#undermined

Four days after you get injured is when you start to get frustrated. 

Everything just fucking hurts, and nothing seems to make it any better. 

Dennis keeps up with your medications easily, bringing you Tylenol and Zofran as often as he can, along with food and electrolytes. Garcia was right—someone had shown up with dinner every night since you got hurt, and the fridge was starting to overflow. Dennis had texted the group chat many times, thanking everyone for the help, while letting them know that your apartment simply couldn’t hold any more food. 

You had felt a bit better this morning, especially after a (mostly) unassisted shower and a short walk around the neighbourhood. Then, you made the mistake of opening the blinds, letting in some much needed sunlight. Within an hour your headache was almost unbearable, leading to you sitting in the pitch black of your bedroom, an icepack over your eyes. You’re almost asleep, when—

“Hey, do you want more meds?” Dennis asks, his voice soft from the doorway. Anger grips your chest for a second, jaw and throat tightening, making you take a deep breath before answering.

“Yes, please,” You say, tossing the icepack off to the side. Dennis holds his palm out, letting you take the pills from him before passing you your water bottle. 

“Need anything else?” 

You hum, clipped and annoyed. “To not have a fucking concussion.”

He gives you a sad smile. “Yeah, I know, angel. I’m sorry.”

You bite back the tears that threaten to spill. “I’m good, I’m gonna’ try and take a nap.”

“Okay,” He says, nodding. “Call if you need me?”

“Yeah, I will.”

You don’t get close to falling back asleep after that. 

The meds take some of the edge off, but you can’t shake the headache, and you’re too hot laying in bed. So, you get up, quietly walking into the living room, squinting slightly. Dennis is on his phone on the couch, immediately looking up when you come out of the bedroom. 

“Need something?” He asks, voice soft and caring, but the question makes you internally groan. If you had a shot for every time he’d asked that over the past four days you’d have enough alcohol to open a bar. 

“I don’t know,” You answer, honestly, moving into the kitchen and pulling the fridge open, wincing at the light before quickly slamming it shut. The action rattles the tiny plant that sits on top of it, and before you can remotely register what’s happening it crashes to the floor, shattering into a million tiny pieces. 

Dennis is there in a heartbeat. 

“Come on,” He whispers, hands landing on your sides, picking you up for a second and placing you on the counter. You exhale shakily, sticking your thumbnail between your teeth, trying not to cry. 

“Sorry,” You say. “I—the light, fuck, sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” He says, already grabbing the broom from the pantry. “I can make you something once this is cleaned up.”

You don’t say anything, because you don’t even want to eat, you just don’t know what else to do with your time. You watch as he deals with the mess, puts the broom away, then comes back over to you, setting his hands on the counter on either side of your waist. 

“I’ll find a new pot for that,” He says, referring to the half-ruined pothos that’s sitting in a bowl now. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Not really,” You say. 

He nods, helping you off the counter and over to the couch. You sit, begrudgingly, and he sits beside you. 

“I’m so bored,” You groan. “And my head hurts.”

“You could have some Advil?” He suggests. “Should be okay now.”

“Yeah?” You ask, eyes hopeful, making his heart swell. He nods, already getting up to grab it from the cabinet. He points towards the TV stand as he comes back, raising an eyebrow. You nod, and he swings the cabinet door open, pulling out one of the few puzzles that you’ve had for god knows how long. 

You take the meds as he dumps the pieces out onto the coffee table, the two of you sitting on the floor, silently sifting through and putting them into place. 

You can’t help but notice how slow you’re going compared to Dennis. 

He puts twelve pieces together in the time it takes you to find the correct spot for one. The sound of the thirteenth makes you sit back, tossing the piece you’re holding onto the table. 

“I don’t wanna’ do this anymore,” You grumble, hating how ridiculous you sound as soon as the words leave your mouth. Dennis stops, nodding. 

“Yeah, okay,” He says, pushing the loose pieces back into the box, leaving the partially completed puzzle on the table. “Are you tired?”

You rub your eyes. “I don’t know.”

His phone starts to vibrate from the couch, making you both look over. Trinity’s contact lights up, and Dennis reaches for it, answering the call and putting the phone to his ear. He stands up, walking into the bedroom, not wanting to disturb you. 

You sigh, curling up on the couch, wiping away a few tears that escape as you listen to the conversation. It’s mostly about you, from what you can make out, but it eventually shifts to something else. He laughs a few times, which makes you feel even worse, realizing that you haven’t really heard him do that since you got injured. 

He comes out of the bedroom to find you asleep on the couch.

The sound of someone knocking on the door jarrs you awake a few hours later, and Dennis winces, squeezing your foot gently as he walks past you to go answer it. You hear Victoria’s voice, then the sound of a plastic bag, then the door closing. Dennis shuffles back into the living room, holding up a colouring book and a packet of markers. Your eyes light up.

“Uh, Vic brought you this,” He says, barely having a second before you’re reaching for the items, smiling a bit. He smiles too, watching as you rip the package of markers open and flip through the pages of the book. 

He ends up picking a page as well, at your insistence, which you tear out and pass over before starting to colour your own. The two of you work in silence, exchanging colours and occasionally glancing over at the other’s work. The picture that you were working on is eventually finished, coloured to perfection, and Dennis is done shortly after too. 

He makes dinner after that, setting your plate down on the coffee table. 

It’s not his fault, but the sight of food makes your stomach twist, nausea curling in your throat and headache looming behind your eyes as your meds wear off. 

“Can’t I just have more Zofran?” You ask, and he checks his watch, despite knowing the answer. 

“Not for another hour, baby,” He says. “Eating might help.”

You grimace. “I’m not hungry.”

“I know, but you haven’t eaten since this morning,” He says. 

“I don’t want it, Den,” You argue. 

He nods. “Can I make you something else? A smoothie, or-”

“Can you just leave me alone?”

Guilt crawls along your skin immediately, especially when he goes still for a second before slowly setting the fork he’s holding beside the plate on the table. 

“Yeah…of course,” He says. 

You’ve never spoken to him like that in the almost four years he’s known you.

He closes the bedroom door behind him with a quiet ‘click.’ You put a hand over your mouth, then move it to your forehead, taking a deep breath. 

“What the fuck is my problem?” You mumble, glancing towards the door, standing up to go apologize. You don’t get very far before a wave of nausea hits again, forcing you to sit back down, setting your head in your hands. You shift so you’re on your side, burying your face into the pillow, hoping that it’ll pass quickly. 

It finally eases after ten minutes of very deliberate deep breathing, and you cautiously raise your head, successfully grabbing your phone off the floor in front of the couch. It takes you awhile to send the text, but the response comes quickly once you do. 

are you working tonight?

jack abbot Nope, I’m off Need something, kiddo?

any chance you’d want to come babysit me for a couple hours tomorrow? want to give dennis a break

Of course I can come around ten?

that’s perfect, thanks jack

Then, you gather your nerve, standing up and knocking on the bedroom door a few times before opening it, seeing Dennis folding some laundry and organizing it into piles on the bed. He smiles at you as you come in, which only makes you feel worse.

Tears pool in your eyes as you wedge yourself into his side, especially when he wraps his arms around you, kissing your head. 

“Hi, sweet girl,” He murmurs.

“I’m sorry,” You say. “I didn’t mean to snap, I just…I’m so frustrated, and-”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” He says, holding you tighter. “You have every right to be frustrated, I’m sorry for making it worse.”

“You didn’t,” You insist. “You’re just trying to take care of me, and I’ve been an awful fucking patient.”

“I’ve definitely had worse.”

“That’s a low bar,” You say, smiling a bit. “I’m still sorry, Denny.”

He shakes his head, kissing your forehead. “No apology needed.”

You stand there for a minute, head tucked into his neck with his arms around your shoulders. 

“I asked Jack to come watch me tomorrow,” You say, making him raise an eyebrow. “So you can have a break.”

“Angel, I don’t need-”

You shake your head, cutting him off. “I want you to have one.”

He looks at you, really looks at you, before slowly nodding. “If that’s what you want.”

“You don’t have to leave, or anything,” You continue. “But then I can snap at Jack instead of you. And you can go hangout with Santos or Vic if you want.”

He laughs a little. “Okay, but if you change your mind I can stay.”

Jack arrives the next morning with breakfast, coffee, and a lego set that someone got him years ago that he never got around to building. You answer the door when he knocks, freshly showered and wearing comfy clothes. 

“Good morning,” He says, coming inside when you open the door all the way, smiling. “Whitaker already gone?”

“Yeah, he went for brunch with Santos and Javadi,” You answer. “I doubt they’ll be back anytime soon.”

Your morning is great. 

You eat with Jack, have coffee for the first time in almost a week, and then you go on another walk, this time going past the end of your block and continuing on until you reach a small park. Jack walks slowly beside you, eyes occasionally glancing over to make sure you’re alright. You sit down on one of the benches, and he sits beside you. 

“How’s it been going?” He eventually asks. 

You shrug. “Better today.”

“What about yesterday?”

You hum, guilt wrapping around you again. “I was mean.”

“Define ‘mean.’”

“I snapped at him,” You explain. “Told him to leave me alone.”

Jack doesn’t say anything for a second, and then he fully turns to face you. “...that’s it?”

You frown. “We don’t…I’ve never talked to him like that, and he’s definitely never talked to me like that.”

He says your name, sighing. “You have a brain injury—it’s normal to be irritable for a bit.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” You counter. 

“That’s exactly what it makes it.”

You squint at him, shaking your head, but he doesn’t let you argue. 

“You apologize?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Then water under the bridge,” He says. “Whitaker’s a tough kid, he can handle you telling him to leave you alone once in awhile.”

Meanwhile, Dennis sits at a table with Trinity and Victoria at their favourite breakfast spot.

“So, how’s your girlfriend?” Trinity asks, sitting across from Dennis, Victoria beside her. 

He swallows his bite of food, nodding. “She’s getting better.”

“I honestly wasn’t expecting you to leave her alone for a couple more days,” She continues. 

“Oh, uh, Abbot’s actually with her now,” He clarifies. “She insisted that I take a ‘break’ from watching her.”

Trinity raises an eyebrow. “What’d you do?”

He shrugs. “She got…frustrated. It was my fault—I should’ve realized that she just needed some space instead of me hovering.”

“What happened?” Victoria asks. 

“I was trying to get her to eat something,” He continues. “She told me to leave her alone.”

“Oh,” Victoria says. “That’s…not like her.”

“No, it’s not,” He agrees. “She apologized right away, she didn’t mean it.”

“Typical with a concussion,” Trinity says. “You didn’t do anything wrong, though, Huckleberry.”

He braces himself a little before opening the front door when he gets home—with food for you wrapped in a bag, an iced coffee that he picked up on his way back, and another colouring book since you liked the one Victoria got you so much. 

But he’s not greeted with you laying on the couch, eyes closed and face twisted with pain. He’s greeted with the sight of you and Jack sitting at the island, piecing together a lego building, Jack wearing his glasses as he attempts to make sense of the instructions. 

“You missed a step,” He insists, and you laugh. 

“I didn’t!” You exclaim, leaning over, scanning the booklet with your own eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Dennis sets the bag onto the counter, making you look up. You grin at the sight of him, already pushing off the stool you’re sitting on and coming around the counter. 

“Hey!” You say, with the most enthusiasm he’s heard from you in days. It makes him smile, relief washing over him. Your eyes are a bit brighter than yesterday, and you don’t look like every movement causes ripples of pain to echo in your skull. “How was brunch?”

“Uh, good, yeah,” He says. “What’re you building?”

“A museum,” You say, glancing back to the half-built structure. “Jack’s bad with instructions.”

“I can hear you,” Jack mumbles, still trying to figure out the next step. You grin again, pecking Dennis’ lips quickly before going back to the task. He watches for a moment, then puts the food away and slides you the coffee over the counter. You beam, thanking him, and he just nods. 

He disappears into the bedroom, trying to ignore the ache that’s building in his chest. The one day he’s gone is the day that you’re feeling better? It feels…unfair, even though he knows that it isn’t. He thought Jack would be getting the achey, irritable version of you that he had been getting for the past few days, not the version of you that he loves more than anything. 

He takes a few minutes to get over himself before coming back out, and Jack takes the opportunity to stand up, passing the instruction booklet to him. 

“Godspeed, Whitaker,” He says. “You’re in charge now.”

Dennis chuckles, and the both of you bid Jack goodbye, thanking him for coming to hangout for a bit. You pick up another lego piece, and Dennis opens the book back up to the correct page, setting it on the counter in front of him. 

“Trinity and Victoria are good?” You ask, putting the piece into the correct spot. 

He nods. “Yeah, they are.”

You glance towards him, a little shocked by the short answer, but you don’t push him on it. Instead, you pass him a piece, gesturing to the building. He attaches it, but then he stands up. 

“I think I’m gonna’ read for a bit,” He says, already moving towards the living room, making you turn to keep your eyes on him. “I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me.”

“Oh, okay,” You say. “I love-”

He slides a book off the shelf before disappearing through the doorway, making you furrow your brows. 

“-you.”

You glance towards your cat, keeping your voice low as you talk to him. “That was weird, right?”

He stares back at you, then gets up and saunters into the bedroom after Dennis. 

“Okay, guess I’m the problem,” You mumble. 

You struggle with the lego for another thirty minutes before getting annoyed, the instructions all starting to blur together in your mind and a headache looming behind your eyes. You close the booklet, glance at the clock, noticing that Dennis didn’t come find you with your meds when it was time. Anxiety gnaws at your bones, and you find yourself thinking back to when he got home, trying to figure out if you had done something wrong as you gather the medications yourself. You knock on the bedroom door once you’re done, then slowly push it open, seeing him sitting against the headboard with his book in hand. Your cat is curled up beside him, head resting on his thigh. 

“Hey,” He says, but it’s different. You can’t even articulate how, it just is.

“Hi,” You say, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I think I’m bad at Lego.”

He laughs a little, setting his book down. “I don’t really know if you can be bad at Lego.”

You frown, swinging your legs up so you’re facing him, crossing them. You grab one of his socked feet in your hands, moving it back and force. 

“What’s going on?” You ask, focusing on the movement. 

He shakes his head, raising an eyebrow. “Nothing’s going on, angel.”

“You’re hiding out in the bedroom,” You counter, then point at the cat. “With our child.”

“I didn’t ask him to follow me,” Dennis says, smiling a bit. 

“Yeah, whatever,” You say, teasingly. “What’s up, baby?”

He sighs, and you stop shaking his foot, instead pushing both of them up so you can push his legs apart, sitting in between them. He reaches for you, and you lean against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. 

“I just…I missed your first good day,” He says, the confession sounding even more ridiculous now that he’s said it outloud. “You had fun this morning with…Jack. And I wasn’t there.”

Despite how desperately you want to, you don’t make a joke about him being jealous of Jack Abbot, the man who’s easily twice your age and basically your dad. 

“Oh,” You say instead, frowning. “I…I didn’t even think about it like that, I’m sorry, Denny.”

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” He says. “I’m really happy you’re feeling better, I just wish I had been here to see it.”

You nod. “Instead you’ve been getting the really shitty version of me.”

“I wouldn’t say really shitty,” He counters, making both of you smile. 

“I told you to leave me alone yesterday,” You argue. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted you to leave me alone…like, ever.”

“That’s comforting,” He says. 

“It’s true,” You insist. “I’m sorry for yesterday, it was mean and I shouldn’t have-”

“I already told you that it’s okay,” He says, cutting you off, squeezing you tighter. “You didn’t mean it, I know that.”

“I really didn’t,” You agree. “And I’m sorry that today was my first good day and that it was without you. It didn’t have anything to do with the fact that you were gone, I swear.”

He nods. “No, I know. It’s…stupid that I feel this way.”

“No, it’s not,” You promise. “I get it, and I’m sorry.”

“Ogilvie should be the one apologizing,” He mumbles, kissing the top of your head. 

You laugh. “It was an accident, baby.”

There’s a pause. 

“Plus, Garcia told me that he’s basically been doing scut for the past week to make up for it,” You continue, and Dennis hums. 

“Good,” He says. 

“Den!” You exclaim, lifting your head up, grinning. “You have to be nice to him when you go back on Monday.”

“I know, I know,” He says. “I will be.”

“Okay, good,” You say, tilting your head back, kissing him. He holds the back of your head, carefully, keeping you in place. Your cat makes a disgruntled noise, standing up and walking off to the other side of the bed, upset that his peace has been disrupted. 

“Can you help me finish the museum?” You whisper, eyes wide and hopeful. Dennis smiles, nodding. 

“‘Course, angel.”

You’re cleared to go back to work two weeks after the incident, just half shifts at first, but you’re determined to make it work. You’ve been going insane at the house without Dennis, despite Garcia coming over a few times since he started back, trying to keep you entertained. 

Things are fine for the first few hours. 

You stay up in the ICU, dictating your charting so you don’t have to stare at the screen, taking frequent breaks to hydrate and rest your brain. 

A page comes through just after eleven from the ED. The other RT on shift already has her hands full with a crashing patient, so you look down at the pager when it goes off, despite the fact that you’re technically not the RT on call for the trauma team. It’s, surprisingly, not even for a trauma—it’s just from one of the regular rooms. 

“Hey, I’m heading downstairs for a minute,” You say, gaining the charge nurse’s attention, who gives you a look. “It’s not for a trauma, it’ll probably be quick. I’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t say anything to stop you, so you go down to the department. 

It’s a little louder than the ICU, but honestly not a huge change. Dana grins when she sees you, throwing her arms up in celebration.

“Look who’s back,” She says, making you smile. “All clear?”

“Yeah, yes,” You say. “Where am I heading?”

“Twelve,” She says. “Pediatric asthmatic case.”

“Got it,” You say, turning off towards the room, opening the door to see a young girl on the bed, her dad beside her. Dennis is in there with Trinity, both of them working to evaluate the patient. You glance towards the monitors as you pull a pair of gloves on, then you give the dad a smile. “Hey, I’m with respiratory. What’s going on?”

He tells you that her inhaler wasn’t working, and then Trinity fills you in on the results of her work-up. 

“Seven years old, known asthmatic, wheezing and retractions,” She explains. “No fever or trauma, she’s on two litres.”

“Okay, we’re gonna’ get you feeling better, alright?” You say, looking towards the girl. “You want two-point-five of albuterol and point-five of atrovent?”

“Yep, sounds perfect,” Trinity says. You catch Dennis’ eye as you grab the medication, suddenly feeling like you’re being watched. You know that he’s just worried, but it makes you start to doubt yourself for a second. 

You pass the nebulizer to the kid to hold once it’s ready, watching as she breathes in the medications. Dennis and Trinity finish a few things up before leaving, putting you in charge of keeping an eye on her. You make conversation with her dad while you wait for the meds to kick-in, and the constant hum of the department starts to echo in your head, ringing slightly. You take a seat on one of the stools, steadying yourself as a headache blooms. 

The kid’s wheezing quiets a few minutes later, making your head snap up, looking towards her chest. Her retractions are worse, shoulders working with each breath, and her eyes are still wide with panic. You stand up, already putting your stethoscope on, seeing that her sats are starting to come down. 

“Is everything okay?” Her dad asks. 

“She’s still working pretty hard to breathe,” You say. “We might need to try a different medication.”

She’s tachypneic, and her lung sounds are significantly diminished. You replace the stethoscope around your neck, patting her shoulder and turning up the oxygen. 

“I’ll be back in one second, okay?”

You steps outside of the room, eyes locking on Santos, who looks up right away. 

“Hey, air movement’s getting worse,” You say. “Significant retractions now, expiratory wheeze is quieter.”

“Shit,” She says. “Huckleberry, come on.”

Her and Dennis come back in behind you, everyone plastering on reassuring smiles for the patient and her dad, who has a million questions that Dennis answers effortlessly. You start prepping for a potential intubation, a few nurses hang around now, and Trinity asks one of them to go grab a senior resident or attending—just in case.

Your head is getting worse the longer you’re down here, especially since ambulances have been arriving with lights and sirens nonstop for the last thirty minutes. You’re clammy, but trying to keep it together for the sake of the patient. 

You’re holding the bag mask while other people work, Robby watching from the end of the bed, occasionally glancing up at you. You’re quieter than usual, not anticipating orders or keeping the patient calm. You’re not doing anything wrong, but your demeanor is noticeably different. 

“Hey, you okay?”

You look up at Dennis, squinting a little, nodding. “Yeah, why?”

“Just…checking,” He says, going back to his task. The alarm starts to go off, signalling that her sats have dropped even lower, and Trinity quickly orders the paralytics and successive intubation. You jump into action despite the wave of nausea that washes over you, trying to get your hands to stop shaking as you insert the laryngoscope. 

Dennis notices. Of course. 

“Do you want me to do it?” He asks, softly. 

“Why would I want that?” You counter, taking the correct tube, spinning it a few times over in your grasp until it feels right. Everyone can see the shaking now. 

He looks around quickly, stepping closer to you. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” You insist, the two words coming out meaner than you intended as frustration starts to take over. “Can you let me do my job, please?”

He steps back, nodding. You re-adjust your grip on the blade, feeling sweat start to bead on the back of your neck. You blink a few times, focusing on the anatomy in front of you, until you hear Robby say your last name. 

“Yeah?” You say, not looking up, positioning the tube over her mouth. 

“Swap out,” He says, making you stop. 

You glance towards him. “What?”

“Whitaker can intubate.”

Oh.

There’s no place for arguing here—but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to argue. You pull out of her mouth with the tool, holding them out towards Dennis, who takes them without much hesitation. You feel your face starting to get hot from the humiliation, and you swear the entire room can hear how hard your heart is thumping against your chest. 

Everyone is quiet as he slides the tube in, and you attach the bag to the end, squeezing it once. 

“Yellow on end-tidal,” Mateo says. “Sats up to ninety-nine.”

You settle your stethoscope against her chest, looking at the waveforms on the monitor. “Breath sounds are good.”

Trinity and Dennis start on something else while you set up the ventilator, adjusting the settings and putting the ambu bag on the intubation tray once you don’t need it anymore. 

“Page if you need anything,” You say, already moving towards the door. 

You shuffle past Dennis with your hands raised, being careful not to touch him at all. He reaches a hand back instinctively, one that you would typically graze or even hold for a second, but you don’t make contact. You yank the door open a little harder than usual, clenching your jaw to stop the onslaught of tears that’s building in your throat. 

“Hey, you alright, hon?” Dana asks, and you just nod, continuing on towards the exit. She steps around the counter to go after you, but you’re already gone by the time she gets through the doors. 

You can barely make out your thoughts over the building headache and nausea when you make it to a bathroom, slamming the door behind you and locking it. You lean over the sink, closing your eyes, taking a few shuddery breaths as tears drip down your cheeks. 

“Fuck,” You whisper, setting your elbows on the counter, putting your head in your hands. Images of having to prove yourself over and over and over are swirling through your mind—working twice as hard as the men in your graduating class, getting talked over and ignored during traumas, being asked a million questions before a procedure that your male colleagues would never have to answer. 

For Robby to have Dennis, who’s been a doctor for all of two months, take your place is downright embarrassing. 

You wipe at your eyes, grabbing a paper towel and running it under the tap, placing it against your neck. You dig into your scrub pocket, pulling out the tiny bag that holds your acetaminophen and Zofran, dumping the pills into your hand. You swallow them, then grab more paper towel, dabbing the residual tears away. 

Back downstairs, the patient is wheeled out of the room towards the PICU, and Dennis pulls his gloves and gown off. He’s already glancing around, expecting to find you sitting at one of the computers or catching up with someone, but he doesn’t see you. 

“Nice work on that tube,” Robby says. 

Dennis nods. “Yeah, thanks.”

Trinity scoffs, and both men look at her. Robby has an eyebrow raised, Dennis’ eyes are wide with confusion, wondering if he did something wrong. She shakes her head, reaching towards the sanitizer. 

“You both totally undermined her in there,” She says, rubbing her hands together. “She had that airway.”

Dennis feels his heart sink. 

“She was pushing herself too hard,” Robby counters. “It was best for the patient-”

“With all due respect, that’s bullshit,” She interrupts. “You didn’t even give her a chance.”

She walks away, leaving both of them stunned. Dennis looks for you again, but there’s still no sign of you anywhere. Robby sighs, muttering something under his breath as he walks away. 

Dennis checks his watch, seeing that it’s almost one anyway, which is when your shift ends. He pulls his phone out, opening his conversation with you, typing quickly. 

Hey, are you okay?

He waits a few moments, but you don’t even read the message, let alone respond. He shoves his phone back in his pocket, walking towards one of the computers. Dana leans towards him once he’s sitting down, her glasses low on her nose as she spins a pen around in her hand. 

“What happened in there?” She asks. 

Dennis shrugs. “Oh, she’s probably gonna’ be fine, just need to get the swelling in her airway to go down.”

Dana tsks. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” He asks. 

She sighs, putting her glasses up on her head, glancing towards the exit that you left through ten minutes ago, saying your last name. “Looked like she was on the verge of tears when she came outta’ there.”

“What?” Dennis questions, all attention pulled from the chart. “She did?”

Maybe Trinity was right. 

Dana nods. “Tried to ask what was wrong, blew right past me.”

“Well, her shift is over, so…” He says, trailing off, knowing that that’s not why you would’ve left so quickly. He exhales, and Dana raises an eyebrow.

“Spit it out, kid.”

“She…Santos said that Robby and I ‘undermined’ her during the intubation,” He says. 

“Well, did you?”

“I didn’t think so?” He says, but it comes out like a question. “But…maybe, yeah.”

You drop your pager off at the desk as you walk back into the ICU. 

“All done for today?” The charge nurse asks, and you nod, forcing a smile onto your face. 

“Yep, thank god,” You say, going straight to the locker room. You pack your things up, pulling your sweater over your head and slinging the straps of your bag over your shoulder. 

“How’re you getting home?” She asks as you walk back out, forcing you to stop for a second. 

“I was just gonna’ call a cab,” You answer. “Or walk.”

You definitely won’t be walking, not in the state you’re in, but she doesn’t need to know that. She nods. 

“Okay, have a good night,” She says, your name following the words. “See you in a few days?”

“Absolutely,” You say, then finally turn away, continuing on to the exit. 

You don’t even see Dennis’ text until you’re back home, bag abandoned by the front door and scrubs replaced by pajamas, your cat curled up beside you on the bed. You’re tucked under the blanket, slow tears falling onto the pillow, only partially from your throbbing headache. You slowly type a response, but then you just turn your phone off without sending it, tossing it onto his side of the bed. 

He comes through the door at seven-thirty. 

Your cat greets him at the door, weaving between his legs, chirping as he waits for Dennis to pick him up. He bends down, scooping up the orange tabby, stepping farther into your apartment. 

“I’m home,” He calls, half-heartedly, not wanting to wake you up if you’re sleeping. 

He turns a few lamps on before opening the bedroom door. Low light spills into the room as he comes in, still holding your cat, seeing your frame under the blankets. You’re facing away from the door, blanket tucked up to your jaw. He goes still, squinting, trying to figure out if you’re awake or not. 

You shift slightly when you feel his eyes on you. 

He exhales with relief. “Hey.”

“Hi,” You mumble, voice muffled by the blanket. 

He puts your cat down as he sits on the edge of the bed, setting a hand on your thigh over the blanket. 

“I texted you earlier,” He says. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I saw, sorry,” You say, voice wavering slightly. “Just…headache.”

“Oh,” He says. “Did you take some Advil?”

“Yep,” You say, still not rolling over to look at him. “Rest of your shift go okay?”

He hums, nodding. He frowns, leaning over so he can see your face. Your eyes are open, but they’re not actually fixed on anything as you stare into space, occasionally blinking. They're also bloodshot and red-rimmed. 

“Dana said you left pretty quickly after that trauma,” He says, quietly, crawling over you so he can lay down in front of you. He rests his forehead against yours, making you swallow harshly, looking anywhere but at his eyes. “What happened?”

You shake your head. “Nothing, it’s stupid. I just felt sick.”

“That’s not stupid,” He counters. “But…I don’t think that’s really it.”

Tears pool in your eyes again, making you close them, taking a deep breath. 

“I…finally felt like I didn’t have to prove myself at work anymore,” You say. “And that’s just been completely undone now because…fucking Robby thought I couldn’t handle that airway.”

There’s a beat of silence. 

“And you thought that too.”

Those five words are barely audible, but he hears them loud and clear. He shakes his head, bringing a hand up, running his thumb over your eyebrow. 

“I didn’t think that at all, angel,” He says. 

“You asked if I wanted you to intubate,” You argue. 

“Yeah, no, I know,” He says. “And I shouldn’t have, but trust me, I didn’t ask because I thought you couldn’t handle it.”

“Then why did you?” You whisper. 

“Because I could tell that you were starting to feel…crappy again,” He explains. “I just wanted to offer, you know, in case you needed it.”

“Okay, well, thank you,” You say. “But I would’ve asked, I would never put a patient at risk by intubating even when I thought I couldn't.”

He nods. “Yeah, of course, that makes sense. I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” You say. “For snapping at you…again.”

“It was warranted,” He says. “Concussion or not.”

You exhale, wiping a few tears away. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know, baby, I know,” He says, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

He holds you for awhile, and you match your breathing to his, your heart finally calming down for the first time in hours. 

“You want dinner?” He asks. 

You nod. “That would be nice.”

“Okay,” He says, kissing your forehead and pushing himself up. “I’ll be right back.”

He brings you dinner, electrolytes, and more meds on a tray fifteen minutes later, setting it up over your lap. He kisses your forehead again when you thank him, his hand staying on your cheek for a second as you look up at him. 

“I love you,” He says. “And…I’m here, every step of the way. Promise.”

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