black doll 🦌

-

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

Dennis looked up as you approached.

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

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

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

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

You glanced up. "Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

“We had to crike.”

Dennis let out a low whistle.

“Did you do it?”

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

“Probably wise.”

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

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

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

“Where on earth are you taking me?”

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

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

"Woah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sad?" He offered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The hiss of the cans opening echoed softly around you.

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

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

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

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

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

You raised a brow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dennis slowly turned towards you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dennis didn't answer straight away.

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

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

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

You shifted your weight slightly, your fingers splaying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Food."

You let out a quite laugh. "Food."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I thought you'd forgotten us topo."

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

Angelo hummed disapprovingly as he came over to your table.

His attention landed on you immediately.

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

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

"Nice to meet you." You smiled.

Angelo's grin widened.

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

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

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

Across from you, Dennis turned bright red.

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

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

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

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

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

"No, absolutely none."

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

Neither of you moved it away immediately.

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

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

You let out a laugh.

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

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

"You're kidding."

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

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

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

Your foot nudged his again - absent, unconscious.

This time, he noticed.

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

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

He nodded. "I'll be there."

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

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

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

Jealousy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your expression softened without you meaning it to.

"I think that's really sweet."

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

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

You frowned. "What?"

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

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

"But you were thinking it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Buon appetito!"

You both thanked him, your eyes widening as you took in the spread before you. Your stomach grumbled as you locked onto the pizza in front of you.

“Hang on.”

You stopped midreach.

Dennis had already picked up a slice, carefully pulling off pieces of capsicum with deliberate focus.

"What are you doing?"

“You don’t like red capsicum.”

You stilled.

There was no hesitation there. No question. Like it was something he’d filed away without thinking twice about it.

"Ok, now you can eat." He said as he placed the slice onto your plate.

He watched nervously as you picked it up and took a bite, analysing every micro-expression to try and figure out if you approved.

Your eyes widened almost immediately.

"This-" You gestured to the slice in your hand, still chewing, "-might be the best pizza I've ever had in my entire life."

Relief flickered across his face so quickly it almost made your chest ache.

"I told you it was good."

You paused, studying him for a moment, something indiscernible flickering across your features as the noise of the diner wrapped itself loosely around the two of you.

You shook your head, smile widening.

"You are full of surprises Dennis Whitaker."

He huffed out a quiet laugh, ducking his head as he reached for another slice, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the way you were looking at him.

"It’s a low bar." He muttered.

You nudged his foot lightly under the table. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Undersell yourself.” You said simply, before taking another bite of your pizza.

For a moment, he didn’t respond.

He just watched you - really watched you - in that quiet, careful way of his, like he was trying to memorise something without making it obvious.

"You know, I was thinking." Dennis continued after a moment. "Maybe when we both have some time off, you could.. come see the farm."

You blinked. "Amy's farm?"

"No - no." He said hastily. "My farm."

"In Nebraska?"

"Yeah but only if you wanted to." He said hastily. "I just... I think you'd like it. It's quieter. You can actually hear yourself think out there."

You stilled for a moment, something warm and unexpected blooming low in your chest.

“Yeah?” You said softly.

Dennis risked a glance up at you then, like he was bracing himself for you to brush it off.

“Yeah.” He nodded, quieter now.

You held his gaze for a second longer than you probably should have, your smile softening into something a little less teasing, a little more real.

“I think I’d like that.”

Dennis’ answering grin came slower this time, but it reached his eyes in a way it hadn’t before.

And just like that, something shifted - subtle, almost imperceptible, but there all the same.

The next morning Frank Langdon pulled up outside your apartment complex with two coffees balanced carefully in one hand, the other resting loosely against the steering wheel as he waited.

He noticed you the second you stepped out of the building.

There was something softer about you outside the hospital - your hair loose, your movements a little less clipped, your expression not weighed down by fluorescent lights and constant urgency.

The passenger door opened and you slipped inside, already reaching for the coffee.

“Oh my god thank you, you're a lifesaver." You gasped, wrapping your hands around the cup like it was something sacred.

"It physically pained me to ask the barista to add that much sweetener, just so you know." He answered, glancing sideways as you took your first sip.

You placed a hand over your heart. "The sacrifices you make for me Langdon."

He shook his head, but there was a quiet, involuntary smile pulling at his mouth as he started the engine, easing the car into the street.

"Alright, where are we going first?"

You paused after you gave him the address of the first homewares store, shooting him a grin that immediately made him wary.

"I may also have one request."

He cut you a sideways glance. "What?"

"Can we stop for a pastry on the way?"

His eyes flicked down briefly to your iced latte, then back to the road, a faint crease forming between his brows.

"Is that not technically a pastry?"

He shook his head slightly as he flicked on his indicator, but you could see on his face that he was already caving. "I suppose I can't really say no, this is your day."

Your smile grew wicked.

"Oh that was a dangerous thing to say Langdon."

You walked out of your favourite bakery with three pastries clutched triumphantly in brown paper bags, the warm scent of sugar and butter following you out onto the street.

One savoury and two sweet - because you couldn't decide and sharing was always better anyway, you'd insisted to Frank.

The first homewares store felt less like a shop and more like a showroom designed to intimidate people into silence.

Marble countertops gleamed under carefully placed lighting, pale timber shelves displayed perfectly arranged objects that looked more decorative than functional, and even the air carried that faint, curated scent of expensive minimalism.

The only other two customers in the store were middle aged women who looked like they exclusively shopped at Lululemon and Chanel and probably never checked price tags.

You wandered around, snacking on your pastry, stopping in front of a pair of hideous gold plated candle holders.

Frank cleared his throat as he appeared beside you.

"I don't mean to alarm you." He spoke quietly. "But I just saw a fruit bowl that cost $3,000."

The snort that left you was immediate and entirely uncontained, loud enough to make the woman near you shoot you a disapproving look.

"Do you reckon they'd take a tenner for it?" You shot back, not even attempting to lower your voice.

A pointed throat clear sounded behind you.

You both turned to find a woman with a too-dark spray tan and sharply lined lips watching you with open disapproval. Her name tag - Karen -felt almost too on the nose.

"We don't allow the consumption of food and drink in our store."

You froze mid-bite, then slowly lowered the pastry back into the bag, the paper crinkling loudly in the silence.

"Oh sorry, we didn't know."

She pointed upward with a perfectly manicured finger.

You followed the gesture to the sign above your heads: NO FOOD OR DRINK PLEASE.

Frank let out a quiet breath beside you, already stepping back.

"We were just leaving anyway."

The two of you exchanged a glance, bursting into a fit of giggles as you hurried out of the store like a pair of scolded primary school kids.

"Ok, you might need to get a bit more realistic with your budget." Frank said once the two of you were clear of the store.

"Oh I know. I was never going to buy anything there."

Frank raised a brow. "Then why did we go?"

"Because that's part of the experience." You explained. "You have to wonder around a few stores that are totally out of your price range and pick out things that you want as if you can afford it."

He frowned faintly. "Why?"

You shrugged. "For fun."

"I'm confused."

"You're a man." You corrected lightly. "You lack imagination."

"I'm practical." He countered.

"Yes but practical isn't what today is about." You patted him on the shoulder. "This is my day remember?"

Frank shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he tried to be serious. "I have serious regrets."

"No you don't." You teased.

Frank watched you for a moment, his eyes softening.

No, no he definitely didn't.

-

As the morning unfolded, the stores became smaller, less curated, more real. You moved through them with a growing sense of purpose, picking things up not just because they were pretty, but because they felt like they belonged to a version of your life you were slowly building.

You'd been relatively successful so far, picking up a photo frame, two prints, a candle and a book end set.

At one boutique, you and the sales assistant had cornered him into trying on a knit, insisting that olive green was “absolutely” in his colour palette.

He had rolled his eyes, but he bought it anyway, because the look on your face when he stepped out wearing it had been worth more than the price tag.

Despite not spending that much time together outside of work, you both felt completely at ease, like you'd done this sort of outing a hundred times before, as if this was a version of your lives that could exist outside the hospital.

The last store you went into was a vintage store.

Every surface was crowded with objects that carried history - chipped ceramics, faded fabrics, mismatched glassware, small things that had clearly belonged to other people before finding their way here.

Your entire expression shifted.

Frank noticed it immediately - the way you slowed down, the way your fingers brushed over things more carefully, as if you were trying to understand them rather than just look at them.

He found himself watching you instead of the shelves.

Your gaze lingered on a tiffany-style stained glass lamp shade, crafted into the shape of a lilac flower.

Definitely too expensive, and too fragile given your track record.

"Anything you're shopping for in particular dear?"

You glanced up to see an old lady hobbling out from the back room, smiling at you kindly over her glasses.

"Oh no, just having a look. Your store is beautiful."

"That's very kind of you sweetheart."

She glanced over your shoulder at Frank, who was currently looking at a set of hand painted war figurines.

"Is this your boyfriend?"

Your cheeks flushed. "Oh no he's-"

"-you two are a gorgeous couple." She continued, her eyes shining as she glanced between the two of you. "You would have beautiful children."

"That's what I keep saying." Frank chimed in instantly. "Right, honey?"

His smile widened as you shot him a glare.

"Right."

"Have you seen our vintage photobooth in the back?” She asked as she beckoned the two of you to follow her deeper into the store.

"You should try it, couples come in all the time and get the sweetest photos."

You opened your mouth to decline, but found yourself nodding instead, not willing to disappoint her.

"Sure."

She yanked open the curtain, ushering the two of you in so you had no way of backing out.

"Just pay up front when you're done dears."

The curtain fell closed behind you with a soft, final swish that left you enclosed in a space far too small for comfort.

Your knee pressed against his immediately. Your shoulder brushed his chest when you shifted. There was no way to sit without being aware of him - of the warmth of him, the solid presence that suddenly felt impossible to ignore.

"I think she just swindled us." Frank observed after a beat.

"I think so too." You remarked, focusing very deliberately on the control panel in front of you, as if that might steady something inside you that had started to tilt.

"We might as well do it, right?" You said casually, trying to act like you were totally fine with being in such a confined space with him.

"I think it's only right that you have a photo of me up in your apartment."

You shot him a look. "That's a bold assumption."

"Confident prediction."

You turned back to the screen, pressing the button before you could overthink it.

A countdown from three seconds appeared on the screen. "Shit!"

"Ok, what are we doing?" He asked.

"Uh I don't know just smile I guess-"

You leaned into him and quickly smiled, the flash nearly blinding you.

The photo appeared, revealing you bright and smiling and Frank... looking at you.

Your breath caught slightly, but you pushed past it.

"Ok, silly one."

You poked your tongue out as it flashed again.

Again, despite you pulling a face, Frank was still looking directly at you.

"You know you're supposed to look-" You turned to him, laughter ready on your lips, only for it to falter when you realised he was still looking at you.

A breathe caught in your throat as you met his gaze, something in his expression catching you off guard.

"I know." He murmured, answering a question you hadn’t quite managed to ask.

His hand shifted, settling lightly at your side, fingers pressing just enough to steady you - or himself, you weren’t entirely sure.

Your heart thumped obnoxiously against your ribcage and for a moment, the space felt smaller, the air heavier, like something had shifted into place that neither of you had named.

The final flash went off.

-

The drive back to your apartment was quieter.

“Do you ever think about having kids?” He asked eventually, eyes still on the road.

You kept your gaze focused out of your window. “Thinking about what that swindler said?”

Frank let out a huff of amusement. “Yeah.”

You paused for a moment. “I think I do.” You finally said. “I mean definitely not anytime soon but… eventually yeah.”

“I get that.”

You turned slightly. “You want kids?” You couldn’t hide the surprise in your voice.

“Yeah.”

There was no hesitation in it.

He turned onto your street, glancing at you briefly.

“What? Does recovering drug addict not give off paternal?”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “Frank Langdon doesn’t give off paternal.” You corrected.

A partial lie. You’d seen Frank with kids at work. He was great, much better than he gave himself credit for. But he was also a self professed workaholic, a life long bachelor because he could never draw himself away from work long enough to maintain a relationship.

He chuckled at that. “I could be.” He countered. “With the right person.”

You felt his eyes flit to you at that. You kept your gaze fixed outside as your stomach flipped.

Your apartment still felt hollow when you stepped inside, the echo of your footsteps carrying too easily through the space.

“Geez you weren’t kidding.” Frank remarked. “This place is depressing.”

“I told you.”

Bare white tiles and floors, with only a few plain pieces of furniture assembled - it more closely resembled a doctors office than an apartment.

“This looks like one of our family rooms, but worse.” He observed, as if he could read your mind.

You huffed a small laugh. “Not for much longer luckily.”

He set the bags down in the kitchen, his movements easy, familiar.

His attention drifted to the fridge.

There were only two things tacked onto it.

A polaroid of you, Whitaker, Santos and Javadi smiling.

And one of just you and Whitaker - caught mid-laugh, something unguarded and genuine in the moment.

Frank’s gaze lingered a fraction too long.

Something tightened in his chest before he forced himself to look away.

“Are you coming to Javadi’s thing next weekend?” You asked, crouching down beside one of the half-open boxes and peeling back the flaps, your attention split between him and the pile of still-wrapped homewares inside.

At his silence, you glanced up just in time to catch the faint crease of confusion pulling at his expression.

“Her 21st.” You clarified.

“Oh uh- I don’t think I got an invite to that.”

“Perlah and Princess organised it a while ago at work.” You said lightly, waving off the concern before it could settle. “You’re definitely invited.”

He didn’t answer straight away, and you didn’t miss the hesitation - the way his gaze drifted for a second, like he was weighing something up that had nothing to do with the party itself.

“It’ll be fun.” You insisted.

His eyes flicked back to you. “And you’re going?”

“Of course.”

Something in his expression shifted then, subtle, but enough. Like that had been the deciding factor all along.

“Alright." He said, the corner of his mouth lifting as he gave a small nod. "I’ll be there.”

He glanced down at his watch, trying to take his mind off the emotions pulsing through him.

“Shit - I gotta go, I need to get a few hours sleep in before my shift.”

You peered up at him from where you were crouched beside a box.

“I’m covering for Shen.”

Your brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would have told me not to come.” He said simply. “And I wanted to help.”

Your frown faltered.

“Well I’m not going to be held responsible for anything you stuff up due to sleep deprivation.” You warned, though the fondness in your voice softened the words.

He smiled faintly. “You’re in the clear.”

You studied him for a moment as you stood up, wiping your slightly sweaty hands on the back of your jeans. The realisation that your time together suddenly had a rapidly approaching expiration had thrown you.

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

“Anytime,” He replied, and this time there was no humour in it, just something steady, certain.

You knew he meant it.

He paused at the door, his hand hovering over the handle. He swallowed, a rare glimpse at a nervous Frank Langdon momentarily exposed.

“Maybe I could come back and see the place once it’s fully decorated?”

“Seems only fair given your contribution.” You tried your best to keep your tone casual despite the way your body buzzed.

He smiled in a way that set your body alight.

“Might even let you convince me to watch that chick flick you’re always harping on about.” He answered, more confident this time.

“10 things I hate about you is not just a chick flick it’s a-“ You cut yourself off when you saw his smile widening, realising you’d taken the perfectly dangled bait.

“You’re an ass.”

“And I’ll bring Chinese from that place you like.”

You knew the place he was talking about. The one you’d gotten takeaway from and snuck in to him at rehab.

Your expression softened just a touch.

“Well how can I say no to that?”

-

Later, once he’d gone and the apartment had fallen back into silence, you returned to unpacking, working your way through the last of the boxes of things you’d bought today.

At the very bottom, something caught your attention.

Wrapped carefully in bubble wrap.

You frowned, pulling it free, your movements slowing as you peeled back the layers.

The lamp.

The lilac glass caught the light as you turned it in your hands, the delicate petals glowing faintly in the afternoon sun filtering through your window.

For a moment, your mind struggled to catch up, to place how it had ended up here when you were certain you hadn’t bought it. And then-

“Oh shit I think I dropped my wallet in there, hang on I’ll be right back.”

Frank’s voice echoed back, clear as if he were still standing in the room.

You sank back onto your heels slowly, the weight of the lamp settling into your hands in a way that felt heavier than it should have.

Your grip tightened around the stem.

“I promise I won’t break you.”

“I hate everything in my wardrobe.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Santos replied without even looking at you, her voice steady and unimpressed as she tilted her chin up toward the mirror and dragged her mascara wand carefully through her lashes.

“I’m not.” You insisted, pushing a hanger aside with more force than necessary. Fabric whispered and rustled in protest. “Everything looks terrible.”

“That’s absolutely not true.” McKay chimed in from where she was perched cross-legged on the end of your bed, expertly lining her lips like she hadn’t a care in the world.

You had impromptuely invited some of the girls to get ready at yours. Now they were all scattered over your apartment, every surface had been claimed: compact mirrors balanced on windowsills, makeup bags exploded across the coffee table, someone’s curling iron plugged into a plug near the kitchen sink.

From the living room, Kelly Clarkson was belting through your speakers at a volume that made the walls hum faintly. Mel had taken full control of the playlist, all of you suffering whiplash from going from what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger to thot shit.

In the kitchen, Emma stood behind Javadi, fingers deftly working through sections of her hair while Javadi swayed slightly on her feet, drink in hand, offering completely unhelpful commentary.

“I feel like this is giving… main character energy.” Javadi declared, gesturing vaguely at her own reflection in the microwave door.

"It’s giving you need to stop moving or I’m going to burn your scalp." Emma replied dryly.

Santos had, at some point, taken it upon herself to play bartender. The drink currently sweating on your dresser was by her own proud admission, 90% vodka with a splash of moral support, aka lemonade.

You’d taken several generous sips already, enough that a soft warmth had begun to bloom under your skin, loosening the tight coil of anxiety sitting in your chest.

You were already chasing the escape that a few drinks provided. Because every time your mind slowed for even a second, it circled back to the same, deeply inconvenient truth: you were fairly certain you had feelings for not one, but two of your co-workers.

“There is seriously nothing in here.” You insisted.

This time Santos did look at you, nothing short of entirely impressed.

She capped her mascara with a soft click, tossed it onto the bed without ceremony, and pushed herself up to her feet.

“Move.”

You shuffled aside as she stepped into your space, hands on hips as she surveyed your wardrobe. There was a beat of silence while she flicked through hangers, pushing aside dresses and tops with quick, efficient movements.

“This.”

She pulled something out and shoved it into your chest before you could even register what it was.

You looked down.

“This is going to be way too much-“

Santos didn’t even dignify that with a proper response. She just raised her eyebrows and pointed toward the bathroom.

“Go.”

You huffed and hurried into the bathroom.

The second the bathroom door clicked shut, Santos leaned in slightly toward McKay, her voice dropping.

“Did you see the photos on the fridge?”

McKay didn’t even look up at first. “Don’t start.”

“What?”

McKay finally glanced up, then quickly over her shoulder, checking that the bathroom door was firmly closed. Mel’s music conveniently swelled louder in the background, giving them a layer of cover.

“Don’t say anything to her tonight.”

Santos exhaled sharply, folding her arms as she turned fully toward her. “Someone needs to tell her before they get into a punch up in the middle of a trauma.”

“I agree.” McKay nodded. “But not tonight, especially when she’s already started drinking. She’ll get in her head and freak out.”

Santos studied her for a moment, weighing it up, before finally relenting with a small shrug. “Fine, but next week we’re staging an intervention.”

The bathroom door swung open before McKay could respond.

You stepped out slowly, one hand unconsciously smoothing down the fabric over your hip.

“Ok.” You announced, already shaking your head. “It’s way too much.”

McKay’s mouth actually dropped open.

Santos let out a low, appreciative whistle, dragging her gaze from your heels all the way up to your face like she was committing the image to memory.

“Holy shit.” She said, then repeated your last name with emphasis. “You look insane.”

“Second that.” McKay added, still staring.

You glanced down, sliding your hands down the tight fabric. “My colleagues cannot see me in this.”

From the doorway, Javadi, already visibly tipsy, let out a loud, scandalised gasp.

“Oh my fucking god you have to wear that.”

Obviously sensing your hesitation, she pushed herself off the doorframe and stumbled slightly into the room, pointing at you like she’d just uncovered something groundbreaking.

“As the birthday girl-“ She declared, straightening up with exaggerated authority, “I decree that you must wear this ridiculously hot dress.”

You stared at her for a beat. No one came to your rescue.

Then your shoulders slumped in surrender, a dramatic sigh leaving your lips.

“Whatever the birthday girl wants, the birthday girl gets.”

The room erupted instantly with cheers and whoops. You waved them off with a half-laugh, half-groan as you turned back toward the bathroom to finish getting ready.

Behind you, Santos leaned slightly toward McKay again, her voice low but smug.

“Whitaker and Langdon are going to lose their fucking minds.”

McKay snorted. “Oh absolutely.”

-

By the time you all toppled out of the uber, the night had already taken on that soft, buoyant quality that came with being a few drinks in - not drunk, not quite, but warm and loose around the edges.

Your feet were feeling gloriously numb in your heels, your body had relaxed in your dress, the tight coil of overthinking finally loosening its grip as laughter slipped easily from your lips, unfiltered and bright.

The bar pulsed with life the second you stepped inside, low lighting, bass heavy enough to feel in your chest, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder. It took you a moment to adjust, eyes scanning through the dim until you spotted them.

The pitt crew, clustered around a collection of high tables toward the back, gold balloons numbered 21 floating above them.

Javadi led the charge, her cheap plastic tiara with 21 swirled on it tilted precariously on her head, catching the light like a beacon. You all weaved through the crowd as greetings began to spark even before you’d reached them.

“Late for your own party Javadi?” Mateo called out as you approached, his grin wide and teasing as his eyes flitted down her figure.

“It takes time to look this good.”

You caught Emma’s eye beside you, the two of you exchanging a knowing grin.

“This is going to be fun night.” You murmured to her.

Across the room, Dennis had been half-listening to Donnie and Jesse, nodding at the appropriate moments while his attention flickered back to the entrance every few seconds.

Waiting for-

Everything else blurred out for a second when he saw you.

His fingers tightened instinctively around his glass.

You looked like you were floating as you approached the group, laughter spilling out of you as you leaned into one of the girls, your cheeks flushed, your whole body lit from within by something effortless and unguarded.

And your dress.

He swallowed hard.

Ethereal wasn’t a word he used often, but it was the only one that came close to doing you justice.

He mumbled something barely intelligible to Jesse and Donnie and then he was already moving, cutting through the crowd before he could second guess himself.

At almost the exact same moment, Frank stepped out of the bathroom, running a hand through his hair as he scanned the room.

He froze completely in place.

It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t controlled. It was like his body had just… stalled.

You were mid-greeting, smiling wide, with that easy, open expression he knew so well. But everything else felt different.

Your dress was hugging you in ways he wasn’t used to seeing, not when he was so accustomed to scrubs and worn-in denim and the quiet familiarity of your usual self.

This felt like seeing you for the first time again.

His brain scrambled to catch up as he realised that he was going to have to act like this didn’t affect him at all. That he was going to have to go back to work and pretend he hadn't seen you like this. That this hadn't fundamentally altered his reality.

He forced himself to move, taking a step forward -

Dennis beat him to it.

"If it isn't my favourite ray of sunshine." You greeted Dennis, your grin immediate and genuine as your attention snapped to him.

"Hey." Dennis shot you an awkward smile and for a split second he forgot every word in his vocabulary. "You look um- well you look-"

He could feel the heat rising in his face and silently prayed the shitty bar lighting would hide it.

"Drink?" He blurted instead, wincing internally at how abrupt it sounded.

A mischievous glint appeared in your eye. "Is that you saying I can cash in on your offer for drinks plural from last week?"

He huffed a nervous laugh. "Maybe."

You only got halfway to the bar when your paths crossed with Frank.

"Hey you."

"Hey." Frank shot you a tight smile as he glanced between you and Dennis.

"Hey man." Dennis greeted, the words coming out a touch stiffer than he intended.

You didn't seem to notice.

Your attention had already drifted downward, catching on the familiar shade of olive green stretched across Frank’s chest. Your smile widened instantly.

"Nice shirt."

Frank's smile loosened. "Thanks, had help picking it out."

"Oh yeah?" You glanced back up at him. "Well, they've got great taste."

His eyes dropped to your dress, slower this time, more deliberate.

"Clearly."

There was something in the way he said it, voice low, distracted, that made Dennis shift beside you, tension slipping into his shoulders before he could stop it.

You, blissfully unaware, only grinned wider as your gaze flicked back to Dennis.

"Careful Den." You teased. "I'll be styling you next."

Dennis let out a strange, half-laugh, half-hum, something caught between amusement and nerves, his brain still trying to recalibrate.

Before anything else could settle, your name rang out across the bar. You turned instantly, your entire expression lighting up at the sight of Samira.

"Be right back." You announced to neither of them in particular, Dennis' offer of a drink and Frank's shirt completely forgotten.

For a moment, the two men were left standing side by side in the wake of your absence.

The two of them stood there awkwardly for a split second, eyeing each other. Then, almost in sync, they turned and walked in opposite directions.

-

By the time the rest of the group had fully assembled, the energy had shifted into something louder, looser. Drinks in hand, bodies pressed closer, voices rising to compete with the music.

"Oh here we go." Princess mused.

Perlah followed her line of sight toward the bar. "Is that a record?"

Nearby conversations dipped as heads turned.

You were leaning against the bar, mid-conversation with a guy who had very clearly inserted himself into your space. He stood just a little too close, his body angled in, gaze lingering on your body in a way that wasn’t subtle.

“Not even close.” Santos answered. “One time she got hit on between getting out of the taxi and trying to get into a club.”

A few people laughed.

Neither Dennis nor Frank did.

Dennis watched the way you leaned back slightly, laughter spilling out as you responded to something the guy had said, your fingers brushing your glass, your lashes fluttering in a way that made something unpleasant twist in his chest.

He felt a wave of jealousy wash over him. He didn’t think you had looked at him like that, ever.

Across the group, Frank’s gaze had fixed just as firmly, though his expression was harder to read. Quieter. His jaw flexed slightly, his grip tightening around the edge of the table as he tracked the interaction with an intensity he didn’t bother to hide.

They watched as you said something before twisting around and pointing at your group.

“Unbelievable.” Princess chuckled, shaking her head as the guy immediately motioned to the bartender and pulled out his card.

Everyone watched as you made your back to the table a few minutes later, carefully navigating the crowd with a tray of tequila shots balanced precariously in your hands.

“Drink up kids.” You grinned, setting the tray down in the middle of the table with a flourish.

“How the hell did you manage to convince him to buy this many shots?” Emma asked.

You shrugged, your grin widening with faux innocence.

“I told him we were emergency doctors and saved people’s lives for a living, so the least he could do was buy us a drink.”

Howls of amusement, groans and a few impressed whistles erupted from the group.

“I’ll definitely drink to that.” Donnie declared, already reaching for a glass.

Around you, hands moved quickly, everyone grabbing a shot without hesitation.

Everyone except Frank.

He lingered slightly at the edge of the group, watching as the moment unfolded without him, that familiar, uncomfortable distance settling back into his chest.

This was the part he never quite got used to.

The easy camaraderie that revolved around alcohol. The way it bonded people, loosened them, made everything simpler. It wasn’t resentment exactly, more of a quiet, persistent reminder of the line he couldn’t cross anymore. Of the version of himself he’d had to leave behind because of his past decisions.

His gaze lifted when you slid a shot glass in front of him.

“Relax.” Your lips twitched when you caught the look on his face. “I asked him to order a water shot.”

Frank blinked, thrown for a second.

You lifted your own glass, nudging it lightly toward his.

“Can’t have you not participating." You added lightly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It’s an essential work bonding activity.”

You were already turning away again, attention snapping back to the group, laughter bubbling up as someone shouted something over the music.

Like what you’d just done hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary.

Like it hadn’t meant anything at all.

Like you hadn’t just done something so thoughtful he thought his heart might burst out of his chest.

-

As the night stretched on, the crew began to siphon off in that slow, natural way. People peeling off in pairs or small groups, chasing after food or scared away by the reminder that they had a twelve hour shift awaiting them in the morning.

Those that remained were rowdier, already well past the point of acting in a way that was probably acceptable for socialising with co-workers. Instead, everyone seemed to have adopted the approach of ''let's all agree that what happens here, stays here.”

You had, to your credit, been sticking to your plan of distracting yourself.

Mostly.

You spent the majority of your time on the dance floor with the girls, letting the music swallow you whole, or crammed into the bathroom taking blurry photos that you knew you’d laugh at in the morning. It was easier there, surrounded, distracted, buoyed by noise and movement and alcohol.

It meant you didn’t have to think too hard.

Didn’t have to notice the way your attention still, inevitably, drifted back toward two very specific people.

Across the room, Frank leaned against the edge of one of the high tables, fingers loosely curled around a glass of something non-alcoholic that had long since gone warm. He’d been debating leaving for the better part of twenty minutes now.

There was a limit to how enjoyable sobriety could be in a room full of people steadily losing theirs.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way his gaze kept finding you, and what came with it.

Every time he saw you laughing with Dennis, surrounded by the younger staff, it was a persistent reminder that he didn’t quite fit.

He was older. A senior resident. A recovering drug addict who stole from your place of work.

Was it selfish to let you orbit so closely to him, to let you potentially be tarred with the same brush when you were only just starting to blossom in your career?

And the longer he stood there watching you exist so easily in this space, the more the thought pressed in, the thought that if he hadn't fucked up so royally, maybe you would already be his.

Maybe he wouldn’t be standing on the outside of this. Maybe he wouldn’t feel like something you’d already outgrown, like he belonged to a version of your life that had already passed.

For Dennis, Frank was like a splinter in his side that wouldn’t budge. A constant, irritating presence that was impossible to ignore no matter how hard Dennis tried to focus on anything else.

Because no matter how much you laughed with the others, no matter how many people surrounded you, you always found time to gravitate back over to Frank.

Dennis told himself it was because you were kind. Because you noticed things like that. Because you didn’t want him to feel excluded. But there was something about the way you were with him that made his stomach churn.

The ease of it. The way conversations between you and Frank seemed to flow without effort, like you were picking up threads that had never really been dropped.

He’d overheard you both earlier talking about some case where a patient had come in after intentionally putting their hand through a receipt spike, and the way you'd told it...finishing each others sentences, laughing at the same moments.

It was like you were sharing a brain, both on a wave length that he couldn't quite tap into.

How could he ever compete with the history that the two of you shared? With the kind of familiarity that could only come from working together for so long? With the admiration, bordering on reverence, that you so clearly had for Frank both professionally and personally?

There was, however, one thing the two of them had in common tonight.

Whenever you were with one of them, the other was watching.

It wasn’t obvious, but it was there.

The brief moments of eye contact across the room. The mirrored tension. Tight jaws. Flexed hands. Something unspoken and building beneath the surface.

Like work last week, the bar was starting to feel like a pressure cooker.

-

You were at the bar, elbows resting lightly against the sticky surface, trying to catch the bartender’s eye as the crowd pressed in around you. The music thumped through your bones, your head still pleasantly light, your thoughts just slow enough to blur at the edges.

You barely registered the hand on your waist at first.

“Hi beautiful.”

You turned, smile automatic before recognition caught up. It was the guy from earlier who had bought you the tray of tequila shots.

“Oh, hey.” You shifted subtly, angling your body just enough to ease out of his grip.

“I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you again." He continued, leaning in slightly. "It’s hard to get you alone.”

“I’m here with friends.” You replied lightly, gesturing vaguely over your shoulder as you tried to turn back toward the bar.

His hand tightened. Not enough to hurt, but enough to stop you.

“Well, you’ve been with them all night." You didn't miss the way his tone sharpened slightly. "So maybe now you can talk to me for a bit.”

You let out a small, awkward laugh, trying to keep it easy.

“Sorry, they’re waiting on me.”

You felt the shift before you fully saw it.

The way his expression hardened. The easy charm slipping, replaced by something more brittle.

“I bought your whole table drinks.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly as your patience thinned. “And while that was very nice of you, it doesn’t mean I owe you anything.”

You saw it settle in his expression then, the familiar flicker of wounded ego curdling into something meaner.

His grip tightened into something bruising. He leant forward, the smell of whisky heavy on his breath.

“C’mon sweetheart, don’t be like that.”

“Let go of her.”

Dennis’ voice cut through the thumping base, edged with something that made you go still.

He was beside you before you even fully registered it, his presence warm and steadying.

The guy looked up, his eyes glassy as he took Dennis in.

“Who the fuck are you? Her boyfriend?”

“I said, let go of her.” Dennis repeated, slower this time.

You had never seen Dennis like this before. No hint of timidness or hesitation, just pure, palpable rage.

His fists were balled at his side, shoulders squared like he was ready, actually ready, to swing if it came to it.

The guy snorted. “Where were you when she was batting her lashes at me and fucking manipulating me into buying her drinks huh?”

“Is everything alright here?”

Frank appeared at your other side.

His eyes darted between you and the guy, before locking onto the hand gripping low on your waist.

His jaw ticked, his eyes dragging upward.

“Or were you just leaving?” Frank continued, his tone flat in a way that carried more weight than shouting ever could.

The guy's eyes darted between Frank and Dennis, something like calculation settling in despite the alcohol fogging his judgement. Even drunk, he could read the situation well enough. Could see it wasn’t worth the fight.

He finally relinquished his grip on you.

“What?" He sneered, stepping back. "She got you both pussy whipped hey?”

“Jesus, just go slink back into whatever hole you crawled out of already.” You snapped, the bite in your voice surprising even yourself.

“Fucking good luck to both of you.” He grumbled, muttering something ugly under his breath as he stalked off, disappearing into the crowd.

The second he gone, you let out a breath that you didn’t realise you’d been holding.

“Are you ok?”

They spoke at the same time.

You blinked, glancing between them, your head suddenly clearer than it had been all night.

“Yeah." You said quickly, forcing a small smile. "Men, am I right?”

You tried to brush it off, make light of it, but both of them could see you were rattled.

Their eyes were both still scanning you, searching.

“He didn’t hurt you did he?” Dennis asked.

You shook your head. “Only thing bruised is his ego.” You looked between them. “Thank you both for that."

They both nodded, the moment sitting awkwardly between them.

“Anyway.” You cleared your throat, desperate to grasp something lighter. “Let’s pretend that never happened.”

“Want another drink?” Dennis offered, sensing that you needed a distraction.

You smiled. “Have you ever known me to turn down a free drink?”

Frank’s gaze flicked between you, taking in the slight sway in your stance, the way your balance wasn’t quite as steady as it had been earlier.

“Maybe after you’ve had some water?” Frank suggested, aiming for casual and missing it by just enough to make the concern obvious.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “After I have some water.” You corrected yourself.

The way you did it automatically triggered something in Dennis.

He muttered something under his breath, not quiet enough to be swallowed up by the thumping bass.

Frank turned. “Sorry what was that?”

Your head snapped up, surprised by the edge in his tone.

Dennis straightened, the alcohol running through his veins pushing him past whatever restraint he might’ve had earlier.

“I said, you know she can make her own choices, right?”

Something unreadable flickered across Frank’s face, his posture shifting.

You glanced between them. The weight of Dennis’ words went completely over your head, but the tension was unmistakable, indicating that there was something going on here that you weren’t privy to.

“I’m aware.” Frank answered calmly. “I’m also the only one that’s sober.”

“Not because you want to be though, right?”

Your jaw dropped. “Dennis what the-“

“And there it is.” Frank cut you off, taking a step towards Dennis. “How long have you been sitting on that one huh?”

“Ever since you came back and thought you could slip right back into cracking jokes like nothing happened.”

Frank’s eyes narrowed, something sharper breaking through.

“You know, I figured you were a little unsure of yourself when I was told to ease up because you were an 'easy target'-" Frank held up his fingers in mock quotation marks, - "but I didn't think you were this insecure."

You saw the flicker of hurt across Dennis’ face before he could hide it, his gaze darting to you for half a second.

You felt your head start spinning, and not from the alcohol this time.

This didn't feel real. It couldn't be.

"Frank stop-"

"Oh yeah?" Dennis cut you off, his nostrils flaring. "Well I'd rather be insecure than someone who steals-"

“Enough!”

Finally, your voice cut through sharply.

Both of them turned to you and froze.

For the first time it hit them that you were standing right there. That you had heard everything, seen far too much.

“Seriously." You said, your chest rising and falling too fast, your pulse hammering in your ears. "What the fuck is going on between you two?”

The words hung heavy in the air.

You had finally called it out.

You glanced between them. Neither of them spoke, their mouths slightly ajar.

Something inside you snapped.

“Actually you know what-“ You shook your head, a hollow laugh slipping out as you threw your hands up. “I don’t want to fucking know."

Your voice waivered despite your best efforts.

"I’ve had enough of fragile male egos for one night.”

Without another word, you shouldered past them, marching towards the bathrooms as you felt angry, drunk tears threaten to spill down your cheeks.

The noise of the bar seemed to surge as you pushed through it, bodies brushing against yours, laughter and music and glass clinking together into something overwhelming. It pressed in on you from all sides, hot and suffocating, and suddenly the only thing you could focus on was getting out.

Behind you, you vaguely registered raised voices, your name maybe, but you didn’t turn back.

Santos and McKay, who had already been making their way towards the three of you, immediately diverted their course to chase after you.

By the time you reached the hallway leading to the bathrooms, your chest felt tight, like every breath had to fight its way in. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you tried to keep yourself together.

You didn’t quite manage it.

The second you pushed through the bathroom door, the harsh fluorescent lighting hit you, and something in you cracked.

Santos and McKay slipped in after you without a word, Santos flicking the lock on the disabled bathroom door behind them with a decisive click.

The quiet was jarring.

Not silent - there was still the dull, constant thud of bass vibrating through the walls. But it was contained. Muffled. Like the world had been shoved behind glass.

You braced both hands on the edge of the sink, head dipping forward as you tried to steady yourself. The cool porcelain bit into your palms, grounding you just enough to keep from completely unravelling.

“What the hell happened?" Santos voice cut through, sharp but edged with concern. "Are you ok?”

You squeezed your eyes shut as the words tumbled out of you.

“There was some creepy guy pestering me at the bar and Den and Frank came over to help me, and next minute they were at each others throats-

You broke off, the words tangling somewhere between your chest and your throat.

Your reflection stared back at you when you finally opened your eyes - slightly smudged eyeliner, flushed cheeks, styled curls still trying to hold on to some sort of shape.

“I just don’t understand what the fuck is going on with them.”

In the mirror, you saw it.

The split second glanced between Santos and McKay.

It was quick, but not quick enough.

Despite your buzz, you caught it.

“What?” You turned, straightening despite the slight sway in your balance.

“Nothing.” McKay said too quickly.

You glared at them.

“You know something.”

It was a statement, not a question.

They glanced at each other again, reflexive, involuntary, and something in your chest tightened.

“Tell me.” You insisted, more firmly this time.

McKay shifted, her gaze flicking to Santos like she was silently asking her to back off, to wait, to not do this here.

Santos didn’t look away.

“Guys.” You pressed, frustration bleeding in now. "You can’t just look at each other like that and then leave me in the dark. Not right now."

“I think we should wait until we’re all sober-“ McKay started carefully.

“If you don’t tell me I swear-“

“Jesus Christ, they’re both in love with you."

The words landed like a physical blow.

The room didn’t just go quiet, it stopped.

The bass still pulsed faintly through the floor, people still moved outside that door, the world still turned, but inside that small, fluorescent-lit space, everything froze.

You stared at her for a moment as your brain tried to process it.

McKay let out a soft, horrified groan, dragging her hands down her face.

“No.” You shook your head.

“Yes.”

“That can’t be it.” You shot back, letting out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking your head harder now. "It's got to be something else. Something to do with you, or Louis or-"

"You seriously think either of those things would end with them ready to throw punches in the middle of a bar?" Santos cut in.

"Think."

Your gaze flicked to McKay, searching, desperate for her to contradict it, to give you an out, an alternative explanation, anything.

"I'm sorry babe." She said quietly. "It's true."

Your brain started pulling threads.

Dennis in the stairwell.

You didn’t tell me Langdon was coming back.

The way his voice had tightened. The way he’d so uncharacteristically snapped.

Frank in the breakroom.

I missed you.

The breakroom tension.

The weird silence.

The way conversations would stall the second all three of you were in the same space, like oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

The way they couldn’t even walk past each other without it turning into… whatever that was.

The way you had moved between them so easily, laughing, teasing, leaning in without ever stopping to consider what it looked like from the outside.

Your stomach dropped.

You thought of your fridge. The new photostrip that sat there now, tucked beside the others.

You and Frank right next to you and Dennis.

Your heart started racing, too fast, too loud, like it was trying to claw its way out of your chest.

It all rearranged itself in your mind, every interaction snapping into place with brutal, undeniable clarity.

It hit you like a tonne of bricks.

"Oh my god. I’m an idiot.”

“No you’re not.” McKay assured you.

But you barely heard her.

Because now, there was no pretending you hadn’t noticed.

No pretending this was simple.

No pretending you weren’t standing directly in the middle of something that was going to demand an answer from you sooner rather than later.

“I can’t go back out there.”

“You don’t have to.” Santos answered, a rare glimpse of protectiveness sneaking through. “We’ll sneak you out and tell the others you’re not feeling well."

You nodded vaguely, though the motion felt disconnected, like your body was moving on autopilot.

Your hand dragged down your face, smearing what was left of your composure as you turned away from them, staring at the grimy, scuffed wall like it might anchor you.

It didn’t.

Because now you could see it.

And there was no going back.

Ever since Javadi’s 21st, something in the Pitt had shifted into a quieter, more uncomfortable shape - less like a fracture and more like a pressure change that everyone could feel but no one quite named.

Everyone noticed it, noticed it in the spaces between things.

The way you were no longer orbiting Langdon or Whitaker like you used to. The way conversations that once flowed easily were now clipped short. The way eye contact had become something carefully rationed, like it might cost too much if used incorrectly.

Some of the staff had put two and two together quickly enough.

Others had chosen, very deliberately, not to look too closely at the pattern forming in front of them.

You were still a professional first and foremost. You still spoke to both of them when needed, didn’t hesitate to jump in on a case with one of them if it was required.

But you weren’t at Langdon’s side everytime a trauma rolled in anymore. You weren’t drifting over to Whitaker during breaks, letting conversation spill out naturally while the hospital noise hummed around you.

The small rituals that had once anchored your shifts - shared glances across a bay, jokes to take your mind off the never ending stress, the silent coordination as you worked that made everything feel lighter than it was - had all quietly disappeared.

And with them, something in you had gone oddly weightless, as if you’d been untethered without permission.

It was your choice, and you knew that. You’d set the tone on your first shift back. But that didn’t make it easier.

There was a strange kind of drift to it all now. Like you were suspended just outside their reach, watching your own absence take shape in real time.

And as you’d drawn into yourself - Dennis and Frank’s personalities had been drawn out.

Dennis had immediately folded inward, all nerves and hesitation whenever you were near, as if even existing in your proximity required permission he was no longer sure he had. He moved around you carefully now, overly polite, like one wrong step might erase him entirely from your orbit.

Frank, on the other hand, had done the opposite. He seemed to have made it his mission to block your attempts at ignoring him. Where there was avoidance, he pushed in closer. Where there was distance, he filled it. Any chance he took to be in the same room as you, he grabbed fiercely. He lingered at thresholds of conversations, tried - quietly, persistently - to draw even a flicker of reaction from you.

It was almost as if both of them had decided, separately, that silence was worse than rejection.

And for a brief, fragile stretch of time, the tactic worked. The tension eased - not because anything was resolved, but because nothing was being fed.

And, you got to live in a delusion that none of this was real and therefore there was no need for you to address it.

Until Ogilvie happened.

You were at the tail end of your shift, dealing with a teenager who had come in after falling off a skateboard.

“Luckily it’s not too deep.” You said as you gently twisted their leg, examining the gash to their knee. “We can stitch it up right now for you.”

“Will it hurt?”

Ogilvie, who was still on his best behaviour and being way too enthusiastic after the humbling that was his first shift, dragged the surgical light over behind you preemptively.

“No, we’ll numb it up for you first. You won’t feel a thing.” You assured them, shooting them a smile.

You stood up from your stool, twisting as you went to grab the numbing needle from the tray - and collided head first into the edge of the surgical light.

“Shit!” The word slipped out before you could catch it as a blinding pain burst in your forehead.

You blinked rapidly as your vision blurred momentarily from the force of the impact. You instinctively reached up to touch your forehead. You winced as your fingers brushed against something warm, sticky and all too familiar.

"Great." You grumbled as you pulled your hand back revealing a coating of bright red over your fingers. You blindly reached for a cloth on the surgical tray beside you to press to the wound as blood started dripping down your forehead.

“Oh- oh my god I’m so sorry-“ Ogilvie's voice pitched upward in panic.

“It’s fine- I’m fine.” You assured him as you brushed off his hand on your shoulder.

"Just - stay with the patient." You said quickly, already moving.

"It looks quite deep I think maybe-"

Ogilvie didn't get to finish his sentence as a voice cut through the bay.

"Jesus."

It was low, immediate, sharp with recognition.

Frank.

Your stomach dropped in a way that had nothing to do with the injury.

He was already there before you could process it, moving through the chaos with that unnervingly direct focus of his. Ogilvie instinctively leapt aside as Frank reached you, his hand gently but firmly intercepting yours before you could press harder on the wound.

"Are you ok?"

You didn't resist as he moved your hand and the cloth out of the way to get a proper look at your forehead.

You hated the way your body reacted to him being this close again. The familiarity of it. The instinctive recalibration of distance.

"Yeah I'm fine."

Frank's stare hardened as he took in your injury, his eyes snapping instantly to Ogilvie.

"What the hell happened?"

"I-I-" Ogilvie stammered under Frank's glare. "I was just trying to-"

"-I had a run in with a surgical light." You cut in, saving Ogilvie from digging himself into an even deeper hole.

"More like a head on collision." Frank muttered, his attention back on you instantly.

"Come on."

Before you could protest, he placed a hand on your shoulder and guided you out of the bay, his other hand still pressed against your forehead.

"Dana!" He called out, "anything free?"

Dana looked up instantly, panic flashing across her features at the state of you. "Room 12 should be."

You could feel your co-workers eyes on you as Frank manoeuvred you through the chaos.

"Think I can get workers comp for this?" The joke slipped out easily, too easily. You'd been in his presence for under a minute and you were already folding back into your usual rhythm.

Frank huffed a laugh. "Claim some psychological damages while you're at it."

You barely had time to respond before another voice cut in.

"Hey-"

Dennis.

He was already moving toward you, concern written too openly across his face to be anything but instinctive.

Your name left him in a rush as he reached you, hand hovering briefly at your arm like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you anymore.

Despite everything, your stomach fluttered.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Den." You reassured him.

Something in his expression shifted at the nickname, the one he'd been starved of for weeks, relief and ache tangled together in the same breath.

"What happened?"

Before you could answer, you realised the three of you were now walking together into the same room. Frank on one side, Dennis on the other, you in the middle like a fault line neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

You tried not to let panic press down on your chest when you realised the three of you were now in the exact scenario you had been doing everything in your power to avoid.

"Ogilvie got too eager, moved the light behind me without telling me and then..." You gestured to your head as you sat down on the edge of the hospital bed.

Dennis shook his head. "I'm going to kill him."

“Agreed.” Frank muttered.

"It's ok, he didn't mean it." You insisted as you slowly removed the cloth, revealing a deep gash that was still spilling crimson down your face.

"Let me take a look." Frank and Dennis said in unison as they both simultaneously reached for the glove dispenser.

They froze.

The two of them had been so worried about you that they hadn’t had time to really register each other.

Until now.

“I’ve got this Whitaker.” Frank spoke first.

"I'm happy to do it." Dennis countered.

“Probably best a senior resident does it.” Frank tried to sound casual, professional - but it only came out strained.

Dennis’ jaw ticked. Frank pulling the seniority card made his pulse roar in his ears.

"Senior residents don't tend to do much stitching do they? You might be a bit rusty."

“Rusty?” Frank echoed slowly, letting out a scoff.

The temperature in the room increased.

“I know you’re from Nebraska." Frank's tone was practically dripping with condescension.

"But here in the civilised part of this country we tend to respect seniority.”

Your mouth nearly fell open.

"Go ahead." Dennis shot back, voice sharpening. "Make the farm joke I know you've been dying to say-"

"Please-" You cut in. "for the love of god will someone please just stitch me up so I can get back to work and finish this fucking shift?”

Silence snapped back into place.

Both of them looked at you at once, as if remembering, abruptly, that you were the reason they were in the room in the first place.

Dennis exhaled. "Sorry."

Frank nodded once. "Yeah, sorry."

He gestured between them. "You decide."

It was simple. Neutral. But it landed like something heavier than either of them intended, the implication hanging dangerously in the air.

You glanced between them, both of them staring at you expectedly.

You felt something tight forming low in your chest. Panic. Crawling up higher and higher, threatening to burst at any moment.

A throat cleared.

“Both of you out.”

Robby was standing in the doorway, his eyes darting between the three of you.

Frank and Dennis didn’t move.

His eyes narrowed. “Now.”

That broke it.

They left reluctantly, Frank glancing once at your forehead, Dennis a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

“And tell everyone to stop being so goddamn nosy and get back to work.”

Robby shut the door behind them.

The room cooled, just a fraction.

You swallowed as you sat up a little straighter, watching as he slipped on a pair of gloves.

He let out a low whistle as he came over to examine your wound.

“That lamp did a hell of a job on you.”

“You’re telling me.” You muttered.

You watched as he cleaned your wound. His movements precise and efficient, practiced in a way that only came with decades of experience.

“It wasn’t Ogilvie’s fault.” You said after a few moments. “He was trying to be helpful.”

“Trying to be helpful and being helpful are two very different things.” Robby murmured. “And clear communication and waiting to act until a superior tells you to do something are essential skills down here for an intern.”

You fell silent after that, letting him work as he carefully sutured your wound, only speaking when he asked you questions to clear you for a concussion.

“Alright, all done.” He announced as he clipped the final stitch.

“Thanks Dr Robby.”

“Don’t mention it." He said as he slid his gloves off, throwing them in the trashcan. "Now go home.”

“But I’ve still got-“

“- go home.” He said, a bit more gently this time, but still not a suggestion.

You stood slowly.

He paused at the door, hand hovering on the handle.

“Look-“ He cleared his throat as he turned back to you. “I don’t know what is going on between the three of you- well actually I do but-“

He cut himself off, letting out a weary sigh.

“It can’t continue like this. It's not working."

“I know.” You admitted quietly.

His gaze hardened slightly, morphing back into the look of your superior. Not unkind, but absolute in that way only someone with authority over chaos can be.

“Then fix it.”

-

The air was always cooler up on the roof of PTMC.

Higher up, the hospital stopped feeling like it was pressing in on you from all sides. The constant hum of machines, the antiseptic bite of cleaning products, the burnt bitterness of coffee that seeped into every other part of the hospital - all of it faded just enough up here to make breathing feel slightly easier.

A steady breeze caught up here, cutting clean lines through the heat trapped below, tugging at your sleeves and loosening the tight knot in your chest.

You sat curled into yourself near the edge, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them like you could physically hold yourself steady.

Down below, the city was alive in scattered light and movement. A reminder of why this place never rested.

"Hey kiddo."

You turned slightly at the sound of Abbot’s voice, catching him in the edge of your vision before letting your gaze drift back out toward the skyline.

"Hey."

You felt him sit on the ground beside you.

"Heard you had a rough day."

"More like a rough week."

Abbot hummed, leaning back against the low wall behind you. “Mine's been a rough decade."

That earned a faint shift in your expression - something almost like a smile, though it didn’t quite make it all the way.

He studied you for a moment, then waited, letting you silently know that you only had to talk if you wanted to.

"Robby told you what happened?" You asked after a few moments.

"He did."

"So you know about Whitaker and Langdon... how they're..." You hesitated to even say the words out loud, not sure if you were capable.

"Both fighting over you like territorial teenagers?” Abbot supplied casually.

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

A hollow laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. "Great, so everyone knows."

"Not everyone." He corrected.

You glanced over at him.

"Only people with functioning eyes and at least a passing understanding of human behaviour.” He added mildly. “Which is surprisingly hard to find in this place."

That got something out of you - small, breathless, almost a laugh. But it broke halfway through, catching in the back of your throat as your eyes unexpectedly stung.

"Oh- hey-" Abbot startled, his voice softening.

"Sorry." You shook your head, letting out a huff of frustration as you forcefully wiped your face with your sleeve. "I don't know why I'm crying."

"You don't need to apologise." He said gently, but firm.

The words didn’t stop it. They just made it worse in a different way.

"I just... I feel like this is all my fault."

Abbot frowned properly now. "It's not." He said firmly.

"But- but maybe if I'd realised sooner, or handled it differently I could have-"

He said your name gently, but decisively. "You can't control how other people feel. Or what they do with it.”

You swallowed, nodding once even though your throat felt tight. “I know.”

A pause stretched between you, filled only by wind and distant city noise.

“Besides, they’re only human. Who can blame them.” He nudged you, voice light.

A weak laugh slipped out of you at that, more breath than sound.

A few minutes passed, Abbot giving you a chance to steady your breathing and collect your thoughts.

"Do you think-" You hesitated for a moment, like the words themselves felt too exposing.

You tried again, quieter. "Do you think it's possible to like two people at once?"

Your voice didn’t sound like yours when you said. Smaller, almost childlike.

A harsh reminder for Jack of just how young you really were, that you were really just a kid in the grand scheme of the world, trying to survive a place like this.

Abbot didn’t answer immediately. When he did, it wasn’t rushed.

"I think." He said quietly. "That it's possible to be drawn to two different people. To care about them. To see things in both of them that matter to you.”

He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

"But, I think love tends to narrow things down eventually.”

Love?

You hadn’t even let yourself frame it like that yet. Not properly. Not in a way that had weight.

A breath caught in your throat.

You tried to deflect, because that was easier. "What about if I just switch to the night shift and avoid all my problems entirely?"

Abbot let out a chuckle.

"Nice try kiddo, even though I’d love for you to join the night crawlers, Robby would have my head."

You scoffed. "I doubt it."

Abbot glanced at you then, more serious again. “Robby may not be the best at showing it, but he trusts you, thinks you're a safe pair of hands. I can see it."

You blinked as you tried to process that information.

"And even though his delivery is sometimes… questionable. He’s not wrong about this either."

"About what?"

His expression softened. “That only you can sort this out.”

Your eyes dropped back to the city below, suddenly harder to look at.

“How?”

Abbot exhaled through his nose, like he already knew you wouldn’t like his answer.

“You stop letting it stay undefined. You put them out of their misery and make a choice.”

The words made your stomach twist. You squeezed your eyes shut and groaned.

“I don’t want to hurt them.” You admitted.

“I know.”

A pause.

“But leaving it like this, leaving them hanging in this weird unknown space, is already hurting them. Just slower.”

You swallowed, staring out at the blur of lights below. You hated that he was right.

“I don’t want to lose either of them.”

That one landed heavier than the rest.

Jack’s face faltered. “That part, I can’t guarantee you.” He said quietly. “There’ll be fallout either way. They’ll be hurt, probably want space.”

He studied you for a moment.

“People come back from things, although it might never be the same. Us doctors are resilient, have to be in a place like this.”

Silence settled again, deeper this time as you stared glumly at the darkening sky.

"Or I could just pick neither."

"You could definitely do that." Abbot answered quickly.

Too quickly.

You glanced at him. “Why do I feel a ‘but’ coming?"

A faint, knowing look crossed his face. “But-" He emphasised.

You almost smiled despite yourself.

"-why do that and deprive yourself of something that could end up being one of the best thing’s that's ever happened to you?"

He turned his hand slightly as he spoke, thumb unconsciously rotating the wedding ring on his finger. A habit that said more than the words did.

"And, I think-“ He added gently. “- deep down you already know which one of them might give you that.”

The wind picked up slightly then, pulling at the edges of your thoughts, scattering them just enough that you couldn’t hold all of them at once.

But not enough to make the truth feel any less there.

Not enough to displace the name and face at the forefront of your mind.

And that, somehow, was the worst part.

Dennis' ending | Frank's ending

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