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In his time as doctor Michael has seen many daemons fall to Dust. The golden pearlescent shimmer Dust has in the harsh hospital lighting has, in recent times, been like a call of the void. He often finds himself comparing its golden shimmer to the luster of Leana’s coat. Her soft growl, followed by a short, brief bark, interrupts his train of thought.
Compose yourself, she reminds him harshly, a sombre dismay flowing through the bond.
He glances around him, quickly reminded where he is: at the foot of the bed of a 5-year-old’s gunshot victim. In the middle of his debriefing speech.
“Right,” he corrects himself. “We have a moment to spare. Let’s take a minute of reflection.”
Dr. Collins and Whitaker, who were the main doctors on the case, and Perlah nod somberly. Michael can feel the corner of his lip twitch up at Dennis quickly checking his phone before he closes his eyes. The memory of Dennis’s first day floats to the surface.
We shouldn’t be smiling, Leana reprimands him again, this time barely containing the laugh in her own internal voice. I know, I know. Serious thoughts now.
He feels only a mixed wry feeling in return as answer.
“Okay, thank you for that,” he addresses his team.
“Hey, you okay?” he stops Perlah before she leaves.
“Yeah… uh, yeah. Just gonna give Arturo here some water,” she says evasively, nodding to her black salamander on her shoulder. Her face is a mixture of pain and disbelief.
“Okay. Well, come talk to me or Dana if there is something,” he says, a sentence so daily uttered that it has become a staple of his.
She mutters a short “sure” and leaves him alone in Trauma Two.
A deep sigh wrestles itself out of his mouth.
Through the glass he sees Dennis remained behind, probably wanting to catch him to talk about something. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have said he too had a dog daemon like him, with the way his puppy-dog eyes were looking at him. Pitying him.
“God, I don’t need this right now,” he says out loud to Leana.
“Just a couple more hours and then we’re out,” she reassures him.
“Makes it sound like we are in some kind of prison,” he snarks.
Her face stares back with one eyebrow raised and her mouth in a frown, well as much as a golden retriever is capable of it. “No comment,” she says dryly.
“Right. Okay. Fuck,” he bites out, hands rubbing his neck. He does not want to go back out there. In fact, it feels like if he could just stay here long enough, maybe people will forget him and let him hide out a bit longer.
But no, Dennis has been glancing at him every so often outside, patiently waiting. Like a good boy, Leana provides.
“Yeah, okay. Nope, nope. Not thinking about that at work,” he denies himself, unable to ignore how Leana’s tail softly swivels whenever they are looking at him.
“Maverick was there while you were holding the minute of silence,” she states fondly. “Probably is back in that scrubs pocket of his by now.” Longing present in her voice.
“That’s… that’s good. Good for them…” Today was not the day he had energy to coach Dennis through his self-esteem issues.
Leana nudges his leg. “Patients in Central 20, 22, and North need rechecking. And McKay hasn’t given her update in half an hour. Gotta check there again.”
Like wading through mud, he slowly speeds up out of the door.
“Whitaker, you need me for anything?” he asks briskly.
A couple of emotions flicker across Dennis’s face. “Uh, yeah. I was wondering if you can look at a patient in South 13 for me.”
Robby beckons to him with his hand to walk and talk while they are on the way. Dennis understands and catches up with his pace. Good puppy, following so nicely. Leana smirks internally.
He gives her a stern look back before diverting his eyes again to Dennis on his other side.
“Uhm..So, woman, 21 years old. Came in half an hour ago. Practically fainted in the waiting room. Been in and out of consciousness, mental state altered. Very woozy. Still waiting on lab results. No obvious injuries. Pulse Ox low but steady. Could be drugs, illness—thinking sepsis, molly, or roofy pills. Guessing the latter because, strangely, her daemon has been sleeping the whole time. We haven’t been able to wake it up. Not even while she was briefly awake.”
Concern runs through his body. We missed something.
“Was she alert?”
“No.”
He starts running.
They arrive in South 15. Like before, the woman is still lying on the bed, her daemon—a red panda—still in the exact spot Dennis had left her.
Dennis’s hands hover over her mouth, then her pulse.
“We need a crash cart in here!” Dennis shouts, panicked. “Not again, not again,” he mumbles under his breath, climbing onto the bed to start resuscitation. Leana jumps up next to him, careful to stay out of his way.
“Differential diagnosis, Dr. Whitaker?” Dr. Robby questions.
Seconds later Jesse comes running, shock pads already in hand. They make quick work of sticking everything on.
“Uh… uh…” he pants. “Oxygen deprivation of the brain due to arterial blockade due to illness spreading, drug damage spreading to the frontal cortex, disregulating her ability to spontaneously breathe. Um.” He stammers on.
“All good options. Let’s check rhythm,” Robby says hurriedly. Dennis briefly stops compressions. Her heart rate on the monitor slowly putters.
“Okay, time for the shock.”
Dennis hops off the bed and, like he almost forgot, Robby quickly lifts up Leana, then drops her again the moment the shock goes off.
“Pupils still dilated, heart rhythm… 74… Oxygen… only 50” Dennis states, a questioning look thrown Robby’s way.
“Time for intubation,” Robby decides.
She is not gonna make it. Likely brain dead before we arrived, Leana speaks to him. She was always better at keeping a level head during crashes.
“I smell drugs,” she merely says out loud.
Much to the shock of Dennis, who is in the middle of holding the woman’s head, still wholeheartedly continuing the rescue, scope ready and aligning with her throat.
Throughout it all of it, Robby’s eyes keep flickering briefly over the woman’s daemon, lying motionless. Not even stirring during the shock or when Jesse brushes his arm past it to place lines.
Still they keep trying, because there might be a chance she pulls through. Highly unlikely. Leana provides somberly again.
He tries to ignore her.
He doesn’t want to see that gold shimmer again so soon after the last one. He is already drenched in enough Sin.
After a minute, the woman is fully hooked up to their machines. Intubator correctly in place. Good job Whitaker. Heart and oxygen back under control. They move her to a private room, and Robby instructs Whitaker to call her emergency contact and family services, see if they can get hold of her parents.
When Jesse has finished setting up all the wires, he pulls him softly to the side.
“And can you contact Emma from the ODC?” he whispers, a bit too loud. Whitaker’s head swivels towards them. Disbelief and then dread setting in on his face. “Sorry,” he adds softly, this time directed at Dennis.
“Balance, right?” Dennis chokes out, trying to keep his head high. Before he can answer, Dennis rushed out of the room.
“Let him cool off. It’s his third patient today,” Jesse’s daemon says from her perch next to the Pulse Ox screen. A hornbill bird. She is often quiet like her human. But Robby has noticed that she gets quite talkative during serious moments.
Leana nods back to her, acknowledging her comment.
“Uhm you got this?” He asks the man.
“Yeah.” Jesse replies.
And then he is out.
A while—and many conversations with Emma, social services, and later the family of the woman later—he finds Dennis sitting hunched over outside in the ambulance bay. Maverick is sitting in his lap. He is fondling his fluffy tail, running his hands over it repeatedly.
Robby takes a deep breath, finally enjoying some fresh air after hours of chemical cleaner smell clouding all around him.
He goes to sit next to him. Leana circles around and jumps up on the bench on Dennis’s other side. She rests her head in his lap, carefully as not to touch Maverick with her large snout. They don’t say anything. Just enjoying the silence together. The four of them. Staring into the city lights in the distance.
The sound of an ambulance song approaching has Dennis leaning into Robby’s side. Leana is not budging despite Robby fidgeting with his hand on his thigh.
He decides against it and folds his arm around Dennis’s side, earning a him a content hum and Dennis’s head resting on his shoulder. He briefly catches Dennis looking up at him before feeling something light press into his own lab. Maverick has moved over and is now curling in a ball in the dent of his legs.
Dennis stares expectantly at him. Michael doesn’t know what to do. Anything he wants to do feels like he doesn’t deserve it.
Then Dennis slowly, but boldly, lifts his hand and rests it on Leana’s neck, his thumb softly stroking her cheek in circles. Michael feels a warm shiver down his back. Like the feeling of a warm bath after a hard cold day. He wonders if Dennis could feel the same rushing to him.
He hesitates before touching Maverick—so small and delicate. He doesn’t really feel like he deserves any of it today. Not after losing three kids.
Dennis’s eyebrows knot together in a frown. Then he lifts his head and leans ever so more closer, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.
Micheal freezes for a second.
This isn’t the first time they’ve kissed, but it is the first time they’ve done so publicly. He decides he can always use the excuse that he was comforting Dennis, though that might apply for daemon touching, not so much the kissing.
He deepens the kiss, hand resting on Dennis’s cheek in mirror to his own on Leana. Though their lips are dry and rough from the hospital air, the touch still feels good. Soft and sweet. Dennis, usually an avid explorer, now moving muted.
He slowly pulls back, eyes fluttering, then lays his head once more on his shoulder. Micheal does the same, resting his own head against Dennis.
They remain like that. In their bubble of quiet and calm. Hoping the existential weight of life and death can remain away for just a little while longer.