Maybe it’s because I’m not alone in the bunker anymore. Maybe it’s because I know that when I go to sleep tonight, he’ll be there, anchoring the perimeter.
"So," Max says, sitting back down. "Dr. Singh tells me she won fifty dollars in the betting pool."
"Did she?" I grin. "Smart girl. Who did she bet on?"
"She bet that I would crack first."
"She wasn't wrong," I say. "You did break into a secure on-call room to read me anatomy textbooks."
"That was a medical intervention."
"That was foreplay."
Max flushes pink. It’s adorable.
"You are incorrigible," he mutters.
Before I can respond, the tones drop.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The sound echoes through the ceiling speakers. The PA system crackles to life.
"Code Blue. Emergency Room. Bay 1. Cardiac Arrest. ETA 2 minutes."
Max freezes. His head snaps up. The "Chief" mask slides halfway back into place—focused, sharp, ready.
He looks at me. He looks at my sling.
"You are on administrative duty," he reminds me.
"I’m on light duty," I correct him. I stand up. My ribs twinge, but I ignore it. "I can't do compressions, but I can run the code. You’re gonna need someone to yell at the residents."
Max hesitates. He looks at the sling. He looks at my eyes.
He sees that I need this. That even injured, I need the work. I need the rhythm.
"Fine," Max says. He stands up and buttons his white coat. "But you do not touch a patient. You supervise. If you lift anything heavier than a stethoscope, I will sedate you myself."
"Understood, sir."
We walk to the door.
Max opens it. He pauses.
He looks back at the office. The two desks pushed together. The espresso machine humming. The sun streaming through the glass wall of the Fishbowl.
"Ready?" he asks.
I step up beside him. Our shoulders brush. I don't pull away. He doesn't pull away.
"Always," I say.
We walk out into the hallway together.
The ER is loud. It’s chaotic.Thunderstruckis playing faintly from the nurses' station.
We walk side by side, matching step for step. The Ice King and the Trauma Cowboy. The order and the chaos.
