A/N: This is a work of fiction. The following chapter contains dramatized scenes for the sake of entertainment. This does not contain accurate medical content, does not provide medical advice, and is not a realistic example of medical practice.

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"Do you have your lunch?" Aaron asks me. He's still buzzing around the kitchen getting us both ready for work. Other than sleeping in separate rooms, everything has started to return to normal. That comes with its own level of difficulty for me. Most days I don't know how I would maintain my sanity without him, but it isn't easy to navigate the vague place we're in. 

"I'll have to eat at work today, I won't get a break."

"You have to take your pills on time."

"I will try. If I'm a couple hours late, it's not going to hurt anything."

"That's not what your doctor said."

"I'm a doctor now, too," I remind him. "And I say it's fine." I give him a mischievous grin that makes him drop his stern façade.

With a grin, he gives in to my will. "Fine."

He leans forward and presses a kiss to my lips. An excited warmth spreads through me the same way it used to do. I haven't felt that in a long time. Long before he decided we shouldn't do that anymore.

His lips leave mine as quick as they came. He looks at me with a guilty expression. "Sorry," he says. "Habits."

"Yeah," I agree. "Habits."

He walks out through the back door to the garage. I listen as the door lowers to signal that he's gone. Then, I start to cry.

I don't know what I was expecting. We haven't said much more than two words about the breakup over the past few weeks. Avoiding it seemed the best way to ease awkwardness for him and the unwanted emotions from me, but with just one kiss, my brain goes right back to the bullshit.

"Ugh!" I groan. I wipe my tears away with my palm then grab my bag to go catch the train.

. . .

The day flies by when your shift is only eight hours and you don't want to go home. The children and their snot noses haven't been enough to distract me from the conversation I've been having with Aaron in my head. This is crazy, babe. Let's go to counseling and figure this out. And, you fucking broke my heart and now you want to be friends? We can't be friends! Fuck my credit, I want you out! I haven't quite decided which one feels best since they both make me want to burst into tears. 

Walking back from the lab, a bit of chaos up the hall catches my attention. A tall man stands with a crowd of kids and parents around him. Only after a second glance do I recognize him as Grace's dad. He stands out since he's approximately ten feet tall.

"What's up, grandma?"

I look over to find Grace. A smile pulls at my lips. "Not much, toddler."

"My dad's kind of busy, so I figured I'd hang out with you."

That's such an only child way of asking for company. "Thanks, I was feeling lonely."

"You look lonely. And tired."

I chuckle. "Thanks. That's the vibe I was going for." I plop into a chair at the nurse's station and pull another closer to me. "Sit."

She does so, leaning her elbows onto the desk. According to her chart, she's in week three of chemo. They gave her some time to let her arm heal, but Grace also didn't want to leave school or lose her hair. Since her counts were good, I guess they decided to try a cold cap and a slower pace for the first phase of treatment. Seems odd, but I'm no oncologist.

It's hard for queens to lose their crowns to chemotherapy, but Grace is maintaining hers exceptionally well. Now that her hair is cut shorter and starting to thin a bit, she looks even more like me than she did before. 

She looks up at me with her doe eyes and it makes my ovaries scream. "What's going on with your dad?" I ask to remind myself she's not my kid and I shouldn't be thinking about making one anytime soon. "He has a little fan club going on over there."

"Yeah, he plays ball for a small league you may have heard of. It's called the NBA."

"Oh," I say. "Wait. Really?" I lived in Texas for years, which makes me a football girl, but I still watch the finals on occasion. I hadn't recognized him, but knowing me, I wouldn't recognize Colin Kaepernick if he kneeled right in front of me. "That's cool."

"Yeah. Real cool." I don't need to be me to catch that sarcasm.

I turn to face her. "What's wrong?"

"The season starts soon, which means he'll be gone a lot. Which means my mom will be sad a lot, be crying a lot, and stop sleeping a lot more often," she explains. "Not a great time for me to have cancer."

"Grace, it is not your job to parent your parents," I say, knowing damn well I never learned that lesson as a kid. "Your mom would worry about you with or without this happening. That's literally her job."

She picks up a stuffed giraffe from the desk and plops it onto her lap. "I guess." She picks at the synthetic fur to distract herself. I see her brow tense with tears she won't cry in front of me. "Can you tell me what my chart says?"

"I can. Do you want to know your counts?"

"Yeah."

I pull them up on the tablet and show her. "This is last week and this is the week you came in. They have gone up."

"And that's good?"

"Yes, that's good."

"So, I still don't need a transplant?"

"Grace, no," I tell her. I set the tablet down and lean back in my chair. "Stop wishing for a transplant. Wish for remission."

She peers at me with a curious expression. "Why do you always touch your stomach every time I mention the transplant?" she asks.

My heart sinks with fear. I look down to find my hand exactly where she said. "I didn't know I was doing that," I murmur. The truth isn't easy to let out when you've packed it away so tightly. 

Her brows as she waits for an answer, but her father walks up to save the day. "Hi, Dr. Reece. Have you seen—there you are!"

"Here I am!" Grace exclaims.

"Ready to go?"

"Yep!" she springs from the chair, tossing the giraffe in my lap as she leaves. I watch her over the counter, waving to her when she turns back to look my way. And just like that, I'm alone again.

I glance at the clock and realize I'm alone because I'm late. "Shit!"

I run down the hall to the stairwell and sprint down them as fast as I trust myself. Pushing through the door I run through the lobby to the ER and find Corbin addressing the competition.

"Kill a patient, you're fucking dead," he ends his spiel. "Any questions?"

Everyone but me raises their hand. They are definitely new here.

Corbin scrubs his hands over his face. "Put your fucking hands down."

His usually well-kempt hair is a shuffled mess from all the times he's raked his hands through it. His scrubs have stains, the veins in his arms pronounced under the serpents on his forearm. He looks like he is about to explode. I hide my laughter so I don't piss him off, but I am enjoying this.

After a heavy sigh, he continues, "I have too much to do to babysit all of you at the same time and I'm definitely not going to learn your names, so don't bother." He looks between the four of us. "Denzel," he gestures to William. To be fair, I'd say he looks more like a skinny John David than Denzel, but I also wouldn't consider Corbin's nicknames to be especially highbrow. "Ortho is coming for a patient in bed four. Since you know them, tell them to not butcher my patient and wait for someone without fucking mallets for hands to do the sutures."

"Okay."

"Malibu Barbie," he barks. "Not sure why you thought it was important to wear makeup into an emergency department, but while you're at it, talk to the woman in bed three about . . . eyeshadow or some shit until OB decides to show up. Can you do that?"

"Yes, I can, Dr. Corbin."

"Great, thanks," he says in a mocking tone. "You two are with me."

We follow him and I enjoy the small comfort of not being the most confused person in the room. I know it was Chris who complained to the higher-ups that I was getting an unfair edge. I can't wait for Karma to come back and bite him right on his lily-white ass.

Corbin leans his elbows onto the counter and exchanges folders with Gertie, not a word needed between them. "Charts, Buttercup," is all he says to me. I circle around the desk and sit in front of the computer. I wonder how long Chris can stand the lack of attention before—

"Dr. Corbin?" he pipes up. A whole five seconds. Rad. Corbin gives him no more than a sideways glance. "I just wanted to let you know that I've been waiting for the opportunity to shadow you. Trauma surgery is my goal. Learning from a fellow Columbia alum is a dream."

I roll my eyes. Ugh. Just . . . so much ugh.

"I didn't go to Columbia, I went to Duke," Corbin says flatly while writing in a folder. "The 'Dr. Milo Corbin' you googled last night is probably my father."

"Oh, wow! Does medicine run in your family, too?"

Corbin looks unamused. "Wouldn't know. He walked out when I was six and never came back. I didn't get the chance to ask him about the family he didn't leave."

"O-oh." Chris' mouth hangs open while he searches for words. Poor baby. "We-well Duke is an excellent school and I'm looking forward to learning from a man of your stature and experience." Baby boy, what is you doin'?

Corbin turns to look at him and gives him a quizzical look. "Are you trying to give me a rim job?"

Chris' eyes widen. "Wha-what? N-no, I was—"

"Then stop kissing my ass, Prep School. Leave."

"Where . . . Where should I go, Dr. Corbin?"

"Away."

Chris blinks a few times in confusion and then turns on his heels to walk out of the ER. Corbin lays his head onto the counter with a sigh. This has by far been the best part of my day. 

"If I mention my father left when I was a baby, could we commiserate or would that make me more annoying?" I ask him.

He leans up and turns to me with a slow blink. "Don't try to use your Daddy Issues to get on my good side, Reece."

I nod. ". . . Annoying. Got it."

Gertie walks back over. "There's an unruly child situation happening around the woman in bed five."

"Handle that for me," Corbin commands me.

I look over the find a woman lying in the bed, two children wrestling and hitting each other on the floor, the other crying in the mother's lap. Oh, hell no. I'd rather someone vomit on me. 

"You know, I'm really not a fan of kids either," I tell him.

"You know, I really don't give a shit," he says and then walks away.

Only two hours left, I remind myself.

. . .

The front door creaks when it opens. A familiar sound that still gives me the creeps. As I lock it behind me, I hear, "I didn't know you'd be home tonight."

I look into the living room to find Aaron on the couch. He looks nice in his cardigan, his beard edged up and clean. "I'm only here for a few hours of sleep. I have the night shift, didn't want to sleep in one of the on-call rooms."

"Are you people still fuckin' in them?" he asks with a laugh.

"Yes, actually. I'm not sure anyone uses them to sleep."

He laughs harder as I sit next to him. A deep chuckle that makes my nerves melt away and a smile spread across my face.

I miss him. I miss having someone to acknowledge me for being worth something. I miss having someone to . . . decompress with after a long day. Something stirs inside me; desperation fueled by more than one primal instinct. My breathing slows and my brain focuses on only one thing.

"Do you want some sweet tea?" he asks me.

"No," I say, but I am feeling thirsty.

I press a kiss to his cheek and he doesn't shy away. Rather, he smiles. When I press another he chuckles again.

I crawl over him, sitting on his lap, staring him in the eyes. "What are you—?" is all he can say before I place a luscious kiss on his lips.

I'm horny. Simple as that. It's too hard to process emotions and thoughts enough to talk to him about what I want. I'd much rather communicate my needs without words.

He hums against my lips while I'm busy losing myself in his kiss. I tease the tip of his tongue with mine, then take his hand and place it on my breast. I know what he likes because I know how he ticks. His hand tightens, exciting me, awakening a desire I have ignored for too long.

Suddenly, he pulls away. "We can't be doing this, Nay," he says. He drops his hand from my chest.

"Why not?"

"If we're not together, we need to act like we're not together. Which means we can't keep having sex."

I'm confused and desperately afraid of getting rejected again. I grip his hands in mine, making him cling to me. "Why can't we be friends with benefits or something?"

"Because we're not doing much to be friends. And sex isn't going to benefit us right now."

It feels like it would benefit the ache between my thighs. "Just once?"

"It's never just once with you." He pulls me from him. I slouch on the couch next to him and cross my arms.

Sex is a very good distraction. My favorite one, actually. Not having it is only making my frustration worse. When he stands and goes to grab his keys, I get confused.

"Where are you going?" I ask him, hoping he isn't leaving just to escape me.

He hesitates before turning back to me. "I have a date," he says. My heart sinks to the floor.

Life is one catty bitch.

. . .

Staggering through the ICU, I feel like death warmed over. I wasn't able to sleep like I had planned. I was too frustrated—in more ways than one—to let my mind rest. After a forty-five-minute nap, I felt more tired than before. Now, I'm scalding my mouth on a triple shot in an attempt to compensate.

I'm pissed. My levels of frustration have gone through the roof and now I am angry at everything. I hate Aaron, I hate that I still want him because I hate the thought of being alone, and I hate that I hate being alone in the first place.

I'm starting to understand what he meant before. Having him walk away from me hurt me, but being close to him knowing he has zero interest in me as a person . . . That is the feeling I most want to avoid, yet it is exactly what I had been doing to him before.

I get it, Karma, I get it.

Dealing with the ER hand-offs from the crazy hour is much less exciting. I yawn as I give a rundown on the last few patients. "Mr. Sutton needs continuous IV fluids. Room four, Ms. Pacheco needs another blood panel run prior to her surgery tomorrow morning."

"Great. Thank you, doctor." The nurse leaves. It still felt odd when people called me by my title rather than my name. Odd in a good way.

I am mid-yawn when Mariposa jogs into my path. Things were tense for a while after the preeclampsia case, but I made nice with her as soon as I calmed myself down. If I learned anything from my mother, it's that a machine does not run from the top down. The people at the bottom deserve just as much respect as the people at the top getting paid six figures while killing a tenth of their patients. 

Doctors would be nothing without nurses. That is something my colleagues tend to forget.

"Naomi—uh, I mean Dr. Reece."

"You can call me by my name, Mari," I say with a smile. "Nay works, too."

She shakes her head. "The patient in room six is sixty-five, showing signs of early signs of dementia, and was admitted for abdominal pain. He has acute renal failure following a CT with contrast. He was saying he was in pain but couldn't tell us where, now he's becoming combative."

"Combative how?"

"He's lashing out, yelling, throwing things at the other nurses."

"Um . . ." I yawn, yet again. "Give him 50mgs of diazepam to calm him down. Be careful when you're in there and don't go alone," I tell her. "Keep me updated on his test results."

"Will do."

When I walk past the on-call room, my tread slows. I want to be in there, and not just to sleep. Regardless of how much Aaron upset me earlier, my exhaustion was taking over. The other patients are solid, sleeping, being monitored by the nurses and other staff. I could take a break.

Maybe just a little nap.

I debate tapping on the door, but at this point, I don't care if someone's having sex, I just want a bed. Inside, I find Corbin lying on top of the sheets, his pager in front of his face. Wow, creatures of the darkness need sleep, too? Interesting. 

I stare at him for a moment, wondering if I should find another room or not.

"Close the door," he grumbles.

"Sorry, I thought you were asleep."

"I would be if you'd close the fucking door."

I do as he suggests, then slip onto the bed across the room from him. Lying down under the sheet, I tuck my pager under my side and place the tablet close. The room looks blue in the light that spills under the door, which is good considering I don't sleep well in complete darkness. The bad part is that it allows me to see I have company.

I feel awkward. I haven't slept in a room with someone I wasn't having sex with since the dorms. Corbin is only six feet away, lying on his stomach with one arm tucked under his pillow and the other hanging off the side of the bed. His dark waves hang into his face, his black scrubs bunched, yet still tight against his body. He looks vulnerable. Accessible. I could easily smother him to death, or . . . No. I only want to smother him, right?

Do I think Dr. Corbin is hot? Answer:

. . .

I jolt awake after what feels like two minutes of sleep. My pager is going off, reading Code - ICU 6. Room six? That's my renal failure patient. I open my tablet to check on his status, and when I see the test results, my blood runs cold. 

I grab my pager and run out of the room.

Nervously, I rush down the hall to the patient's room. Three nurses, including Mariposa, are frantically tending to the patient. "How did this happen?" I asked them.

"We don't know. The test came back and his numbers are all over the place."

"His kidneys are failing." Thank God this man is unconscious. "Something had to have happened."

"Did I do something wrong? Did I miss something?" she asks with tears in her eyes. "Oh my god. Please don't tell Corbin. I started at the same time you did. I'm still new and I'm still learning but he doesn't care. He'll fire me in a second if he finds out."

"Trust me, I get it." Mariposa isn't at fault for this as much as I will be, but shit rolls downhill and Corbin is full of it. I sort through the problem in my head and come to the best solution I can. "We need to push fluids now."