her head. “Honestly? Maybe not.”

“Oh, good.” Relief hits for less than a second before immediately becoming something else. “Wait. Is that good?”

“Yes,” Lucy says.

“No,” Paige says at the exact same time.

Lucy glares at her.

Paige lifts both hands. “I’m only saying she might eventually want him to hear it.”

“Not like that,” she says. “Not while Coach is threatening him and half of Massachusetts is watching.”

“He probably thought you said good luck,” Sienna offers.

“That doesn’t have the same number of syllables!”

“He’s often concussed,” Kendall suggests.

“Not currently!”

Monique squeezes her elbows. “Breathe.”

She takes one breath. It catches somewhere high in her chest and comes out thin.

“Again.”

She breathes again, staring helplessly through the glass. Garrett takes the next pass near centre ice, cuts around Logan and shoots. The puck goes in cleanly. He circles the net, taps Tucker’s shin pads with his stick and joins the line again without looking toward her.

That should help. It doesn’t.

“What do I do?” she whispers.

Lucy rubs one hand down her arm. “Right now? Watch the game.”

“For three periods?”

“Hopefully only three,” Monique says. “Overtime might kill you.”

She makes a noise of genuine distress.

“Not helpful,” Lucy tells her.

The warm-up clock keeps counting down above the ice. Two minutes, nineteen seconds. The boys gather near the bench for water, shoulders bumping, helmets tipping together as Garrett says something that makes Dean slap one glove against his chest.

He looks like the captain again. Focused. Certain. Every inch of him turned toward the game waiting on the other side of the clock.

She cannot tell whether he heard. There’s no visible sign that her first I love you reached him at all. No stunned look. No missed stride. No Garrett abandoning the national championship to climb over the glass and demand clarification, which is ridiculous but currently feels like the only response that would give her useful information.

Instead, he takes his place beside Tucker while Coach speaks, one glove wrapped around the top of his stick and forty-four broad across his back. The buzzer sounds to end warm-ups.

The crowd rises again as the players begin filing toward the tunnel. Garrett disappears between Logan and Dean without looking back, swallowed by navy jerseys and the dark opening beneath the stands.

She stays at the glass with both hands over her mouth, his name stretched across her shoulders and his number pressed warm against her back.

Behind her, Lucy says, “You’re fine,” with the determined confidence of somebody trying to influence an outcome medically beyond her control.

Monique pushes a water bottle into her hand. Kendall begins listing reasons the arena acoustics are unreliable. Sienna insists declarations made during warm-ups may not be legally binding, and Paige is still being prevented from mentioning that Garrett’s head had moved slightly after she said it.

Above centre ice, the scoreboard resets for puck drop. Eighteen minutes.

At least three periods before she could get him alone. Sixty minutes of hockey, plus intermissions, during which she would have to watch her boyfriend play for a national championship while wondering whether she had accidentally changed the entire shape of their relationship at full volume. 

The Garden roared around her, and she stood there with Garrett’s forty-four stretched across her back, and absolutely no way to take the words back through the glass. 

The first face-off happens before her body has remembered how to process oxygen normally. One second the teams are circling beneath the hard white light, officials gliding into position while the noise inside the Garden rises and breaks and rises again.

The next, the puck hits the ice, Garrett’s stick snaps forward and the national championship becomes too fast and too violent to leave much room for privately destroying her own life.

For roughly fourteen seconds, anyway. Garrett wins the draw cleanly and knocks the puck backward toward Tucker. Briar surges forward around him, all navy shoulders and cutting blades, the opening shift moving with the sharp, practiced rhythm she’s watched enough times to recognise before she could ever explain it properly. 

Logan flies up the left side. Dean cuts across behind him, already throwing his weight into a defender with the subtlety of a car entering a building. Tucker sends the puck deep, Garrett follows it into the corner and the opposing defenceman drives him shoulder-first into the glass hard enough that the boards shake beneath her hands.

Her whole body contracts. She doesn’t scream or grab Lucy or begin climbing over the glass. It’s smaller and worse than that, a hard internal flinch that starts somewhere behind her sternum and pulls all the muscles down her back tight at once.

Garrett comes away from the hit still moving, knees bent, stick down, one glove briefly flexing near his shoulder before he takes the puck from beneath the other player’s skates and sends it back toward the point.

“Oh,” Lucy says beside her, eyes wide. “They’re not fucking around.”

“Nope,” Monique answers. 

The game establishes its personality quickly. It’s mean. Every hit arrives half a second before it could become something officials might feel obligated to stop, all sharp hips and shoulders and bodies driven into boards with the deeply technical violence of men who have spent their lives learning precisely how hard another person can be struck while everyone calls it clean.

Tucker gets crushed behind Briar’s net three minutes in, his helmet snapping backward against the glass before he drops to one knee. She’s halfway out of her seat before he plants one glove on the ice, stands and immediately hooks his stick beneath the other player’s to strip the puck away.

“Jesus Christ,” Paige mutters.

Tucker sends the puck up the boards like nothing happened. Garrett catches it, turns through the neutral zone and gets met by two bodies at once.

He disappears. She sees one navy sleeve, the silver of his helmet, then his skates leave the ice and he lands flat on his back hard enough to slide several feet before friction finally catches him.

The Briar section loses its mind. Her hands slap against the glass. “Oh my God.”

Garrett lies there for perhaps one second. Long enough for her stomach to turn over completely. Then he rolls onto one knee, gets his stick beneath him and pushes upright while Logan barrels into the guy who hit him with enough force to send both of them into the boards.

The whistle goes. Players gather immediately, shoulders colliding, gloves pressing into chests while officials wedge themselves between bodies that clearly have no intention of politely separating. Dean arrives late and shoves someone who’s not even involved.

“Of course,” Sienna says.

Garrett skates into the edge of the gathering and catches Dean around the chest before he can convert an ordinary post-whistle disagreement into an actual incident. He says something beneath his cage. Dean replies with both gloves raised as if innocence is a position he has ever occupied. The official sends Dean toward the box.

“What did he even do?” Lucy asks.

Sienna presses both hands to the glass as Dean passes. “WORTH IT!”

Dean turns his head and blows her a kiss. The penalty kill lasts less than a minute before Tucker takes a puck off the ankle, limps through one stride and sends it down the ice anyway. She watches him reach the bench with his face drawn tight, one trainer bending immediately toward the skate while Tucker waves him off and points toward the play as though the trainer has accidentally started discussing something irrelevant.

The boys have been exhausted for weeks. She knew that. She has watched Garrett fall asleep with food in his mouth, watched Logan lie facedown on the living-room rug because walking upstairs felt unreasonable, watched Tucker stretch one hamstring against the kitchen counter while stirring pasta and watched Dean voluntarily turn down a party because his entire skeleton had a headache.

Knowing it in kitchens and bedrooms is different from seeing it here. Every hit looks like it should empty them. Every collision seems large enough to knock the last little reserve of energy loose and scatter it across the ice. Instead, they keep getting up, and they give it back.

Dean comes out of the penalty box like he’s been insulted by the concept of confinement. His first shift ends with an opposing winger folded into the boards and Dean skating away while the man’s teammates shout after him.

Tucker catches another player cleanly near centre and sends him onto his ass with such quiet efficiency that the crowd makes one collective, delighted sound.

Logan scores first. The play starts with Garrett trapped along the boards beneath two bodies, one stick pressed across his hips while another player tries to dig the puck out from between four pairs of skates. Garrett somehow gets it loose. She doesn’t see how. One second it’s beneath him, the next it slides backward to Tucker, who sends it across the width of the ice to Dean.

Dean takes one stride, pulls the defence toward him and passes to Logan at the back door. Logan buries it.

The red light comes on. The Briar section erupts so hard the sound seems to push against her skin from every direction. She screams with everyone else, both arms thrown upward as Logan crashes into the glass near the corner and gets swallowed by navy jerseys.

Garrett’s first to grab him. Tucker follows, then Dean launches himself into the group with enough enthusiasm that Logan nearly goes down beneath all three of them. The scoreboard changes.

BRIAR 1.

The number glows above the ice for forty-one seconds before the other team answers. A turnover near the blue line. A breakaway. Briar’s goalie makes the first save, but the rebound kicks loose and an opposing forward gets there before Tucker can tie up his stick.

1-1.

Then 2-1 to them after Dean gets caught too high in the zone and Briar gives up an odd-man rush.

Sienna lowers her sign. “He’s actively refusing to take constructive feedback.”

Briar ties it again before the end of the period. Garrett scores this one.

Tucker wins the puck behind their own net and sends it to Logan, who carries it through centre with two defenders closing. Garrett’s moving beside him, a little behind, his stride long and controlled even though she can see the heaviness beginning in his legs.

Logan waits until the last possible second and slides the puck across. Garrett receives it without looking down. One touch. Then another. He shoots through the defenceman’s legs. The puck hits the back of the net before the goalie has fully dropped.

For half a second, Garrett stays where he is, chest rising beneath the jersey, eyes fixed on the goal like he needs visual confirmation that it really happened. Then he turns. He points directly at her.

There are thousands of people in the building. Hundreds wearing Briar colours. His entire team is skating toward him, Logan already reaching for the top of his helmet while Dean screams something close enough to distort Garrett’s grin.

Still, Garrett finds her. His glove lifts. Two fingers extend toward the glass. Her heart punches once against her ribs.

She points back before she can think better of it, forty-four stretched across her back while the girls around her scream. Garrett’s grin widens, and then Tucker catches him around the shoulders and drags him into the celebration.

“Oh my God,” Lucy says, gripping her upper arm. “That was for you!”

“No way,” she says automatically, voice already ruined from yelling. 

“He pointed at your face.”

“He could’ve been pointing at, like, the general student population.”

Kendall looks around them. “Anyone else wearing his jersey and blushing?”

She puts both hands over her cheeks. They are burning.

The goal helps. It should make the earlier problem worse. Garrett pointing at her after scoring in the national championship shouldn’t reduce the pressure of having accidentally told him she loves him. It should drive the sentence deeper, sharpen it, make every thought inside her skull louder.

Instead, something settles. The question is still there, pacing badly inside her. Did he hear? Did he understand? Is he waiting until after the game to say something? Has she just handed him an emotional grenade and then sat down behind plexiglass while he tries to win a championship?

But the game keeps demanding her attention, and Garrett keeps finding her. Every time he comes near their side of the rink, her body locks onto him. The bend of his knees. The tilt of his shoulders. The little shake of one glove after a slash the officials pretend not to see. When he scores, he points. When he assists on Dean’s second-period goal, he glances toward her before the boys have finished celebrating.

It’s not an answer. It feels enough like one to stop her throwing up.

The second period becomes uglier. Nobody has enough energy left for finesse without violence beneath it. The hits get heavier, tempers shorter, every whistle followed by little scrums where gloves climb higher and sticks become objects with plausible deniability.

Dean gets driven face-first into the boards behind the net. His cage strikes the glass with a sound that makes half their row gasp. He pushes backward at once, turns and swings both hands into the chest of the guy behind him.

Tucker gets between them first. This is, perhaps, the least sensible possible person to use as a calming influence, because Tucker’s version of de-escalation involves shoving the other player away hard enough that his skates leave the ice.

The officials grab both Briar players. Dean is yelling. Tucker is quieter, which looks significantly more dangerous.

“Oh, Tuck’s mad,” Paige says.

“How can you tell?” Lucy asks.

“He’s not blinking.”

Across the ice, Garrett circles in, one hand gripping Dean’s shoulder while he talks into the side of his helmet. Whatever he says works. Dean’s posture drops by an inch. Tucker releases the front of the other player’s jersey with the slow reluctance of a man being asked to return stolen property.

The officials send one from each team to the box. Dean skates away mouthing, “Bullshit,” so clearly that the Briar students nearest the glass begin chanting it for him.

The game stays tied until six minutes remain in the second. Then Briar goes ahead. Then gives up the equaliser less than ninety seconds later.

3-3.

The scoreboard becomes a threat hanging over centre ice. The other team scores again after a scramble in front of the net.

4-3.

For the first time all night, the Briar section goes briefly quiet. The sound changes, falling inward around thousands of held breaths while the opposing players celebrate near their bench and Garrett stands several feet away with both hands braced on the top of his stick.

She can see the pressure arrive in him. It’s in the angle of his neck. The way his chin drops. The stillness that overtakes his body while everyone else moves around him.

The old instinct. Mine. My fault. Fix it.

Garrett lifts his head toward the bench. He skates over and leans toward Coach, listening. Tucker joins him. Logan. Dean leaves the penalty box and takes his place at the edge of the group, chest still heaving.

Whatever is said lasts only seconds. Garrett nods once. Then the boys go back out. The next shift is brutal.

Logan takes a hit near centre that spins him completely around. Tucker loses his stick and still manages to kick the puck forward with one skate. Dean blocks a shot off his thigh and nearly folds, gets up anyway and drives into the corner.

Garrett gets the puck beneath the goal line and tries to cut toward the net. The defenceman catches him directly in front of her.

The impact drives Garrett into the boards with enough force that the glass shudders beneath both her hands. His shoulder hits first. Then the side of his helmet. The other player keeps him pinned there, forearm across Garrett’s back, stick trapped between their skates.

She sees Garrett’s face turn against the glass. Sees the flash of his teeth beneath the cage. The fury moving into his eyes. The defenceman gives him one additional shove after the puck is gone.

Garrett explodes backward. He twists free, throws both gloves into the man’s chest and shoves him hard enough that the other player stumbles two strides. The crowd roars immediately, half excitement and half invitation.

The defenceman comes forward again.

“Garrett!” she shouts, slamming one hand against the glass. “Focus!”

He doesn’t look at her. For one horrible second, she thinks he hasn’t heard. Then Garrett’s head tilts slowly to one side. His neck cracks. Even through the glass and the crowd and the scrape of skates, she can practically hear it. He turns away from the defenceman and skates back into the play.

Beside her, Lucy says, very quietly, “Oh, that’s so hot.”

She smacks Lucy’s arm without looking away from the ice. “Hey. My boyfriend.”

“Ow.” Lucy rubs the spot, entirely unrepentant. “Sorry, but I have eyes.”

“Close them.”

“No,” Lucy smirks. 

Kendall leans toward them. “In her defence, that was objectively hot.”

“None of you are being supportive.”

“We are incredibly supportive,” Paige says. “We support you having that.”

She looks at all of them with genuine betrayal. “He’s exhausted and being assaulted.”

“And listening when you yell at him through reinforced glass,” Sienna replies. “Very sexy.”

Monique places one steady hand on her shoulder. “You can be concerned and recognise that the neck thing was unfortunately effective.”

“Thank you,” Lucy says.

She stares at Monique. “You too?”

Monique’s mouth tightens. “I’m not dead.”

The period ends 4-3.

The teams disappear into their tunnels, the Garden filling immediately with music and conversation and thousands of people attempting to breathe through the same collective stress. She drops into her seat for the first time in several minutes and realises her legs are shaking.

Lucy gives her water. Monique opens a granola bar and places half of it in her hand without asking. Kendall starts analysing the opposing goalie’s rebound control as if she has been retained by Briar’s coaching staff. She eats because Garrett would somehow sense if she didn’t.

The I love you returns during intermission. Without hockey moving in front of her, the sentence comes back and sits directly on her chest. She stares at the tunnel where Garrett disappeared and replays his face when he scored. The point. The grin. The way he looked toward her after Dean’s goal.

“He heard,” Paige says.

She turns. “What?”

Paige has the good grace to look slightly guilty. “I’m not saying definitely.”

Lucy points at Paige. “We agreed not to bring this up until after.”

“You agreed. I was drinking.”

Monique rubs a hand between her shoulder blades. “It doesn’t matter right now.”

“It matters a lot,” she mumbles.

“Not in a way you can do anything about during intermission.”

That’s so painfully sensible she briefly considers ending the friendship. The lights shift before she can. The teams return, and Briar comes onto the ice differently. She sees it before the puck drops. All the boys look like someone has reached into the locker room and replaced whatever exhaustion was left in them with something sharper.

Dean’s practically bouncing on his skates, jaw moving as he talks continuously at Logan. Tucker rolls one shoulder, then the other, gaze fixed down the ice. Logan taps his stick three times against Garrett’s shin pads. Garrett stands over the face-off dot with his body low and still.

She doesn’t know what Coach said in that room. Maybe he reminded them they had twenty minutes left together. Maybe Garrett spoke. Dean. One of the seniors. Maybe they sat in silence and listened to their own breathing, every one of them understanding there was no sensible reason they should have anything left.

Whatever happened, Briar comes out violent in a completely new direction.

Garrett wins the opening draw. Tucker gets the puck and sends it forward before the opposing centre has finished turning. Logan carries it over the line. Dean drives the net and pulls both defencemen with him.

Garrett trails the play. Logan drops the puck backward. Garrett shoots. Goal. Nine seconds.

The Garden detonates. She’s on her feet, screaming before the red light comes on fully. Garrett circles away from the net and drops onto one knee, fist punching once toward the ice while Logan crashes into him from behind.

4-4.

Garrett stands beneath the weight of all three boys and looks directly toward her, and points. Her throat closes around the noise. She puts both hands to her mouth and blows him a kiss this time. Garrett catches it against his chest with one glove before Dean nearly tackles him into the boards.

“That man so heard you,” Paige says.

“Shut up.”

Briar scores again two minutes later. Tucker this time, a shot from the point that changes direction through traffic and slips beneath the goalie’s arm. Tucker doesn’t even appear certain it went in until Dean grabs both sides of his helmet and screams into his face.

5-4.

Then Logan scores.

6-4.

The opposing coach calls timeout. His players gather around the bench while Briar circles near centre, shoulders bumping and gloves tapping helmets. The entire arena feels tilted now. Briar’s section is on its feet and stays there. Nobody sits again. Every touch of the puck earns a scream. Every clear is celebrated like a goal. Every blocked shot feels personal.

The other team starts taking chances because they have to. That makes them dangerous, it also leaves space.

Dean scores on a breakaway with eight minutes remaining. He comes over the blue line alone, one defenceman chasing. She can feel the entire Briar section inhale. Dean shoots high. The puck hits the crossbar, drops behind the goalie and bounces into the net.

7-4.

Dean skates directly toward their corner with both arms spread, mouth open in a yell. Sienna slams her sign against the glass so hard one corner bends.

“DEFENCE,” she screams.

Dean points at the scoreboard and mouths something that looks very much like, “Don’t need it.”

Garrett reaches him first and shoves him affectionately in the head. 

The other team pulls the goalie with three minutes left. The extra attacker floods Briar’s zone. Pucks hit skates, shin pads, sticks. Their goalie makes one save, then another. Tucker dives to knock the rebound away and gets landed on by two bodies.

Garrett clears it down the ice. The puck misses the empty net by inches. The crowd groans. 

One minute, twelve seconds.

Her hands are numb from gripping the rail.

Forty-eight seconds.

The puck comes out toward centre. Logan reaches it first, pokes it past one defender and sends it sideways. Garrett has open ice, he takes the puck, crosses the red line and shoots from distance. The puck slides over the ice toward the empty net, turning slightly on its edge. It crosses the line.

8-4.

Garrett doesn’t celebrate immediately, he looks toward her. Even from the other end of the rink, even through the bodies and glass and thousands of people between them, she knows he’s smiling.

He points one final time. Her chest feels too small to contain anything currently inside it. The final seconds come off the clock beneath a wall of sound.

Ten.

Nine.

The boys stop pretending to play normally.

Eight.

Dean’s already grinning.

Seven.

Tucker turns toward the bench.

Six.

Logan lifts one glove.

Five.

The entire Briar section begins counting.

“FOUR!”

Garrett looks toward the scoreboard.

“THREE!”

She grabs Lucy with one hand and Monique with the other.

“TWO!”

The Briar bench empties before the clock reaches one. The buzzer sounds. For a second, she hears nothing.

The noise is too big. It strikes her all at once and wipes itself out, becoming pressure rather than sound, something physical moving through the arena floor and up her legs while the boys throw themselves over the boards.

Briar’s fucking won.

The girls collapse into one another. Lucy screams directly into her ear. Monique, usually the least likely person in any room to lose control of her limbs, grabs her around the neck and jumps hard enough that all three of them stumble into Kendall.

Everyone is crying or laughing or doing both without making a meaningful distinction. Paige spills half her drink over the floor and doesn’t notice. Sienna’s sign bends completely in the middle when she hugs it to her chest.

On the ice, the team becomes one enormous pile of navy jerseys and raised sticks. Garrett disappears beneath it. Dean launches himself on top of Logan. Tucker is somewhere near the bottom, one glove reaching upward as if requesting rescue. Their goalie skates the length of the ice and dives into the mass, sending three players sliding.

Helmets and gloves scatter across the surface. The Briar bench is empty. Coaches stand near the boards with their arms around one another, several of them looking as though they’re trying very hard not to cry on television.

She finds Garrett when the pile begins to break apart. He’s on his knees, helmet gone, curls damp and flattened strangely on one side. Logan has both hands on Garrett’s face. Dean grabs him from behind. Tucker reaches them and folds all three into another hug.

Garrett throws his head back and yells. The sight of it breaks something open inside her. It’s too large and warm and sharp at once, rising behind her ribs until she cannot breathe around it.

Three weeks of watching him drag himself through every practice. Every night he fell asleep before she finished speaking. Every meal she had pushed toward him. Every time he said the team was killing it and left himself out of the sentence.

On the ice, officials and event staff begin organising the presentation. A carpet is carried toward centre. Someone wheels the championship trophy through the open gate, silver catching beneath the arena lights.

The boys see it and lose their minds again. Dean points with both hands like nobody else has noticed the enormous trophy entering the rink. Logan shoves Garrett toward it. Tucker is laughing so hard he bends forward, hands braced on his knees.

Garrett takes two steps with them, then he stops. He turns away from the trophy, his head comes up, eyes moving over the crowd. She knows immediately.

“Oh,” Monique says behind her.

Garrett scans the front rows once, fast and frantic, until he finds her, and the expression on his face changes. She’s already moving.

There’s an opening near the bench where staff have begun letting family and selected guests closer to the ice. She doesn’t ask whether she’s selected. She slips past the end of the row, nearly trips over a folded sign and pushes through the bodies clustered near the gate.

Someone says her name. Maybe Lucy. Maybe a security worker attempting to protect the national championship from overly emotional nursing students.

Garrett’s skating toward her. He reaches the open bench gate just as she does, one hand catching the boards while the other reaches for her.

She throws herself at him. Her sneakers leave the rubber flooring. One knee knocks lightly against the boards and Garrett catches her beneath the thighs with a startled laugh, skates shifting backward on the ice before he steadies.

His arms tighten. He spins her once, the Garden lights sweep through her vision and her stomach lifts while she grabs both sides of his face.

Garrett kisses her before she can speak. It lands crooked at first, half her mouth and half the corner, both of them laughing too hard for accuracy. Then he adjusts his hold and kisses her again. Properly. Hard and warm and breathless, tasting like sweat, cold air and the mint gum he must have been chewing before warm-ups.

She pulls back because there are things she needs to say. “You–” Garrett kisses her. “Baby, you–” Another kiss. Shorter, but still enough to knock the sentence loose. “You won,” she manages when his mouth moves briefly to her cheek. “Garrett, you fucking won.”

“I know.”

His voice cracks on the words. She barely gets to hear it before he kisses her again, one hand leaving beneath her thigh to catch the back of her neck.

Behind him, somebody screams, “GRAHAM, TROPHY!”

Garrett raises one hand over her shoulder without looking and gives the entire team the finger. She laughs into his mouth. “Baby, the trophy.”

He shakes his head once and kisses her again. It’s ridiculous. The championship trophy is thirty feet away. His entire team is shouting his name. Cameras are absolutely capturing the captain of Briar University ignoring the formal presentation to make out with his girlfriend through an open bench gate.

She cannot make herself care. Garrett’s forehead presses against hers. His breathing is rough, chest rising hard beneath her arms, damp curls brushing her fingers where they hold the sides of his face.

His eyes are bright. Something wet catches along his lower lashes before he blinks and laughs like his body has become too full to choose one reaction. “I fucking love you,” he says.

The words strike her in the centre of the chest. For half a second, she can only look at him. Then the laugh comes out of her, thin and startled and so relieved it nearly turns into a sob. Her forehead presses harder against his. “You heard me?”

Garrett lets out one disbelieving breath. “Baby, I heard you.”

“Oh my God.”

“I nearly threw up.”

She laughs harder, both hands sliding into his hair now, holding him close enough that their noses bump. “You nearly threw up?”

“I was about to play for a national championship and my girlfriend just yelled that she loved me through the glass.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

His brows lift.

“No, I mean– I meant it.” Her mouth cannot keep up with her brain. Everything comes out tangled, warm and too fast. “Obviously I meant it. I just didn’t mean to say it then. It slipped out and then you skated away, and I didn’t know if you heard, and Paige said your head moved, but heads move all the time–”

Garrett kisses her once, laughing against her mouth. “You’re spiralling.”

“I’ve been spiralling for three periods,” she groans.

“I know.”

“I was watching you get hit by men the size of refrigerators.”

“And thinking about whether I heard you.”

“Yes.”

His smile goes soft. Tired and overwhelmed and so openly happy that the sight of it makes her throat tighten. “I heard you,” he says again, quieter now. “Every word.”

She touches the little cut near his cheekbone, thumb brushing beneath it without pressing. “I love you so much.”

Garrett closes his eyes for one second. When they open again, there’s no joke waiting there, no grin to make the sentence easier. Only him, holding her against his chest while the Garden roars around them and his team shouts increasingly creative threats from centre ice.

“I love you,” he says. “Fuck, I love you.”

She kisses him because there’s no possible response her mouth could make that would improve on that. Garrett kisses her back immediately, deep enough that another wave of yelling rises from the boys.

“CAPTAIN!”

“WE HAVE A FUCKING TROPHY!”

“GRAHAM, WE’RE ON TV!”

“That one was Tucker,” she whispers against Garrett’s mouth.

Garrett laughs, forehead returning to hers. She looks past him at the boys clustered near centre. Dean has both hands on his hips. Logan is pointing urgently at the trophy. Tucker is shaking his head, but he’s smiling so hard it ruins any attempt at disappointment.

“Okay,” she murmurs. “Okay, go get your trophy.”

Garrett tightens his arms around her. “In a second.”

“Baby.”

“One second.”

“You’re the captain,” she argues.

“I know.”

“They need you.”

He grins. “They’ve needed me all month. They can wait ten more seconds.”

Warmth pushes hard behind her eyes. She swallows it, kisses the corner of his mouth and presses both palms to his cheeks. “I’m so proud of you.”

Garrett’s face shifts. His lips part slightly and his eyes drop for half a second like those words have reached somewhere the championship couldn’t.

She strokes one thumb over his skin. “You did it.”

His throat moves, then he kisses her again, one firm press of his mouth to hers that feels less like interruption now and more like an answer.

“Love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too.” She gives his shoulders a small push. “Now put me down before Dean starts crying.”

“He’s already crying.”

She looks past Garrett again. Dean’s wiping both eyes with the collar of his jersey while aggressively denying something Logan has said. “Oh.”

“Told you.”

Garrett lowers her carefully. Her sneakers land on the rubber mat beyond the ice, knees wobbling after being held above skates and adrenaline for longer than sensible workplace guidelines would recommend. His hands stay at her waist until he’s sure she is balanced.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says.

“You better.”

His grin returns. Bright, golden and exhausted, split at one corner by the small cut on his lip. “Bossy.”

“National champion or not, you still need to listen.”

“Yes, Coach.”

She leans through the gate and kisses him one last time, quick enough not to trigger another team revolt. “Go.”

Garrett pushes backward onto the ice. She catches his wrist before he gets too far. He turns. Her chest is still heaving. Her face hurts from smiling. His jersey hangs heavy and warm over her body, number stretching across her back while the Briar crowd shakes the building around them.

“Love you, Captain.”

Garrett’s whole face lights. He brings one glove to his mouth and blows her a kiss. She catches it.

“Love you,” he calls.

Then he turns and skates toward the boys. Dean meets him halfway and jumps onto his back, nearly taking both of them down. Logan slams into Garrett’s side. Tucker catches his other shoulder and drags the group toward centre, where the trophy waits beneath the arena lights.

She stands at the open gate watching them go, one hand still closed around Garrett’s imaginary kiss. Then Lucy crashes into her from behind.

“You said it twice,” she screams directly into her hair.

Monique wraps both arms around them. Kendall and Paige arrive next, Sienna pushing in with the damaged sign still trapped beneath one elbow until all six of them are pressed together in a laughing, crying mess beside the bench.

“He heard me,” she says, although no one asked.

Lucy squeezes harder. “We noticed.”

“He loves me.”

“No shit,” Paige replies, voice thick with tears. “He abandoned the national championship trophy to kiss you for five minutes.”

Out on the ice, Garrett reaches centre. The boys crowd around him as officials begin saying things nobody in the building has any intention of hearing. Coach hands him the trophy.

Garrett takes it with both hands. For one brief second, he looks down at the silver beneath his gloves. His mouth presses together. Tucker’s hand lands on the back of his neck. Logan grips one shoulder. Dean has both arms raised already, visibly incapable of waiting.

Then Garrett lifts the trophy over his head. The Garden erupts all over again. She screams with everyone else, hands thrown upward, tears warm on her face and Garrett’s forty-four stretched across her back while the boys jump around him.

The trophy shines above them. Dean’s yelling. Logan’s trying to touch it before Garrett has finished lifting it. Tucker’s head is tipped back in laughter.

And Garrett, standing in the middle of everything he has spent his whole life being pushed toward, looks past the cameras and the confetti beginning to fall and the men crowding around him, and he finds her again. 

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Elowen Muller was already a known patient in the ER when you started working there. She came in at least once a month no matter how much her family tried to keep her out of there, sometimes it was because of a medical complication, sometimes her dementia made her get into accidents and sometimes it was nothing at all but she would insist she felt like she was dying.

She had, for some reason, taken a liking to you on your first week working there and even through the episodes where she couldn't remember her name the fondness to you peaked through.

"Hey, psst" She called on your third day working at the pitt "Sneak me a soda and I'll give you one of these" She showed you one of those candies old people always had yet you never saw in the stores "Come on, I'll give you three"

"I'll see what I can do" You nodded.

Later when you'd gotten confirmation that because of her sugar levels she was not allowed to have a soda you brought her a box of sugar free juice and she'd given you the dirtiest look she could muster she mumbled something about young people not respecting their elders and you'd walked off containing your laughter as she still sipped on her juice greedily.

Then Mateo came into the picture, you had already been working there for a year, Elowen was still coming in regularly and the first time she saw him she'd let out a whistle and whispered shouted to you "That one's mine" Mateo had just laughed and continued his work.

The first time she decided she was going to get you and Mateo together, there were several revelations during her episodes, was on one of her visits because of dehydration. She was in observation while hooked up on an IV and completely stable, her family had just stepped out 10 minutes before to get lunch when the alarms started blaring, she was coding.

You rushed in alongside Robby, Princess and Mateo to find her sitting on her bed looking completely fine. When Robby approached her to check up on her vitals she put her hand up and stopped him "You are not touching me"

"I'm sorry Mrs. Muller, we need to make sure you're okay, this machine here told us you had lost your pulse" Robby explained "If you're not comfortable with me looking you over then maybe one of our female staff can check you up?"

But then you took a step closer and for the first time in a while she gave you an annoyed look "No, you can't touch me either"

"Mrs. Muller" You tried "We need to-"

"Why are you always here? Don't you have a man or something?" You saw Robby's eyebrows shoot up in amusement before slipping out of the room deciding you three had it under control as Mrs. Muller didn't seem to be in any immediate danger.

"No I don't, too busy making sure my patients don't die on me actually so would you please let us do out jobs?" You asked, she shook her head.

"None of you are touvhing me, only him" She pointed at Mateo and Princess and you tried not to laugh when you realized what was happening "You can come here and check me everywhere handsome"

"All yours Nurse Diaz" You gave him a teasing smile, he looked taken aback.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Mrs. Muller asked once mateo started checking her vitals.

"No ma'am"

"Oh there's no way no one has snatched you up!" She grabbed a hold of his bicep, Mateo kept working as if that was a normal thing, or maybe he just wanted to get it over with "I would but my husband would get real jealous, nowadays I only get to see and not touch"

"Well then careful he doesn't catch you right now" Princess told her, she waved her off.

"Look, you do't have a girlfriend, she doesn't have a man and god knows she needs a little sugar you should give her some" You raised your eyebrows at her words, Mateo choke on nothing and Princess bursted out laughing "Yes, yes, you two would be perfect"

You left the room after confirming she was okay and making her promise she wouldn't pull on any wires anymore and Princess rushed away no doubt to tell everyone in the nurses station about your interaction with Mrs.Muller.

"So" Mateo spoke first "About that sugar"

You laughed "She's something alright. That was the first time she didn't let me check on her by the way"

"She got a new favorite" He smirked smugly.

"You tell me if you still like that idea tonight after she's made you come in five different times because she was bored or wanted a soda she can't have"

That night when it was time to go home after your shift Mateo found you by your locker "Hey"

"Hey" You were so tired all you wanted was to go home, take a shower and have dinner in bed while watching New Girl.

"I uh…" He fidgeted with the straps of his backpack "Do you wanna go have dinner with me?"

You turned with a raised eyebrow "You really asking me out right now?"

He chuckled "Doesn't have to be anything fancy, some burgers and fries in the car? I can drop you off home afterwards" He knew you walked home every night, you lived only a few streets away from the hospital and found out pretty quickly that taking your car actually made the commute longer than walking because of the traffic.

"You know what? Sure, but only if we go to that place on Main with the cheesy bacon heart attack inducing burgers"

He chuckled but nodded "Completed with potato wedges and all"

Neither of you called it a date, but down the line when you were asked about your first date you always referred to that night.

You two grew closer over the next months, sometimes you'd meet him in the morning with a coffee at the beginning of your shift, other times you'd go out for dinner after and whenever you had a free day and swore all you wanted was to stay at home and enjoy the peace and quiet of living alone you still found yourself texting him to come over.

Mrs.Muller still tried to set you up whenever she was around, one time when she'd said something that made you laugh full on she'd said "You have good teeth, you'd be worth a lot if you were a horse"

Her daughter had gasped "Mom!" And apologized extensively but Mrs. Muller hadn't relented.

"See that?" She'd asked Mateo "Good teeth genetics, for your future kids"

Safe to say while you and Mateo laughed at the absurdity of the situation her poor daughter looked like she'd rather be anywhere but there.

Eventually, one day, years after, when you and Mateo were already together, Mrs. Muller came in for a complication with a past pneumonia. You hadn't been on shift when she came in and she hadn't been lucid at all that night, but when she woke up in the morning to you checking her vitals it had been as if her dementia was simply an exaggeration.

"Dear, how's Mateo? You two find a place yet?" You'd told her two months ago on her last visit about your plans for moving in together, Mateo didn't have a shift that day.

"We haven't" You replied "Actually, we decided to move into my place since it is closer to the hospital. At least until we find a house in our price range we like or save enough money for something better"

"You see, back when my Ernie and I bought our house there was barely anyone in the neighborhood so it was all real cheap" She proceeded to tell you all about the early stages of her marriage while you updated out her chart, thankful that it was a slow enough day that you could stay without Robby chewing you out for it like he so often did with Samira.

Later when you excused yourself, her daughter Rosie followed you out of the room with teary eyes "That was the most lucid she's been the whole week, you should know when we leave here she talks about you and Mateo constantly for at least a week, and sometimes she has these moments of clarity where she shares all these wonders about the two of you" Your expression softened, you'd come to really enjoy Mrs.Muller's company even though you always hoped she wouldn't end up here again soon "Thank you, for all the care, you truly are one of the best doctors I've ever met"

"You don't have to thank me" You hugged her "She really makes my job a lot easier even when she's being stubborn"

That afternoon, an hour before your shift ended, Elowen Muller coded. You'd been scared and had pulled all the stops to bring her back and just when you thought she was gone she'd responded, opened her eyes and with a raspy voice daid "Sorry everyone, I dozed off" You don't think you've ever felt the way you did that night and when you got home after your shift you cried to Mateo about how scary it had been.

After that scare you had approached Rosie and asked if you could visit her mom when she got out of the hospital and that's how you found yourself doing regular visits to her house, Elowen Muller became somewhat of your grandma as they adopted you into the family. When Mateo proposed and you kept it quiet from the hospital staff, because you rarely shared anything about your relationship with them and you weren't planning on saying anything until you sent out the save the dates, Mrs.Muller outed you.

It was during the med students first shift, Mateo had been tending to her alongside Cassie and Javadi and Mrs.Muller had been particularly quiet until the end when she asked Mateo to get closer and then whispered loudly to him "That one's making eyes at you, be careful" and pointed at Javadi who looked mortified.

Then before they left she'd called out "Tell your fiancee to come say hi before I leave!"

"She's really rooting for you guys huh?" Cassie smiled warmly at Mateo, she was probably the one person in the hospital who had seen the most about your relationship since you two often babysat for her.

"From day one" Mateo replied with a big smile.

"Sorry, he has a fiancee?" Javadi asked once he was gone.

"Girlfriend" Cassie replied giving her your name "But I wouldn't be surprised if they get engaged soon"

That same day, a little later, you popped into her room when you had some free time to say hello, Javadi was in there again, this time with Princess.

"I heard you were in here, couldn't let you leave without saying hi"

"Oh sweets! Come in, come in here and show me that ring again" Your eyes widened a little, there was no way she was outing you in front of Princess, surely the entire floor would know about it before shift was over now "Have you seen it yet? It's not as pretty as the one my Ernie got me, but it is gorgeous" She asked princess who shook her head "Well go on, show them"

You chuckled nervously "I don't wear it while working"

"You need to wear it on a chain, or pin it on your scrubs! I saw that in Greys"

"So, I guess congratulations are in order?" Princess said when you walked out of the room, you smiled and nodded sheepishly "You better let us know the date with plenty of time so we can find someone to fill in!" She pointed at you and walked away surely to let everyone know.

"Congrats" Javadi smiled awkwardly.

"Thank you" You replied.

Mateo found you approximately 5 minutes later "Mrs.Muller let it out huh?" You winced, he laughed "Hey the chain idea wasn't that bad, maybe I need to get you one of those next"

After you and Mateo got married Mrs.Muller's health had started declining and she had more bad days than good, still, even when she didn't fully remember you, that fondness she had for you hadn't disappeared and you saw it in the way she'd fight every doctor when they tried to check on her during a particular bad day except for you, or when she would only trust you to put her IV in.

One day when you arrived for your shift in the morning you found Mrs.Muller in a white coat walking bed to bed asking patients all sorts of questions while holding a notepad and a pen.

"Should we stop her?" You asked Dana who already looked busy even though the shift had just started.

She waved you off "She's just conducting a survey" And showed you a paper that was left in the counter of the nurses station earlier "About everyone's favorite soda and least favorite spot in town I think"

Her writings were barely words, mostly scribbles, but you could make out the words Sprite and Dr.Pepper every few lines alongside some misspelled street names. A couple minutes later you overlapped with a patient you needed to check on and Mrs.Muller's questionnaire towards them, the older woman nodding and scribbling into her notepad as you spoke to your patient who assured you they were fine with Mrs.Muller being there, thankfully. When you were done and moved to your next patient she followed, that repeated for about three patients more until she declared she was bored and stopped Mateo to take her to her room because she'd forgotten her way.

On her next visit to the hospital after a particularly nasty fall on a bad day she'd been snappy with everyone included you. And as you asked her daughter the regular questions you had to ask every time a new patient came in she jumped into the conversation "I'm pregnant" She announced.

She was 85 years old and very much not pregnant, but you still let her continue and asked in an amused tone "Yeah? Who's the father?"

She stared at you with a straight face and let out "Your husband" At the same time as Mateo was walking by making him poke his head in.

"Oh hi Mrs.Muller, how are you doing today?"

"Pregnant with your baby apparently" You huffed a chuckle watching Mateo look completely lost.

"At least the child will have good hair" Mrs.Muller grumbled before getting distracted with the beeping of the machine next to her.

"I'm so sorry" Rosie apologized, you waved her off with a smile.

When you found out you were pregnant was around the same time as Mrs.Muller had been put in an elderly care facility, Rosie not being able to car for her mom full time anymore as her dementia got worse and her siblings all living out of state, so your visits to her were fewer and most of her care was handled by the facility in their state of the art clinic so she no longer came into the ER as often.

When you were in your first two trimesters you visited her at the facility as much as you could, but as you reached your third trimester anything other than work seemed like too much of a hassle, so with a heavy heart Mateo and you had decided it was best if your trips to see Mrs.Muller stopped for the time being.

You were eight months pregnant on one of the last times you saw Mrs.Muller in the ER, your body was achy, your feet swollen and your mood completely soured from the overstimulation of carrying a baby at 8 months pregnant while working on a busy emergency department, but that day Mrs.Muller's visit had brightened your day with her not even realizing it.

You weren't in charge of her case, but you still stopped by to check on her even though it was one of those bad days where she didn't remember you at all. You'd been standing to the side sipping out of a smoothie reading her chart when she spoke "You should suck in your gut darling, you look fat"

Everyone in the room turned to you with horrified looks, recently you cried for less. In fact, just earlier today you'd cried because Whitaker had asked you to clarify what one of your notes said on a patient chart because your writing wasn't too neat and yesterday you'd teared up when Langdon complimented Mel on her stitches but didn't say anything about yours.

But instead of crying like everyone else had expected, you bursted out laughing, full laugh that had you clutching your belly and wiping good tears away "I needed that Elowen, I really did" Mrs.Muller had no idea what you meant or how you knew her first name but she ignored you as you walked out of the room wiping tears away.

"Hey, hey, what happened?" Mateo worryingly rushed to your side when he noticed the tears.

"Nothing" You gasped for air, laughing that much while 8 months pregnant? Not for the weak, but again, nothing really was these days "Good tears I swear, oh my god"

"Baby talk to me" Mateo still looked worried "What's going on?"

"She…" You pointed at the room and bursted out laughing again "Oh my god"

"Okay, breathe please"

You laughed some more and then finally took a deep breath and stopped enough to be able to form a full sentence "She told me I looked fat"

"Oh no" Mateo frowned.

"She's laughing about being called fat?" Santos asked confused from where she was standing charting behind you "She cried last week when I told her the part in her hair was not straight"

"You said that in a really mean tone"

"As opposed to that mean little old lady called you fat in a good tone?" She questioned.

"She's just confused" You waved her off.

By the time your baby girl made it to the world Mrs.Muller was in hospice care, Mateo and you contemplated it, your plan was to not take your baby out farther than your backyard until she was at least three months old, but based on what you'd heard from Rosie around the time your baby was a month old, Mrs.Muller might've not make it until then, so you decided you'd visit.

Rosie greeted you at the entrance, it was only her there that day with her mom, she didn't push to hold the baby or touch or anything, just watched with the same fondness you saw in her mom and congratulated you both. Mrs. Muller was having a good day she told you, that morning when she woke up she'd been told about your visit with your little one and she'd been excitedly waiting for you to arrive.

When she saw you walk through the door, Mateo holding the carrier and you tired but glowing in front she beamed "Oh my darlings" She clasped her hands "Look at you!"

"Hi Mrs.Muller" You smiled with teary eyes, your hormones were still all over the place and seeing her look so fragile in that bed killed you.

"Come here" She motioned, you did "You look amazing, how are you doing?"

"Tired" You admitted "But we wanted to come introduce someone to you"

Mateo took a step closer and lifted the carrier up for you to pull the baby out "Hi Mrs.Muller"

"Hi my love" She smiled at him then saw the tiny baby in your arms "Oh my goodness"

"Would you like to hold her?" She nodded and you adjusted her in her arms safely keeping a hand close so you could help in case of an emergency.

"Look at you" Mrs.Muller cooed "You're so beautiful, you look just like your daddy"

Mateo smiled proudly, it was true, that weird statistic about girls always looking like their dad for some weird reason had been true in your case "Would you like to know her name?" He asked.

Mrs.Muller nodded and you two looked at each other before you softly said "Her name is Elowen Diaz"

Mrs.Muller looks up at you both with teary eyes and you nod "She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you" Mateo told her "I had been eyeing the pretty doctor for days thinking I had no chance with her until you started playing matchmaker and I decided to risk it"

"You've been for every stage of our relationship it only seemed right for our girl to be named after you" You added.

"Oh take her before I drop her" You could see her arms shaking from emotion and Mateo, the protective dad he had become even before she was out in the world, didn't think twice before picking her up and nestling her in his arms, one technically because they were so big and she was so small but the other one was there too for extra security "You two are going to be the most wonderful parents to that little girl, she's so luck to have you"

"And we're lucky to have you" You said, she motioned for you to get closer so she could hug you.

When you were in her arms she whispered "I'm so proud of you two"

She passed away a week later, it happened in her sleep and she hadn't been in any pain. For the funeral you got Cassie to babysit as a repayment for all the times you and Mateo did for her and went to celebrate the life of a wonderful woman and say goodbye.

You heard stories from a lot of different people, Elowen Muller had been an exceptional woman who had impacted the life of everyone she'd connected with. When she was younger she'd been a special ed teacher, after she retired from teaching she decided to pursue her childhood dream of working in a zoo, except she didn't just go and volunteer at one, she found an underfunded rescue center and started campaigning for them, she volunteered all her free time to animal conservation and spent the rest of it alongside her family.

She had 3 kids, 2 daughters and a son, and 7 grandkids, all grown up with their own lives yet they still found time to visit her as much as possible. When the service ended you met up with Rosie and her siblings who had also adopted you into their family after hearing so much of you from their mother.

"Thank you for coming" Rosie smiled "I'm sure she's real happy you made it today"

"We wouldn't have missed it" Mateo replied for the both of you since he knew you were too emotional to speak, your whole body weight was resting on him as he held you by his side "We're going to miss her"

"Yeah" Rosie pulled an envelop out of her purse "She left this for you"

Back home, after saying goodbye to Cassie and making sure that Elowen was safely asleep in her bassinet, you took the baby monitor and sat outside with the envelope in your hands.

"I don't know if I'm ready for this" You admitted.

"You don't have to open it right now" Mateo kissed the top of your head.

You took a deep breath "No, I think we should" In the letter you could see a neat handwriting, probably Rosie's

My Dears,

If you're reading this letter, that means I'm gone.

And now that I've gotten the dramatic movie line out of the way let's do this.

I want to start by thanking you for taking care not only of me, but my family as well. All those hospital visits where you had to tend to me, you were also helping my family, those extra blankets and pillows never went unnoticed. Neither did the words of encouragement and all the support you had for my children and I through all the hard times.

I know I wasn't all there all the time, as much as I would've liked it, my sickness made it impossible. However, the times I was there, I got to see your beautiful love flourish. I'm glad you took the risk and decided to try it out, it takes one look at you both to realize how perfect you are for each other.

It was the highlight of my last years to see you two fall in love, from those 'secret' looks you threw each other's way (yes, I saw them, I think everybody did, you're not good at hiding) to seeing you hold hands for a second in the hallway while passing through on your way to another patient all the way to your wedding and (hopefully I'll still be there to see it) the birth of your baby.

To the best nurse ever, never lose that beautiful gentleness you have for others, it is one of your biggest strenghts, but don't let anyone use it as a weakness. Take care of our girl and the little one on the way as well like it is your full time job. (I'm sure you already do but it doesn't hurt to remind you)

To my favorite doctor, never lose sight of who you are, keep working hard but don't let your ambition consume you, take the time to stop and look around. Let our nurse take care of you and never stop loving him with as much passion as you do now, savor every moment with your little one, they grow up too fast.

I'm so proud of the people you've grown to be, you will be the best parents ever. Never lose sight of what is the most important thing in your life, each other, your family. I know you don't owe me anything, but I would really love it if you mentioned me once or twice to your girl, let her know a crazy old woman was the one who pushed her parents to get together maybe.

Don't miss me too much, know I'm having the time of my life with my Ernie and telling him all about what he missed with our family, including you three. It became a tradition after my first grandchild that every one of them got a knitted blanket, I obviously couldn't make one for your baby but I enlisted the help of Rosie with it and by the time you read this she should have it ready along with a few other things I would like you to have, call her, she'll have it all for you.(Rosie here: yes I will, call me)

It is a pity that we didn't have more time together, but I appreciate the universe for putting you in my way, until we see each other again.

With love,

Elowen Muller.

He had gotten so drunk you ended up taking care of him all night and having to leave early, ashamed and embarrassed. You haven’t attended in years because of it.

This one was already going significantly better. It was vastly different from the dive bars they usually had it at, because every few years all the big guns liked to throw money at it and attend themselves.

Even though your cocktail dress and heels are just as uncomfortable as you’d expected. You’d happily trade them for jeans or even better, scrubs. And truth be told, you were mostly just looking forward to the drinks at the shitty bar down the street from the country club after this.

But it was going better because the handsome man beside you had his hand resting comfortably on the small of your back instead of accidentally trapping you in conversation for three hours.

“You clean up nice,” Sidney murmured, leaning down to kiss your temple.

You smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from his jacket, “I was about to say the same thing.”

His smile was soft, the kind reserved just for you even after years together.

The doors opened and music engulfed you both. It was soft jazz and it set the mood that is way too sophisticated for the group attending the event.

But you knew how it would go, the board, corporate, and everyone in between would be attending. They say it’s for staff, but you’ve been in health care long enough to know it’s not.

Christmas trees covered in white lights lined the walls, garland wrapped every balcony railing, and gold ornaments reflected the chandeliers overhead.

Within thirty seconds Robby spotted you both.

“There they are!” His voice rang from the bar area.

You cringed at the attention, Sid noticed and pressed his hand just a little bit tighter against your lower back.

He walked over with Parker, immediately pulling you into a quick hug before shaking Sidney's hand.

“I still can't believe this,” Robby said, looking between the two of you.

Sidney smiled knowingly, “believe what, Dr. Robby?”

“The last time she came to one of these, I practically had to drag her through the front doors,” he said with a laugh.

You groaned, “we're still talking about that?”

Sidney laughed with Robby as the two of you ordered and received your drinks. It was going to be a long night.

The night slipped comfortably into conversation. Unlike your first gala, you actually knew people at this one.

You floated between conversations while Sidney stayed nearby, occasionally catching your eye across the room.

It felt like you could do this together forever.

“Remember the time when you replaced everything on Frank’s desk with the toy version of it?” Perlah nearly snorted into her drink as she recalled one of the many pranks you have pulled over the years.

“No no no my favorite was when I filled his locker with those tiny babies from Amazon,” you were nearly bent over laughing, “and the worst part is, he didn’t even suspect us… and it’s literally always us.”

The two of you were laughing together when Robby approached you again.

Eventually Robby nudged your shoulder, “hey.”

You wiped the tear from your eye and turned to look at him.

“Mr. White wanted to meet one of our soon to be attendings from emergency medicine,” Robby said with a smile.

“Ooooo she’s fancy now,” Perlah cooed.

You nodded, trying to hide your smile, “I can definitely do that.”

Robby lowered his voice, “he donates... generously.”

You huffed a laugh, “of course he does. Don’t worry, I can be charming.”

Robby laughed, as he turned to guide you back to the bar.

“You don't sound convinced,” you said with a fake pout.

“I'm mostly reminding you not to tell him any emergency room stories. Especially the ones you and Perlah almost just peed yourselves recounting.”

You snorted, “okay, boss.”

Mr. White turned out to be somewhere in his sixties. He was well dressed in the same way most older, wealthy men were.

He asked about the emergency department, what made you pick trauma as your specialty, why you went into medicine. He even asked you your thoughts on the hospital expansion.

He seemed genuinely interested. Or maybe you were just oblivious.

“You know,” he said, smiling over the rim of his bourbon, “I have to admit... when Dr. Robby told me one of his brightest physicians was coming over, I wasn't expecting someone quite so beautiful.”

You smiled politely, ignoring the increase of your heart rate, “that’s very kind.”

“I imagine you’re the type of doctor that makes patients feel better just walking into the room,” he winked as he sipped his burning.

You laughed awkwardly, not even sure what to say to that, “I’ve been told my medical abilities are some of my best qualities.” You sipped your drink, trying to hide the discomfort about where this was going.

“I'd argue your smile ranks higher,” he said with a filthy smirk. And you wondered if it had been there the whole time and you had only just noticed it.

You maintained your composure as he took a slow step into your personal space. You glanced around the room. Where was Sidney?

Across the ballroom, Dana handed Sidney another glass of champagne.

“You okay?” she asked gruffly.

“Yeah yeah, great,” he said quickly, his eyes focused on where you stood across the room.

She eyed him, “well what’s so great?”

He finally peeled his eyes off you and looked at Dana, “well I’m celebrating.”

She furrowed her brow.

He looked toward you automatically, “celebrating her.”

Dana followed his gaze.

“She tags along to this type of stuff with me all the time. She always smiles, even when I know she’s miserable. I’m just happy to be here supporting her,” he said.

Dana smiled, “oh no.”

He turned and looked at her in concern, “what?”

“Sidney Crosby is getting drunk!” She said triumphantly.

“I am not,” he said firmly, although he could feel the redness of his cheeks darken.

“Yeah, sure kid,” Dana said with a smile.

He simply waved her off, “she’s just incredible.”

“And she's way smarter than me,” he added.

Dana laughed, “she went to med school, so I sure would hope so!”

“No, really,” he nodded earnestly, “she'll come home after a twelve-hour shift and tell me about these impossible cases,” his expression softened, “she cares so much.”

Dana watched him fondly, “well I’ll be damned. Our very own Doctor has the big old hockey player smitten.”

He shook his head, smiling at her teasing, “she’s just my favorite person.”

He looked toward you again, “and not to mention she’s ridiculously beautiful.”

Dana laughed, “you are definitely tipsy.”

Suddenly, Sidney’s expression turned stone cold. Dana followed his gaze.

You were laughing politely at something the donor had said.

Then she noticed it too. The man leaned closer. His hand settled lightly against your elbow. She watched your eyes dance across the room, looking for anyone.

“Who is that?” Sidney asked flatly.

Dana looked, “ugh,” she rolled her eyes, “that’s Mr. White.”

“Why's he standing so close?” He asked as if he was misreading the situation.

Dana hesitated, “that would be because he's flirting.”

Sidney blinked. He moved before Dana could get another word in.

You took a microscopic step backward.

White simply matched it.

“So,” he continued, “a pretty girl like you should not attend these things alone?”

You smiled politely still, it was starting to make your cheeks cramp, “no, I’m not alone.”

“Oh, I didn't see anyone with you,” he said slyly.

Before you could answer a familiar hand slid confidently around your waist.

Sidney.

“There you are,” he said softly.

You exhaled, feeling relief wash over you.

He leaned down, kissing your forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You leaned against him, not noticeable but enough that your weight shifted towards him.

White looked between you, stretching out his hand, “and you are?”

Sidney smiled, “I’m Sidney,” he shook the man’s hand. “Lucky enough to be this beautiful girl’s plus one.”

The donor accepted the handshake and then recognition flashed across his face, “Sidney… Crosby.”

Sid laughed, not moving his hand from your waist, “guilty.”

“You two are together?” The man looked between the two of you.

Sidney looked down at you. His thumb rubbed absentminded circles against your waist, “yeah, for a couple years now.”

Heat climbed into your cheeks.

The man in front of you both cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed, “I... didn't realize.”

Sidney never stopped smiling, “I figured I'd come steal her for a dance.”

White nodded politely, raising his glass, “of course.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Sidney said.

“And thank you for everything you do for the hospital,” you said as Sid all but removed you away from the man.

The second you were several feet away, you let out a long breath, “thank you for rescuing me.”

He looked you over, “was he making you uncomfortable?”

“A little,” you said quietly, “but don’t make it a big deal, the hospital needs his money.”

His jaw tightened, “I could tell he was.”

You squeezed his hand.

The music swelled as couples drifted onto the dance floor. Without saying a word, he pulled you gently into his arms. One hand settled at your waist. The other intertwined with yours.

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling safe against him.

After a moment you felt him sigh.

You tilted your head up, “what?”

“I don't usually get jealous,” he said bashfully.

You couldn’t help but smile, “no?”

He shook his head.

You smiled, “Sid, he was nearly double my age. And he had food in his teeth.”

Sid’s lips twitched at the joke, “I didn't like the way he was looking at you.”

You tilted your head up and he took the opportunity to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Your heart skipped as his fingers danced across your skin, “I think he got it. I mean you wrapped your arm around me before you even said hello.”

“I panicked? Okay? Dana was feeding me drinks before I saw you,” he admitted.

You laughed, “wow you really just folded under zero pressure.”

He laughed with you.

You smiled up at him, then you whispered, “I kind of liked it.”

His eyebrows lifted, “you like possessive Sidney?”

You huffed a laugh, “I think I really like protective Sidney.”

He considered that.

“What do you say we skip the after party and go straight home?” You lifted your brow as you said it, and he knew exactly what you meant.

He leaned down and kissed you slowly in the middle of the crowded ballroom, completely unconcerned by the hundreds of people surrounding you, “I’d be a stupid man to say no to that.”

You smiled, unable to stop yourself.

Across the room, Robby watched the two of you swaying together on the dance floor and shook his head, unbeknownst what the conversation being had was.

Parker stood beside him, following his gaze, “why are you staring like a perv?”

He smiled despite himself, “remember when I picked her name for that gala all those years ago and she said it was because she had bad luck?”

Parker laughed, “oh I’ll never forget the look she gave you. I thought she was gonna kill you right there.”

Robby watched Sidney quietly brush another kiss across your forehead, your smile somehow growing even brighter.

“Turns out,” he said, lifting his drink, “it was probably the luckiest night of her life.”

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Your  car  screeched  slowly  along  the  street  you  knew  so  well,  your  hazards  blinking  as  you  took  a  turn  entirely  too  cautiously  into  the  Logan  &  Sons  auto  shop.

Your  car  was  a  piece  of  shit.  Everyone  knew  it.  You  knew  it,  your  siblings  knew  it,  your  parents  knew  it,  hell,  even  Logan  knew  it.

But  he  refused  to  give  up  on  it.

Even  as  he  walked  over  to  your  car,  a  layer  of  sweat  shining  over  his  biceps,  hands  coated  in  motor  oil,  bandana  tied  around  his  head,  and  leaned  into  your  open  window.  "Break  down  again?"

You  could  feel  your  cheeks  getting  hot  out  of  embarrassment.  "I  think  Linda  is  on  her  last  life."  you  scrunched  your  nose,  your  chipped  black  nails  tapping  against  the  steering  wheel,  Paramore  playing  faintly  through  your  fucked  up  radio.  "She's  a  lost  cause,  John."  You  frowned.  Even  if  it  was  a  piece  of  shit,  you  loved  your  car.

Logan  shook  his  head,  smiling  at  you  with  that  same  smile  he'd  give  every  time  you  came  into  the  shop.  That  knowing  one  that  made  you  want  to  kiss  him  as  much  as  it  made  you  want  to  smack  him.  "Nah,  Linda's  still  got  some  fight  in  her."  He  patted  the  hood  of  your  black  2008  Toyota  Camry  as  he  opened  your  door  with  his  other  hand,  ever  the  gentleman.

She  had  scratches  and  dents,  and  the  AC  barely  worked  on  a  good  day,  but  she  was  yours,  and  you  were  happy  he  saw  it  the  way  you  did.  You  crawled  out  of  the  front  seat  after  pulling  the  key  out  of  the  ignition  and  finding  your  usual  spot  on  his  work  desk.  You  were  here  more  often  than  you  were  anywhere  else,  including  school.

"She's  not  even  lasting  a  week  anymore,  Lo.  I  don't  think  she  has  much  life  left  in  her."  You  swung  your  legs  beneath  you,  watching  as  he  reached  into  your  car  and  popped  the  hood.

He  tilted  his  head,  pointing  at  you.  "She's  got  plenty  of  life  left  in  her.  You  doubt  my  skills,  that  hurts."  He  held  an  offended  hand  to  his  chest,  you  rolled  your  eyes.  "I  can  give  her  another  two  months  of  life,  minimum." 

You  raised  an  eyebrow  as  he  moved  closer  to  you,  planting  his  palms  on  the  table  on  either  side  of  your  hips  after  cleaning  them  off  with  a  wet  wipe.  You  tried  your  best  not  to  squirm  beneath  his  heat  but  it  was  hard  not  to.  The  two  of  you  had  this  thing.  It  was  hard  to  explain  and  impossible  to  label.  The  best  way  you  could  describe  it  was  really  close  friends  who  occasionally  fucked.  "Mhm,  that's  what  you  said  last  week."

Logan  smiled  and  something  fluttered  deep  in  your  belly.  He  moved  his  head  from  side  to  side  like  he  was  considering  what  you  said.  "Yeah,  well,  I  was  bluffing  last  week  and  I  know  what  the  problem  is  now." 

You  hummed,  narrowing  your  eyes  as  you  poked  his  side.  "Oh,  do  you  know?"

He  patted  your  hip  with  his  fingers,  sending  a  jolt  of  tingles  down  your  spine,  something  that  usually  happened  when  he  touched  you.  "Oh,  yeah.  Some  TLC  and  she'll  be  right  back  to  her  charming  self,  angel." 

You  bit  the  corner  of  your  bottom  lip. Angel.  The  nickname  he  had  for  you  since  the  first  time  you  brought  your  car  to  him  because  one  of  your  best  friends,  John  Tucker,  advised  you  to.  It  was  an  addictive  feeling,  the  way  your  breath  caught  in  your  lungs  when  he  said  it  in  that  gravely  tone.

You  remembered  the  first  time  he  said  it  to  you  when  he  was  balls  deep  in  you,  you  didn't  think  you'd  ever  come  that  hard  in  your  life.  As  if  he  could  read  your  thoughts,  his  eyes  darkened  and  he  clicked  his  tongue.  "Get  a  handle  on  that  mind  of  yours  or  else  I  won't  be  fixing  your  car  tonight."  He  tucked  a  piece  of  your  purple  hair  out  of  your  face.

You  giggled,  wrapping  your  arms  around  his  neck,  legs  locking  around  his  waist.  He  didn't  hesitate  to  grip  onto  your  thighs.  "Is  that  a  bad  thing?"  You  squinted  like  you  were  genuinely  asking.

He  let  out  a  huff  as  you  planted  a  wisp  of  a  kiss  on  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  his  stubble  deliciously  scratchy.  "I'm  not  gonna  be  nice,  angel,"  he  groaned  out  against  your  lips  as  he  yanked  your  hips  to  the  edge  of  the  table,  pressing  you  right  up  next  to  him.

You  smiled,  already  drunk  on  the  tension  collecting  in  the  air  between  the  two  of  you,  making  it  thick  and  suffocating  in  the  best  way  possible.  "I  don't  want  you  to  be."

That  was  all  he  needed.  Before  you  could  even  process  what  was  happening,  he  was  pulling  your  shorts  and  ripped  black  tights  off  of  your  body,  discarding  them  next  to  the  shoes  you  didn't  even  notice  he  had  untied  and  shoved  off  of  you.

Your  drawn-on,  stained,  well-loved,  black  converse  were  plopped  onto  the  floor,  completely  forgotten  as  his  thumb  pressed  against  your  clit  through  your  underwear.  You  gasped,  your  nails  digging  into  his  shoulders  as  your  head  fell  back  against  the  wall  of  tools  behind  you,  the  metals  clanking  together.

He  buried  his  face  into  the  crook  of  your  neck,  mouth  attacking  any  inch  of  skin  he  could  find.  "You  always  smell  so  fuckin'  good,  angel."  You  weren't  shy  when  it  came  to  sex...until  you  started  having  sex  with  John  Logan.  He  had  a  way  of  making  you  blush  and  giggle  in  a  way  you  never  had  before.

His  fingers  moved  with  expertise,  having  already  learned  what  you  like  and  what  made  you  squirm.  You  pushed  his  upper  half  away  just  enough  to  yank  off  his  tank  top,  hearing  a  tearing  sound  in  your  haste,  neither  of  you  cared.  His  lips  found  yours  once  he  was  bare  from  the  waist  up,  his  free  hand  moving  to  grip  a  portion  of  your  hair,  tugging  from  the  root  and  forcing  a  moan  out  of  your  throat.

The  small  twinge  of  pain  made  your  arousal  that  much  worse.  "Missed  you,"  you  whined  against  his  lips,  hands  moving  for  his  belt  next.  The  two  of  you  saw  each  other  more  than  anyone  else  but  you  hadn't  done  anything  more  than  work  on  your  car  in  almost  a  month.  You  were  starting  to  get  antsy  and  this  was  exactly  what  you  needed.

Logan  laughed  against  your  lips,  fingertips  hooking  under  the  waistband  of  your  panties  and  carefully  pulling  them  down  your  legs,  remembering  the  last  time  he  accidentally  ripped  them  and  upset  you  because  they  were  your  favorite  pair.  "I've  been  right  here,  sweetheart."

You  rolled  your  eyes  playfully,  cursing  when  he  slid  a  finger  easily  into  you,  your  wetness  making  the  glide  easy.  "You  know  that's  not  what  I  meant..."  you  whined  as  he  added  a  second,  letting  you  work  on  getting  his  belt  and  jeans  undone.  You  could  feel  how  hard  he  was  through  the  denim  and  it  was  almost  making  your  mouth  water.

Logan  hummed,  pulling  his  fingers  out,  leaving  you  empty  and  wanting  before  he  gripped  your  jaw,  pressing  the  two  fingers  against  your  tongue.  "Bratty  today."

You  wanted  to  remark,  you  truly  did  but  you  were  high  on  him.  High  on  this  heady  feeling  as  you  closed  your  lips  around  his  fingers  and  sucked  them  clean  of  you.  "Atta  girl...you're  so  fuckin'  gorgeous,  sweetheart."

You  moaned  as  he  slid  his  fingers  out  of  your  mouth,  replacing  them  with  his  tongue  as  he  pulled  your  shirt  up  just  enough  to  free  your  tits.  His  breathing  grew  heavier  at  the  thought  of  you  not  wearing  a  bra  as  your  fingers  finished  with  his  belt,  hooking  them  beneath  the  fabric  and  shoving  them  down  his  hips.

He  kicked  them  away,  picking  you  up  off  the  table  effortlessly,  a  perk  of  having  a  hockey  man,  and  flipping  you  around  to  press  your  chest  against  the  surface  of  the  desk.  You  whimpered,  forced  on  your  toes  to  stay  at  level  with  his  hips.  You  felt  his  chest  lean  over  your  back,  covering  you  almost  entirely.

You  swore  you  were  going  to  lose  your  mind  and  he  hadn't  even  fucked  you  yet.  "Open  your  legs,  baby..."  When  you  followed  his  instructions,  he  groaned  against  your  ear,  one  hand  clasped  around  your  hip  while  the  other  tangled  in  your  hair.  "Good  girl...so  so  good  f'me."

He  barely  gave  you  a  second  before  he  was  pressing  into  you.  Your  moan  got  caught  in  your  throat  as  he  stretched  you  the  way  you  had  been  craving  for  almost  a  month.  "Fuck,  feel  so  good."  He  gritted  out,  pushing  until  his  pelvis  was  flesh  with  your  ass.

Your  eyes  rolled,  your  toes  already  aching  from  the  arch  in  your  feet,  your  pussy  deliciously  filled  and  pulsing  around  him.  You  were  already  so  close  and  he  had  barely  done  anything.  "Hold  onto  the  table  for  me,  sweet  girl."

You  fucking  loved  it  when  he  talked  you  through  these  things,  and  he  knew  it.  You  nodded  as  best  you  could  and  did  as  asked.  "Atta  girl."  he  growled  into  your  ear,  the  hairs  on  your  arms  standing  on  end  as  goosebumps  traveled  all  over  your  body.

And  then  he  was  fucking  you  like  there  was  going  to  be  no  tomorrow.  Your  sounds  echoed  in  the  garage,  your  fingers  white-knuckling  the  desk  with  each  thrust.  It  felt  like  you  were  in  a  different  solar  system.

You  were  on  the  cusp  before  you  were  even  ready  for  it,  and  he  knew  that,  he  always  knew  that.  "John—"  you  managed  out  past  your  moans.

"I  know,  I  know,  baby.  Where  do  you  want  it?"  He  asked,  his  pace  never  letting  up  as  one  hand  traveled  around  your  body  and  found  your  clit,  rubbing  in  tight  circles.  You  saw  stars.

"Fuck,  inside!"  You  cried  out,  your  orgasm  beginning  to  take  hold.  The  hand  gripping  your  hair  yanked  and  crushed  your  mouth  to  his,  stretching  your  back  at  an  angle  you  didn't  know  you  could  get.

The  second  you  came,  white  burst  behind  your  lids,  pleasure  melting  through  your  body  as  your  pussy  convulsed  around  his  cock,  wanting  him  closer  if  that  was  even  possible.  It  didn't  take  long  before  he  was  tumbling  over  the  edge,  shooting  load  after  load  deep  inside  of  you.

He  made  noises  that  would  stay  with  you  long  after  he  pulled  out,  long  after  his  come  dripped  down  your  thighs,  long  after  he  cleaned  you  up,  and  way  long  after  he  kissed  your  forehead  and  said,  "That's  my  girl." 

*Hey babe, don't worry about running late. Just let me know when you're leaving. Love you. xx

He wasn't sure what he had done to deserve her. She should be angry at him. She should be calling him right now telling him that he was almost two hours late, that he promised he would try and be on time, that he said he was excited about tonight but clearly he was still staying longer at work, like he normally ended up doing.

It was all true. Dennis had been eager to go out tonight even though it meant going out after a twelve hour shift- that had blended into an almost fourteen hour shift. He had been happy at the thought of leaving this place and the drama and the mess, putting it all behind him for one night, and going out with (Y/n) and their friends.

But things didn't seem to work out for Dennis very often, something always had to go wrong to counter out the few good things he had in his life or when everything seemed to go on track.

He slid his phone back in his pocket without replying; he knew if he did then he was only going to get himself worked up. Dennis was waiting for the right moment to call it a day, when things properly slowed and seemed under control and he could tell Dana that he was calling it a night and leaving. He wanted to have at least one drink with (Y/n) tonight before they ended up going home.

His only consolation was that she seemed to be having fun while she waited for him, and that was the main thing. That Dennis wasn't ruining it or holding her up by being late.

Another fifteen minutes ticked by where Dennis dealt with a drunken patient from triage, got him on some fluids, took some blood samples for the lab and cleaned up the cuts he sustained in a bar fight.

He could feel his eyes burning as he walked down the corridor, trying to stick to the shadows and the sidelines so he didn't get collared for any other traumas or patients tonight. He was done, he wanted to leave while he still had some reserves of energy left within him.

Both hands reached out to run up and down his face and his fingertips scratched and dug into his eyes as he stiffled a groan against the base of his hand.

Dennis was allowed to call it a night, right? He could say that his shift was well and truly over, couldn't he? There was nothing in his contract that binded him to stay, not when the night shift was here and the freak accidents were being taken care of now. He could go-

His nails scratched into his eyelids and his body jumped from the floor when a sudden vibration started to buzz in his pocket and sent shivers and adrenaline all throughout his body. His nerves sparked right to the tip of his fingers and he gasped into his palm, snapping his aching eyelids open as he rummaged around in his pocket for his phone.

It was (Y/n). She was calling him. She was probably going to ask what was keeping him, if he was on his way yet or if he might not be able to make it after all. Well Dennis was determined to make it for at least one drink, to show his tired face to their circle of friends and prove he wasn't a complete idiot for standing (Y/n) up on a night out like this.

Despite the anxiety in his stomach about disappointing her, Dennis found himself smiling as the picture of her lit up his screen. The picture of (Y/n), sat in a cafe with an extremely large mug of hot chocolate clasped between her hands and a sickly sweet smile on her face with a dash of cream coating her top lip like a moustache.

He answered the phone, his free hand moving to scratch the back of his neck out of nerous habit even though he knew deep in his heart that (Y/n) wouldn't be angry with him. She hardly ever could be. And it wasn't like he was talking to her face to face to apologise and say how sorry he was that he was later than ever.

"Hey baby, I promise I won't be too much longer-"

"Denny?"

He cut off immediately, his lips parted in a silent O shape while his brows started to narrow. There was a strange undertone to (Y/n)'s voice, like she was holding the phone faraway from her face or there was a distinct crackle to her voice that made it sound different from normal.

But the way that (Y/n) said his name, sounding rather confused as if she didn't know who she had dialled or as if she thought he wouldn't pick up the phone, that cut something depe within him.

"Yeah, you okay?" He was rather uncertain what kind of answer he was going to get.

He waited rather impatiently, pressing the phone harder against his ear to try and listen for a response while he chomped down on the inside of his cheek and moved his free hand down to curl around his hip instead of his neck.

Finally, she seemed to take a deep breath and whisper an answer down the line. "Something w- was in that drink," she breathed in a way that told Dennis she was trying not to slur her words.

How much had she had to drink? Was she that drunk already? It wasn't like (Y/n) to get sloshed like this or become confused when she was drunk. Ususally she got tipsy, she had that distant look in her dilated eyes and a lazy smile that always made Dennis's stomach do summersaults.

But she didn't sound like this. Had someone given her a strong drink or a bad shot? Had she had a bit too much vodka in her drinks or a few too many shots with the others?

He almost felt like smiling at the subtle hint of defiance in her tone, but he forced a placid look onto his face as he answered her.

"What d'you mean, baby? Do you feel sick?"

If she felt sick then he would hae to meet her there and take her home, unless someone got her into a taxi. Although Dennis didn't like the thought of her being in a taxi on her own if she was in a state like this. He would rather someone be with her to watch out for her and make sure she was okay and didn't pass out. If she wasn't too bad then she could wait there for him to come and get her, he would be as fast as he could.

"Woozy a- and sluggish… not good, Denny." The whimper at the end of her voice and the hitch to her breaths made Dennis's heart drop to the pit of his stomach.

Oh God. Oh no.

She wasn't overly tipsy or drunk out of her mind. Her drink had been spiked. Someone had put something in her drink, she was having a reaction to something or coming under the spell of a drug.

No, no this was the last thing that was supposed to happen, especially when Dennis wasn't even there to look out for her or help her. He should have left on time, he should have been there before now and then this might not have happened. Or at least if it had, then he would be there in person to look after her and make sure (Y/n) was taken care of.

"Who gave you the drink?" His voice dropped down a tone as his frame went rigid and he moved to the left until he was pressed up against the wall like he was about to collapse.

The thought of someone getting his wife a drink and possibly drugging her, made his blood boil. Either someone who bought her a drink had done that, or someone had managed to slip it into her drink while her back was turned. (Y/n) wasn't the kind of person to leave her drink unattended, she was too smart for that. She was cautious, wary.

"Lia did, from t- the bar-" a quiet mewl broke off (Y/n)'s words and a clatter rattled down the line as she slumped her head against the wall of the toilet cubicle she had locked herself in.

A soft whimper of Dennis's name passed (Y/n)'s lips as she closed her eyes and clung tighter to the phone, just in case she dropped it or she couldn't quite hear his melodic, sweet voice properly.

the plastic of the cubicle wall was cool against her flushed, clammy skin and (Y/n) could feel the tremors rattling through her which in turn made the wall rattle too. Her legs were full of pins and needles from how she was slumped on her knees on the floor with her heels digging into her bum to stop her from falling or wavering on the spot.

She wanted Dennis. She wanted to go home now. She wanted to feel better, not feel drowsy and unusual and so unlike herself, so out of touch and out of control in her own body. This wasn't right.

"Baby where are you? Please tell me you're still at the bar with everyone." The pleading tone to Dennis's voice was drowned out by the anger fuelling every one of his nerves in his body.

He prayed she hadn't tried to leave the bar already and was stumbling down the street on her own. Anyone could follow her and hurt her or try and kidnap her or take advantage. The possibilities were making Dennis flush beet red while his skin turned burning hot to the touch.

He was already pushing off the wall and turning round, aiming for his locker so he could grab his bag- and more importantly his keys. He had been planning to get a taxi down to the club and a taxi home with (Y/n) tonight, so he could leave his dingy, second hand car here at work and pick it up tomorrow afternoon.

The plan had changed now. He would have to drive down there, get (Y/n) and possibly bring her right back here to the hospital, depending on how her situation was.

"Toilet, a guy was g… was grabbing at me… feel dizzy, Denny. Come get me?"

(Y/n) hadn't paid much attention to it before, but the pushy guy on the dance floor hadn't been pleased when she wouldn't dance with him. And he had been hovering around her like a fly for most of the night.

Lia had bought the last round of drinks at the bar and by the time (Y/n) joined her at the bar, there were dozens of people crowding round, pushing to get a drink. And their drinks were already lined up and sloshing all over the bar, and (Y/n) had turned her back for a few seconds to try and locate the rest of their group.

Someone could have- must have- put something in her drink then, because up until that point she had felt just fine.

Then the world started to spin, her balance left her completely and her legs went hollow. Her brain felt like it had turned to mush and she could barely see straight as she wobbled her way to the toilets to get away from everyone. Away from the pushy guy who had been there when she started to feel funny. All she wanted was Dennis to come and take her home.

"I'm coming right now." He promised, slinging his bag from his locker on his shoulder before he spun and started to speed walk, knowing he couldn't run without drawing attention or causing an accident.

He pressed the phone tighter to his ear to try and listen in to his wife, noting the way she was breathing heavy and panting, how she groaned every few seconds and sounded like she was pushing or hitting her head against a wall.

"Stay on the phone with me baby, okay? Stay awake, talk to me until I get there." He urged as he hurried down the hall. If she went unconscious then Dennis would have no connection to her, he wouldn't know if she was okay. She had to stay awake.

(Y/n) had to stay on the line, had to keep talking to him and stay conscious so she didn't pass out and vomit and choke or aspirate or have someone try and get into the toilets and hurt her or get in the way.

A gasp tumbled past Dennis's lips and he almost dropped the phone when his elbow suddenly clipped someone's midsection and they both repelled like magnets. He stumbled back two steps before he found his balance, his brown eyes going wider like bowling balls as he stared up at the charge nurse in front of him.

"Woah, kid where you going in such a hurry?" Dana's hands moved to her hips and she looked down her glasses at him over the bridge of her nose. It was a motherly look that would have made Dennis flush and stutter on any other occasion.

But right now, his panic for his wife was overwhelming everything else. She was his priority, nothing else mattered or came close.

"I got an emergency." He huffed as he weaved around her, ignoring the raised brow and rather surprised look on her face. Like she wasn't sure whether to laugh or clip him round the ear.

"This is the ER, everything's an emergen-"

"Personal one!" He hollered, barely looking back over his shoulder before he was aiming for the ambulance bay doors. It was the quickest exit.

Dennis couldn't be faffing around rushing through triage, unlocking the door to the waiting room and then slowly weaving through or beside the metal detector to get outside. He had to move fast, and this was his nearest and least time-consuming exit.

His wife needed him.

By the time Dennis got himself into the car and revved the engine, he realised he hadn't heard (Y/n) whimpering or muttering anything for a while. The thought sent his heartbeat spiking and he set his phone on speaker before he began to pull out of the carpark.

"Baby, you still there?"

"M'sick."

He tried not to sigh in relief and have it misconstrude; he was glad she was still with him, still awake and relatively safe where she was while she waited for him to turn up.

"That's alright, you might feel better if you throw up. Are you still at the same club you texted me to meet you at?" He paused at the junction and scrolled through his messages to find the name of the club he was supposed to meat her at almost two hours ago.

He prayed she was, because (Y/n) clearly wasn't in any fit state to be remembering or telling him the name of whatever club they might have wandered to in the meantime. She might not even know where she was if they had moved on from the previous club.

"Yeah."

Another burst of relief swelled through him, especially when he figured that he would be there in less than ten minutes, if the traffic lights were on his side tonight. "Good, I'm on my way now."

It was hard for Dennis to catch a proper breath when he pulled up on the curb and tripped over his feet in his haste to get into the club. He'd just ended the phone call with (Y/n), promising that he was outside now and he would be there in person within the minute.

But now that he was here, he was really starting to panic. What state would she be in when he found her? Would she be okay? Was he going to hae to take her back to the hospital? Probably. If she was that bad he might have to call for an ambulance; God he hoped not though.

Why did this have to happen now? Why did this have to happen to (Y/n), of all people?

The music was pulsing down the street and when Dennis headed inside, he felt awfully overwhelmed and certain that he would be deaf once he walked out. How on Earth had (Y/n) and the group managed to last in here for over two hours? Two seconds was enough to have Dennis desperate to turn and flee.

He winced before trying to put on a stoic expression and hide the panic rattling through him. The loudness of the ER was horribly different to this; no sobbing family members, no patients shouting and demanding to be seen. No machines blurring in the background or feet bashing on the floor, no trolley wheels squeaking and people yelling for help or charts or an extra pair of hands.

Dennis tried to stick close to the wall as he weaved around the drunks aiming for the dance floor and the loud couples kissing and groping in the corners.

He knew he stood out; if anyone looked his way they would stop and stare at the man who had come to the club wearing hospital scrubs. Not the best attire unless he was here for a fancy dress party. Especially with the flecks of fluids and beads of sweat soaked into his clothes.

Terror continued to pool within his eyes and darken the circles beneath them as he panted like a rabid animal, aiming for the green illuminating toilet sign that was pointing to the corridor on the left.

"Dennis!"

His head snapped sharply to the right, eyes locking onto Lia, (Y/n)'s friend from college. The one who had been at the bar with her when her drink must have been spiked. Clearly she was well, it had only been (Y/n)'s drink that was affected.

That was a good thing, Dennis tried to tell himself. He didn't exactly wantn any of their friends to need a hospital visit either, or to have to ferry them all down in the car for check ups or call a round of ambulances if more people were affected or drugged. But it grated Dennis's nerves to think why it was only (Y/n) who was the one suffering.

"Hey doc, you made it." Dane hollered from the dance floor with an arm strewn in the air. He looked like he was about to aim in Dennis's direction, to reel him into a sideways hug and steer him to the bar to get him drunk- that was usually his method of greeting.

But Dennis didn't have the time for either of them, despite how happy his friends looked to see him finally arrive. He waved a quick hand in their direction before he pointed to the toilets and fled. He needed to get to (Y/n).

Without thinking twice, Dennis blundered through the heay oak door that led into the women's toilets. He tried to ignore the strange look he got from the two ladies pressed up against the sinks, reapplying their make up. They glanced at him through their reflections in the mirror but didn't make a sound or a fuss when he flicked the hospital ID badge clipped to his top pocket.

He knew he was in the wrong bathroom, but he was here in both a professional and personal capacity. He needed to look after (Y/n), and he wasn't some freak trying to mess with any women or upset them, he only wanted to find his wife and help her.

With his teeth sinking down into his lower lip, Dennis took a deep breath, braced his hands on his knees and crouched down. He tried to peer beneath the stall doors to try and find out which one (Y/n) was in.

He rapped his knuckles gently on the first locked door, uttering her name but he jerked back when a gruff "Get lost!" snapped back at him.

Side-stepping to the right, he moved to the next door and tried again. Utter relief circulated through his stomach and up to his chest when (Y/n) mewled his name and he heard the door bashing as she tried to reach up for the lock.

The moment the locked click, Dennis grabbed the door and swung it wide so he could scuttle inside and go down on his knees beside (Y/n).

Tears had already been trickling down (Y/n)'s face since the moment she called Dennis, but to see him now, to finally have him here with her, made a torrential downpour cascade across her features.

Her eyes barely managed to stay open, but (Y/n) caught sight of Dennis's worried orbs staring down at her. The look of utter panic written across his face, his red lips parted and his jaw loosened while his hands instantly reached out for her.

(Y/n) tried to push herself up from the wall, but her balance was no longer proportionate. As soon as her head leant forward towards Dennis, her entire body was flowing with it and she crashed against his chest with a thud. Both hands tried to scrunch up in his shirt, but (Y/n) found herself shaking so hard that she could barely hold onto him.

"Denny," whatever else (Y/n) wanted to say faded out on her tongue and she could feel the burning sensation within her eyes that just wanted to close and let her rest for a few minutes, hours, days even.

She felt his hands cupping either side of her neck, and the firm press of his fingertips beneath her jaw told her that he was checking her pulse, something he didn't often do unless she was feeling particularly unwell.

"I'm here now, it's okay." He hushed before gently tilting her head away from his chest so they were now face to face. "Let me look at you."

His voice was so soft and lulling that (Y/n) found herself closing her eyes once again. Her head bent back until his fingers were there at the base of her skull to stop her head from flopping all the way back to her shoulders like her neck had been broken. He held her head up, analysing her clammy skin, the beads of sweat flushed across her face.

He took note of how she was shuddering against him like she was frozen cold, how her breaths were shallow and weak. And when Dennis lifted one hand so his thumb could peel back (Y/n)'s eyelid, he noticed her pupils were tightly constricted; he was surprised she had been able to see him at all.

"Oh baby," he sighed as he leant forward on his knees until his lips were smothering her burning temple and (Y/n) whimpered into the touch. Reaching out to flop her hand over his wrist like she wanted to pin him there and keep his touch from disappearing.

"We need to get you checked out, can I take you back to the ER with me?"

As much as (Y/n) didn't want to, she knew she didn't have much of a choice when she felt like this. Her stomach was rotating and twisting like a washing machine. Her head was splitting apart at the seams and felt like it had tripled in size. She could barely keep her eyes open, let alone keep herself awake. And she was burning up. Her body was overheating like she had been stuffed into an oven, all the fluids she intook were going to be secreeting from her skin as the sweat dripped off her in buckets.

Sitting here felt suffocating with how much heat her body was producing, the bathroom was probably frosted cold with aircon but (Y/n) couldn't feel it at all.

"Let's get you looked after, hm?" Dennis reached out and shoved (Y/n)'s phone into her bag which he then hooked onto his left shoulder, not wanting to leave any of her things here to be pinched.

He was careful when he looped her arms around the back of his neck and bound his arms around her waist, slowly pushing up from his knees as he pulled (Y/n) along with him. Once she was up on unsteady feet, Dennis tucked her into his side, his left arm around her waist and his right hand clutching her arm to keep her from collapsing.

(Y/n) let her head loll against Dennis's shoulder, eyes closed because it was easier than trying to keep them open. She kept her arms loosely draped around his neck as her way of clinging to him and making sure that she didn't drop to the floor.

Rather than lifting her feet and walking normally, (Y/n) found that all she could do was drag her feet against the floor, her feet bent and set oddly on the floor like they were trying to flop and fold in on themselves. It was all that she could manage, the only way she could help Dennis get her out of here. She didn't want to become a dead weight for him to have to lift and carry.

(Y/n) felt just how strange her body was now becoming because as her husband practically dragged her towards the exit, she realised the blasting music wasn't affecting her. It wasn't thrumming in her ears or pulsing through her veins or sounding too loud in her head. It was background noise she couldn't focus on. She couldn't recognise one word that was sung through the speakers.

The cold night air hit her like a truck. A gasping breath stuttered past (Y/n)'s lips and her nails scratched into the back of Dennis's neck as she pushed into him. It felt like ice had penetrated through to her lungs that stuttered and seemed to stop.

"Shh, I know, I know it's cold baby I'm sorry. Just a little further to the car, come on." Dennis soothed with his lips meshed against her temple breathing warm breaths against her already clammy skin.

He knew in her overwhelming, overheated state, going from extreme warm to violent cold was going to shock her system, but he didn't have any other choice if he wanted to get her to the car and down to the hospital. His hand ran up and down her arm as he trudged towards the car, pulling her along with him until he could unlock the car and yank open the passenger door.

By the time he leant over and managed to get (Y/n) into the car, she had started to gasp and pull in a few shallow breaths.

Her arms shook and coiled to her chest and she began to curl up in her seat. The smallest flicker of a smile danced across her lips when Dennis leant over her and she felt his warm chest rubbing against hers as he pulled her belt around her and buckled her in with a wet kiss to her cheek in the process.

When the door closed, (Y/n) slumped to her right and lolled her head against the door frame, shuddering every now and then despite the warm air inside the car.

She managed a smile when she felt Dennis's hand brush her thigh when he dropped her bag on the floor between her feet, and his fingertips brushed over her skin and gave a comforting squeeze before he started up the car.

"Th- the others," (Y/n) mumbled, unable to look in Dennis's direction as she wondered whether she had spoken loud enough for him to hear her or not.

They had just left everyone else in the club. They hadn't said goodbye or told them what was happening. They would be worried, wondering where (Y/n) had gone if Dennis didn't tell them that they were leaving.

"I'll text Dane in a while and tell him what's happened. He saw he go in, he'll know you're with me when they can't find us."

If Dennis hadn't of seen Lia or Dane when he went in, he would have debated calling one of them or rushing back in to quickly tell them what was happening. But they had spotted him. When they couldn't find (Y/n) anywhere and realised Dennis had gone too, they would assume he had found his wife and copped off with her somewhere in the club or that they had disappeared together.

Their friends shouldn't be to worried about them for now, they would know both of them were safe and together. He would text them later to explain what had happened and make sure the rest of them were all okay too.

"Don't fall asleep on me, beautiful." Dennis chided softly after a few minutes, and he reached out to brush his finger against her cheek and jaw to gain her attention.

He got a small hum in response, but that was enough to tell him that (Y/n) was still conscious. He didn't want her falling asleep until he'd got her back to the ER and under observation.

Dennis could feel his heart pounding and hammering against his ribs and by the time he pulled back up in his parking space, his whole body was thrumming and vibrating. He could feel a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin in the moonlight from utter panic and sheer exhaustion, despite being more than wide awake.

He scrambled out the car, making sure his keys and phone were in his pocket so he didn't have to bring his whole back pack into the ER again.

"Alright baby, we're here now."

He crouched beside the open door, leaning over to unclip her belt before he helped swing her legs out of the car.

He didn't like how unresponsive and loose-limbed (Y/n) had now become, she looked positively knocked out. Reaching one hand out, Dennis pinched her earlobe sharply, breathing in relief when she took a sharp breath and tried to twist her head away from his touch although she couldn't move far. She was still awake.

He looped (Y/n)'s left arm around the back of his neck, slid his right arm around her back and hips, and lifted her up from the car. With the door shut with his heel, he locked it up and slid the keys into his pocket before he aimed for the ambulance bay.

Again, it was closer than trying to get through to the waiting area and having to weave through all the waiting patients and buzz himself in which would surely cause an uproar from all the people he would be cutting in front of. He needed to get to an assessment room, not run through triage and make his journey longer.

Once they got through the double doors and stumbled into the main floor of the ER, Dennis debated whether or not to just scoop his wife up in his arms if that would be easier than dragging her like this. He looked like he had some kind of hostage situation going on.

His grip on (Y/n)'s hand tightened to keep her arm around the back of his neck and his other arm pinned her tighter into his side, holding her close. (Y/n) hadn't been lifting her feet properly before, but she was barely shuffling them across the floor anymore. Her knees were bent forward, her legs bent and wavering towards the floor as her cheek nuzzled into Dennis's shoulder, telling him she was still awake. Mostly.

Robby couldn't quite believe what he was seeing when he turned to his left. He had to take a moment to rub his exhausted, sore eyes and pull in a deep breath before he did another once-over. Sure enough, he had been right in what he had seen.

Dennis, stumbling into the ER with a woman hanging off of him like she was about to flop down to the floor. There was no blood on either of them, and she wasn't crying or screaming or seeming in any agony, but she wasn't talking or looking around either. She was barely even walking, it looked more like she was being hauled around by Dennis.

"Whitaker, is this the emergency Dana was talking about?" Robby snatched a pair of gloves from the desk before he rushed towards them to try and give some help.

(Y/n)'s head slid down from Dennis's shoulder until her cheek was meshed against his chest instead. Her arm was becoming loose around the back of his neck, but it was her legs that concerned her the most. They were starting to tingle, like they had been flooded with bubbles, no bone or tendons and ligaments left within them.

"This is (Y/n)," Dennis let go of her arm that was around his neck in favour of gripping her waist a bit better. "Someone spiked her drink at the club, I need a ro- oh shit!"

His body surged forward when (Y/n)'s legs finally gave way on her and she spiralled down towards the floor. Her head rebounded off of his sternum which made his entire diaphragm quake but he tried to ignore the sensation and dig his fingers into the flesh of her hips and waist, pulling her up before she had chance to hit the floor.

With one arm bound around her back, he slid his other arm beneath her knees and with a clenched jaw Dennis straightened up with (Y/n) limp and unconscious in his arms.

"Central five is free."

His eyes locked on Trinity who was already rushing towards them with a gurney and a rather worried look in her eyes. She had never met (Y/n) before, but she had seen the pictures on Dennis's phone and lockscreen. She knew this was his wife.

"Let's get her in." Robby nodded and reached out to steady (Y/n)'s head and neck while Dennis eased her onto the gurney.

It seemed that their already stretched shift was going to extend even longer, and Robby didn't want to think how long he was going to be here. Maybe until morning at this rate, but it didn't matter. (Y/n) was clearly family to Dennis, and they looked after their own.

"Transfer on three. One, two, three!" Between the three of them, they moved the slide sheet over until (Y/n) was onto the bed rather than the gurney which was pushed out of the room, discarded for someone else to shift or use.

Dennis found a new pair of gloves but he couldn't help but smooth a few tendrils of hair back from (Y/n)'s face that had gone soft and relaxed now that she had passed out.

"Do you know what she took?"

Dennis shook his head, a large lump now forming in his throat. "She called me, she felt drowsy, she knew someone spiked her drink. She'd been sick when I got there."

He knew she had thrown up while they had been on the phone on his way down to get her, which was probably a good thing to get some of the drugs out of her system. Although most of it would already be absorbed into her bloodstream by now.

"Alright, Santos get ready to take bloods for the lab. We'll get fluids wide open and something to take down that fever. And check her blood sugar, some roofies can make them drop sharply."

A subtle shake rattled through Dennis's arms as he handed over the ECG stickers to Robby to attach to (Y/n)'s chest so they could get the monitors up and running. He prayed it was just some simple roofie, some type of benzo was most common because it was tasteless and could act fast. If it was and (Y/n) hadn't been given an overdose, she would need monitoring and fluids and she should wake feeling more like her self in a few hours.

While Robby got a blood pressure cuff on her left arm, Dennis gently pressed his index finger between her lips and parted them to see her gums.

"Slight cyanosis, she needs oxygen." Her inner lips were had a slight blue tinge to them; she wasn't getting enough oxygen in her blood.

Dennis wasted no time in turning on the oxygen machine attached to the bottom of the bed and finding the mask. He was now glad that (Y/n) had passed out, she wouldn't have liked all this. The oxygen mask would have made her panic, the needle Trinity had slid into her elbow to draw blood would have made (Y/n) feel sick. And the cannula Robby was getting into her hand would definitely make her cringe.

"Pulse and BP slightly elevated, not concerning yet though." Robby took a step back once he'd looked across at the monitors and the cannula was inserted into (Y/n)'s hand with the fluids set on the fasted dosage.

"I'll take these down to the lab, then come back." Trinity finished her smallest, neatest handwriting on the label of the vials of blood she had drawn. Rather than waiting for a courier to take them down to the lab, she would do it herself. It would get there quicker, assure no errors and also give her a bit of time to relax and not be dragged to another patient.

"I'll go get something for that fever and tell Sasha depending on those bloods, we might need some antibiotics. If its not benzos and she starts to react, we'll get some inhibitors on standby and charcoal to bind it up in her system and flush it out. Is that okay?"

Dennis nodded aimlessly, barely managing to look over at Robby when he knew one sympathetic glance was all it would take to break the dam and have tears spilling down his face.

When the door clicked shut behind the attending, Dennis let out a short breath he didn't realise he had been holding in. He reached down for (Y/n)'s clammy hand, threading their fingers together and pulling their hands towards him as he flopped down into the chair beside the bed.

"You're alright now, baby." He whispered, his lips meshing against the back of her hand as he started to glide his free hand up and down her arm. "Few hours of observation and fluids, and you'll be much better."

He knew he was right, he knew this wasn't as serious as some of the other cases that came flooding through those doors. His wife wasn't suffering a heart attack or had an amputated limb or a foreign object impaled into her body. She would hopefully need this less evasive course of treatment, in the morning she should be back to almost full health again.

Victoria’s killing a bit of time in the main foyer before her shift starts one day when the two of you arrive. 

Dennis pulls the door open for you, as usual, holding it while you walk inside. He does the same with the inner door, despite having to speedwalk in order to get there before you. She notices that he’s carrying your backpack, the strap slung over the opposite shoulder from his own. He reaches out as you walk towards the elevators, fingers pinching the side of your shirt, gently pulling you closer to him. It’s subtle, and Victoria’s certain she’s the only one who notices that your hands now brush against eachother’s as you move. 

“You coming up?” You ask, reaching forwards, hitting the button. 

He checks his watch, then nods. “Still got time.”

You bite back a smile as you step into the elevator, doors closing behind you, blocking you from Victoria’s probing eyes. The ICU floor is much quieter than the ED, especially since it’s still early, most of the patients still sleeping as the hospital starts to wake up. You swipe your badge against the sensor, and then step through the double door together, like you always do. 

Dana’s standing at the central desk when you come in, talking to the charge nurse there, trying to get some boarders moved before dayshift officially takes over. She clocks both of you immediately, her sentence coming to a stop when she hears your soft laughter. She turns around, watching as you approach, smiling at her. 

“Dana,” You greet. “Are you finally leaving the ER to join us up here?”

“You wish,” She says, looking past your shoulder, where Dennis is waiting a half-step behind you. “Whitaker, fancy seeing you here.”

The ICU charge scoffs, laughing a bit. “What do you mean? He’s up here every morning.”

Dana raises an eyebrow, a tiny smirk on her face. “That so?”

He shrugs, cheeks flushing a light shade of pink, both bags on his back lifting with the motion. “Pretty much, yeah.”

You, wanting to save him from any further embarrassment, turn around and give him an opening. “I can take my bag, you can head downstairs.”

He frowns, shaking his head. “I got it, I’ll be right back.”

He walks over to the locker room, his figure disappearing through the door. One of the nightshift RT’s comes out of a room, and Dana doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up at the sight of you. He ignores everyone else at the desk as he approaches, saying your last name with way too much enthusiasm for six-thirty in the morning. 

“You should’ve seen this patient last night,” He starts, diving into the story as soon as your eyes are on him, a small smile on your face as you genuinely listen. 

Dennis comes back out of the locker room just as he takes your wrist in his hand, turning your arm so your palm faces the ceiling, gesturing to your forearm as he explains the IV situation the patient had. He mimes the action of fluids spewing, retelling the moment it came loose as he was in the middle of intubating. 

Your face scrunches, but you’re still smiling, and he’s pretty sure you say ‘oh, gross!” before slowly pulling your arm away, tucking both hands into your pockets. He comes up behind you, setting your stethoscope and water bottle on the desk. The other RT loses all steam at the sight of him, and he immediately takes a step back, stuttering over his words for a second. You feel a single finger twist into your waistband, making you look over your shoulder, seeing Dennis and your belongings. 

“Thank you,” You say, fully spinning around. He drops his hand back to his side, nodding. 

“Yeah, uh, no problem,” He says. “I’ll see you later?”

“Hopefully,” You say. “Good luck down there.”

“You too,” He says, then he heads back through the doors and down the hallway. You loop your stethoscope over your shoulders and put your water bottle by your workstation before returning to the nightshifter, a tablet in hand now. 

“Catch me up,” You say, the rest of his story long forgotten. 

Dana follows Dennis out, still smirking, putting both hands on his shoulders as she comes up beside him. 

“You’re a sweet kid, you know that?"

Around eleven that morning, the higher-ups send donuts down to the ED as a ‘thank you’ for all their hardwork. Robby’s in the breakroom when Dennis walks in, admiring the spread, trying to decide if he actually wants one or not. 

“Anything good, boss?” He asks, stepping closer to the tables, looking for something specific. 

Robby shrugs. “Would be nicer if they could just pay my staff what they deserve.”

“Oh, definitely,” Dennis says, spotting what he’s looking for, grabbing one of the napkins nearby. “Gotta’ take advantage though, right?”

He picks up a donut, setting it neatly on top of the napkin and putting it down on the table. He opens the fridge, pulling out his lunch and unzipping the bag. Robby watches as he places it on top of whatever’s in there, then puts it back in the fridge, brushing his hands off and closing the door. 

“Worthy of saving for later?” Robby asks, slightly teasing. Dennis lets out a small laugh, already halfway out the door. 

“Yeah, uhm, trying to be optimistic about getting a break today,” He jokes, stumbling over the words. He’s still getting used to joking around with his boss.

Robby shakes his head, following him back outside. “Oh, you know better than that by now, Whitaker.”

They step out just as the ambulance bay doors open, revealing two paramedics wheeling a gurney in. They both rush over as Dana directs them to an open trauma room, examining the patient while one of the paramedics gives handover. 

“Twenty-three year old male, motorcycle versus guardrail,” She says. “Helmet off at the scene, significant facial trauma, breathing on his own for now, but it’s not pretty.”

They swing the door to the trauma room open. Nurses flood in behind them, taking their usual spots around the room, clicking monitors on and hooking them up to the patient. 

“Hey, can you open your eyes for me?” Dennis asks, shining his penlight into them when he gets no response. “Pupils equal and reactive, GCS six.”

“Sats eighty-seven and falling,” Mateo says. 

“Bag him,” Dennis instructs, setting his stethoscope against his chest, moving it around. “Decreased breath sounds bilaterally.”

“This is gonna’ be a complex airway,” Frank says, having come in a moment after them. “Let’s get respiratory down here.”

You’re adjusting some vent settings for one of your patients when your pager goes off, making you pluck it off your scrub pocket, glancing down at the tiny screen. 

EMERG. DEPT. TRAUMA #3 - STAT PAGE

You shove the pager back into place, already running out of the room, calling for the other RT on shift to finish with your patient as you fly by. You take the stairs down to the ED, shoving the door open at the bottom, gripping your stethoscope in your hand so it doesn’t fall. You grab a pair of gloves before opening the trauma room door, trying to assess the situation as best you can in a few seconds. You can’t even see the patient from how many people are in there, crowding around the bed. 

“Sats down to seventy-nine,” Perlah says. Garcia already has sterile gloves on, holding her hands up and shaking her head as she looks over Dennis’ shoulder. He’s holding the laryngoscope, watching the monitor, trying to get a good view of the anatomy. 

“We need to crike,” She says. 

“Woah, hey, I’m here, what’s going on?” You say, grabbing a gown, shifting towards the head of the bed. You look towards the patient’s face, or what’s fucking left of it, exhaling sharply. “Jesus.”

“Motorcycle versus guardrail,” Frank says. “His jaw’s completely unstable, we couldn’t get a seal with the mask, he’s bleeding like crazy.”

“Move, please,” You say, kind but firm, needing to get a closer look. Dennis pulls the tool out, stepping back, his hands up so they don’t get caught on any of the IV lines. Mateo holds the suction as you do your exam, running through options in your head. He’s already using the biggest suction that he can, and the patient's sats are still falling. 

The room seems frozen around you as you think, everyone waiting on your next move. You nod to yourself when you decide on the best course of action, a small way to hype yourself up. 

“I’m going in through the nasal passage,” You say.

“Blind?” Frank asks. “That’s-”

“No, not blind,” You correct. “I need a lubricated three-point-five.”

The tube is placed into your hand five seconds later. “I’m gonna’ try and advance just past the tongue, see if I can use it as a guide.”

You glance up, making eye contact with Frank, then Robby, waiting to see if either will object to your plan. Robby gives you an affirmative nod. 

“Do it.”

You look to Dennis, who’s already watching you. “Could you listen for breath sounds please, Dr. Whitaker?”

“Oh, Dr. Whitaker,” Garcia repeats. “Is that what you call him in the bedroom?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You shoot back, smirking. 

“Behave,” Robby says, but you don’t need to look at him to know that he’s fighting a smile. Dennis gets into place as you use your free hand to put your own stethoscope in, settling the diaphragm against the patient’s neck, moving it around until you hear what you’re looking for. Then, you slowly advance the tube through the nostril, eyes flicking towards the chest every few seconds to check for rise. 

You start to get some resistance at fourteen centimetres, and the chest twitches. You hear a small amount of air pass.

“Minimal movement,” Dennis says, focusing on what he’s hearing. 

“Bag it,” You instruct, and Jesse does, squeezing. The patient’s chest rises again, and Dennis looks back at you, nodding, confirming that he can hear at least some remnants of breath sounds. 

“Sats up to eighty-five,” Perlah announces. 

You shine your penlight into his mouth, studying the passage that the nasal tube is barely revealing, committing the location of his tracheal opening to memory each time the suction clears enough blood for you to see it. 

“I can intubate now,” You say.

“Are you sure?” Frank asks, taking a look himself, seeing nothing but blood and a small clearing where the tube sits. “You still can’t visualize most of the landmarks.”

“I don’t need all the landmarks,” You counter. “Do you want a real airway or not, Dr. Langdon?”

Dennis’ breath catches in his throat, eyes wide. You’re looking at Frank expectantly, waiting for a decision. He steps back, nodding. Garcia smirks, speaking before he can. 

“Blade to hot shot, please.” You take the tool in your hand, turning on the light and sliding it into place. You don’t bother looking towards the monitor, knowing that you won’t be able to see where you’re going. 

“Seven tube,” You say, reaching for it once it’s passed over, positioning it where the nasal tube already sits. You wait for the suction to expose the clearing again, not hesitating when it does, sliding the tube into the airway. You’re almost certain that it’s in the right place based on how it feels as it clears the epiglottis. “I’m in.”

The cuff is inflated, and Jesse moves the bag from the nasal tube onto the new one, nodding. “Yellow on end-tidal.”

“Good breath sounds bilaterally,” Dennis adds. 

“Sats up to ninety-four,” Perlah says. The tension in the room fades as you look at Dennis, failing to contain a grin when you make eye-contact. He gives you a tiny, proud smile and a subtle nod, silently saying ‘nice work.’

You don’t realize that everyone else catches it, too. 

“I’ll get him up to CT,” Garcia announces. “Glad you were here, hot shot.”

“Excellent work,” Robby says, followed by your last name. The patient is wheeled out of the room, and you’re all left behind, pulling off gowns and gloves. 

“Thanks,” You say. “It’s what I’m good for.”

Dennis holds the door for you as you leave, exhaling once you’re out. Frank holds his fist up. 

“Sorry for doubting you,” He says. You smile, tapping your knuckles against his. 

“No harm, no foul,” You insist, waving him off. The adrenaline of the trauma starts to wear off as you move towards one of the computers, wanting to get the charting out of the way before you go back to the ICU—as long as none of your patients crash. Goosebumps splinter over your arms, despite the long-sleeve you’re wearing under your scrub top, making you shiver. 

Dennis is shrugging his fleece off before you even sit down, handing it to you, already focused on the board to figure out where he should head first. He’s about to walk away when he remembers, spinning back around and leaning towards you over the desk. 

“Oh, hey, there’s something for you in my lunch,” He says, voice quiet, but everyone in the vicinity hears him. They started watching the second he passed you his jacket without a single word. “You can grab it before you head back up, if you want.”

You close your hand around his fleece, trying to get your brain to function again. All work is abandoned by the people around when, for the first time possibly ever, you’re speechless. Not because this is unusual behaviour, just because he’s never done it so…publicly before. 

“Okay,” You finally say, the single word breathy and faint. “Thank you.”

Everyone is staring at the two of you like it’s their favourite TV show. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” He says.

He walks off, you take a seat, pulling the fleece over your head and sticking your badge to the front pocket before logging on to the computer. Your heart is racing, but you do your best to hide it from your colleagues.

“You ever wonder how they ended up together?” Frank asks, watching the interaction from afar, the question aimed at Mel, who has no idea what he’s referring to.

“Who?” She asks, barely looking up from her tablet. 

“Whitaker and Hot Shot,” He clarifies. Mel looks up now, still confused. 

She says your real name like it’s a question. Frank nods. 

“Yeah, Hot Shot,” He emphasizes. 

Mel shrugs. “I didn’t know everyone called her that, I thought it was just Garcia.”

“Doesn’t matter,” He says, moving on. “Labs back for twelve yet?”

Trinity comes back into the department twenty minutes later, having gone outside for a breather, stopping just behind your chair as she walks by. She squints, realizing that you’re definitely wearing Whitaker’s quarter-zip, the one he wears pretty much every single day once it starts getting colder. She goes straight to Victoria, who’s talking to Cassie while they wait for one of their patients to get back from CT. 

“He gave her his fucking fleece,” She says, eyes drifting towards you. Victoria and Cassie look over. 

“Oh my god, that’s so cute,” Victoria says, pouting slightly. “He’s so sweet to her.”

“Have you seen her?” Trinity asks, rhetorical. “He’s got to be in order to keep her around.”

Cassie raises an eyebrow. “I think it’s probably just because he loves her.”

“Or he knows he’s punching above his weight,” Trinity counters. “I love the kid, but she’s practically a supermodel.”

“Well, maybe that’s what drew her to him,” Victoria suggests. “You know, she’s so used to people tripping over themselves to impress her, maybe she liked the fact that he doesn’t make a fool out of himself to get her attention.”

Trinity thinks about that for a second, cocking her head slightly as she looks at you. “Huh. Never thought about it like that.”

“Has no one considered the idea that she just thought he was attractive?” Cassie asks. “He’s a good looking guy!”

Victoria shrugs. “Doesn’t matter either way, they clearly love eachother.”

You barely even realize that your head’s starting to hurt before a pill cup and your favourite donut are placed on your desk. You tug your eyes away from the screen, almost done with your charting, blinking a few times to clear your fuzzy vision. There’s two ibuprofen tablets in the cup, and you see Dennis standing beside you, holding his water bottle out. Robby watches from his workstation a few feet away, smiling, remembering how he watched Dennis set that donut aside a couple hours ago. It wasn’t for him, it was for you. 

"Headache?" He asks.

“How…?” You ask, taking the bottle from him and opening the lid. 

“You’re blinking more than usual,” He says, as though anyone would’ve picked up on it.

“Oh,” You say. “Yeah, it's not too bad, though. Thank you.”

You take the pills and a few extra sips of water before passing it back to him. He sets it on the counter, folding his arms over his chest as he leans back. 

“You should eat something,” He suggests. 

You nod. “I’ll eat this in one second, thank you so much, Denny.”

Robby looks towards Dana, mouthing ‘Denny?’ to her, and she mouths ‘I know!’ back. 

Dennis nods, taking a seat at one of the computers across the hub. You finish your own charting a few minutes later, standing up and walking over to one of the nearby sinks, washing your hands thoroughly. You pick up the donut when you get back to the desk, tearing it in half, holding one side out towards him. 

He’s so wrapped up in his work that he barely glances up when he takes it, then he does a double take, brows furrowing before he looks at you. He’s about to protest when you give him a look, one that let’s him know that you’re well aware he hasn’t eaten since his shift started. He keeps his half raised up, tilting it towards you, and you tap your own portion against his. You both take a bite at the same time, and Princess raises an eyebrow. 

“Did they just…cheers with a donut?” She asks. 

“You haven’t seen ‘em do that before?” Dana asks. “They do it with everything—granola bars, apple slices, sandwiches. It’s sweet.”

“I saw them do it with goldfish once,” Mateo says, spinning around in his chair to face them. “Pretty sure they made them kiss.”

You stretch your arms above your head a few minutes later, leaning against the back of your chair. A few people glance over, hoping to get a glimpse of something, but Dennis’ fleece keeps everything covered. You gather a portion of your hair in your hands, reaching towards your wrist for a hair tie. 

It snaps when you go to loop it around, making you frown.

“Ow,” You murmur, dropping your hair. Victoria goes to offer you a new one, but she’s cut off by Dennis pulling one off his own arm, slingshotting it across the hub, a solid twenty feet or so. You catch it in your palm like it’s second nature, sticking it between your teeth, smoothing your hair back again. 

She malfunctions for a second, trying to see if anyone else witnessed that. Most people have gone back to work, eyes focused on screens or notepads, including Dennis. 

“I…how did you do that?” She asks. 

Dennis doesn’t even look over. “Do what?”

“The—the hair tie thing,” She stutters. He shrugs. 

“She’s always losing them,” He says, as if that remotely answers her question. She’s close enough to see his screen, catching a new secure chat rise to the top of the list that he’s working through answering. It’s your first and last name followed by ‘RRT,’ the profile photo you in scrubs, standing against a white wall.  

heading back up

She glances over at you, still sitting across the hub. You’re looking at your computer, scanning some new orders for your ICU patients, face neutral as you mess with your necklace. She looks back at Dennis’ screen. 

He signs the note he's working on before opening the conversation. 

Come here a second

You log off of the computer, pick up your stethoscope and walk over to him. It’s casual—comfortable. His hand lifts from the keyboard once you’re close enough, reaching over and flipping the collar of his fleece out from where it’s folded in on itself. You raise an eyebrow as he pats it twice, the simple touch of his palm to your collarbone intoxicating. 

“How long has that been bothering you?” You ask, teasing and quiet. The volume has picked back up in the department, so Victoria shuffles a bit closer to try and hear the conversation. 

He pretends to think, glancing at his watch. “How long ago did you put it on?”

You laugh under your breath. “I didn’t realize I was causing you such distress.”

“Yeah, you should probably be more careful,” He says, the corner of his mouth twitching up, but his eyes are wide with concern. “Are you warm enough? I think I have a long sleeve in my bag if you want it.”

You do want it, but not because you’re still cold. 

“No, I’m okay, thank you,” You say, trying to get your feet to move, but his presence is sucking you in. You’re tempted to wedge yourself into his side, knowing that he’d probably respond automatically, arms wrapping around you and his lips brushing your temple like they would at home. 

“Okay, just come grab it if you change your mind,” He says. Your pager beeps from your pocket, and you grimace, face scrunching up in disappointment. 

“I will,” You say, checking it quickly before putting it back. You’re still hesitating, not taking a step away from him. He smiles. 

“Go,” He insists, softly. “They need you.”

You look at him for another second, pursing your lips. “Yeah, alright, going now, Dr. Whitaker.”

Victoria’s eyes widen as she rereads the same line on her tablet for the millionth time. A blush blooms on Dennis’ neck, and he brings a hand up to try and cover it immediately, his blue eyes following you as you get closer to the doors, filled with adoration. 

He gets another secure chat five minutes later. Victoria squints to see what it says. 

made it :) don’t work too hard while im gone

He types back right away. 

Yes ma’am

Victoria gasps. Dennis glances back at her. 

She brings her elbow up to her face, pretending to cough a few times, clearing her throat once she’s done with the performance. 

“Sorry, dry in here today,” She says, trying to give him a reassuring smile. He nods once, unconvinced, but he doesn’t press her on it. 

Her own secure chat lights up. 

TRINITY SANTOS, MD smooth, crash

Seven finally rolls around, signalling the end of your shift. You go back downstairs, waiting outside the ER, like usual, backpack on and changed out of your scrubs. Dennis comes out ten minutes later with Trinity and Victoria trailing behind, his eyes softening when he sees you. 

“Hey, ready to go?” He asks, making you look up from your phone. You nod, greeting his friends before falling in step beside him, bumping your shoulder against his. 

“Oh, gross,” Trinity says, frowning at the heavy rain that’s pouring outside. “You want a ride, Crash?”

“Yes, please,” Victoria says, already bracing herself as Trinity opens the door, turning back to you and Dennis for a second. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” You both say, giving her a tiny wave as they step out into the rain, running to Trinity’s car. 

Dennis pulls his keys out of his backpack, squeezing your wrist quickly. “Stay here.”

You smile. “I know.”

He goes outside, rounding the corner and speedwalking away from the doors. You stay inside, waiting, until you feel someone stop beside you. 

“Waiting for Whitaker?” Robby asks. “I swore he left a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, yeah, he did,” You confirm. “He went to grab the car.”

Robby hums, chuckling. “Of course he did.”

You laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, hands in his pockets. “He just really loves you, is all.”

Your chest and neck start to heat up, making you look towards the ground, scuffing your shoes against the floor. “Yeah, he does.”

“Well, have a good night,” He says. 

You smile. “Goodnight, Robby.”

He walks off just as Dennis pulls the car in front of the doors, shifting it into park as he leans over, gripping the inside handle of the passenger side door. You tense up the moment you’re outside, rain pelting against you, thankful that you still have his fleece on as you run to the car. He opens the door right before you make it so you can just jump inside, slamming it shut behind you, wiping some water off your face. 

You’re both soaked, him more than you, obviously—but he doesn’t care. He leans over the centre console, hand looping around the back of your neck and pulling you close, kissing you. You kiss him back, smiling into it, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. He kisses your forehead after, then pecks your lips again for good measure. 

“Love you,” He says. 

“I love you,” You echo, still smiling. 

A/N - i love that u guys love dennis and hot shot bc i think about them constantly

tags: