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Luka didn’t say a word on the way out of the hospital.
Carter had seen him like this before. The locked jaw, the rigid shoulders, the silence that felt like a wound in the air. But tonight it was different. Tonight he looked hollowed out, like something had taken a scoop out of his chest and left him trying to walk around with the missing weight.
The shift had been brutal for everyone, but Luka had caught the worst of it. Too many traumas, too many losses stacked one after the other until the last one (a kid, always a kid) cracked that thin ice he walked on whenever he pretended he was fine.
Carter didn’t ask what happened. He’d seen Luka’s face the moment he stepped out of trauma two. That had been enough.
So he just walked beside him through the dark parking lot, matching Luka’s pace, waiting for him to breathe again. Luka’s hands were shaking by the time he slid into the passenger seat of the car. Not dramatically. Just the small, uneven tremors that came when he was fighting with himself not to feel.
“Seatbelt,” Carter murmured, not pushing, not hurrying.
Luka fumbled with it. Carter leaned over gently, clicked it into place, and Luka shut his eyes like the simple kindness of that might actually break him.
They didn’t speak the entire drive home.
Only when they were inside the apartment with the door closed and the lights still off did Luka finally let out a breath. A rough, shaking exhale that sounded like it had been trapped for hours.
“Hey,” Carter said softly. “Let me take care of you, okay?”
Luka didn’t protest. He didn’t have the strength for the usual I’m fine, or the stiff nod that meant he wasn’t. He just stood there in the dim entryway, eyes unfocused, like he wasn’t entirely present.
Carter stepped closer, fingers brushing Luka’s sleeve. “Arms up.”
Luka obeyed, slow and mechanical. Carter tugged the ruined, sweat-stiffened shirt off him, careful with every movement. The undershirt came off next. Luka shivered at the loss of warmth.
“Let’s get these off too,” Carter murmured, undoing Luka’s belt with the same gentleness someone would use to unwrap a bandage. Luka didn’t say anything, but his breath caught once on a shaky, broken little sound when Carter pushed the fabric down his hips and helped him step out of the rest.
Carter grabbed a soft pair of sweats and one of his oldest, warmest t-shirts. The one Luka always stole without asking. He eased his arms through the sleeves, pulled the shirt down over tense shoulders, and guided him into clean clothes piece by piece.
Luka looked smaller like this. Or maybe it was just the exhaustion making all his sharp edges dull.
Once he was dressed, Carter took his hand, the touch so light Luka could’ve pulled away if he needed to, and led him to the bedroom.
“Sit,” Carter said gently.
Luka sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands limp between them. He looked like he was staring at the floor, but his eyes didn’t seem to focus on anything.
Carter knelt in front of him, resting his hands on Luka’s thighs. “Hey.”
It took several seconds before Luka’s throat worked around the words, “I lost him.”
Carter didn’t ask who. He didn’t need to. Luka carried every patient he lost like they belonged to him.
He simply leaned forward and rested his forehead against Luka’s sternum. “I know.”
Luka’s fingers twitched in Carter’s hair, not holding, just touching, as if remembering how contact worked.
“Come lie down,” Carter whispered.
He guided Luka back, settling him under the blankets, then slid in beside him. Luka immediately curled in, rigid at first, then slowly, painfully slowly, let himself melt against his chest. His breath stuttered when Carter wrapped an arm around him.
Carter stroked a hand up and down Luka’s back, slow, steady, grounding. Luka pressed his face into Carter’s shoulder, a quiet tremor running through him.
“I didn’t—” Luka began, voice cracking apart. “I didn’t want to fail him.”
“You didn’t fail anyone,” Carter murmured. “You did everything you could. It was never on you.”
Luka shook his head, but he didn’t pull away. And when the first quiet, barely there sob escaped him, Carter only held him tighter, combing his fingers through Luka’s hair.
Luka didn’t cry loudly, he never did. But the silent, shuddering grief was somehow worse. Like his body was trying to hold it all in even as it split him open.
Carter whispered to him softly, nonsense words, soothing rhythms, anything to keep Luka anchored, “I’ve got you… I’m here… just breathe with me…”
After a long time (minutes, maybe hours) Luka finally sagged fully into him, exhaustion overpowering everything else. His breaths evened out, still shaky but calmer, his weight settling trustingly on Carter’s chest.
Carter kept holding him even then, even after Luka’s eyes closed and his body went heavy with sleep. He kept running his hand over his back, brushing his thumb across his shoulder.
He knew Luka would wake before dawn. He always did after nights like this. The memories would claw their way back up and Carter would be there again, ready to hold him through the next storm.
But for now, for this quiet, fragile moment, Luka slept against him. Safe and warm and not alone.
Carter pulled the blanket up around them both and pressed a soft kiss to Luka’s temple.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, even though Luka was already asleep. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And he didn’t. He stayed right there, holding Luka through the night, keeping him together until morning could try again.