Upsylvtummy

Theo had never been the type to skip breakfast, especially since any time he wasn't in top form, he knew someone else could be. Of course there would always be better skaters, better people. But he knew he was still "better" than plenty of people out there, and letting anyone else become more than just "good" compared to him would feel like a disgrace — especially to his ego.

Which is why Theo had already feared something going wrong as he chugged his second cup of coffee in the span of twenty minutes. The blond was rarely late, so oversleeping once threw him completely out of his usually controlled rhythm. Pajamas on the floor, closet left open, shirt not entirely buttoned — the only thing left was for the sun to suddenly explode.

"I'm leaving," Theo called out, voice tight as he struggled to put his shoes on without crashing into the front door, "I'll be back in like two hours."

Soon enough, small hurried footsteps headed in his direction.

"No, you're not," a stern high voice called from the corridor, "not until you eat!"

Theo gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes before turning around to face the source of the complaint.

"I drank some coffee, it's fine. I'll eat later."

"No, you will eat now. I baked donuts yesterday and you haven't even tried them yet, so grab one."

Theo threw his head back dramatically and groaned. While yes, living with his older sister had its benefits most of the time, it wasn't always ideal — especially when she was being way too caring for Theo's liking. Or maybe it was just about the donuts.

"You want me to eat a donut before practice?" he asked in the tone of a tween being assigned chores. "Are you trying to sabotage me? Or silently support your favorite skater?"

Now it sounded like outright mockery. Theo bent down to tie his shoes, clearly planning to escape before anything solid could be handed to him.

"Maybe I should!" she shot back. "Maybe he would've appreciated my worry!"

Theo frowned.

"First of all — no, he wouldn't have. Second of all — I had to leave ten minutes ago."

He grabbed the pastel blue bag from the floor and scooped up his keys.

"So, see you."

His sister seemed to nod, oddly quiet as he opened the door.

"No, okay, at least grab the coffee I made you. I tried a new recipe."

Theo stopped dead in his tracks. More coffee? That couldn't possibly be good for his body.

"I already had some earlier," he muttered, this time less certain. As much as excelling at skating mattered to him, he wasn't the type to completely dismiss something someone had put effort into. Eventually, with a sigh, he looked back at her sheepishly.

"Okay, give it. Be quick."

Her eyes lit up immediately and she disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a small brown thermos and handed it over. Theo glanced at the clock above the door, practically snatched it from her hands, and ran out without even bothering to shut the door properly.

He had considered drinking it later — or dumping it out entirely — but he was way too hungry to resist trying it. Especially while sitting across from someone eating a breakfast bagel on the train. Three coffees couldn't be the end of the world, right? That was what Theo told himself as he practically chugged the caramel coffee from the thermos. Turns out caramel coffee tastes a lot better when you're starving.

When he stepped off the train, the first warning sign was the faint slosh in his upper stomach. He muffled a small acidic belch into his sleeve as he left the station, which was luckily only a couple minutes from the rink. By the time he was dropping his bag onto the bench in the changing room, some more obvious consequences had arrived. His body felt overheated, restless.

His back and legs tingled. His wrists ached, shoulders tight. If anyone had asked him a simple math question in that moment, the only answer they would've gotten was a flat "shut up".

One bad practice didn't define him. He knew that. He repeated it while changing into a light blue track jacket and stuffing his bag into a locker. But a skater aiming for perfection wasn't supposed to feel like this before even stepping onto the ice.

The empty feeling in his stomach suddenly sharpened into painful cramps. It felt as if he'd gone days without eating, except the nausea rolling through him made the thought of food unbearable. He pressed a hand against his upper stomach, wincing, and paused at the rink entrance while another wave rolled through him.

Going home wasn't an option anymore though. Not while others practiced and sharpened their skills. When the nausea eased, Theo pushed through the doors into the main hall. The scrape of blades against ice hit him harder than usual, too loud and sharp. He sat down to lace his skates, hands trembling. Of course that couldn't be a good sign. Not for a sport which required precision. Then he heard Coach Marshall's voice from across the rink.

"Juwang, warm up till 8:50! Then come see me about the music for your program."

Theo automatically looked up.

Kim Juwang.

He rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. Juwang had been his rival ever since joining the club a few years earlier. A rival didn't automatically have to be someone you hated, but Theo genuinely couldn't understand how anyone liked him. Theo was aware that he wasn't especially liked among other club members either, but it's not like that ever bothered him. Because the only thing that does deeply bother him is Juwang and his fake personality. Not only that - performative. Cowardly, even. Dishonest. Just truly, inherently full of-

"Theo, you're late!"

Coach Marshall's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Theo sighed and skated over carefully, trying not to press a hand to his stomach.

"You know I'm not usually mad about a few minutes. Or even twenty," Coach said, brows furrowed. "But we need to start planning for the national competition. I'm having you skate too."

Theo blinked.

"Too?"

Coach nodded. Theo already knew where this was going.

"We only have a few skaters at that level," Coach continued. "So I signed up two."

Theo's stomach lurched unpleasantly.

"And who's the other person?"

The question came out almost sarcastic. There was only one answer. Coach sighed knowingly. "You know Juwang isn't that bad. He's just passive."

More like passive aggressive. A low gurgle rolled through his stomach and he instinctively started to press a hand against it before catching himself halfway and dropping it again.

"Let's talk later," he muttered before skating away. At that point he wasn't even sure whether he wanted to train harder out of spite or hide in the bathroom until the nausea passed.

His first axel landed wobbly. Theo could practically feel Juwang noticing every mistake from across the rink. After a spin, he nearly collided with a junior skater before catching himself against the barrier. His stomach felt painfully tight now, bloating becoming impossible to ignore no matter how hard he sucked it in. Theo glanced across the ice. Juwang looked ridiculously fine — clean landings, great figure. Meanwhile Theo could barely focus on the ice beneath his feet. A wet burp rose suddenly into his throat. He turned his head away and swallowed hard. Maybe the bathroom was a better option after all.

Theo started skating slowly toward the exit, attention fixed on not throwing up in front of everyone. Which was why he didn't notice someone crossing his path until he hit the ice hard. He looked up with an automatic scowl.

Of course it was Juwang.

"It's fine," Juwang said, already turning away. Theo should've left it there. Really.

"Watch yourself," he muttered while getting up. He didn't expect a response, normally Juwang would just have skated away. But of course, today was different. Juwang actually stopped.

"You're so arrogant."

Theo spun around to face him.

"Oh yeah? Better than being cowardly and performative. I almost feel sorry for you."

Juwang's brows furrowed slightly — rare enough that Theo almost counted it as a win. The brunet opened his mouth, but before anything came out, Theo doubled over with a wet belch.

"That's what I thouOURpgh—"

He put the back of his hand over his mouth immediately and swallowed the small amount that had come up. Juwang's expression shifted, brows raising.

"Get off the ice," he said coldly. Theo wanted to argue, but the pressure in his stomach spiked hard enough to make him dizzy. He turned and skated toward the exit as steadily as he could. He only needed to sit down, take off his skates, and breathe for a minute. Easy.

Except the second he stepped onto the carpeted floor, another hiccup hit him.

"Hk—" He pressed a hand over his swollen stomach and lowered himself onto the bench slowly. His abdomen felt tight and heavy, the bloating stretching painfully against his waistband. For one second, all he wanted was to lie down, unbutton his pants, and rub his stomach until the pressure eased. Instead he forced himself to untie his skates with shaking hands.

The moment he bent forward, bile surged into his throat.Theo straightened sharply, swallowing over and over while his stomach churned louder. He kicked off the skates and left them abandoned on the floor before pushing himself upright.

He crossed the hall stiffly, walking like any movement more natural than that might make him throw up on the spot. The second he disappeared into the corridor, he braced himself against the wall and finally let himself hunch over. A low involuntary whine escaped him as he pressed both hands into his bloated stomach. The nausea surged higher. Theo stumbled the rest of the way to the bathroom and shoved the door open hard enough that it bounced off the wall. He nearly collapsed against the sink, one hand gripping the edge while the other tugged uselessly at his waistband. His reflection looked awful — pale, sweaty, eyes glassy.

Hiccups kept jolting through him, each one threatening another burp.

" 'S okay," he whispered to himself shakily. " 'S get it out."

He leaned farther over the sink, rubbing at his upper stomach desperately.The bathroom door creaked open behind him. Theo didn't even fully register it until footsteps stopped near the entrance. He looked up just enough to see Juwang standing there.

"Go 'way," Theo slurred, followed immediately by another wet burp.

"Should I get Coach?" Juwang asked quietly.

"J's leave—OURpgh—"

His body lurched forward hard with the belch, and then vomit rushed up without warning, hitting the sink in a violent gush. Theo gripped the edge with both hands, breathing harshly while black spots flickered across his vision. Another cramp seized his stomach and he gagged again, bringing up more thick liquid. Some distant part of him registered Juwang stepping closer.

"Theo—"

Another guttural belch cut him off, followed by a second round of vomiting. Theo's eyes watered from the force of it, swaying on his feet. Hands caught his arms before he could tip sideways.

"Are you going to pass out?" Juwang asked, voice suddenly much calmer than before. But Theo couldn't process the question, everything felt distant and blurred together.

"S'down," he muttered. Juwang helped lower him carefully to the floor. The cool tile against his back was filthy, but Theo didn't care. He hugged his stomach and breathed through the lingering nausea while Juwang hesitated nearby.

"Leave," Theo said weakly, staring at the ceiling instead of him. After a long pause, Juwang stood.

"Coach is coming."

Then the door opened and closed again, leaving the bathroom briefly silent except for Theo's uneven breathing. He lay there rubbing his stomach gently, trying not to think about how humiliating all of this was. A minute later, the door opened again and Coach Marshall crouched beside him immediately.

"Theo, you okay?"

Theo almost laughed.

" 'feel bad," he croaked.

Pretending otherwise felt pointless. Coach rubbed his shoulders soothingly.

"Yeah, I can tell. Think it's all out now?"

Theo shrugged faintly. The nausea had eased, but the bloating still sat heavily in his stomach.

"Let's get you sitting up. The floor in here is disgusting."

Theo grimaced.

"Make 'im go..."

Coach sighed but called for Juwang to step outside. A second later, the extra footsteps disappeared.

"You know, Juwang isn't that bad," Coach said while helping Theo sit up carefully. "And judging by his face, this was awkward for him too."

Theo managed to prop himself upright against the wall, though the movement made his stomach churn again. Oh yeah, poor Juwang. That was totally comparable to what he just went through.

Saliva flooded his mouth suddenly.

" 'Gna sick," he slurred.

"You're feeling sick?"

Theo shook his head weakly.

"Gonna be sick—OURpgh—"

Another belch brought burning liquid into his throat. He sagged sideways against Coach's arm, exhausted. Black spots appeared in front of his eyes. Theo knew he didn't pass out, but the only thing he remembers after that was him insisting on taking a nap.

"No, no, stay with me," Coach said quickly. "No naps, Theo."

The next stretch of time blurred together strangely. At some point a middle-aged woman with medical equipment arrived. At some point someone gave him water. At some point the rink emptied out.

Eventually Theo managed to speak again.

"I'm going home," he announced hoarsely. Coach nodded.

"Your sister's coming to get you."

Theo opened his mouth to protest, then gave up halfway through.

"Practice ended early," Coach added. "Everyone already went home, so don't worry about being seen."

"I want to apologize, we shouldn't have had you on the clock while so sick," Lois went on, while Claire paced nervously behind her, chewing on her lip, "please take the rest of the week off... And Dr. Banks will be properly reprimanded for his behavior... And he will be apologizing for it, he's extremely sorry."

Uh-huh.

Chris rolled his eyes, finally managing to push himself into a more or less sitting position. He wasn't in the ER like he had previously thought, they had given him a room. Fancy, but extremely unnecessary for just dehydration. He wanted to piss and to go home, maybe eat something- Nope. His stomach soured at the thought of food. He gulped down.

"Can I go?"

Chris had no plans to stick around so Jonah could come apologize for being the massive asshole that he was or so Marshall came closer with that disgusting perfume of hers. Truly, who thought bathing in vanilla before going to work at a hospital was a good idea?

"Uhm," Lois sighed, "we'll need to clear it with Dr. Chen, she'll be up in a minute to check on you... You really gave us quite a fright, Chris."

Claire scoffed, "you scared the shit out of me. Did you know you were burning up? Like teeth chattering burning up?" She squinted at him and he cringed in embarrassment. He liked Claire, she was a bit of a doormat and he had no idea about her private life at all, because she was extremely private, but she was sweet. Folded too easily whenever Banks was around, but sweet.

"Chris?"

Oh, she expected an answer?

"I didn't," he mumbled, glaring at the IV needle sticking out of his hand, "just felt like crap."

"Well, next time maybe let us-"

"Dr. Peters," Lois interrupted, probably remembering that he had in fact let them know and then she had forced him to come to work anyway, "let's let Dr. Lavin rest. You also need rest, you've been awake for too long."

"I'm fine," Claire grumbled, rubbing her exhausted face. Chris threw her an amused look and she only glared back, "okay, I'm gonna go. My ride is here. Feel better Chris."

Oh? Her ride? Was Claire dating?

Another thing that Chris was, besides a self admitted asshole, was a snoop. He loved collecting information on people, like Marshall falling apart since her breakup — he really wanted to know how that had gone down. By how devastated she was, he assumed Tim had cheated on her — and Henderson's third kid arriving that summer — third kid! In this economy?! — and whatever the reason Banks had stretched his honeymoon for two weeks longer than he should have and everyone had acted as if it was perfectly fine to cover for him as he travelled Bali, acting as if Chris was insane for pointing out that he didn't want to cover for the guy. Not knowing that had been driving him crazy.

"Thanks, Claire," he said, cringing when his voice was raspy and his throat ached. His stomach churned uncomfortably and he looked around the room, pointedly ignoring his boss. He wasn't sure why she wasn't gone too.

The door opened and closed, Lois let out a sigh, "Chris," serious voice. He forced their eyes to meet, she looked concerned, but collected, "I trust you understand it was all a big... Misunderstanding and that you aren't going to proceed with an audit or anything of the sorts?"

Of course, Jonah wasn't held liable, being a jerk wasn't a crime, but forcing a sick doctor to work to the point of collapsing might be. She was worried about the hospital, which put him at ease. Much better than her being concerned about him.

"No, I won't pursue any audit or anything of the sorts," he promised, "thanks for the PTO week, though."

She smiled, relieved and amused he had understood the reason he had been given such extensive time to recover. Business were so much easier than people, messy, complicated people.

"I'm going to let you rest," Lois squeezed his knee over the thin sheet thrown over him, "Dr. Chen will be upstairs in a moment to clear you."

June Chen was a more senior doctor and he had very little contact with her. She was extremely put together and hung out with Stewarts and Dawson, sometimes they took pity on Henderson and let him join the clique, or so it seemed for Chris. Either way, Chen had a no nonsense approach that he liked and she only scoffed at his chart, signing it with a huff.

"Don't drive home," she said, writing his release permit, "you're on Zofran right now, but the effects should fade in an hour. If you're back to being sick and can't keep down liquid, come back to the hospital. I want you to monitor that fever as well, it was scarily high. Right now it broke, but if it goes up again- You live alone, don't you?" She interrupted herself, frowning and Chris, who had already thrown his legs over the edge of the bed and was removing his own IV, just nodded.

She let out a displeased noise, "get someone to stay with you at least for the morning, you're too weak to handle it if your fever climbs again."

"Okay," he nodded, not planning on obeying. Chen squinted at him, then rolled her eyes.

"Okay," she put down the pen, "any questions?"

"Nope."

"Alright," she nodded and turned around, "hope I don't see you again, feel better."

Perfectly content with being left alone, Chris finished getting dressed and hunted down his phone. His battery was running low.

He hoovered over Emerald's contact, considering letting her know, then decided against it. He felt fine, nauseous and shaky, but nothing he couldn't handle.

In an effort to not be the worst patient of all time, he did call a cab instead of driving himself.

That was how he ran into Banks, as he waited outside the hospital, hands in his pockets, fending off the vertigo.

Jonah was driving back home, Chris recognized the red sedan, scoffed quietly. Then it pulled to a stop in front of him, window rolled down, "Lavin."

"Banks," he rubbed his hands to warm them up, checked the ETA of his cab. Ten more minutes. How the hell, Welton was not that large!

"Are you waiting for your ride or did you get a cab?" Jonah asked and Chris just stared at him.

"Dawson said you wanted to apologize."

"Cab or a ride?"

"Is this the part where you say I'm sorry Chris that I was a horrible doctor and horrible human being all around, please don't go to HR, I didn't know you were sick despite the fact you repeatedly told me, I don't know how to interact-"

"I'm sorry," Banks said, not sounding like he meant it, "let me give you a ride. Least I can do."

"Least you could do is leave me alone," Chris shrugged, gulping down as his stomach complained him standing up for so long. He really, really wanted his own bed. More Zofran, probably. Ginger ale so he'd stop burping acid.

"Let me give you a ride," Banks insisted and Chris opened his mouth to tell him to go die in a ditch, but then his phone buzzed. He let out a sigh of relief that the car was close only to glance at the screen and realize the driver had cancelled his trip.

Fucking hell.

"So?" Banks asked, and Chris' shoulders dropped, defeated.

"Fine. If you shut up the whole drive."

Jonah did stay quiet for the biggest chunk of it. He kept his eyes on the street and drove carefully, which Chris was glad for, because his stomach was growing more and more uneasy.

He muffled a burp in his hand, staring at the horizon intently. The car was freezing, so he reached for the heater, taking a second to understand Jonah's dashboard. Banks didn't mention him turning it on, didn't even glance at him. Good.

His car was extremely clean, Chris noticed. Nothing like some of the mess that was in the backseat of his own vehicle, empty water bottles and papers he needed to mail his accountant. Nope, all pristine and smelling like pine.

He fidgeted on his seat, tugging on the seatbelt that was squeezing his tender middle. Opened the glovebox. Mints, a brand new roll of toilet paper, neatly folded plastic bags, six different bottles of pills??

"What the fuck," Chris whispered, shocked by the medication. It could be Jonah's but he hadn't ever seen Banks taking pills...

"They're my husband's," Jonah slammed the glovebox shut, "and you're being rude."

"Not half as much as yelling at the clearly sick guy, now am I?" Chris scoffed and Banks' eyebrows connected, lips turning down at the corners.

"You didn't look that sick, you're always pale and look like a vampire," he mumbled, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and glancing at the GPS, "and I'm sorry. I was out of line."

Chris pursed his lips, annoyed at the apology, "yes, you were," he said strongly, "you're not my boss, Banks. Even if you were, which you aren't, it would've been fucking detrimental to treat a person like that. I know you think you're untouchable because your dad is famous but-"

Jonah interrupted him with a genuine snort, pressing his lips not to laugh, "you think I'm arrogant because of my father? Really, coming from you, Lavin?"

Chris clenched his jaw. Most people didn't tie his surname to LVA Medical, the company that supplied their equipment in the hospital and to at least a thousand others across the country, but Banks had done his homework.

"I never once brought-"

"Oh, and I have? Projecting much?" Jonah's voice dripped with sarcasm, "hate me all you want, but don't pretend our differences is a class issue or me acting entitled because of my father whom I never even mentioned. You don't know shit about me."

"And you don't know shit about me, but that doesn't stop you from making all sorts of assumptions, does it?" His stomach flipped and the singular glass of water he had had on his way out of the hospital rocketed up his throat. Chris gulped down, fighting the clammy nausea that was spreading all over him, "fuck this, pull over."

"Don't be a fucking baby, we're five minutes away from your address," Banks rolled his eyes.

Chris swallowed the thick saliva accumulating in his mouth, shuddering at the bitter taste, "And I can walk those five minutes. Stop the car."

"So you can tell Dawson I abandoned you on the side of the road while sick? I already got three days of suspension, no thanks."

He had gotten three days of suspension? What a shitty punishment if Chris was not even gonna be there that week. He swallowed again, the knot in his throat increasing, making it harder to push down the liquid "Jonah, pull over."

It kept moving.

Chris shuddered, convulsing with an empty heave and bracing against the dashboard, "M'serious-"

"Don't throw up in my car," Jonah groaned, just as the vehicle stopped. Chris should have moved, but he suddenly couldn't, too weak to even undo his seatbelt. This whole drive had been a horrible idea...

He reached again, just as Banks grabbed his shoulder and leaned over him, shoving the passenger door open and Chris hanging out of it.

Bright yellow splattered on the asphalt, followed by another heave and a stream of clear liquid. He groaned, weak fingers trying to undo the seatbelt cutting him in half.

"Your fever is up again," the other doctor let him know, as if Chris couldn't have guessed from the violent shivers wrecking him. Suddenly the seatbelt was gone and he nearly fell out of the vehicle, letting out a cry when it eased some of the pain.

"Chris?"

He spat, took a deep breath through his nose... Then pushed himself up, out of the car.

Jonah was out too by the time Chris circled it, leaning on the red metal and frowning, "you shouldn't be alone, call someone to look after you. Do you have friends? A girlfriend? A boyfriend?"

"Mind your own business," Chris stumbled, bracing against the railing of the access ramp in order not to fall, "thanks for the amazing ride."

Jonah scoffed, nostrils flaring with annoyance, "go ahead. Go in."

"You're- you're gonna watch?" He slurred, gagging again and spitting a measly mouthful of water on the pavement.

"Yes," Banks shoved his hands on his pockets, seeming like he had all day to watch Chris stumble like a drunk, "gotta say I safely delivered you."

"That's a stretch," Chris mumbled, then stumbled further in, glaring over his shoulder, "if you're still out there by the time I get to my floor, I'm calling the police."

Theo had never been the type to skip breakfast, especially since any time he wasn't in top form, he knew someone else could be. Of course there would always be better skaters, better people. But he knew he was still "better" than plenty of people out there, and letting anyone else become more than just "good" compared to him would feel like a disgrace — especially to his ego.

Which is why Theo had already feared something going wrong as he chugged his second cup of coffee in the span of twenty minutes. The blond was rarely late, so oversleeping once threw him completely out of his usually controlled rhythm. Pajamas on the floor, closet left open, shirt not entirely buttoned — the only thing left was for the sun to suddenly explode.

"I'm leaving," Theo called out, voice tight as he struggled to put his shoes on without crashing into the front door, "I'll be back in like two hours."

Soon enough, small hurried footsteps headed in his direction.

"No, you're not," a stern high voice called from the corridor, "not until you eat!"

Theo gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes before turning around to face the source of the complaint.

"I drank some coffee, it's fine. I'll eat later."

"No, you will eat now. I baked donuts yesterday and you haven't even tried them yet, so grab one."

Theo threw his head back dramatically and groaned. While yes, living with his older sister had its benefits most of the time, it wasn't always ideal — especially when she was being way too caring for Theo's liking. Or maybe it was just about the donuts.

"You want me to eat a donut before practice?" he asked in the tone of a tween being assigned chores. "Are you trying to sabotage me? Or silently support your favorite skater?"

Now it sounded like outright mockery. Theo bent down to tie his shoes, clearly planning to escape before anything solid could be handed to him.

"Maybe I should!" she shot back. "Maybe he would've appreciated my worry!"

Theo frowned.

"First of all — no, he wouldn't have. Second of all — I had to leave ten minutes ago."

He grabbed the pastel blue bag from the floor and scooped up his keys.

"So, see you."

His sister seemed to nod, oddly quiet as he opened the door.

"No, okay, at least grab the coffee I made you. I tried a new recipe."

Theo stopped dead in his tracks. More coffee? That couldn't possibly be good for his body.

"I already had some earlier," he muttered, this time less certain. As much as excelling at skating mattered to him, he wasn't the type to completely dismiss something someone had put effort into. Eventually, with a sigh, he looked back at her sheepishly.

"Okay, give it. Be quick."

Her eyes lit up immediately and she disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a small brown thermos and handed it over. Theo glanced at the clock above the door, practically snatched it from her hands, and ran out without even bothering to shut the door properly.

He had considered drinking it later — or dumping it out entirely — but he was way too hungry to resist trying it. Especially while sitting across from someone eating a breakfast bagel on the train. Three coffees couldn't be the end of the world, right? That was what Theo told himself as he practically chugged the caramel coffee from the thermos. Turns out caramel coffee tastes a lot better when you're starving.

When he stepped off the train, the first warning sign was the faint slosh in his upper stomach. He muffled a small acidic belch into his sleeve as he left the station, which was luckily only a couple minutes from the rink. By the time he was dropping his bag onto the bench in the changing room, some more obvious consequences had arrived. His body felt overheated, restless.

His back and legs tingled. His wrists ached, shoulders tight. If anyone had asked him a simple math question in that moment, the only answer they would've gotten was a flat "shut up".

One bad practice didn't define him. He knew that. He repeated it while changing into a light blue track jacket and stuffing his bag into a locker. But a skater aiming for perfection wasn't supposed to feel like this before even stepping onto the ice.

The empty feeling in his stomach suddenly sharpened into painful cramps. It felt as if he'd gone days without eating, except the nausea rolling through him made the thought of food unbearable. He pressed a hand against his upper stomach, wincing, and paused at the rink entrance while another wave rolled through him.

Going home wasn't an option anymore though. Not while others practiced and sharpened their skills. When the nausea eased, Theo pushed through the doors into the main hall. The scrape of blades against ice hit him harder than usual, too loud and sharp. He sat down to lace his skates, hands trembling. Of course that couldn't be a good sign. Not for a sport which required precision. Then he heard Coach Marshall's voice from across the rink.

"Juwang, warm up till 8:50! Then come see me about the music for your program."

Theo automatically looked up.

Kim Juwang.

He rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. Juwang had been his rival ever since joining the club a few years earlier. A rival didn't automatically have to be someone you hated, but Theo genuinely couldn't understand how anyone liked him. Theo was aware that he wasn't especially liked among other club members either, but it's not like that ever bothered him. Because the only thing that does deeply bother him is Juwang and his fake personality. Not only that - performative. Cowardly, even. Dishonest. Just truly, inherently full of-

"Theo, you're late!"

Coach Marshall's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Theo sighed and skated over carefully, trying not to press a hand to his stomach.

"You know I'm not usually mad about a few minutes. Or even twenty," Coach said, brows furrowed. "But we need to start planning for the national competition. I'm having you skate too."

Theo blinked.

"Too?"

Coach nodded. Theo already knew where this was going.

"We only have a few skaters at that level," Coach continued. "So I signed up two."

Theo's stomach lurched unpleasantly.

"And who's the other person?"

The question came out almost sarcastic. There was only one answer. Coach sighed knowingly. "You know Juwang isn't that bad. He's just passive."

More like passive aggressive. A low gurgle rolled through his stomach and he instinctively started to press a hand against it before catching himself halfway and dropping it again.

"Let's talk later," he muttered before skating away. At that point he wasn't even sure whether he wanted to train harder out of spite or hide in the bathroom until the nausea passed.

His first axel landed wobbly. Theo could practically feel Juwang noticing every mistake from across the rink. After a spin, he nearly collided with a junior skater before catching himself against the barrier. His stomach felt painfully tight now, bloating becoming impossible to ignore no matter how hard he sucked it in. Theo glanced across the ice. Juwang looked ridiculously fine — clean landings, great figure. Meanwhile Theo could barely focus on the ice beneath his feet. A wet burp rose suddenly into his throat. He turned his head away and swallowed hard. Maybe the bathroom was a better option after all.

Theo started skating slowly toward the exit, attention fixed on not throwing up in front of everyone. Which was why he didn't notice someone crossing his path until he hit the ice hard. He looked up with an automatic scowl.

Of course it was Juwang.

"It's fine," Juwang said, already turning away. Theo should've left it there. Really.

"Watch yourself," he muttered while getting up. He didn't expect a response, normally Juwang would just have skated away. But of course, today was different. Juwang actually stopped.

"You're so arrogant."

Theo spun around to face him.

"Oh yeah? Better than being cowardly and performative. I almost feel sorry for you."

Juwang's brows furrowed slightly — rare enough that Theo almost counted it as a win. The brunet opened his mouth, but before anything came out, Theo doubled over with a wet belch.

"That's what I thouOURpgh—"

He put the back of his hand over his mouth immediately and swallowed the small amount that had come up. Juwang's expression shifted, brows raising.

"Get off the ice," he said coldly. Theo wanted to argue, but the pressure in his stomach spiked hard enough to make him dizzy. He turned and skated toward the exit as steadily as he could. He only needed to sit down, take off his skates, and breathe for a minute. Easy.

Except the second he stepped onto the carpeted floor, another hiccup hit him.

"Hk—" He pressed a hand over his swollen stomach and lowered himself onto the bench slowly. His abdomen felt tight and heavy, the bloating stretching painfully against his waistband. For one second, all he wanted was to lie down, unbutton his pants, and rub his stomach until the pressure eased. Instead he forced himself to untie his skates with shaking hands.

The moment he bent forward, bile surged into his throat.Theo straightened sharply, swallowing over and over while his stomach churned louder. He kicked off the skates and left them abandoned on the floor before pushing himself upright.

He crossed the hall stiffly, walking like any movement more natural than that might make him throw up on the spot. The second he disappeared into the corridor, he braced himself against the wall and finally let himself hunch over. A low involuntary whine escaped him as he pressed both hands into his bloated stomach. The nausea surged higher. Theo stumbled the rest of the way to the bathroom and shoved the door open hard enough that it bounced off the wall. He nearly collapsed against the sink, one hand gripping the edge while the other tugged uselessly at his waistband. His reflection looked awful — pale, sweaty, eyes glassy.

Hiccups kept jolting through him, each one threatening another burp.

" 'S okay," he whispered to himself shakily. " 'S get it out."

He leaned farther over the sink, rubbing at his upper stomach desperately.The bathroom door creaked open behind him. Theo didn't even fully register it until footsteps stopped near the entrance. He looked up just enough to see Juwang standing there.

"Go 'way," Theo slurred, followed immediately by another wet burp.

"Should I get Coach?" Juwang asked quietly.

"J's leave—OURpgh—"

His body lurched forward hard with the belch, and then vomit rushed up without warning, hitting the sink in a violent gush. Theo gripped the edge with both hands, breathing harshly while black spots flickered across his vision. Another cramp seized his stomach and he gagged again, bringing up more thick liquid. Some distant part of him registered Juwang stepping closer.

"Theo—"

Another guttural belch cut him off, followed by a second round of vomiting. Theo's eyes watered from the force of it, swaying on his feet. Hands caught his arms before he could tip sideways.

"Are you going to pass out?" Juwang asked, voice suddenly much calmer than before. But Theo couldn't process the question, everything felt distant and blurred together.

"S'down," he muttered. Juwang helped lower him carefully to the floor. The cool tile against his back was filthy, but Theo didn't care. He hugged his stomach and breathed through the lingering nausea while Juwang hesitated nearby.

"Leave," Theo said weakly, staring at the ceiling instead of him. After a long pause, Juwang stood.

"Coach is coming."

Then the door opened and closed again, leaving the bathroom briefly silent except for Theo's uneven breathing. He lay there rubbing his stomach gently, trying not to think about how humiliating all of this was. A minute later, the door opened again and Coach Marshall crouched beside him immediately.

"Theo, you okay?"

Theo almost laughed.

" 'feel bad," he croaked.

Pretending otherwise felt pointless. Coach rubbed his shoulders soothingly.

"Yeah, I can tell. Think it's all out now?"

Theo shrugged faintly. The nausea had eased, but the bloating still sat heavily in his stomach.

"Let's get you sitting up. The floor in here is disgusting."

Theo grimaced.

"Make 'im go..."

Coach sighed but called for Juwang to step outside. A second later, the extra footsteps disappeared.

"You know, Juwang isn't that bad," Coach said while helping Theo sit up carefully. "And judging by his face, this was awkward for him too."

Theo managed to prop himself upright against the wall, though the movement made his stomach churn again. Oh yeah, poor Juwang. That was totally comparable to what he just went through.

Saliva flooded his mouth suddenly.

" 'Gna sick," he slurred.

"You're feeling sick?"

Theo shook his head weakly.

"Gonna be sick—OURpgh—"

Another belch brought burning liquid into his throat. He sagged sideways against Coach's arm, exhausted. Black spots appeared in front of his eyes. Theo knew he didn't pass out, but the only thing he remembers after that was him insisting on taking a nap.

"No, no, stay with me," Coach said quickly. "No naps, Theo."

The next stretch of time blurred together strangely. At some point a middle-aged woman with medical equipment arrived. At some point someone gave him water. At some point the rink emptied out.

Eventually Theo managed to speak again.

"I'm going home," he announced hoarsely. Coach nodded.

"Your sister's coming to get you."

Theo opened his mouth to protest, then gave up halfway through.

"Practice ended early," Coach added. "Everyone already went home, so don't worry about being seen."

"I want to apologize, we shouldn't have had you on the clock while so sick," Lois went on, while Claire paced nervously behind her, chewing on her lip, "please take the rest of the week off... And Dr. Banks will be properly reprimanded for his behavior... And he will be apologizing for it, he's extremely sorry."

Uh-huh.

Chris rolled his eyes, finally managing to push himself into a more or less sitting position. He wasn't in the ER like he had previously thought, they had given him a room. Fancy, but extremely unnecessary for just dehydration. He wanted to piss and to go home, maybe eat something- Nope. His stomach soured at the thought of food. He gulped down.

"Can I go?"

Chris had no plans to stick around so Jonah could come apologize for being the massive asshole that he was or so Marshall came closer with that disgusting perfume of hers. Truly, who thought bathing in vanilla before going to work at a hospital was a good idea?

"Uhm," Lois sighed, "we'll need to clear it with Dr. Chen, she'll be up in a minute to check on you... You really gave us quite a fright, Chris."

Claire scoffed, "you scared the shit out of me. Did you know you were burning up? Like teeth chattering burning up?" She squinted at him and he cringed in embarrassment. He liked Claire, she was a bit of a doormat and he had no idea about her private life at all, because she was extremely private, but she was sweet. Folded too easily whenever Banks was around, but sweet.

"Chris?"

Oh, she expected an answer?

"I didn't," he mumbled, glaring at the IV needle sticking out of his hand, "just felt like crap."

"Well, next time maybe let us-"

"Dr. Peters," Lois interrupted, probably remembering that he had in fact let them know and then she had forced him to come to work anyway, "let's let Dr. Lavin rest. You also need rest, you've been awake for too long."

"I'm fine," Claire grumbled, rubbing her exhausted face. Chris threw her an amused look and she only glared back, "okay, I'm gonna go. My ride is here. Feel better Chris."

Oh? Her ride? Was Claire dating?

Another thing that Chris was, besides a self admitted asshole, was a snoop. He loved collecting information on people, like Marshall falling apart since her breakup — he really wanted to know how that had gone down. By how devastated she was, he assumed Tim had cheated on her — and Henderson's third kid arriving that summer — third kid! In this economy?! — and whatever the reason Banks had stretched his honeymoon for two weeks longer than he should have and everyone had acted as if it was perfectly fine to cover for him as he travelled Bali, acting as if Chris was insane for pointing out that he didn't want to cover for the guy. Not knowing that had been driving him crazy.

"Thanks, Claire," he said, cringing when his voice was raspy and his throat ached. His stomach churned uncomfortably and he looked around the room, pointedly ignoring his boss. He wasn't sure why she wasn't gone too.

The door opened and closed, Lois let out a sigh, "Chris," serious voice. He forced their eyes to meet, she looked concerned, but collected, "I trust you understand it was all a big... Misunderstanding and that you aren't going to proceed with an audit or anything of the sorts?"

Of course, Jonah wasn't held liable, being a jerk wasn't a crime, but forcing a sick doctor to work to the point of collapsing might be. She was worried about the hospital, which put him at ease. Much better than her being concerned about him.

"No, I won't pursue any audit or anything of the sorts," he promised, "thanks for the PTO week, though."

She smiled, relieved and amused he had understood the reason he had been given such extensive time to recover. Business were so much easier than people, messy, complicated people.

"I'm going to let you rest," Lois squeezed his knee over the thin sheet thrown over him, "Dr. Chen will be upstairs in a moment to clear you."

June Chen was a more senior doctor and he had very little contact with her. She was extremely put together and hung out with Stewarts and Dawson, sometimes they took pity on Henderson and let him join the clique, or so it seemed for Chris. Either way, Chen had a no nonsense approach that he liked and she only scoffed at his chart, signing it with a huff.

"Don't drive home," she said, writing his release permit, "you're on Zofran right now, but the effects should fade in an hour. If you're back to being sick and can't keep down liquid, come back to the hospital. I want you to monitor that fever as well, it was scarily high. Right now it broke, but if it goes up again- You live alone, don't you?" She interrupted herself, frowning and Chris, who had already thrown his legs over the edge of the bed and was removing his own IV, just nodded.

She let out a displeased noise, "get someone to stay with you at least for the morning, you're too weak to handle it if your fever climbs again."

"Okay," he nodded, not planning on obeying. Chen squinted at him, then rolled her eyes.

"Okay," she put down the pen, "any questions?"

"Nope."

"Alright," she nodded and turned around, "hope I don't see you again, feel better."

Perfectly content with being left alone, Chris finished getting dressed and hunted down his phone. His battery was running low.

He hoovered over Emerald's contact, considering letting her know, then decided against it. He felt fine, nauseous and shaky, but nothing he couldn't handle.

In an effort to not be the worst patient of all time, he did call a cab instead of driving himself.

That was how he ran into Banks, as he waited outside the hospital, hands in his pockets, fending off the vertigo.

Jonah was driving back home, Chris recognized the red sedan, scoffed quietly. Then it pulled to a stop in front of him, window rolled down, "Lavin."

"Banks," he rubbed his hands to warm them up, checked the ETA of his cab. Ten more minutes. How the hell, Welton was not that large!

"Are you waiting for your ride or did you get a cab?" Jonah asked and Chris just stared at him.

"Dawson said you wanted to apologize."

"Cab or a ride?"

"Is this the part where you say I'm sorry Chris that I was a horrible doctor and horrible human being all around, please don't go to HR, I didn't know you were sick despite the fact you repeatedly told me, I don't know how to interact-"

"I'm sorry," Banks said, not sounding like he meant it, "let me give you a ride. Least I can do."

"Least you could do is leave me alone," Chris shrugged, gulping down as his stomach complained him standing up for so long. He really, really wanted his own bed. More Zofran, probably. Ginger ale so he'd stop burping acid.

"Let me give you a ride," Banks insisted and Chris opened his mouth to tell him to go die in a ditch, but then his phone buzzed. He let out a sigh of relief that the car was close only to glance at the screen and realize the driver had cancelled his trip.

Fucking hell.

"So?" Banks asked, and Chris' shoulders dropped, defeated.

"Fine. If you shut up the whole drive."

Jonah did stay quiet for the biggest chunk of it. He kept his eyes on the street and drove carefully, which Chris was glad for, because his stomach was growing more and more uneasy.

He muffled a burp in his hand, staring at the horizon intently. The car was freezing, so he reached for the heater, taking a second to understand Jonah's dashboard. Banks didn't mention him turning it on, didn't even glance at him. Good.

His car was extremely clean, Chris noticed. Nothing like some of the mess that was in the backseat of his own vehicle, empty water bottles and papers he needed to mail his accountant. Nope, all pristine and smelling like pine.

He fidgeted on his seat, tugging on the seatbelt that was squeezing his tender middle. Opened the glovebox. Mints, a brand new roll of toilet paper, neatly folded plastic bags, six different bottles of pills??

"What the fuck," Chris whispered, shocked by the medication. It could be Jonah's but he hadn't ever seen Banks taking pills...

"They're my husband's," Jonah slammed the glovebox shut, "and you're being rude."

"Not half as much as yelling at the clearly sick guy, now am I?" Chris scoffed and Banks' eyebrows connected, lips turning down at the corners.

"You didn't look that sick, you're always pale and look like a vampire," he mumbled, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and glancing at the GPS, "and I'm sorry. I was out of line."

Chris pursed his lips, annoyed at the apology, "yes, you were," he said strongly, "you're not my boss, Banks. Even if you were, which you aren't, it would've been fucking detrimental to treat a person like that. I know you think you're untouchable because your dad is famous but-"

Jonah interrupted him with a genuine snort, pressing his lips not to laugh, "you think I'm arrogant because of my father? Really, coming from you, Lavin?"

Chris clenched his jaw. Most people didn't tie his surname to LVA Medical, the company that supplied their equipment in the hospital and to at least a thousand others across the country, but Banks had done his homework.

"I never once brought-"

"Oh, and I have? Projecting much?" Jonah's voice dripped with sarcasm, "hate me all you want, but don't pretend our differences is a class issue or me acting entitled because of my father whom I never even mentioned. You don't know shit about me."

"And you don't know shit about me, but that doesn't stop you from making all sorts of assumptions, does it?" His stomach flipped and the singular glass of water he had had on his way out of the hospital rocketed up his throat. Chris gulped down, fighting the clammy nausea that was spreading all over him, "fuck this, pull over."

"Don't be a fucking baby, we're five minutes away from your address," Banks rolled his eyes.

Chris swallowed the thick saliva accumulating in his mouth, shuddering at the bitter taste, "And I can walk those five minutes. Stop the car."

"So you can tell Dawson I abandoned you on the side of the road while sick? I already got three days of suspension, no thanks."

He had gotten three days of suspension? What a shitty punishment if Chris was not even gonna be there that week. He swallowed again, the knot in his throat increasing, making it harder to push down the liquid "Jonah, pull over."

It kept moving.

Chris shuddered, convulsing with an empty heave and bracing against the dashboard, "M'serious-"

"Don't throw up in my car," Jonah groaned, just as the vehicle stopped. Chris should have moved, but he suddenly couldn't, too weak to even undo his seatbelt. This whole drive had been a horrible idea...

He reached again, just as Banks grabbed his shoulder and leaned over him, shoving the passenger door open and Chris hanging out of it.

Bright yellow splattered on the asphalt, followed by another heave and a stream of clear liquid. He groaned, weak fingers trying to undo the seatbelt cutting him in half.

"Your fever is up again," the other doctor let him know, as if Chris couldn't have guessed from the violent shivers wrecking him. Suddenly the seatbelt was gone and he nearly fell out of the vehicle, letting out a cry when it eased some of the pain.

"Chris?"

He spat, took a deep breath through his nose... Then pushed himself up, out of the car.

Jonah was out too by the time Chris circled it, leaning on the red metal and frowning, "you shouldn't be alone, call someone to look after you. Do you have friends? A girlfriend? A boyfriend?"

"Mind your own business," Chris stumbled, bracing against the railing of the access ramp in order not to fall, "thanks for the amazing ride."

Jonah scoffed, nostrils flaring with annoyance, "go ahead. Go in."

"You're- you're gonna watch?" He slurred, gagging again and spitting a measly mouthful of water on the pavement.

"Yes," Banks shoved his hands on his pockets, seeming like he had all day to watch Chris stumble like a drunk, "gotta say I safely delivered you."

"That's a stretch," Chris mumbled, then stumbled further in, glaring over his shoulder, "if you're still out there by the time I get to my floor, I'm calling the police."

Emerald wasn't a caller, much more of a texter and his brothers only spoke to him once every other week. It could be one of his parents and that was the only reason Chris forced himself to get up and stumble out of the bathroom.

He wasn't in any mood to chit chat, but his parents were both well into their late sixties. He couldn't in good conscience ignore a call, even if he knew it was probably his mother complaining about Shark Tank or his father about football.

Lois Dawson.

Fuck, he'd rather it was his mother. Dawson was the hospital director, aka his boss, aka trouble. He squinted blearily at the screen, marking a little past 5 PM, then cleared his throat, picking up.

"Yes?"

"Hello, Dr. Lavin?"

"Hi, Dawson," he rubbed a hand over his face, "what's going on?"

"I'm so sorry to call today, I know you're on break-" oh no. Absolutely not. Chris' stomach clenched, mouth flooding with sticky saliva. They couldn't possibly want him in the hospital like this... "-one too many absences and you're my last resource."

"Ma'am," he groaned, rubbing the back of his achy neck, "I'd go in, but I can't-"

"I know it's your day off, we'll double your pay, Dr. Lavin," Dawson said, as if that was even a question. Of course they would.

"No, it's not that, I-" he pulled the cellphone away from his face, muffling a gurgly burp in his fist, "I'm sick, Dawson. Just puked my guts up."

There was a beat. A heavy sigh, "we'll keep you doing paperwork, I just need you to free one of the others, Chris," she had dropped the Dr. Lavin schtick, which meant business, "we're truly overflowing thanks to the bus accident that happened in the interstate and we're down six doctors, either because they're not in town or stuck in the jam or not picking up."

Damn his stupid luck for picking up the phone. He should've stayed on the bathroom floor.

"Fine," Chris sighed, pressing a hand to his stomach, hating the way it was sticking out and how sore the muscles were, "give me thirty minutes, I'll be down."

"Thank you," she sounded genuinely relieved. He rolled his eyes.

"It's fine," he brushed it off, muffling another gross belch by turning his face towards his bicep, "I- I got'sgo-"

"Yes, of course, of course- I'll make sure to warn Dr. Banks you'll be on paperwork only... Thank you again-" he barely heard the rest of what she said, pressing the big red button and lurching to the side with a violent retch, bringing up a mouthful of watery vomit on the monstera plant he had near his couch.

Fuuuuck.

By the time he had taken a quick shower to get rid of the cold sweat and changed into a more decent outfit than the black sweatpants and stained merch shirt he had been wearing all day, Chris was considering flat out not going. What could possibly happen? Would he get fired for being sick?

However, as much as he turned over that option, he still found himself behind the wheel, driving back to the building he had left just yesterday. Just because Welton General paid well and was the only hospital in the city, which he actually quite liked and had no prospects of moving from. Something something unfair market competition, Chris thought sourly, thinking of Lex, his brother, and how indignant he had been about Welton's makeup. Not one for small towns, no matter if it was a university town with a beautiful backdrop.

He hung out of the car, spitting on the parking lot's floor as soon as he opened the door and taking slow, deep breaths to stop his stomach from fully crawling up his throat. His head was throbbing, but not enough he could hang out in the parking lot for longer than five minutes, acutely aware he was already fifteen minutes later than the thirty he had promised Dawson.

"Dr. Lavin," speaking of the devil, Lois was waiting for him as soon as the elevator door opened on the first floor, hands clasped and a tight smile on, "thank you so much for coming."

He let out a grunt, because what did she want to hear? No problem? Of course there was a problem, he was sick and he'd rather be anywhere but there.

"I already talked with Dr. Banks," she gestured for him to follow, as if Chris didn't know the way to the office areas. Paperwork was easy enough, normally he was spectacularly good at it. Not to say he was a bad doctor, he knew he wasn't, but he was also aware he didn't have the necessary patience to deal with patients freaking out or, worse, their partners freaking out. God, he hated dealing with parents, he'd rather off himself than talk to crying mother.

Lois guided him inside the office, "we have Dr. Banks and Dr. Peters on rotation today," she cringed, since that number was scarily low. Hell, only Jonah and Claire? Not a single senior doctor? This hospital was running on hopes and dreams.

"On- Those are just the ones doing the rounds, right?" Chris collapsed on the chair behind the desk, already pulling the trashcan with his foot when the simple jostling of sitting down made him taste eggs all over again, "there are other's in the OR?"

"Dr. Marshall and Stewarts, just for the emergencies, we've rescheduled all that was in for the night," Lois nodded, much to his relief. Still bad, but not so bad they might as well shut the hospital down for the night. As if that was an option, "I'm still trying to reach Henderson and Chen, they're the only ones who haven't responded yet, so maybe..." Lois trailed off and Chris cringed, a new wave of nausea hitting him that had nothing to do with the stomach bug. Four, well five counting with him, doctors in the whole hospital was really, really fucking bad.

"Garcia is coming in the morning!" She perked up, as if sensing the panic starting to grow in him, "and we're getting a lot of patients redirected to Portland- It's going to work out."

"Of course," his mouth was sticky. Chris gulped down, "lemme get to work then."

"Thank you again," Lois sounded incredibly apologetic, "I'm gonna warn the nurses that you're sic-"

"No!" The sheer mortification of it nearly caused him to jump, "no need. I'll be fine."

Liar, a little voice whispered in his ear, stomach already churning again, that slow but constant manner that told him he was done for. Maybe not now, but soon.

"Uhm- Of course," Dawson sounded surprised by his outburst, "I'll let you work, you know where to find me."

Finally his boss left and Chris promptly planted his elbows to the table, burying his face in his hands and groaning. Fuck his life.

Paperwork was harder when he felt like absolute crap, but at least it was something to take his mind off of his stomach. He fished out his earbuds from his work case, putting only one so he could still hear the outside noise and listened to music as he decoded several different doctor's notes into insurance claims and what not.

Normally he found this part of his job rather therapeutic. Claire, Dr. Peters, didn't understand it. She always got antsy and started moving around the office when they shared it. Banks seemed to be in his wavelength, just as long as they didn't exchange a single word. For some reason Jonah Banks seemed to enjoy being the biggest pain in the ass alive. Marshall was the same as Claire, only worse. Chris could count in one hand the amount of office hours they had ever shared, because she'd do anything in her power to avoid it. Henderson complained the whole time and Chris had considered homicide more than once. He'd rather work with Banks, with whom he had had several conflicts, than withstand Henderson's monotone blabbing.

Chris' stomach rolled and he kicked the trashcan closer, leaning over it to spit the saliva accumulating in his mouth. He was probably gonna puke soon, but he had taken some Gatorade before leaving home and he did not want to risk becoming dehydrated. Not only it would be humiliating enough in normal circumstances, but when the hospital was running on fumes? So when the blue saccharine liquid tried climbing up, Chris gulped it back down, shuddering as he could literally feel the goo sliding down his throat.

"Lavin," Banks slammed the door, "we need you in the ER."

If Chris was a slightly better person, he'd have taken Bank's serious voice as the don't argue signal it was and obeyed. Except he wasn't.

"I'm not on ER tonight," he kept his eyes firmly on the computer screen, twirling the pen between his fingers, "Dawson called me for desk duty, not to wrangle snotty children."

"No," Banks scoffed, walking further in, "Dawson called you to help and you bitched your way into desk duty, when we actually need an extra set of hands in the ER. Now get off your ass, we're crammed and Claire and I cannot take it all by ourselves."

"Then call Marshall or Stewarts, Dawson said-"

"Wendy is already in the ER intubating someone and Stewarts just entered surgery. Get off your ass," Banks' tone was always so fucking arrogant. King of the world. Chris had always found it a bit amusing that Jonah seemed to think that just because he had that stick permanently shoved up his ass and a mean mug, he could get things his way.

"You can scream and kick all you want," rolled his eyes, which was a bad idea because a jolt of pain stabbed his skull. Low blood sugar, his brain supplied and his stomach complained. No fucking way he was gonna eat something, no matter how much his body demanded it. He could still taste the lunch eggs, "but I'm on desk duty. I'm sick."

"Oh, fuck off!" Banks snapped, "we're gonna loose a patient, there's simply not enough of us. You can't sit here filling insurance claims when we've got eleven fucking cots busy downstairs," he stepped closer, Chris wondered if Jonah thought he could scare him. Maybe that shit worked on nurses or with Claire, but not with him.

"Like I said," Chris cleared his throat when his voice came out too deep, coated in annoyance and sticky saliva, "I'm sick. I can't be in the ER."

"We have a stroke downstairs and if we lose her because you were too busy doing crosswords to come help, I'll make sure to move a lawsuit for malpractice against you myself."

A stroke patient changed things.

He had been under the impression tonight was busy in the sense there were two doctors for far too many drunks, kids with pneumonia coughing everywhere, food poisoned fuckers shitting everywhere. A stroke-

He got up and ignored the victorious expression on Banks' stupid face.

The idiot now would probably think his stupid lawsuit threat had worked, as if Chris wasn't well aware he was in the function given him and who was actually committing malpractice was Banks, wasting time arguing with him instead of doing his job. Again, that shit probably worked with doctors who were a little more green.

Talking about green, his stomach wasn't one bit happy about the change of scenery.

The ER was chaos, Chris was shoved into the direction of the head nurse and then somehow he ended up being bossed by Claire, whose face was all pink, blonde hair sticking to her temples as she huffed, moving around.

The stroke patient was a woman in her late eighties, who was barely responsive. Chris wasn't sure why the fuck Marshall wasn't all over her, considering Wendy was to neurologist of their group, and it was only once he was going through her imaging that he understood. It was ischemic and, surprisingly, venous instead of arterial.

The tight squeeze in his chest — pure, unmitigated guilt for not being there sooner — vanished. She was already on an IV and under observation, nothing to be done and her surviving rates were great. He breathed out....

Then got thrown into the deep end, by Claire lifting her eyes and saying "help!?" in a pitiful voice as she manhandled a drunk man into his cot, smelling like piss and seizing due to alcohol.

By the time he was able to stop moving around, two and a half hours had passed. He had long forgotten about his stomach bug or about his office hours, in flow state as he moved from patient to patient, taking in what was pouring through the doors.

Henderson arrived at 9 PM and Chen at midnight. Chris' headache increased from annoying to unbearable around 10 PM and he was having to move to the bathroom every fifteen minutes or so to cough over the toilet by the time they reached midnight. His knees felt weak and his whole body was aching.

And, as was always the case with the ER, as easy as the chaos had started, it ended.

Claire let out a breath, stumbling into the doctor's lounge, wiping her forehead with the inside of her wrist, "holy fuck," she collapsed on the couch, "I can't feel my feet."

He wanted to ask if she was on a twenty four hour shift, because Chris was pretty sure he had seen her in the hospital that morning when he left to go home, but he was scared of opening his mouth. His stomach had long passed "unsettled", hell, it had long passed "throwing up". He had forced himself to drink water and it had all come back up, tinged blue at first, now a weird lime green. Not good, Chris knew, vaguely. He couldn't remember why, though.

The revolving doors opened again, Banks walking in as he already removed his coat, because of course the snotty prick favored the pristine white lab coat instead of the regular dark scrubs anyone sensible would wear. Had to virtue signal he was a doctor, since that was all of his personality.

"Are you okay?" Jonah asked and Chris raised his eyebrows, confused and shocked, before realizing the question wasn't directed at him, but rather at Claire, boneless on the couch.

"Yeah, mmm'gimme just fine-five..." His coworker mumbled, sleepily. Yep, she was definitely pulling a twenty four hour shift. Chris didn't envy her, although now that he thought about it, he kinda was too. He had done yesterday's graveyard shift, then left the hospital at 6 AM and slept until 10 AM, when he had woken up all achy. Then the bathroom camping...

"-reporting you to the board-" Banks was suddenly right in front of his eyes, looking furious. He had a really angular face and when he looked this pissed, Christopher thought Jonah looked cat like. Light eyes squinting, might as well have slits for pupils.

He was tripping.

"What..?"

"While you were hiding in an office, we nearly lost two patients-"

"I wasn't-" he started, frustrated, but his tongue felt too heavy and big for his mouth, there were a bunch of colorful little dots around of Jonah's unruly curls. Glitter.

"-said you were sick? Yeah, sick where?" Jonah scoffed, "as soon as you were down there with us-"

Chris rolled his eyes, immediately regretted it when the room swam. He was freezing. On the couch Claire stirred, opening her exhausted eyes to glare at them.

"Can you two measure dicks outside?"

"Malpractice doesn't fucking cover it, you're lazy and entitled and-"

He took a step back, because Jonah apparently thought "personal space" was optional, only for his foot to seemingly meet thin air. His knee folded and suddenly he was on all fours on the floor, head swimming and blood drumming in his ears.

The nausea was stronger than it had been even in the morning, flooding him and causing him to retch violently. Nothing came up, but his stomach spasmed again. He clutched the rug, curling his fists so much that his knuckles turned white, as the room swam-

"What the hell?" A hand that was too soft to be normal grabbed his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. Green- No, hazel. Jonah's eyebrows drawn together, confused-

Chris retched again, freeing his chin from Bank's limp hold and coughing violently. Something boiling hot crawled up, his mouth tasted salty and then he belched a splash of something neon yellow all over the rug, and the front of Bank's pants.

He wasn't a crier, not normally, but his whole body was shaking violently and his head was pulsing and his thoughts were all over the place, so Chris felt his eyes prickle with tears. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, fighting the wave of sickness induced panic. The taste of blood made him gag again, more bitter bile falling on the pile, burning his now wounded lip.

"He seems sick to me," Claire's voice filtered through the drumming in his ears and suddenly there was a hand, much smaller and sure, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him to sit on his heels instead of being on all fours. His stomach spasmed again, more watery vomit rocketed up, his self control long melted by exhaustion and it ran down his chin and wet his dark scrub shirt.

"He's not responsive," Claire patted his cheek and he wanted to say he was very responsive, except that what came up was a whimper. He'd have to quit his job, this was too humiliating to come back from, "fuck, Jonah page a nurse! Don't just stand there! We gotta get him on an IV, he's dehydrated like hell."

"What's going on?" A new voice. More black dots.

Stupid lilac sneakers.

"Are you getting carsick?" Bella frowned, confused. They hadn't gone all out with the food, nothing too weird. He had had seafood for yesterday's lunch, but it was far too late to be some sort of food poisoning hitting nearly twenty six hours too late. Today's lunch had been light, just a salad they shared, and Bella didn't feel sick at all.

"I don't know," his cheeks bulged with a soft burp, "maybe? Doesn't feel like reflux, I'm just-" another little burp, no heat behind it, "queasy."

"Okay, baby," Bella jumped from her seat, circling the vehicle, "c'mon, get on the passenger side, let me lean your seat back- Oh whoa, Luke."

She pulled her hands back, because as Luke circled the car and got on the passenger side, she had reached to open his shorts, only to realize just how bloated his belly looked.

"Damn, you rounded up," Bell commented, raising her eyebrows. He offered her an indulgent smile, although there were pained lines next to his eyes and Bella quickly undid his short's fly, rolling it down to give space to his stomach.

There was not a hint of abs ever being there, he was taut, it looked painful, "that cannot feel good," she rubbed her hand across his stomach in a soothing manner, noticing how warm the skin felt, "I'm gonna pull over in the first motel we pass."

"No," Luke groaned, fiddling with the seat until he managed to get more space for his legs, "I wanna go home, we're just two hours out."

"Okay..." She didn't feel very sure about that, but Bella nodded and shut his door, getting back onto the driver's seat. Stupid giraffe husband who needed to push his seat all the way back.

"Maybe it was too much heat on that beautiful head of yours," Bella suggested, pulling them back on the road and checking if both their windows were rolled down. It had been an unusually warm weekend after a cold week, and they were both wearing tank tops, although they hadn't turned on the A/C.

Luke let out a huff, closing his eyes and leaning back his head, "maybe..." He gulped down, "I just don't feel good."

"Awn, baby," Bella removed a hand from the steering wheel, burying it on his hair and starting to pet it, nails scratching his scalp as she kept her eyes on the road. It was quite a relaxing drive, she wasn't speeding, not too worried.

A handful of minutes later, Luke shuffled next to her, her hand falling from his hair to his shoulder, and Bell stole a concerned glance his way. He was pale as spoiled milk, a hand moving to rest on his bloated stomach, eyes glassy.

"Luke?"

"Is there a gas stop coming up?" He asked, gulping down, bracing his forearm on top of the glovebox and hiding his face in it.

"Uhh..." Bella flickered her eyes to their multimedia, checking the GPS, "yeah, about ten minutes out."

"Okay," he breathed out, wrapping an arm around his belly. Bella cringed, rubbing a hand up and down his back, not missing the fact his tank top was getting damp with sweat.

"Did you eat anything I didn't?" She wondered, out loud, and speeding up a little more. Luke reached in and hit the middle button, killing the radio.

"Uhm-" his face scrunched up, "I dunno, uh- Shrimp last night?"

"I had that too, Luke," she wiped a droplet of sweat that was running down his temple. In the quiet of the car, she heard a nasty watery gurgle coming from his stomach and he winced, gritting his teeth.

She sped up, letting out a relieved breath when the gas station came into view. As soon as she stopped, Luke jumped out and power walked inside the attached convenience store.

Bella cringed, taking a minute to follow and walking around the place as she waited for him. It had a small pharmacy, with only OTC stuff and she got him an array of meds, hoping to help somehow. Pepto, Imodium, antiacids... Tylenol...?

"You had six piña coladas yesterday," Bella said, as soon as Luke emerged from the men's room, looking even more clammy than before, despite the clear fact he had just washed his face, wet wisps of hair falling over his forehead, "you're hungover, baby."

"No way," Luke groaned, taking the paper bag she was holding and digging through it. He grabbed the gatorade bottle, breaking the seal and gulping it down greedily as he followed her outside.

"Yes, way," Bella snorted, cupping his face and stroking his overheated cheeks, "we had salad for lunch because you said you weren't hungry. We slept in. Clearly we underestimated how tipsy you were last night."

Luke scoffed, resting his back against the side of the car and spreading his legs apart, to lower him to her height, "amazing," he said, sourly, "I'm hungover from freaking piña colada. A girl's drink."

"Sexist," Bella chuckled, getting on her tip toes and throwing her arms around his neck, stealing a kiss even if he had maybe just puked, "did you get sick?"

"No," he hid his face on her neck, breathing out, "opposite end."

"Ew," Bella lowered a hand down his back, keeping them close, rubbing up and down, "still nauseous?"

"Yeah," Luke pulled them apart and shuddered as he gulped down, "and look at the size of me, this is ridiculous."

Bell moved to rest against their car as well, letting out a low whistle at how bloated he was. He was shameless enough that he hadn't even bothered to do his fly back up, using the hem of his wifebeater to cover it up. Or, more likely, he couldn't do it back up.

"Wanna lie down in the back?" She suggested, tugging on his tanktop to peek at his stomach and giggling when Luke's cheeks turned crimson and he shoved her hand away, letting the fabric fall back down. His navel was all pink, it looked cute as hell, Bella thought.

"I'm gonna hurl if I lie in the back," Luke groaned, cheeks puffing with a soft burp, "I mean, I'm probably gonna hurl regardless, its all churning," he pressed the cold bottle to his forehead and Bella squinted at him, letting out a sigh and circling her husband, going through the glovebox in order to retrieve his sunglasses.

"Here, grandpa," she planted them onto his face, "better to stop the headache before it becomes a migraine."

"You'll call me grandpa but won't call me daddy, Bella?" He teased, causing Bella's cheeks to catch on fire, her heart to skip a beat.

"Don't be awful, we're in public," she groaned, swatting his stomach with a huff, "can we get back on the road?"

He nodded, thumping on his chest until he worked up a gross, wet burp, "yeah, let's."

"Keep drinking the Gatorade and take the tylenol, you'll be fine," Bella instructed, getting on her tip toes to slide his sunglasses further up his nose, "daddy."

Luke's pale face split with a smirk, his hand grabbing her waist, "I've changed my mind, let's crash a motel."

Bella giggled, butting his nose with hers, "you couldn't handle me in this shape," she patted the side of his upset stomach, grinning when he winced, "you can barely handle me at your best."

Jonah didn't remember a single thing from driving over. He was pretty sure he had run over a red light.

The front desk girl of Leo's building was named Nicole, and her eyes got the size of saucers when Jonah mumbled some frantic story about needing to contact Leo about a family emergency and that he hadn't been picking up his phone. The panic in his voice didn't need to be faked.

She phoned his office's landline and waited, whispering in a rushed voice that Mr. Wagner-Banks was there and there was an emergency.

Not five minutes later, Leo was walking out of the elevator, holding his suitcase and clad in a suit, perfectly healthy, except from the flush on his cheeks.

"Jon? What's going on?" The damn theater kid he had married asked and Jonah knew he had been the one to propose this stupid plan, but right now he just wanted to shake Leo like a rattle toy and force him to use his words.

"My sister called, said something is wrong with my father," Jonah lied through his teeth, sending the universe a quiet don't you dare, "she said he's sick, we gotta go over to DC right now."

Dramatic much? But at the very least this would grant Leo the whole day off, if not the week. Jasper would happily corroborate whatever bullshit they needed him to, the man lived for the drama.

"Oh my god," Leo clutched his imaginary pearls, a little too into his role for Jonah's liking. He was starting to get annoyed, was this all some joke...?

They quickly moved out of Nicole's curious gaze, Leo telling her to pass the message along to his boss, but that he'd be in contact as soon as possible to explain the situation and give them a timeframe of how quickly he could be back.

Then they were out of the building and Jonah was fighting every molecule in his body not to interrogate his husband right there and then. Instead he waited until they entered his car and he had driven out of Leo's street, just to make sure, before asking, "what the fuck, Leo?! What's wrong? You scared the shit out of me, start explaining yourself-"

Leo was leaning back on the passenger seat, breathing in and out slowly, face milky pale, "I think I'm having a heart attack."

"What?" Jon came to a screeching halt so sudden, the car behind them pressed the honk and sent him a string of insults, barely avoiding rear ending them.

"I'm-" Leo licked his lips, "a sense of- Of impending doom, right? Chest tightness?" Was he sounding breathless or was Jonah tripping? "Queasy..."

"Okay," Jonah's voice was alien to his own ears, "okay, baby, we're going to the fucking hospital, alright? Can you-" he took a hand from the steering wheel, clammy with sweat, "squeeze my hand? Really hard."

Leo obeyed, Jonah wasn't sure what his tight squeeze meant, because he was too busy panicking to be an actual doctor about it. Tight squeeze, probably- Probably not a heart attack, right? Normally it came with limbs heaviness and lack of strength... Right?

Sense of impending doom.

Jonah could write off everything, but that. He had way too much experience with patients feeling in their bones when something was grotesquely wrong. He pressed the gas pedal a little harder.

Leo's fingers curled around his and Jonah squeezed his hand right back, clutching on it like a toddler.

Once they pulled over at the hospital, Jon was immediately running out of the car to grab him a wheelchair, only for Leo to scoff and walk alongside him. He was most definitely wheezing.

"Jon?" Wendy was in the ER, wearing scrubs today, confused on why he was there when he had just left the hospital an hour ago, let alone with Leo hot on his heels, looking panicked, "what's going on-"

"Leo, sit down," Jonah ignored her, forcing Leo to sit on a plastic chair on the waiting room, queue be damned. Hospital queues weren't organized around arrival time, like most people thought, but seriousness of an issue. A heart attack most definitely put Leo on top of the list. He should be- "I think he's having a heart attack."

Wendy's eyes went huge, but unlike Jonah she didn't panic. She turned around, rushing to the front desk and exchanging rushed whispers with the nurse in charge, who immediately nodded and picked up the phone, her voice echoing on the floor through the speakers as she said, "Dr. Lavin, emergency room, please," three times in a row. A second nurse, Marjorie, briskly walked away and returned five minutes later with a disposable cup housing aspirins, walking over to them.

"Hi Leo," she smiled and Jonah's hand flexed on his husband's shoulder, hating the way Leo was clutching his chest and staring at the floor, "can you chew these for me? It's gonna help while we get you ready for the exams, okay?"

"He needs-"

"An ECG," Marjorie agreed before he could finish, "we're gonna get him one, let's sit in Dr. Lavin's room, alright? He was doing rounds upstairs, but we've paged him, he'll be down in a minute."

Who the fuck even was Dr. Lavin?

It didn't matter. They entered the special treatment room and Leo climbed onto the mattress, leaning heavily against Jonah's side and wheezing, sounding like a whistle.

"Shhh, just a second more, baby," Jon cooed, trying to fight the sheer panic clawing at him. Wendy came back inside, Marjorie hot on her heels.

"Hi Leo," she smiled, "rough morning, uh?" whilst talking, she was moving around the office as it was hers, turning on the ECG machine, the image of calm. Jon would've bought it wasn't it for her fingers drumming on the machine.

The office's door opened and in came Chris. Jonah's brows met, then eased. Right, Chris Lavin, their cardiologist. Why the hell hadn't he remembered that, he would've taken Leo to a different hospital-

No, he wouldn't have. There was no hospital in town more prepared than this and they didn't have time to drive to Portland-

"Mr. Wagner," Chris seemed puzzle on why there were three people, instead of solely his patient in the office, "how are you today? Can you tell me what's going on?"

"Chest-" Leo rubbed it, gulping down, "hurts. Uhm- I feel like I'm dying. I-" another gulp, Chris squinted at him.

"Nauseous too?"

Leo nodded, swallowing again.

"Here, sweetheart," Wendy moved, grabbed a cardboard emesis tray, pushing it on his lap.

"How long ago did the symptoms start, Mr. Wagner?"

"Leo," he mumbled, gagging at the tail end, "my name is Leo."

Jonah shifted his weight, impatiently glaring at Chris. Couldn't he save the fucking interrogation for another time? Get him on the ECG already, do something?

"Alright, Leo," Chris circled them, looking put off by having to side step Jon and Wendy to reach the machine, "can you take your shirt off for me? We're gonna get a read at your heart."

Finally!

Jon immediately turned to grab Leo's clothing, helping him strip, only for Chris to scoff, "Banks, I asked Leo to take his shirt off. Not you to do it for him."

Leo's eyes widened, shocked, while Jon bristled, "I'm helping, you know, bedside manners. Something you d-"

"I need to check if he can raise his arms," Chris glared daggers at him, "step out of my way and stop intruding. Leo, please remove the shirt?"

Seemingly shocked enough that the wheezing had stopped, Leo obeyed, fingers fumbling with the buttons, but managing. He already didn't have a tie on, the jacket of his suit had been ditched in the car.

"Good," Chris grabbed several different cords, with sticker electrodes to the end of them, "this will feel a little weird," he warned, before sticking them to Leo's chest, eyes glued to the screen of the machine, "how long ago did the symptoms start, Leo?"

"Uh- Two hours," Leo's fingers flinched, clearly wanting to rub his chest again, but settling for curling on the thin sheet of the bed. Jonah took his hand in his, squeezing it in a supportive manner. Leo gulped down again, paler than before.

"How much longer?" Jon asked, "he's gonna be sick."

"Just a minute more," Chris was looking at the machine, as it printed out the results of the exam in a long, skinny sheet of paper, waves drawn on them. Jonah had never been any good at reading those, but Chris hardly even looked, eyes flickering to it and then back up, starting to remove the electrodes from Leo.

"Good, you can put your shirt back on- Marshall, you can go," he said, dismissively, and Wendy's cheeks turned pink, brows connecting, but she didn't argue. Only huffed and stepped out of the room.

Leo gave up buttoning his shirt on the third bottom button, grabbing the cardboard tray and gulping down convulsively, "guh- Gon'besick..." he slurred, drooling over it.

"That's alright," Chris circled his desk, sitting on the big chair, leaving Jonah to fuss over the blonde. He ground his teeth, yelling at Chris right now wasn't gonna help.

"I'm here," he said, instead, stepping closer and planting a hand on the cardboard tray to support it, the other arm wrapping around Leo, who was trembling like a puppy, "shh, I got you-"

Leo jerked with an empty heave, knuckles turning white as he panted over the small bowl. Another gag and a thick line of drool fell inside of it, cloudy, but nothing more.

"Is he allergic to any medication?" Chris asked from where he was typing on his computer.

"You have his chart," Jonah hissed, teeth gritted, while rubbing Leo's back, "shh, baby, ignore him. Focus on yourself."

Leo gagged once more, and then a little dribble of vomit fell in the tray, as he panted as if he had just run a marathon. There were microtears clumping his lashes and he clutched his chest, wheezing. Jonah's heart squeezed so much, he wondered if he was the one having a heart attack.

"I'm going to order a blood test," Chris told them, unbothered, "to rule out heart attack. For now we're gonna put you in a cot in the ER and check back again in an hour, Leo."

Leo's brows twitched, he spat in the tray, "wha- What?"

"You're not having a heart attack," Chris had gotten up, grabbing a couple tissues from the box that stayed next to the cot, handing them to Leo in exchange for the sick tray, "it's a panic attack."

"Nuh-huh," Leo shook his hand, hands shaking as if he had Parkinson's as he wiped his chin and clutched the tissues, "I know- I know what a panic attack feelssslike..."

Chris' lip twitched, "I know you do," a hint of amusement, Jonah considered punching him, "that's why we're not gonna medicate you just yet, okay? We're gonna do the blood exam to rule it out and then check back in one hour, do the whole ordeal again. Then I'm gonna medicate you."

Leo's cheeks turned crimson, Jon squeezed his shoulder, "Christopher, if he says he's having a heart attack-"

"He is the patient, Banks," Chris glared at him, "not the doctor. His ECG came back clean, you're welcome to look at it. His wheezing doesn't match of a heart attack, his impending doom broke when I snapped at you. It's not a heart attack, it's anxiety, but you're welcome to do a cardiology residency if you wanna argue with me."

Jonah's whole face was burning and yeah, he was gonna punch this guy. He let go of Leo's shoulder, stepping into Chris' personal space, "what happens when my husband collapses because you are too arrogant to see what's in front of you? Leo knows what a panic attack feels like, he's dealt with them his whole life, you. Are. Not. LIS-" he jammed his finger on Chris' chest at each word, only to be cut short by a giggle.

Leo's giggling.

The blonde looked embarrassed, but amused, "sorry, sorry! I- Okay, doctor, uhm- Lavin? Dr. Lavin," Jonah looked at him, confused and nearly offended. What the hell was he doing? "blood exam, then check back, then meds?"

"Yes," Chris' voice was a note deeper, pissed off, but not directed at Leo, "I'll have nurse Marjorie shadow you, she's the best one and she's been here the longest. You're in good hands."

Leo nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, although it was clean already, "okay," he whispered, tugging on Jon's sweater to bring him back, "Okay..."

Jonah wanted to argue this. It didn't feel right, Leo knew what a panic attack felt like, he wouldn't have confused the two. Hell, Jonah knew what Leo having a panic attack looked like and-

And it looked horribly similar to this, yeah.

Wendy was in the ER and the second she saw them — Leo now forced to be on a wheelchair, hospital rules — she jogged closer, looking concerned.

"So? What's going on? How are you?" She asked quickly, as Jonah followed Marjorie to the cot she was guiding them to. A bed with privacy curtains surrounding it.

"Panic attack," Leo answered her, breathless, clutching Jon's hand for support as he pushed himself out of the chair and into the cot, Marjorie saying she'd be right back to collect the blood sample.

"Really?" Wendy's eyebrows jumped up, "I thought you knew- how are you feeling?" She changed her phrase mid sentence, shaking her head.

Leo shrugged, looking away, "embarrassed," he rubbed his chest, uneasy expression on, "queasy. Still don't feel right, it's like- Pressure," he took a deep breath, "someone sitting on my chest."

Wendy didn't look convinced, she exchanged a nervous glance with Jonah, who had posted himself right next to Leo's bed and was petting his hair, trying not to let it show just how deeply concerned he was.

Chris was asking for a lot. What if he was wrong? What if Leo was having a fucking heart attack and they were wasting crucial time with this bullshit? Had Chris glanced at Leo's medical history and seen his antidepressants listed and dismissed everything as just stress?

"Here we go," nurse Marjorie came up, holding the blood drawing kit, "it's going to be just a little prickle."

"I know," Leo leaned his head back, eyes shut, breathing heavily, "fuck..." he breathed out, refusing to elaborate.

Marjorie drew the blood and Leo kept his eyes closed, taking slow measured breaths. Wendy had to get back to work, sending Jonah a worried look before she left. Jonah started biting on his thumb, a leg bouncing nervously as he stood next to his bed and waited. He felt so fucking helpless, he should be doing something-

"Hey," Leo tugged on his wrist, since his other hand was still in his hair, supposedly petting it, although Jon had stopped, "I think he's right, Jon."

"You- It doesn't seem right, Leo," Jonah's voice wavered just a little and he gulped down the knot in his throat, "you know what- Did something happen? Something triggered this?"

"No," Leo seemed exhausted, eyes sunken in, but he opened a little smile, "we went out to grab coffee together, Dean, Chuck and I... The place was packed, started feeling uneasy there, chalked it up to being overwhelmed, then when we got back to the office it just got worse and I felt like something was so wrong, with- Me, with you, I don't know, I just needed to go home... That's when I called you," he paused, breathing in and out slowly, "then after we hung up it changed from I need to go home to I'm dying. That's it."

It did sound like anxiety. Jonah squinted, not sufficiently calmed down, "and the chest pain? The nausea? The wheezing?"

"After," Leo dismissed, sighing, "worked myself into it, I think."

"Hmmm," Jon pursed his lips, not liking this one bit and Leo's fingers around his wrist twitched, he guided his hand to his chest, pressing Jon's hand over his heart.

"It's not a heart attack, Jonah," Leo breathed out, his cheeks turning pink, "although I might die from embarrassment alone."

"Don't be embarrassed," he said strongly, "I'd rather you freaked out and we came over to the hospital a thousand times than ignoring it and it ending up being something serious. I mean it, Leo. I'm glad you called me."

If this had been at the start of their relationship, or hell, even when Leo was going through a rough patch, he'd have tried dealing with it on his own. Jonah felt a wash of fondness and relieved, giddy happiness that was out of place and fueled by adrenaline, that Leo had trusted him so entirely.

"You're turning into a sap," Leo teased him, curling slightly on the cot, "so that's Chris, uh?"

"Yeah," Jonah scoffed, good mood popping like a soap bubble, "fucking asshole."

"I don't think I ever saw someone talk to you like that... Well, Luke sometimes, but you and Luke are different. You don't mean it."

"Sometimes I mean it," Jonah grumbled, moving his hand to cup Leo's neck, refusing to let go of him, "Luke can be a dick."

Leo snorted, rolled his eyes, "I imagined Chris different."

"Oh yeah? How so?" Jonah looked around, found a chair and pulled it closer with his foot, collapsing on it.

"Uglier," Leo whispered, "he's kind of handsome."

"Oh, disgusting," Jonah pulled back, his whole face scrunching up, "you have a fetish for mean doctors? Is that it? Ew, Leo, ew-"

Leo giggled, color returning to his cheeks and the tight knot in Jonah's chest loosened.

"Gross."

"I just have eyes," Leo huffed, "Wendy seems..."

"Apologetic? Concerned?"

"That too," Leo conceded, biting on his lip, "she doesn't look well, though."

"Yeah, I know," Jonah clasped their hands together, running his thumb over Leo's wedding band in a soothing manner, "I don't think she's ready for me to intervene just yet. She wants to apologize to Vince and Bell..."

"That's a start," Leo nodded, squeezing his hand right back, "you think things are gonna be okay?"

"I think if you can gossip then you can't possibly be having a heart attack," Jonah teased him, shoulders starting to drop. Leo let out a snort.

"I could gossip on my death bed."