“I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. But you know what, you think working here is everything to me?” he asks, gesturing to the hospital, the box, the scrubs.
"It is your life, Jax. It is how you survive."
"It’s a job, Max," he says softly. "It’s a calling, yeah. But it’s not everything."
He shifts the box.
"I would have flipped burgers," he says. "I would have driven a truck. I would have done anything, as long as I could come home to you."
The air leaves my lungs.
"But you?" Jax shakes his head. "You kept the job. And you’re going to be alone in that big, perfect office."
He steps around me.
"Merry Christmas, Dr. York."
He walks out.
I stand there. I stare at the empty desk. The blue tape line is still on the floor, peeling slightly at the edges.
The room is silent.
I spendthe day in a fog.
I do rounds. I check charts. I sign discharge papers for patients who want to be home for Christmas.
I am efficient. I am polite. I am dead inside.
At 4:00 PM, I run into Indira Singh in the breakroom. She is making tea. When she sees me, she flinches.
"Dr. York," she stammers. "I... I finished the post-op notes on Mr. Henderson."
"Thank you, Dr. Singh."
She hesitates. She looks at me, biting her lip.
"Is... is Dr. O'Connell okay?" she asks timidly. "He was in the bay earlier. He seemed... quiet."
"Dr. O'Connell is fine," I say mechanically. "He is a professional."
"Right," she says. "It’s just... the staff pool. We had a betting pool on you two."
I pause, my hand on the refrigerator door. "Excuse me?"
"On who would crack first," she admits, looking terrified. "Most of us bet on you. But... seeing you two together... we thought..."
She trails off.
"We thought you made him happy," she whispers. "He smiles more when you’re around. Or... he did."
She grabs her tea and flees the room.
I stand there, staring at the humming refrigerator.
We thought you made him happy.
I slam the refrigerator door shut.
