#miscomunication

the first was that everyone else already had.

patients adored him. nurses laughed a little harder when he walked by. med students followed him around like ducklings.

even on the worst shifts, when the er smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee and exhaustion, frank somehow managed to make everyone breathe easier.

you were no different, and that was the problem, you only learned him in small pieces.

you learned that he would always rub the bridge of his nose right before opening difficult charts.

how he’d steal a few pieces of your chips without asking, only to replace them with a granola bar from the vending machine.

how he’d absentmindedly reach for your wrist whenever the department became too crowded, holding you with just enough pressure to guide you through the sea of gurneys before letting go like he’d never touched you at all.

it meant nothing, and you told yourself that every single time, because you always knew frank was like that with everyone.

“you’re staring.” someone said and you blinked.

jack didn’t even bother looking up from his computer.

“i’m reading.” “you’ve been reading the same sentence for three minutes.”

“…” “he’s talking to the new resident.” jack muttered.

even with your mind screaming at you not to look, you did anyway.

frank stood across the station, smiling at someone who was laughing so hard she nearly dropped her clipboard.

he leaned against the counter with his head tilted, eyes soft, and he looked happy. something unpleasant settled in your chest.

“stop doing that,” jack muttered as he finished up his chart.

“doing what?”

“breaking your own heart.” he finally said as he stood up, ready to take another case.

you swallowed, you heart aching as you felt a lump forming in your throat.

people assumed the two of you were together, they always had and it made sense. you spent every shift together, you knew each other’s coffee orders, you’d memorized each other’s handwriting.

he texted you when he’d get home after pulling doubles.

you’d remind him to eat, and maybe it looked like love from the outside, maybe that’s why no one ever asked, maybe that’s why neither of you ever said anything.

⋆˚꩜｡

“movie tonight?”

frank asked the question so casually that your heart betrayed you all over again. “sure.” you said, “my place?” he asked as he wrote on his chart, “okay.” you agreed.

“you pick.” he said with a smile “that’s dangerous.” you replied back

“i trust you.” he muttered, and you almost laughed, because trusting someone and loving someone were apparently two completely different things.

halfway through the movie, frank fell asleep, his head rested against your shoulder, his breathing slowed.

the apartment was quiet except for the television neither of you had been watching. and yet, you stared straight ahead.

if you moved, he’d wake up, if you stayed still you’d remember this forever. so you stayed, your shoulder went numb but you didn’t care.

you wondered if this counted as loving someone, getting hurt by things they never intended.

“why don’t you ever date anyone?”

samira asked during a lull in the shift.

you shrugged. “i dunno, i guess im too busy.”you said and she looked unconvinced.

“that’s a lie.” she scoffed, “it’s not?” you retorted. “is it langdon?”

you laughed too quickly. “what?” “is it him?”

across the department, frank looked up and your eyes met for exactly one second.

he smiled, the same smile he gave everyone. and yet, you smiled back anyway. “no.”

samira sighed. “you’re an awful liar.” she chuckled. “shut up, what about abbot, huh?” you said playfully as you accentuated jack’s last name.

her eyes widened, “oh my god- don’t say it out loud!” she shouted, whispering and you simple laughed as she slapped her hand on your arm playfully.

⋆˚꩜｡

there was a party after one particularly brutal week.

everyone drank, laughed, and pretended they weren’t carrying the weight of every patient they couldn’t save.

frank found you standing on the balcony, scrolling on your phone. “too loud?” he said, startling you a bit. “a little.” he nodded and stood beside you.

shoulders almost touching. close enough to feel warm, not close enough to be held.

“you okay?” “yeah.” another lie, he looked at you for a long time. long enough that you thought— “good.” then he looked away.

there were always moments that almost became something, the ways his fingers lingering around yours after handing over a chart.

late-night drives home where the silence felt too comfortable to ruin, the way he’d say your name like it meant more than everyone else’s.

and you called yourself pathetic for it, but you collected those moments, held them carefully, turned them over in your mind whenever you couldn’t sleep.

they were all you had.

you heard about her from robby “langdon’s seeing someone.” you smiled before your brain had time to react.

“is he?” ”yeah.” “…that’s nice.” “i think so.” the rest of the conversation disappeared into static.

that night, frank texted you.

coffee tomorrow? you stared at the message until the screen dimmed.

you typed. deleted. typed again.

can’t. family stuff.

a lie. another one. he replied almost immediately.

okay. next time.

there wasn’t a next time, since you kept finding excuses. different shifts. busy weekends. headaches. anything.

because loving him had always hurt, but watching him love someone else would’ve destroyed you.

weeks later, he caught you leaving after your shift.

“did i do something?” your hand froze on the locker. “…what?”

“you’ve been avoiding me.” you chuckled awkwardly and said,“i haven’t.” “you have.” he sounded…hurt. you hated that.

“frank—” you started, “just tell me.” you looked at him. really looked, tired eyes, messy hair, concern written all over his face.

you wanted to tell him everything, that you loved him, that every almost had become unbearable, that you were tired of wondering if maybe he’d reached for your hand because he wanted to or because it was convenient.

instead you smiled, small— the kind that didn’t crack.

“you didn’t do anything.” you paused, not knowing what else to say “i’m just tired.”

he nodded slowly, like he knew you were lying, like he was too kind to make you admit it. “get some rest.” “i will.”

he waited. maybe expecting you to say something else, but you didn’t. he walked away first.

months later, life looked exactly the same, except now there was a distance neither of you knew how to cross.

sometimes you’d catch him looking at you. sometimes he’d catch you first.

neither of you smiled anymore. just looked away. there were still moments though, always moments. they simply belonged to no one now. and maybe that was the cruelest part.

not that you loved him, not that he might never love you back.

but that somewhere between silence and timing and fear, there had been something waiting to happen. and the two of you had let it become another thing neither of you would ever say out loud.

it wasn’t intentional at first, distance never is. it started with little things. you’d switch shifts with no hesitation if someone asked. you took your breaks five minutes later than usual.

leave through the ambulance entrance instead of the staff exit. none of it was obvious and none of it should’ve mattered.

except somehow frank always noticed, “you already ate?” he’d ask. “yeah.”you hadn’t.

“heading home?” “just remembered i have somewhere to be.” you didn’t.

he’d nod every time, accepting every excuse with a smile that grew smaller each week. it would’ve been easier if he’d gotten angry.

instead, he shrugged it off. that was always the problem.

“you two fight?” robby asked while stocking the trauma room. you glanced up. “what?” “you and langdon.” “no.”

“then why’s he walking around looking like someone kicked his dog?” you laughed despite how you felt. “that’s dramatic.”

“i’m serious.” robby lowered his voice.“he asked me if i’d said something to you.” “…” “i told him no.”

you swallowed. “good.” “you wanna tell me what’s going on?” “nothing.”

robby sighed. “everyone in this ED is terrible at feelings.”

three weeks passed before the universe trapped you together. power outage.

half the hospital running on backup generators, the elevators shut down, patients everywhere, everyone scrambling.

you were reorganizing medications when frank appeared beside you, holding two flashlights.

“here.” he handed you one, your fingers brushed yet he pulled away too quickly.

“…thanks.” you expected him to leave, but he didn’t. for a few seconds, the only sound was the humming generator somewhere below your feet.

“i miss you.” the words were so quiet you almost thought you’d imagined them.

you looked at him. he wasn’t smiling. his eyes stayed on the floor.

“we see each other every day,” you managed. “that’s not what i mean.”

your chest tightened. “frank…” “did i do something?” again. the same question.

only this time there wasn’t anywhere to hide. you wanted to answer. instead a trauma alert echoed through the hall.

every doctor around you started moving. frank looked toward the doors. then back at you. “later?”

your mouth was already saying yes before your brain could stop it. “…later.”

later never came. a six-car collision flooded the emergency department. two surgeries. one code blue. a family that needed someone to tell them their son wasn’t coming home.

by the time the shift ended, the sun was rising. frank had already left.

samira found you crying in the supply closet. not sobbing. just reorganizing stuff in the storage room.

she didn’t ask why, she simply sat beside you after a minute she offered you half a granola bar, you took it.

“he loves you.” your head snapped up.

“…don’t.” “i’m serious.” “don’t do that.”

“i’ve watched him look for you every single shift.” “he doesn’t—” “he does.”

your laugh sounded more like a broken breath. “if he loved me…” you couldn’t finish that sentence, because if he loved you… he would’ve said something, wouldn’t he?

sam looked at you for a long time “maybe he’s just as scared.” that night you couldn’t sleep. instead, you opened your phone.

your conversation with frank stretched back years. pictures of terrible vending machine dinners. memes sent at three in the morning. complaints about impossible attendings. birthday messages. inside jokes no one else would understand. thousands of words.

none of the ones you actually wanted. your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

i miss you too. you typed it. read it. deleted it. and locked your phone.

frank stood outside your apartment for almost ten minutes.

he’d bought your favorite takeout after remembering you hadn’t eaten lunch. it was getting cold. he almost knocked. almost. instead he left the bag outside your door with a sticky note.

eat something. no name. he didn’t need one.

you knew his handwriting better than your own. you opened the door just as he stepped into the elevator. for one impossible second, your eyes met across the hallway.

you wanted to call his name. you wanted to tell him to stay. the elevator doors slid shut before you made a sound. by the time you found your voice… he was already gone.

the next day was painful, body aching, hands hurting, and the hospital lights were making your head spin.

the patient was twenty-two, gunshot wound, BP dropping, and everyone moved on instinct.

“i need another unit of o-neg!” “coming!” “where’s anesthesia?” “two minutes out!”

frank’s voice cut through the room “compressions.” you hesitated. “we still have a pulse.” “barely.” “frank—”

“compressions.” “you’re going to lose what pressure he has left.” he looked at you. “do it.” “no.”

the room went still. not completely. monitors still screamed. people still moved. but everyone heard it.

you had never said no to frank. not like that. he stepped closer.

“i’m running this trauma.” “and i’m telling you that’s the wrong call.”

his jaw tightened. “do your job, Dr.” something inside you snapped. “i am doing my job!”

silence. the kind that only exists for a heartbeat before chaos returns.

jack stepped between the two of you “enough. langdon, reassess. now.” frank didn’t move.

his eyes never left yours. for the first time since you’d met him… they were angry. real anger.

“fine.” he turned away. “prepare for thoracotomy.” the room came back to life. everyone moved again. no one looked at either of you.

the patient survived. barely. the adrenaline faded. the exhaustion settled in. you washed your hands three times before realizing there wasn’t any blood left on them.

the sink shut off. someone cleared their throat behind you. frank.

“what the hell was that?” you kept staring at your hands. “i disagreed.”

“you challenged me in front of everyone.” “because you were wrong.”

“you don’t get to undermine me—” “i don’t get to undermine you?” you laughed. it sounded ugly.

“that’s funny.” “what’s that supposed to mean?” “nothing.”

“don’t.”

his voice cracked. “don’t do that.” “do what?” “say ‘nothing’ when it obviously isn’t.” you finally looked at him.

months. months of swallowed words. months of pretending. months of walking past each other like strangers. they all rushed up your throat at once.

“why do you care?” he blinked. “…what?” he asked, “why do you care if i’m avoiding you?” you blurted out, “because we’re friends.” friends. there it was. the word that had haunted you for years.

you smiled. small. tired. “right.” he frowned. “don’t.” “don’t what?” you muttered, “look at me like that.” he said persistently, “like what?” “like you’ve already decided i’m leaving.”

you laughed again. “you already did.”“what are you talking about?” “you chose someone else.”

confusion flashed across his face. “…who?” you stared at him. “the resident.”

he was surprised, “…what resident? “the one everyone said you were dating.” he was quiet for exactly two seconds.

then— “…audrey?” you didn’t answer. frank let out one disbelieving breath.

“what?- no. no no. i don’t like her—”

“thats no what i see.”

“hey, no i swear. shes not— shes married.”

“…what?” “she’s married.”

your mouth opened. closed. opened again.

“robby told me—” “robby assumed.” “…”

“he assumed.” the room suddenly felt too small.

too warm. too bright. “i…” you couldn’t breathe. months. you’d wasted months.

frank rubbed a hand over his face. “i kept asking myself what i’d done.” your eyes filled before you could stop them.

“i thought…” “i know.” “no, you don’t.” his voice broke. “i do.” you shook your head. “no, frank. you don’t.”

“then tell me.” the tears came anyway. “ i loved you.” the words echoed through the walls.

“i loved you so much that I couldn’t stand watching you love somebody else.” frank stared.

“you idiot.” you laughed through the tears. “yeah, okay i deserved that.”

“what? no, no. i was- so do i” he stepped closer. “…frank.” “i’ve loved you since your second week here.”

your breath caught.

“you kept stealing my chips.” “i was flirting.” “i thought you were hungry.” “i was terrified.” he laughed once. a wet, shaky laugh.

“i kept waiting for you to notice.” “i thought the movies meant something.”

“they did.” “I thought you fell asleep on my shoulder because you were tired.” “i stayed awake for almost an hour.” you blinked.

“are you kidding me? my shoulders went numb.” “my neck did too.” despite everything, a laugh escaped you.

frank laughed too. it lasted all of three seconds before the weight of what had happened settled over both of you.

“we lost so much time,” you whispered. his smile disappeared. “i know.” another silence. this one heavier.

filled with every shift you’d spent apart. every unanswered text. every almost.

“i don’t want to keep wondering anymore,” you said quietly. “i don’t either.” “you’ll have to tell me when you’re scared.”

“i will.” “you’ll have to let me argue with you in trauma.” he snorted. “you were right.” frank muttered.

“i know.” you said proudly, “i’m never admitting that again.” you smiled for the first time in months. “i’ll take today.”

frank looked at you like he was memorizing your face. slowly, carefully, he reached for your hand.

“you know,” he murmured fiddling with your hand gently, “for two people who spend every day telling strangers the truth…”

“…we were pretty terrible at telling each other.” his thumb brushed across your knuckles. “yeah.”

outside the room, another trauma pager blared. the ED was calling them back. people were still getting hurt. lives still needed saving.

the world, stubborn as it was, refused to pause. frank squeezed your hand once before letting go. “after shift?” you smiled. “no almosts this time.”

he smiled back. “no almosts.” and for the first time since the two of you met— neither of you walked away first.

Patton was much more perceptive than the others gave him credit for, so even if Remus was way quieter then he normally was, Patton knew he was there.

He put the cookies on the counter and onto cooking racks, this batch looked really good, none were burnt or undercooked, they seemed to have turned out really well.

He bites down a confused hum as Remus continues to stand silently in the entrance to the kitchen.

He guessed it’s fine though, Remus for whatever reason may just not be in a talking mood? That’s odd for him though..

As the cookies quickly cooled down Patton just smiled, if Remus didn’t want to talk maybe he wanted a cookie?

Yeah that sound like a plan, So he gingerly picks up a cookie before turning his head to Remus, right where Patton knew he had been, and extends his arm over to him

Remus looked pale- err- paler then he normally was, and he seemed to have a slight blush.

That’s odd.

But Patton waves it off, his aforementioned perceptiveness unfortunately not working in that area of expertise,

Soon Remus takes the cookie and sits down on one of the island chairs loosely, Patton smiles, ignoring the weird happy feeling he gets from Remus seeming to enjoy it.

He tells himself that’s normal, it’s a sense of accomplishment that the cookies came out well, right?

Then he realizes Remus hasn’t spoken once, though he supposed he hasn’t either,

He wants to change that “hey Remus how are you?”

Remus seems less.. himself as he answers “I’ve been fine,” his voice is quieter and he seems to be forcing down all of his usual energy.

Patton frowns “are you sure?”

Remus nods but Patton’s spent enough time with Janus to learn when people aren’t telling the whole truth- well most of the time at least.

“Sweetheart if anyone said you make me uncomfortable please know they're wrong, sometimes I get overwhelmed but that doesn’t mean I don’t like you or I’m not interested in what you're saying!” He tried, he knows once Roman did say It after Patton got overwhelmed at a movie night argument, a while ago,

So Maybe it happened again and affected him more this time?

He doesn’t know, he also doesn’t know why Remus is somehow becoming a more noticeable shade of pink.

Remus sighs and Patton’s at full attention “patty-“ that’s odd he feels his cheeks also becoming a (luckily) less noticeable shade of pink at that -“no one said I make you uncomfortable, it’s just I-“ he groaned “ugh stupid feelings and shit, anyway you have kind of.. started avoiding me so I assumed-“ his voice had gotten far more high pitched and he had gotten far more worked up the longer he’d spoken.

Patton gasps softly as he takes Remus remus’s hands gently, promptly quieting the side, “Remus.” He started “I- I’m so sorry, I never even realized I was doing it, and I’m so sorry I hurt you and made you think you make me uncomfortable in the process..”

“So I don't make you uncomfortable?”

Patton smiled softly “no, remus, you don't.”

Remus grinned hugely, and Patton beamed before hugging Remus,

Again, time passed, though even Iovara could tell it was significantly less than before. Then suddenly, the flow of souls stopped and Thaos’ presence disappeared, as if it had never been. It was startling to have the pressure of his power vanish from one moment to the next. Shortly afterwards, the accumulated souls left as well, though where to Iovara couldn’t tell. Somewhere in the distance she could feel her sister and her friends leave, their souls’ absence leaving a hole in her perception, that hadn’t been there before. Still, she couldn’t find it in herself to regret meeting the group, her sister’s incarnation most of all.

Though the years in loneliness had smothered the fire of her anger, it had left a different hole behind, gaping and terrifying. A part of it had been filled through the conversation, the largest in fact, but a slight nagging was still there. Iovara knew how to satisfy it, but that didn’t make it easier to jump over her shadow. The metaphorical one anyway.

For a while she fought with herself, but she’d never been good at denying herself, and she knew that this was something she had to do. Holding a grudge for two thousand years was hard, even for her. And so she gave in and built her projection once more. Technically there was no need to, he would be able to sense her with or without a physical shape, but she felt there was certain politeness in making herself as visible as possible.

“Eothas.” Iovara waited. Patience was not an issue for her anymore, she had nowhere to go, nowhere to be, only this moment and eternity. Slowly, far more slowly than that time millennia ago, his presence trickled in filling the adra around her and casting an invisible mist over everything. The light growing in strength seemed more muted than Iovara remembered, but she dismissed the thought. Years of darkness and loneliness were hardly conducive for one’s memory.

Even once he was clearly there, he remained silent, no question about her call, no comment on the time, just patiently waiting for her to start. So, she did.

“You never really let go of her, didn’t you?” Only once she’d said it did she realize, how much like an accusation it sounded, even though she surprisingly hadn’t meant it as one.

I suppose. His answer wasn’t defensive or even frustrated, instead it was... small somehow, and sad. Like he was expecting a reprimand. How strange...

“Is her hair your fault too?” Iovara did her best to alleviate the strange atmosphere with a joke. She hadn’t called him to argue again. And the light blonde hair with the red touch in combination with a priestess’ garb really had awoken certain suspicions in Iovara.

Hardly. I have less influence on physical attributes than most think. Though I have heard it referred to as sun-kissed. A slight note of satisfaction rang with the words, causing Iovara to doubt them somewhat, but for once in her long existence she found she didn’t mind this secret.

“I just met her. Emblyn-“

Favaen. Iovara stopped short at the interruption and stared confusedly into the nothing, waiting for Eothas to explain. Her name is Favaen. Ah, that made sense, of course she had a new name now. Somehow knowing that made her both sad and happy. It was the undeniable proof that her life as she knew it was over, something she had known, but never really seen until now. On the other hand, it was also proof that not everything relied on her, her failure didn’t mean the world’s end, life still continued. Oh, the irony of welcoming the same wheel she had cursed for so long...

“Favaen. I hope she found the answers she was looking for.” At some point it might’ve been a hidden question, but not anymore. Em- Favaen had promised to return after all, Iovara would ask her then.

I think she did. Eothas answered anyway, though Iovara had the feeling he wasn’t saying everything he thought. The absence of her burning curiosity was something she still had to get used to.

Something else was burning though, something that had been a quiet buzz just hours ago and had grown into an urgent need after her talk with Favaen.

“Thank you.” She spoke the words far steadier than she ever would have thought, a declaration of sincerity, as much as her speeches against him and his kind had ever been. “For taking care of her when I couldn’t.” Both before and after her death was what went unsaid.

For a while nothing happened, but Iovara was used to his stretches of silence by now. What she wasn’t used to was the strange way the atmosphere grew heavier, not threateningly, but sombre somehow. And yet, she’d only talked with him once and that was millennia ago, who was she to judge what was normal for him.

I didn’t do it for you. A fair point, made not unkindly, but without doubt or reluctance.

“I know,” Iovara nodded. “But that doesn’t change my gratitude.” The years in solitude had given her time to reflect. It wasn’t about her, it had never been about her, and she’d been foolish to ever think so. Just like it wasn’t about him either, though if he knew that she couldn’t tell.

The adra lit up lightly, a show of acceptance she knew now. For a while silence reigned again, but instead of being tense or loaded like before, it was now... not exactly comfortable, but based on enough agreement that it was tolerable.

For some reason Iovara had the feeling that he was almost soaking up the silence. As dim and heavy as everything seemed, there was also a vague sense of comfort from the adra. Why he would enjoy her company of all things Iovara didn’t know, it wasn’t like he was the one with no social contact for years.

After a while of quiet contemplation with only the soft, low hum of energy in the air, Iovara broke the silence once more, spurred by the strange ghost of loneliness and regret she couldn’t interpret, but felt a certain kinship for nonetheless.

“For what it’s worth, if she had to choose, I think she chose well.” She really did, though it had taken her a long time to accept it. Her sister had made her choice, as much as Iovara had, and after seeing what had become of her, Iovara could finally admit that it had hardly been the worst choice she could have made. Woedica had dropped Iovara the second she had started asking questions, but Eothas had stayed true to his word and had protected her over the course of millennia.

Yet instead of helping the sad atmosphere, her words only seemed to make it worse, as the light grew even dimmer, shadows creeping into the corners of the room. Just when Iovara decided to give up on her newly found contentment with mysteries and ask, the adra brightened again, as if nothing had happened.

Thank you. The words were smooth and sincere, but without the edge of emotions Iovara had come to expect. You gave her the dagger. That startled her out of suspicions and she focused on the spot on the stone ground, where for years her chosen gravestone had rested. Now instead of the dagger, there was only a vaguely oval shape in the dust.

“You disagree?” she asked, genuinely interested, though his opinion wouldn’t change anything. He’d wanted to take it back then, yet had obliged her wishes to leave it. Now she’d given it away. Would he be frustrated?

Disagree is too strong a word. I am... hesitant. But it is not my decision to make. Forcefully Iovara was reminded of her own outbreak the last time they met, yet she also thought she hadn’t actually said those words. To hear them now from him was strangely disorienting. She was now sure something had changed him, tough was that really so surprising? She had changed, even completely alone and isolated, while he had spent the time watching the whole world change around him.

He seemed to sense her racing thoughts, or perhaps it was something completely different, but the shadows started rising again, as the light of the adra ebbed away, the energy making the crystals pulsate with urgency and something else, that Iovara couldn’t identify properly.

I have to leave now. The sentence was hacked off and rushed, and he was gone far faster than he’d come, leaving Iovara behind, stunned at his sudden disappearance. For all her earlier thoughts of change, patience and contentment, she was still affronted at the rude departure. And a departure it most certainly was. All traces of his existence had vanished, the weight of his presence lifted, and only the dim, natural glow of the adra was still visible in the all-encroaching darkness.

This wasn’t what Iovara had expected from this talk. He hadn’t at all been what she remembered. Instead of the confident, righteous god, who’d let her live out her anger without so much as a twitch, he’d seemed almost broken, fearful of something Iovara couldn’t imagine.

Although... perhaps she could. After all, the reason Em- Favaen had come here in the first place had been Thaos stealing souls from the wheel. Though Thaos had once upon a time been loyal to the gods in general, from what Favaen had told her it sounded as though he’d followed Woedica into her exile. The terrible things he’d done before, in the name of spreading the faith, had been atrocities, but only against kith. He’d never disturbed the divine order like this before, and though Iovara had no doubt about Woedica’s willingness to do so, she doubted the god of rebirth had been very happy about souls being stolen from right under his nose. The fact that someone could, must have been quite the shock to him, so maybe his twitchiness wasn’t all that surprising.

With one last head shake Iovara let her form vanish again. Whatever it was, it wasn’t her problem anymore. She was sure Favaen would set him right soon enough, now that Thaos was out of the picture. And maybe she’d even hear about it later, once Favaen came back.

Though Iovara knew she wasn’t really her sister, there was still a familiarity between them, that had stretched across the years and lives. Or maybe it was just that she was starved for any sort of attention after so long. Either way it didn’t matter.