Lovely to be rained on with you

Your costume had required considerably more effort than his. You're in a black-and-white striped dress, thigh-high socks and heels that had already started to hurt. And to make it even clearer, a little black mask covers half your face, while a cute bag of "money" sits on the counter beside you.

You immediately look away, hoping Princess didn't notice your gaze trailing over his body. "We didn't plan it," you tell her, taking another sip.

Her eyebrows rise sceptically, and then she smirks at you. "If you say so."

"We didn't." The fact that you repeat yourself only makes her smile wider.

"Sure," she shrugs. "But you still look cute together."

Before you can protest, her attention catches on something—or someone—across the room. "Ooh. I see something I like." She wiggles her fingers in a wave and disappears into the crowd.

You sigh and prop your chin in your hand. Sure, Abbot is attractive. That isn't exactly breaking news. That navy shirt should have been boring, but with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms and muscle stretching the fabric across his shoulders, it is anything but.

But attractive didn't mean compatible. Attractive didn't mean cute together. Attractive definitely didn't mean—

"A beer, please." His familiar voice cuts straight through your thoughts.

You glance up.

Abbot is standing beside you. "Is it that boring here?"

"What?"

He gestures toward your slumped posture. "You look miserable."

A laugh escapes you. "I'm not miserable. Just had a long day." You finish the last of your drink and slide the empty glass toward the bartender, asking for another. Then you narrow your eyes at him. "So. You decided to steal my costume idea?"

His mouth twitches. "Your costume idea?"

"Yeah."

"This is one of the most classic Halloween costumes in existence."

"I don't know," you say with a shrug. "Feels like you copied me."

"Considering I got here after you, that's a difficult accusation to defend against."

"You know, that sounds like an admission of guilt."

He huffs a laugh. The bartender sets his beer down, and he takes a sip before replying. "You sure you didn't get the wrong costume? You'd make a fine policewoman with the way you're questioning me."

You grin. "I'm sure I would, but," you lift the bag teasingly, "this is so much more fun."

His eyes meet yours over the rim of the bottle. "Not that fun if I catch you immediately."

"I'm faster than you think."

His gaze drops briefly to your heels, then back to your face. "In those?" he hums.

"Yes," you lean forward. "I could outrun you in these."

A laugh rumbles low in his chest.

"I could. Or I could just hide."

"Sure, sweetheart." He lifts his beer. "But I spotted you the second I walked in."

"How?"

He leans in slightly. "I know a repeat offender when I see one, Trouble." His gaze flicks over your costume as he shrugs. "And there's the whole outfit, I guess."

You snort despite yourself.

For a second, neither of you looks away. Heat creeps up your neck. You break eye contact first, reaching for your drink.

"So... Why did you choose to go as a cop?" you ask, twirling the straw between your fingers.

He sets the bottle down. "I didn't. It's Robby's costume, but he got stuck at work. Threatened me that if I didn't wear it, he wouldn't cover any of my shifts ever again."

The mention of Robby makes you frown. He'd been nearby when you'd discussed costumes with Princess and Perlah, but there was no way he'd heard the conversation from across the hub. And even if he had, the matching costumes had to be a coincidence.

You are not willing to consider the thought that Robby is crushing on you.

You are even less willing to examine what Abbot means by Robby covering for him—cause it almost sounds like Robby did it, so Abbot could be here tonight, but that can't be right.

Abbot nudges you, once again interrupting your thoughts. "I think it's clear who would wear it better, though."

Your stomach does something irritating. "Oh my god."

"What?"

"You're so full of yourself." You swat his shoulder.

The gesture has absolutely no effect. His arm barely shifts beneath your hand. "Who said I was talking about me?"

"Robby, really?"

"Or Robby." He looks at you expectantly.

His intention lands a second later.

Your breath catches. "Oh."

A knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "But I do look good, right?"

"Primary survey," Abbot says.

Parker looks up from the head of the bed. "Airway patent."

You slip your stethoscope into your ears. The patient's respirations are fast and uneven. You listen to the right, then the left. "Markedly reduced breath sounds on the left."

"What's your next step?" Abbot asks.

"Treat the breathing first. Likely a pneumothorax."

"How?"

"Insert a chest tube."

He nods once. "Good. Do it."

Without hesitation, you pull open the sterile tray as Parker preps the left side. Abbot remains just behind your shoulder. Close enough that you're aware of him. Far enough that he never gets in your way.

"Find your landmarks."

You palpate along the ribs. "There."

"That's it, Trouble," he murmurs into your ear.

You make an incision.

"Steady," Abbot says.

You spread the tissues with the clamp. His shoulder brushes yours as he leans in to watch. With one final push, you enter the pleural space.

"Go on."

You withdraw the clamp and slide a gloved finger into the opening. A sharp hiss of escaping air fills the room.

"Good. You're in," Abbot says quietly.

You sweep once, confirming the tract before guiding the chest tube along your finger and into the pleural space.

"Breath sounds improved," Parker calls, listening with her stethoscope.

You secure the tube while Vivi connects it to the drainage system. Abbot reaches in briefly to inspect the dressing before stepping back.

"Good placement," he murmurs before shifting his focus to the pelvis. Your heart skips a beat, but it's probably just the adrenaline.

The rest of the trauma goes smoothly. Parker secures the pelvic binder while you help splint the femur. Massive transfusion is activated, and the patient's blood pressure begins to climb. Once the primary and secondary surveys are complete, the patient heads to CT.

As the bed disappears through the doors, the room finally exhales. You strip off your gloves and gown before making your way back to the hub.

Abbot trails behind you. "Good work in there," he says, resting a hand against the counter beside you.

You grin. "You're a good teacher."

"Careful," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting. "You'll give me an ego."

Before you can answer, a plastic cup lands beside your elbow with a quiet thud, ice cubes clinking against each other.

You glance up, where Shen offers you an apologetic smile. "For jinxing your night. Hope you can forgive me."

You laugh. "I wasn't really mad."

"Still." He rubs the back of his neck. "You've got a rep—I'd rather stay on your good side." He nudges the coffee toward you before giving your shoulder an easy pat as he steps away.

When you turn back, Abbot is staring after him. His eyes are slightly narrowed.

"He said the Q-word," you explain.

One brow lifts. His eyes drop to the coffee.

You lift it slightly. "Want a sip?"

"No." Silence settles between you. He picks up a tablet, his thumb hovering over the screen. "...Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"You transferred to nights."

You nod, turning the lid to catch the straw. "Yeah?"

He glances toward the hallway where Shen disappeared, then back at you. "Shen works nights."

You pause halfway to taking a sip. "…He does."

"Was that part of the reason?"

You stare at him for a second, then you laugh. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You think I switched shifts for Shen?"

He studies you for a moment before answering. "You didn't?"

You shake your head. "I switched because I wanted more trauma."

"And not because of Shen?"

You smile. "Is that what you've been thinking?"

He looks away. Something almost imperceptible loosens in his posture. "Maybe."

You look at him for a moment, tapping the plastic slowly with your fingers. "You've been thinking about why I changed shifts?"

Abbot hesitates. "…I was curious." He glances at the board before looking back at you. "I've been trying to get you onto nights for months."

You hum.

He gives a small shrug. "Then you suddenly transferred."

"And you thought it was because of Shen?"

Another shrug. "It crossed my mind."

"Well, it wasn't." A smile tugs at your lips. "But I'm flattered you noticed."

He meets your eyes, chin dipping. "I pay attention to everyone I work with."

You fight back a smile. "Mm."

His brows knit slightly as he turns more toward you. "You got plenty of trauma on days, though."

"Not like this."

"What's different?"

"The volume. The acuity."

He waits.

You shrug. "There's more trauma overnight."

"Is that all?"

You suck in your cheek. "…And the teaching."

He nods once. "The teaching?"

"Yeah."

"What about it?"

You look at him. "Well... You..." The word slips out before you can stop it. "I mean—you explain things well."

His eyebrows lift. "You switched because of me?"

Heat rushes into your face. "No—that's…"

"No?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Could've fooled me." Abbot's mouth twitches. His lips part to say something, but the slam of the ambulance bay doors cuts him off.

Across the department, Shen catches your eye and throws both hands into the air. "Sorry!"

You laugh.

Beside you, Abbot bumps your shoulder lightly. "Ready for another one, Trouble?"

You set the untouched coffee back on the counter and give him a sideways look. "With you? I suppose I could do worse."

"I know. I'm apparently a good teacher."