#oph2

“No…” I breathe out.  My knees buckles but I mange to catch myself on the arm of the chair Ramsey is sitting in.  “Where’s Delores?”

“She died.”

My blood roars in my ears, drowning out all of the other mundane hospital sounds surrounding us.  My eyes burn as small tendrils of grief take root in my chest, quickly stamped out by the heavier, more intense feeling of anger.  Anger at the randomness, the unfairness of it all.  Anger at myself for not having done more, not fighting Ramsey harder, not making Delores understand just how serious her condition was.

NO.

“Dr. Ramsey, - ”

“I’m fine.”  He stands and quickly strides away without looking back. 

A while later I tiptoe into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, clutching that stupid stuffed frog, and silently begin searching the incubators for Delores’s son.  I allow myself a tiny smile when I finally find him and read his name tag.

Ethan Hudson.  How about that…

“Can I help you?”

I whirl around in surprise to face the attending on duty.  “His mother was my patient.  She got to name him?” I ask, vaguely gesturing towards the incubator. 

“She told me just as she was rushed to the O.R.  The poor thing.  We’ll know more in the morning,” she answers, casting a sad look towards the baby.

“Do you mind if I sit with him tonight?”

“Feel free.”

“Do you mind if he has this?”  I hold up the frog.  “His mother wanted him to have it.  It’s been sterilized.”

“Go ahead,” she says, shrugging as she walks away.

I pull on a pair of sterile gloves and place the stuffed animal into the incubator, tucking it close to the baby.  He snuggles weakly against it, and tears prick my eyes.  “That’s it, tadpole.  That’s the way.”

I sit down on the couch next to the incubator and put my hand back inside, allowing the baby to grasp one of my gloves fingers.  I relax into the couch, preparing for a long, sleepless night.

********************************************** Ethan rounds the corner to enter the N.I.C.U. and draws up short as the sound of a now irritatingly familiar voice floats out to meet him.

“Can you believe some people actually think Black Jack Randall is attractive?  Like the book version, not the actor in the series?”

Ethan peers around on the doorjamb to see O’Shea seated next to the incubator housing Delores’s son, having a very enthusiastic one-side conversation with the infant.

“I know!  After everything he did to Jamie… I can’t believe it either.  How do you feel about Lord John as a character?”  Rory pauses as if listening to the baby’s reply.  “Well obviously… clearly you’re a gentleman of taste.  Can I talk about my gripe with Roger for a second?  Because honestly - ”

“Ahem.”  Ethan clears his throat and Rory glances over at him, eyes wide and cheeks pink with embarrassment.  “What are you still doing here?”

“I’m staying here tonight.”  O’Shea turns his attention back to the incubator.  “I hate the idea of him fighting for his life alone.”

“There are plenty of doctors working overnight.  If something happens, they’ll be here.”

“I know.”

The whisper is so soft Ethan can barely hear it.  “Would you mind if I joined you?”

O’Shea’s wide green eyes betray his surprise and it takes him a moment to answer.  “Not at all,” he finally says, shaking his head and scooting over to make room on the couch.

***************************************************

Ethan settles down on the couch next to me and for a while the soft, rhythmic whoosh of the ventilator is the only sound in the room.  He catches sight of the stuffed frog and breaks out into a rare smile.

“You gave him the frog.  Delores would have been…”  His face falls and his falls silent at the reminder of the loss of his friend.  “She would have been pleased.”

I bite the inside of my cheek and blink quickly in an effort to hold off the tears that have been threatening to fall all night.

“The first patient I lost… I was in my fourth week,” Ethan says, his voice more gentle than I thought him capable of.  “I didn’t make any mistakes.  He had stage four metastatic melanoma.  He just… fought like hell and lost.  I liked him.  He wasn’t much older than I am now.  I knew he didn’t have long to live, but it still hit me hard.”

I take a shallow, shuddering breath.  “I can’t let this get to me,” I mumble.

“Grieving a lost patient isn’t a weakness.  Good doctors should value life.  For itself.  I’d be more concerned if you weren’t upset.  Just know this wasn’t your fault.  Or mine.  Or Delores’s.  We all made the best decisions we could with the information we had.”

The argument that we could have done things differently is at the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back.  “I could have done more,” I say bitterly.  “I failed her.”

Ethan sighs.  “It’s important to push yourself, Rookie, but you will take a lot of losses.  We all do.  What matters is that you come back stronger.”

I glance at him suspiciously from the corner of my eye.  “Why are you being so nice to me?  Usually you’re…”

“Demanding?” he helpfully supplies.

“An asshole,” I mumble.

Other than a slight raise of his eyebrows Ethan doesn’t comment on my assessment of his character.  He stares off into space, sorting his thoughts.  “There are doctors with unlimited patience,” he says eventually.  “I am not one of them.  Energy I could use socializing, or making someone’s day better, I put towards my patience.  They’re who I’m here for.”

“Well that explains why you and Dr. Emery broke up,” I mutter under my breath.

“Rookie…”  Ethan’s tone is warning.

“You’re a teacher too,” I point out, attempting to backtrack.

“One of many, and you shouldn’t model yourself after any of us.  Idolatry among physicians is absurd.  We’re here to teach you practical medicine.  You need to find your own way of being a doctor.”

“And… how do I do that?” I ask, twisting on the couch to fully face him, ready to absorb whatever Yoda-like knowledge he’s preparing to hand down.

The corner’s of Ethan’s lips tip up into a gentle smile.  “You already are.” 

What the fuck does that mean?

The baby stretches and wiggles, and Ethan scoots closer to the incubator, offering him a gloved finger.  A soft, absent looks washes over Ethan’s face as the baby tightly clutches his finger.

“She named him after you,” I murmur.

His eyes widen in surprise as he looks down at the nametag.  His jaw tightens and his throat works as he swallows.  “I… see she did.”

“Did you know Delores a long time?” I venture.

“Over ten years.  When I first emailed her I only meant to check in.  But she was recently divorced, feeling alone, so she insisted on coffee.  And then it turned into more emails and meeting once every couple months for Sunday roast.

“She sounds like a good friend.”

“I didn’t make friends easily when I started here, so I was always grateful to her for that.”  Ethan swallows hard and falls silent, gazing intently at Delores’s baby.  His eyes are red.

Unconsciously I reach out and place my hand over his.  “I’m so sorry this happened,” I whisper, my voice cracking slightly.

Ethan glances up at me, surprise at first, and then something I can’t decipher in his shining blue eyes.  He holds my gaze, his hand broad and warm beneath my own. 

“Me too.”  He roughly clears his throat.  “I think we need coffee.”

“I can get some,” I offer, not having the heart to tell him I don’t like coffee.

“No.  I’ll go.”

Several minutes tick by as I watch baby Ethan sleep, counting each shallow rise and fall of his chest.  I start to drift off, the ambient hospital sounds soothing me. 

“Here you go, Rookie.” 

I shake my head, trying to clear away the cobwebs, and gingerly take the steaming mug Ethan’s hand me.  I wrinkle my nose as the bitter smell of coffee assaults my senses and steel myself to take a sip.  I fight the urge to gag, rather valiantly I think, and force down the drink.

Ethan attempts to hide a smirk behind his mug.  “You could have said you weren’t a fan of coffee, Rookie.”

Apparently I’m not as subtle as I thought.

I sheepishly set the mug on the small table next to the couch.  “Sorry.  I do appreciate the thought though.”

************************************************

Ethan gazes down at the sleeping O’Shea, who’s currently curled up against Ethan’s side.  The two had talked long into the night, seamlessly bouncing from subject to subject.  Ethan had found himself truly enjoying the conversation; Rory had proven to be well-versed in many subjects, and his quick, caustic sense of humor had Ethan laughing more than he had in months.  Several strands of inky dark hair have fallen over Rory’s face, and his glasses are slightly askew.  Ethan’s lips quirk up at the endearing sight, his breath catching as Rory’s nuzzles against his arm.

“Rookie,” he murmurs, gently brushing the loose hair back away from Rory’s face.  “Come on Rookie, time to wake up.”

Rory sits up slowly, yawning and stretching his arms over his head.  He adjusts his glasses and turns to the incubator.  Baby Ethan rests soundly, still snuggled against the stuffed frog.

“He made it!”  Rory flashes Ethan a beaming smile, unable to contain his joy.

“And he’s getting stronger.”

Rory takes out his hair tie, shaking the unruly strands loose, unable to stop smiling.  He runs a hand through his now unbound hair and checks his phone, his smile falling a little as he notes the time. 

“Damn,” he sighs.  I have rounds in twenty minutes.  I need to go shower.”

Ethan sucks in a shallow breath, fighting to think about anything other than a naked, soapy Rory, hands trailing over lithe muscles…  “I’ll stay a little longer,” he quickly offers.

Rory stands, smiling at the baby one last time.  “Catch you later, tadpole.”

“Rory,” Ethan calls out as the other man is halfway out the door.

Rory skids to a halt and looks back over his shoulder.  “Hm?”