Archive of Our Own

The guy had disliked Keegan from the second she walked into the room.

Not in the usual way people disliked emergency doctors. She could deal with impatient, angry, scared, drunk, high, confused, or some combination of all five. This was different. He'd looked her up and down when she came in, taking in the scrubs, the badge clipped against her chest, and finally her face as though something about the collection personally offended him.

"You're the doctor?"

Keegan paused beside the tray. "Last time I checked."

"I asked for a doctor."

She glanced down at herself, giving the front of her scrubs a cursory inspection before looking back at him. "Still looking like one."

That hadn't helped. Maybe humour wasn’t the play with this one.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his left arm resting on the tray in front of him, a laceration along his forearm already irrigated and ready to be closed. It should've been easy. Local anaesthetic, sutures, dressing, discharge. Instead, they'd spent the last ten minutes debating whether Keegan was qualified to do her own job.

"I want an older doctor," he said.

"You've got me."

"A man."

There it was. Don’t make me laugh.

Keegan looked up from opening the suture kit. "You've still got me."

He gave a contemptuous little scoff. "How old are you, twenty-five?"

"Thank you."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Is there a problem?" Robby's voice came from behind her. Keegan didn't bother turning around, still sorting the instruments on the tray.

"Apparently I'm twenty-five."

"Congratulations."

The patient pointed at her with his good hand. "I want somebody else doing this."

Robby stepped properly into the room, his expression already carrying that particular exhausted patience reserved for situations that should never have required his involvement. He positioned himself beside Keegan rather than in front of her, making it clear he wasn't there to take over.

"Dr Keegan is a fourth-year resident," he said. "She's more than competent to repair your arm."

"I don't want some girl practising on me."

Keegan's jaw tightened.

"She's not practising," Robby said, the patience in his voice thinning. "She's a physician."

"I said I want a man."

"And I said Dr Keegan is perfectly capable of treating you."

The patient stared at Robby for a few seconds, apparently deciding whether the argument was worth continuing, before looking back at Keegan.

"Whatever."

Robby glanced at her. Keegan gave him a small nod. She'd dealt with worse.

He lingered for another second, long enough to make sure she actually meant it, then stepped back out into the department. Keegan pulled her stool closer and settled beside the patient's arm.

"All right," she said, drawing the tray back into position. "I'm going to finish closing this. If you feel anything sharp, tell me."

The patient didn't answer.

Honestly, she preferred it that way.

For the next few minutes, the only sounds were the movement outside the room and the quiet clink of instruments against the tray. Keegan worked steadily, keeping her attention on the wound and ignoring the tension radiating from the man beside her.

Then he shifted.

"Try to keep your arm still," she said.

"You're pulling."

"I'm holding the skin together."

"You're hurting me."

Keegan stopped immediately and lifted her hands away. "Okay. Sharp pain or pressure? Does it actually hurt, or can you just feel me touching you?"

His expression hardened. "You're hurting me."

"All right. I can give you a little more local."

She put the instruments down, already reaching for what she needed, when he scoffed.

"I knew you didn't know what you were doing."

Keegan looked at him.

There were moments in emergency medicine where every possible response flashed through her head and she had to deliberately select the one least likely to get her called into somebody's office.

"You're allowed to feel pressure while I'm suturing," she said evenly. "If you're feeling pain, I can fix that."

"You screwed it up."

"I haven't screwed anything up."

He shoved the tray away.

It clattered sideways, instruments scattering across the floor.

Keegan stood instinctively. "Sir—"

He shoved her.

Hard.

She wasn't expecting it. The stool caught behind her leg and she stumbled backwards, shoulder striking the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of her.

For a second, she only stared at him.

The situation had changed so quickly that her brain hadn't caught up with it yet. One moment she'd been treating a difficult patient. Now he was standing and she was against the wall with an overturned tray between them.

Danger finally cut through the shock.

"Okay." Keegan raised her hands and started towards the doorway. "We're done."

He moved.

She saw his arm come up, but there wasn't enough time to get out of the way.

His fist caught her across the face.

Keegan hit the floor.

The impact stunned her. Her hip and shoulder struck first, followed by the back of her head, and for several seconds she couldn't seem to pull together a complete thought. There was shouting somewhere above her, footsteps and somebody yelling for security, but all she could focus on was the pain spreading through her nose and behind her eyes.

She touched her upper lip without thinking.

Her fingers came away wet with blood.

"Oh, shit."

The words barely made it out.

Whittaker rushed into the room as the patient moved towards her again, putting himself between them and forcing the man back. The patient was still making a racquet, but Keegan couldn't make sense of the words anymore. Security appeared in the doorway almost immediately and took over, getting the man away from her and out into the hall.

The second they had him, Whittaker turned around.

Keegan had managed to push herself into a sitting position against the wall. Blood was running from her nose, over her lip and down her chin. Her eyes watered uncontrollably, whether from pain or shock she couldn't tell, and no matter how hard she tried, her breathing remained shallow.

"Are you okay!?"

Whittaker crouched in front of her.

Keegan looked at him.

For once, nothing sarcastic came to mind.

"I think he broke my nose."

Her voice sounded strange to her. Quiet. Unsteady.

Whittaker's expression tightened, but he kept his own voice calm. "Don't move yet."

He stayed directly in front of her, one hand hovering close to her shoulder without touching. His eyes moved over her face before flicking towards the back of her head where it had struck the floor.

Dana appeared in the doorway a moment later. She took in the overturned tray first, then Whittaker crouched on the floor. Then Keegan.

"Oh, Rory."

She was beside her almost immediately.

Keegan swallowed, tasting blood from where her lip had split against her teeth. "He just—"

The words stopped.

Her eyes went instead to the doorway the patient had disappeared through.

Dana followed her gaze and understood. "He's gone. Security has him."

Keegan nodded, though the information didn't seem to change what her body was doing.

Dana gently took her wrist to check her pulse while Whittaker stayed close.

"Did you lose consciousness?" Dana asked. "Do you remember hitting the floor?"

"I don't think I blacked out. I remember going down."

Keegan nodded carefully, and the movement sent another pulse of pain through her face and head. Her eyes squeezed shut.

"Okay. Don't move your head if you can help it."

Keegan opened her eyes again.

There were people looking into the room from the hall now—nurses, residents, somebody from transport—and she became abruptly aware of how exposed she was. She was sitting on the floor with blood down the front of her scrubs while half the department watched.

Her hands started trembling.

She curled her fingers towards her palms, but Dana noticed anyway.

"Let's get you somewhere quieter."

Between her and Whittaker, they helped Keegan slowly to her feet. Her knees felt unsteady when she first put weight through them, and Whittaker's hand immediately came around her upper arm.

"I've got you."

Keegan didn't argue.

That frightened her more than anything, of course she normally would've.

They moved through the hall with Keegan's eyes down and gauze held beneath her nose. The department seemed louder than it had five minutes earlier—monitors, voices, phones, wheels against the floor. Everything felt too close.

Dana found an empty room a few bays down and guided her inside before pulling the curtain closed.

The separation from the department helped.

A little.

Keegan sat on the bed and looked down at herself. There was blood on her scrub top, more across her hands, her knuckles white around the gauze she held beneath her nose. Her hands were still shaking when the curtain opened and Robby came through.

His eyes landed on her and stopped there.

Whatever he'd been about to say disappeared as his gaze moved over the swelling across her nose, her split lip and the blood on her scrubs.

"Keegan."

She looked up at him. "I'm okay."

It was automatic.

Robby didn't challenge it.

Instead, he moved closer. "Tell me what happened."

Keegan swallowed before answering. "He shoved me first. I tried to leave, and he punched me before I got to the door."

"And you went down?"

"Yeah. Hit my head on the floor." She paused, trying to pull the sequence together properly. "I don't think I blacked out."

Robby kept his eyes on hers as he worked through the next questions—headache, nausea, dizziness. Keegan admitted to the headache immediately and, after a brief hesitation, some dizziness too.

"Okay."

That was all.

No lecture. No attempt to make her feel better. Just calm acknowledgement as he reached for his penlight and began checking her pupils.

The curtain shifted again and Mel came in carrying a basin and supplies.

She had clearly already heard. Keegan could tell from her face before she even stopped beside the bed. "Rory—"

That nearly did it. Keegan looked away. "I'm okay."

Mel set everything down without answering, pulled a stool closer and sat in front of her. "Let me clean you up."

Keegan nodded.

Mel started carefully at her cheek, wiping away the blood that had smeared there. Her touch was slow and gentle, giving Keegan time whenever she flinched, while Robby continued his examination and Dana quietly gathered what they would need next. Whittaker remained outside the curtain, close enough that Keegan could see part of his shoulder through the gap.

Nobody said much.

The adrenaline was wearing off, and that was almost worse. Her face throbbed with every heartbeat, her head ached and the bridge of her nose was swelling. Every time Mel's gauze came anywhere near it, Keegan's fingers tightened around the mattress.

Mel noticed. Her free hand settled over Keegan's, she looked at her.

Mel didn't offer some useless reassurance or ask whether she was all right. She simply kept her hand there while she continued carefully cleaning Keegan's chin.

Dana stayed until the bleeding had slowed. By then, most of the blood had been cleaned from Keegan's face, leaving only the dried blood immediately beneath her nose that neither of them wanted to disturb until Robby had properly examined it.

Keegan still had hold of Mel's hand. She hadn't really noticed. Dana had. She exchanged a brief look with Robby before touching Mel lightly on the shoulder. "Come on. Give him some room."

Mel looked reluctant.

Keegan finally released her hand and managed a small nod. "I'm okay."

Mel clearly didn't believe that was the whole story, but she didn't make Keegan defend it either.

Dana pulled the curtain aside and ushered Mel out with her. Whittaker had disappeared back into the department at some point, though Keegan suspected he hadn't gone far.

Then the curtain closed. It was just her and Robby.

He rolled the stool closer and sat in front of her. "All right. Let me see."

Keegan lowered the gauze. The bleeding had mostly stopped, though her nose was badly swollen now. She watched Robby tilt the examination light towards her and pull on a fresh pair of gloves.

"Don't tell Abbot."

Robby's hands stopped.

Only for a second.

Then he moved closer and gently took her chin. "Look straight ahead."

"Robby."

"I heard you."

Keegan held his gaze. "Then say you won't."

He didn't.

That wasn't promising.

Robby studied her nose from the front and either side, careful not to touch yet. Bruising was already developing across the bridge and beneath one eye, and the swelling made it difficult to tell how much of what he was seeing was actual displacement.

"When does he get here?" he asked.

"Seven." Keegan kept her face still while he examined her. "I'll tell him then. I'll see him at handover and tell him myself."

"You're not going to be here at seven."

Her brow furrowed. "What?"

"Eyes on me."

She reluctantly refocused.

Robby checked her pupils again and moved through the rest of a brief neurological assessment. They were equal and reactive, her eye movements normal despite the worsening pressure behind them.

Once he was satisfied, his attention returned to her nose.

"I'm going to touch it now," he warned. "Tell me where it hurts."

"Everywhere."

Robby gave her a look but started gently along the upper bridge.

Keegan flinched.

He moved slightly lower and she sucked in a breath. "Jesus—yeah. There."

His touch immediately eased.

Robby didn't keep pressing once he'd established the tenderness. He checked the bridge and sidewalls as carefully as possible for instability or obvious displacement without manipulating the injury unnecessarily.

Keegan's eyes watered again.

She stared determinedly past his shoulder.

"There's a lot of swelling," Robby said eventually, sitting back. "I'm not going to start trying to move anything around."

Keegan touched her tongue carefully to the split in her lip. "So it's broken."

"I think there's a nasal fracture, yes."

She closed her eyes.

She had known. Obviously she'd known.

But knowing while sitting on the floor with blood running down her face and hearing another doctor clinically confirm it were two different things.

"Holy shit."

Robby gave her a moment before reaching for an otoscope. He examined each nostril carefully, checking the septum, and Keegan heard herself ask what he was looking for even though she already knew.

"Septal hematoma."

Apparently being the patient had removed half her medical education from her head.

Robby checked the other side, then lowered the otoscope. "None. No persistent bleeding, septum looks okay, and I don't see anything that needs to be dealt with emergently."

That was something, at least.

"So what, ENT?"

"Once the swelling comes down enough to assess alignment properly. ENT or plastics, depending on what it looks like and what they recommend." He stripped off the gloves and tossed them away before adding, "And you're getting your head scanned."

Keegan immediately opened her mouth.

Robby raised a hand before she could start. "You hit your head hard enough to have a headache and dizziness after being punched to the floor. You can be neurologically intact on your way to CT."

She stared at him.

He stared back.

There was absolutely no movement there.

"Fine," she muttered. "But after that I'm coming back."

"No. You're going home as soon as you're medically cleared."

"I'm scheduled until seven."

"Not anymore."

Keegan stared at him properly now. "It's four o'clock. I'm not leaving three hours early because I've got a broken nose."

"You're not leaving because you've got a broken nose." Robby's tone remained frustratingly calm. "You're leaving because you were assaulted, hit your head on the floor, you're dizzy, you've got a headache, and I don't want you treating patients for the next three hours."

Her jaw tightened. "I'm fine to work."

Robby's expression softened slightly. "Keegan. You just got attacked by a patient. You don't have to go straight back out there."

That made her look down.

Most of the blood was gone from her hands now, Mel having cleaned between her fingers, but there was still a faint reddish stain around one nail.

"I don't want him to be the reason I leave."

"He isn't."

"It feels like it."

Robby paused, then nodded. "I know."

Silence settled between them.

Keegan picked at the edge of the gauze in her lap. There was another thought circling underneath everything else, one she'd been trying very hard not to think about.

It slipped out anyway.

"If I go home now, Jack's going to know."

Robby leaned back slightly. "That's what you're worried about?"

"No."

It came far too quickly.

Robby's expression didn't change.

Keegan sighed. "Partly. I was going to tell him myself. At seven."

"You still can."

"From home?"

"Yes."

Keegan gave him a tired, disbelieving look. "He'll freak out, Robby. He'll come over. He's working tonight."

"Then tell him not to."

"He doesn't listen."

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of Robby's mouth. "That sounds like an Abbot problem."

Keegan stared at him.

"You're really making me go home even if the CT is clear."

"Especially if the CT is clear. Then I can send you home without worrying there's something more serious going on."

The fight drained out of her a little.

"Okay."

Robby seemed almost surprised by how easily it came.

Then Keegan looked away and added, much quieter, "Please don't tell him before I do."

That was different.

Robby studied her for a moment. Her shoulders had dropped, exhaustion beginning to replace the adrenaline that had kept her upright since the attack.

"Okay," he said finally. "I'll give you the chance to tell him yourself."

It wasn't quite the promise she'd asked for.

But it was probably the best she was going to get.

Robby stood. "Now we're getting that CT."

This time, Keegan didn't argue.

By the time she came back from CT, nearly forty minutes had passed since the assault.

The bleeding had stopped, but her nose had swollen considerably and bruising was beginning to settle beneath her eyes. Her split lip had darkened against skin that was otherwise unusually pale. Someone in radiology had given her an ice pack wrapped in a pillowcase, and she kept it pressed carefully over the lower half of her face as she walked back into the department.

Her headache was worse.

Nothing dramatic. Just a persistent pressure behind her forehead and eyes with the sharper throb of her nose layered over it.

Robby had told her to wait for the report. He hadn't specifically said where, so Keegan returned to the central station.

Usually, sitting there meant immediately becoming part of the movement around her. There was always a chart to review, a result to chase, a student with a question.

Normal work, that was what she wanted. Several heads lifted when she approached, but Keegan ignored them and took her usual seat. She set the ice pack beside the keyboard and logged in.

Before she could open the board, Santos reached over and took the mouse from her hand.

"No."

Keegan turned towards her. "Santos."

"You are waiting for a CT report."

"I can wait and work at the same time."

"Not happening."

Santos moved the mouse well out of reach.

Keegan glanced around the station for support and found an impressive number of people suddenly absorbed in their screens. Then she looked at the board and realised her name was gone.

Her patients were still there.

They'd just been redistributed amongst the rest of the team.

"You reassigned my patients?"

Santos didn't look particularly guilty. "We reassigned your patients. Your charts are covered too."

Keegan stared at the board.

Rationally, she understood. She shouldn't be responsible for patients while waiting on imaging after a head injury. It was exactly what she would've done if any of them were sitting where she was.

It still left an uncomfortable hollow feeling in her chest.

Less than an hour ago she'd been treating someone. Now she was sitting in the middle of her own department with a broken nose while everyone quietly worked around her.

"Keegs." Santos's voice had softened.

Keegan picked up the ice pack again and pressed it carefully over her face. "I know."

That seemed to be enough.

Santos went back to work and, thankfully, nobody made a production out of looking after her.

The department carried on around them. Monitors alarmed, phones rang, nurses crossed behind the station calling for orders, a student presented a patient while somebody else argued with radiology over the phone.

Usually Keegan would've been woven into all of it.

Instead, she sat and listened.

Now that the adrenaline had faded, she was becoming aware of the rest of the impact. Her shoulder and hip ached. Her head felt heavy, and every so often the pounding in her nose sharpened enough that she had to shut her eyes.

When she did, she saw the room again.

The tray going sideways.

The sudden shove.

His shoulder turning towards her.

Keegan opened her eyes and focused on the station instead. Bright lights. Familiar voices. People she knew. A few minutes later, one of the medical students approached with a chart already open. "Dr Keegan, could I ask—"

The student looked up properly and faltered.

Keegan recognised the expression immediately and gestured towards the chart before they could say anything about her face. "What've you got?"

"Sore throat, fever, cervical lymphadenopathy. Rapid strep is pending."

"Okay. Did you—"

"Absolutely not," Mel said beside her.

Keegan turned. "I'm answering a question."

"You're going to answer one question, check one result, and somehow acquire three patients before anyone notices."

Keegan opened her mouth, then closed it.

She couldn't entirely argue with the logic.

With a resigned sigh, she directed the student towards another resident and settled back into her chair.

The next trauma alert came through a few minutes later.

Keegan reacted before she thought.

The ice pack went down and she started to stand with everyone else, only for Mel to catch her gently by the arm.

"Rory."

That was all it took.

Keegan stopped.

Across the department, the trauma team was already moving. She watched them disappear towards the bay while every instinct in her told her to follow.

For the first time since she'd come back downstairs, real frustration showed on her face.

She hated sitting there.

She hated hurting.

Most of all, she hated that somebody else's decision to hit her had taken the rest of her shift out of her hands.

But her head hurt, her CT hadn't been read, and Santos was right.

Keegan lowered herself back into the chair.

Neither of them said anything about it.

A few minutes later, a coffee appeared beside her elbow.

Whittaker had set it down on his way past without interrupting whatever conversation he was having with one of the interns.

Keegan caught his eye. "Thanks, Whit."

He gave her a small nod and continued on.

No questions. No checking.

Just coffee.

Keegan wrapped both hands around the warm cup.

Around her, the ED kept moving.

For now, all she could do was sit in the middle of it and wait.

Eventually, she pulled her phone from her pocket.

She'd been trying not to think about Abbot. It was easier when she could pretend she still had three hours left in her shift and would simply see him at seven like she usually did, somewhere in the chaos of days handing itself over to nights.

Robby had ruined that plan.

Keegan opened their messages. The last thing there was from the night before was Abbot telling her he'd made it home after she'd complained that he never remembered to let her know.

She stared at it for a moment before typing.

R- What time are you coming in today?

She sent it and put the phone face-down beside her coffee.

It buzzed less than a minute later.

J- 7. Why?

Keegan picked it up.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected. Maybe six-thirty, which would've somehow made all of this easier. She could wait around, tell him in person, and let him see that she was upright and coherent before he had time to imagine anything worse.

Seven meant there was no chance Robby would let her stay.

R- Just wondering.

Abbot's reply came quickly.

J- You're at work. So why are you asking when I'm coming in?

Keegan should've known better.

Abbot noticed things. It was one of the qualities she liked about him considerably more when those things weren't about her.

She glanced sideways at Santos, who was thankfully focused on something else, then typed.

R- I might not be here at handover.

J- Why?

She stared at the single word.

There was nothing actually preventing her from typing a patient hit me.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.

She couldn't do it.

Not because she thought he'd be angry. Abbot would know better than that. But she knew exactly what would happen the second he read it without context. He wouldn't know Robby had examined her. He wouldn't know she'd already had a CT or that the bleeding had stopped.

He'd only know somebody had hurt her.

R- Robby's making me leave early.

The answer appeared almost immediately.

J- Why is Robby making you leave early?

Of course.

Keegan closed her eyes.

She should've said she had an appointment.

R- Forgot I have an appointment.

She read it back.

It was terrible.

She sent it anyway.

Abbot didn't answer for long enough that Keegan put the phone down and took a careful sip of coffee. When it buzzed again, the message was exactly the follow-up she'd been hoping he wouldn't ask.

J- What appointment?

There was no version of this lie that was going to survive scrutiny.

She briefly considered dentist, then doctor, both of which were ridiculous for different reasons, before settling on:

R- Nothing exciting. I'll tell you later. Have a good shift x

Keegan paused over the little x before sending it.

It wasn't entirely unusual anymore. It had started appearing occasionally over the last few weeks, usually late at night or after one of them had gotten home from the other's place. Still, putting it there now felt suspiciously like an attempt to distract him.

His reply took nearly a minute.

J- Rory.

Her stomach dropped slightly.

No question.

Just her name.

He knew something was off.

R- Jack, I'm fine.

This time, his response was immediate.

J- I didn't ask if you were fine.

Keegan read it twice.

Maybe lying to him had been a bad idea.

She still couldn't bring herself to tell him over text.

R- I'll talk to you later, okay?

Abbot didn't answer immediately.

Eventually, her phone buzzed once.

J- Okay.

She knew him well enough to know that did not mean he was satisfied.

Keegan locked the phone.

She would call him once she got home. She'd have her CT results by then, know exactly what they were dealing with, and she could tell him herself before anybody else had the chance.

That was better.

At least, that was what she told herself.

When Robby finally returned and finished the repeat neurological exam, he rolled back slightly on the stool.

"Okay. You're medically cleared."

Relief lasted all of two seconds.

"So I can go back to work."

Robby looked at her. "No. You can go home."

Keegan's expression fell. "The CT is clear. My neuro exam is normal and I'm not dizzy anymore."

"And you've got a headache, a broken nose and you were assaulted less than two hours ago."

"Probable broken nose."

Robby looked pointedly at her face.

Keegan lowered the ice pack enough to reveal the swollen bridge. "Fine. Broken nose. But none of that means I can't finish the shift. I've got ninety minutes left. I don't need another critical patient; I can stay at the station and finish whatever needs finishing."

"Everything you had has already been handed off."

"Then I'll help here."

"No."

Keegan's jaw tightened. "I'm an R4, Robby. I'm not going to fall apart because someone hit me."

"I didn't say you were."

"It feels like everyone else has."

Robby glanced around the station.

Nobody was openly watching them, but Keegan had been aware of it since she'd come back from CT—the way conversations changed when she passed, the way people checked her face before meeting her eyes, Santos taking the mouse away, Whittaker bringing coffee, Mel checking on her despite having patients of her own.

She knew they meant well.

That almost made it worse.

For years, Keegan had been the person on this side of the bed. She explained results, cleaned wounds, reassured frightened people and told stubborn patients they couldn't leave yet. She knew exactly what everyone was doing because she'd done it herself hundreds of times.

She just didn't like having it done to her.

"I'm sitting in the middle of the ED with an ice pack on my face while everyone takes my patients and asks if I'm okay." Keegan kept her voice low, not wanting the entire station to hear the argument. "I know they're trying to help. I know that. But I don't need everybody treating me like I'm suddenly made of glass."

"Nobody thinks you're made of glass."

"Then let me work."

Robby didn't take the bait. He stayed exactly as calm as before. "Sending you home isn't me saying you can't handle what happened. It's me saying you don't need to handle it while you're also responsible for sick people."

"I am capable of doing my job."

"I know you are."

The answer came immediately.

That took some of the fight out of her.

Robby had been the one who told the patient that before any of this happened.

She's more than competent.

He clearly hadn't changed his mind now.

Keegan looked down at the melting ice pack in her hands.

"I just want to finish my shift."

"I know."

"It's an hour and a half."

"And you're still going home."

Her gaze drifted across the department towards the clock.

Seven wasn't far away.

Night shift would start filtering in soon. Abbot was usually early, though not predictably enough to count on. Sometimes she'd see him at six-forty-five; sometimes he walked in at six-fifty-eight with coffee in one hand and his bag over his shoulder.

If she could stay until then, everything would be simpler.

She wouldn't even have to find the right way to tell him.

Abbot would see her.

He'd see the swelling and bruising, probably go frighteningly quiet for several seconds, and then she'd explain. By then he'd already be there. Already changed. Already taking handover.

He couldn't abandon a twelve-hour night shift because she had a broken nose and a clear head CT.

More importantly, she wouldn't have to spend the next hour and a half dealing with him worrying.

Because he would.

Keegan knew exactly what would happen if she called him from the parking lot and said she'd been assaulted. He'd ask where she was, hear going home and immediately decide she shouldn't be alone. Whatever he'd been doing before work would stop mattering.

Then he'd be at her apartment.

And Keegan would have Abbot looking at her exactly the way everyone in the department had been looking at her for the last two hours.

She didn't want that.

She didn't want him checking her pupils and asking about her headache, watching whenever she stood, bringing food she hadn't asked for or rearranging pillows and finding reasons to stay until the last possible minute.

She didn't want to become his patient.

Not today.

And yet, beneath all of that resistance was something she didn't particularly want to examine.

She wanted to see him.

Some part of her wanted Abbot to walk through those doors. She wanted the familiar sight of him crossing the department in his dark scrubs, wanted to hear him say her name, wanted the immediate certainty of someone who knew her well enough that she didn't have to keep insisting she was fine.

She wanted that almost as strongly as she didn't.

Keegan looked back at Robby.

"I'll leave at seven."

"No."

"Six-thirty?"

Robby's eyebrows lifted. "You're bargaining now."

"I'm compromising."

"You're discharged."

"I'm also employed here."

"Not for the next ninety minutes."

Keegan's gaze flicked towards the clock again.

This time Robby followed it.

Something clicked.

"Is this about Abbot?"

Keegan's eyes snapped back to him. "No."

Too quick.

Robby waited.

She sighed and pressed the ice pack back against her face. "Not entirely."

He still didn't say anything.

Keegan could feel him waiting, which was considerably more effective than interrogation.

Eventually, she lowered the ice pack.

"If I tell him now, he's going to come over. He'll probably be at my apartment before I am, and then he'll spend the next hour staring at my face and asking how my head feels." Her voice dropped. "He'll worry. He'll want to take care of me, and then he'll barely want to come in tonight because he'll think he should stay."

"Abbot knows he has a shift."

"That doesn't mean he'll like leaving."

Robby conceded that with the smallest tilt of his head.

Keegan looked towards the department again. "If I stay until seven, he's already here. He finds out at handover, sees I'm okay, and then he's stuck here for twelve hours."

Robby stared at her for a moment. "So your plan is to use his employment obligations to stop him taking care of you."

"When you phrase it like that, it sounds bad."

"That's because it is."

Keegan frowned.

Robby's expression softened. "You don't have to manage everybody else's reaction to what happened."

"I'm not."

"You are."

Keegan rubbed her thumb over the damp edge of the ice pack. "I just don't want everyone fussing over me. I've had enough of it here, and Jack is..."

She stopped.

There were dozens of ways she could describe Abbot. None of them seemed particularly helpful.

"Jack."

That apparently required no further explanation. Robby nodded.

Keegan looked back towards the clock. "I just want to get to seven."

There was less argument in her voice now.

Robby shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I understand why you want to stay, but you're not sitting in an emergency department for another hour and a half after you've been medically cleared just so Abbot can't come check on you." He stood, signalling that the discussion was finished. "You're going home. You're going to rest, you're going to keep icing your nose, and somebody else is driving you because I'm not letting you drive with a headache after a head injury."

Keegan looked up at him.

"And Abbot?"

Robby understood without making her explain.

"I told you I'd let you tell him yourself."

Keegan nodded slowly.

That was something.

Robby rested a hand briefly on her shoulder. "And for what it's worth, letting somebody worry about you for a couple of hours isn't the same thing as letting them treat you like you're incapable."

Keegan didn't answer.

She wasn't convinced.

But she also didn't have another argument left that Robby hadn't already rejected.

Once he walked away, Keegan stayed at the station with her phone beside the keyboard.

She could tell Abbot now.

Call him, explain everything, endure the inevitable silence while he processed patient punched me, then spend the next hour convincing him that he did not need to come over before work.

Her thumb hovered over his name.

Then she locked the phone.

Not yet.

Keegan gave in eventually.

She went to grab her things from the locker room, moving more slowly now that nobody was beside her to match pace with. Her shoulder had stiffened considerably, and bending to pick up her bag made the pressure in her face pulse hard enough that she had to straighten carefully.

The mirror above the sinks caught her on the way out.

Keegan stopped.

She'd avoided properly looking at herself since Mel cleaned her up. There had always been something else to focus on—Robby examining her nose, CT, waiting for the report.

Now there was no blood left to distract from the actual injury.

Her nose was badly swollen through the bridge, the skin around it already darkening. Bruising had started beneath both eyes, worse on one side, and her upper lip was puffy around the split.

She looked exhausted.

For the first time, she could see what everyone else had been seeing all afternoon.

Keegan looked away, picked up her bag and left.

Mel was the last person she properly said goodbye to.

She found her near one of the bays. Mel's eyes immediately went to the bag over Keegan's shoulder.

"You're leaving?"

"Apparently I've been evicted."

Mel came closer, studying her face in the way Keegan had become accustomed to over the last two hours.

It bothered her less from Mel.

"CT?"

"Clear."

The relief was immediate.

Mel's shoulders dropped, and before Keegan quite realised what was happening, she'd stepped forward and wrapped her carefully in a hug.

Keegan stiffened for only a second.

Then she hugged her back.

It was careful because of her shoulder and careful because of her face, but otherwise there was nothing tentative about it. Keegan closed her eyes against Mel's shoulder and let herself stay there a few seconds longer than she normally would've.

"I'm okay," she murmured.

Mel's answer came quietly beside her ear.

"I know."

That was exactly the right answer.

When they separated, Mel kept hold of her arm. "Text me when you're home. And if your headache gets worse—"

Keegan gave her hand a small squeeze. "I know. Promise."

Mel seemed satisfied enough to let her go.

Keegan didn't make another round of the department. Santos caught her eye from the station and she lifted a hand in goodbye; Whittaker was farther down the hall and got the same.

She loved them to bits.

That was probably why she'd tolerated as much fussing as she had.

Keegan headed for the exit before anybody could find another reason to keep her there.

The relative quiet of the parking garage felt strange after hours beneath fluorescent lights.

She unlocked her car, climbed into the driver's seat and shut the door.

Then stayed there.

No monitors.

No overhead pages.

No conversations bleeding into each other. Nobody asking for an order, nobody saying her name, nobody looking at her face.

For the first time since the patient hit her, Keegan was completely alone.

She wasn't sure she liked it as much as she'd expected to.

Without the constant distraction of the department, she could feel every separate ache more clearly—nose, lip, shoulder, hip, the tenderness at the back of her head.

Keegan closed her eyes.

Immediately, she saw his arm move.

Her eyes opened again.

"Fuck."

She sat forward and reached for her phone.

There were no new messages from Abbot.

That was probably good. He had his own life before work; he wasn't supposed to be sitting around analysing the strange messages she'd sent him.

Keegan opened their conversation.

She wasn't going to tell him yet.

She was just going to say she was heading home and establish that she'd see him tomorrow after his shift.

Simple.

R- Heading home now. I'll see you after your shift tomorrow x

Abbot replied before she'd even put the phone down.

J- Home at 5:45?

Keegan looked at the dashboard clock. 5:43.

She hadn't considered how unusual that was until he'd pointed it out. At least I doodle-farted around long enough…

R- Yep

A moment later:

J- What happened to the appointment?

Keegan closed her eyes.

R- Finished early

J- That was quick

She stared at the screen.

R- Efficient

His next message came a moment later.

J- You are being very strange today.

Keegan let her head fall carefully against the headrest.

R- Am I?

J- Yes

J- More than usual

Something close to a smile tugged at the uninjured corner of her lip.

There he was. For the first time since she'd sat down in the car, some of the tightness in her chest eased.

R- Maybe I'm tired

J- You were tired yesterday

R- Maybe I'm more tired

J- Compelling differential

Keegan looked down at the screen.

The conversation was so normal that it hurt in a completely different way.

Abbot had no idea where she was sitting or what she looked like. As far as he knew, she'd finished early for some mysterious appointment and was heading home.

For now, he was just Jack.

He asked whether she'd eaten.

Keegan claimed she had.

Abbot immediately challenged her definition of eating, and after several messages she was forced to admit that "lunch" had amounted to about half a sandwich. Keegan retaliated by pointing out that his coffee and half a protein bar weren't much better, which at least redirected the interrogation for a few minutes.

Despite herself, Keegan smiled.

It pulled at her lip, sending a sharp reminder through her face.

The smile disappeared.

Then another message appeared.

J- What are you doing tonight?

R- Nothing. Shower. Food. Sleep probably.

J- Exciting

R- Some of us aren't nocturnal

J- You work nights

R- Not tonight

J- I wish I could take the shift off to see you 

This made Keegan freeze. She swallowed hard. It took her too long to reply

J- Rory?

R- Sorry, rough day

Abbot's typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then returned.

Finally:

J- Did something happen at work?

Her fingers tightened around the phone.

She could picture him at home getting ready, probably already in scrubs, reading her increasingly evasive answers and putting the pieces together.

R- I'm okay.

His response was immediate.

J- That isn't what I asked.

Keegan stared at it.

There was still more than an hour until his shift.

If she told him now, he'd come.

She knew he would.

The worst part was that sitting alone in the car, the department behind her and the memory of that room far too close, a small part of her wanted him to.

Keegan locked the phone before she could give in to it.

She'd see him tomorrow. He'd be angry she hadn't told him sooner. He'd worry. He'd probably turn up at her apartment the second his shift ended. But by then she'd have had twelve hours to sleep and could meet him on her own two feet instead of having him rush across town because somebody had hurt her.

That was better. Her phone buzzed once more in her hand. Keegan didn't need to unlock it to read the message on the screen.

J- Rory, what happened?

Keegan got home a little after six-fifteen.

By the time she made it upstairs, three more messages from Abbot were waiting.

J- You alive?

Then:

J- I'm assuming that means you're driving.

And finally:

J- Or you've decided you hate me.

Keegan unlocked her apartment and dropped her bag beside the door before answering.

R- I'm home. And alive.

R- and you know I don’t hate you

His response came while she was kicking off her shoes.

J- Good.

Keegan smiled faintly.

She carried her things into the kitchen, left her phone on the counter and pulled a fresh ice pack from the freezer.

Her reflection caught in the dark glass of the microwave.

She looked worse.

The swelling had continued developing on the drive home and the bruising beneath her eyes was becoming more obvious. Her nose looked distinctly wrong now without hospital lighting washing everything out.

Keegan quickly looked away.

Her phone buzzed.

J- Why did you leave early anyway?

She picked it up.

R- Robby told me to.

It wasn't technically a lie.

J- Since when do you listen to Robby?

Keegan leaned against the counter.

R- Sometimes I'm very obedient.

J- I've met you

She could practically hear him saying it.

Keegan pressed the cold pack carefully against her face and closed her eyes. The cold was almost painful at first, but after a few seconds the throbbing began to dull.

She typed one-handed.

R- I'm tired. He sent me home. That's the whole thrilling story

Abbot seemed to accept it enough to answer:

J- Long day?

Keegan stared at those two words.

R- Yeah.

That, at least, was completely true.

His next message came after a pause.

J- Get some sleep. Eat first.

Keegan rolled her eyes.

R- Yes dad.

She regretted both the message and the eye roll almost immediately. Abbot's response appeared.

J- Don't ever call me that again.

A small laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Pain shot through her split lip and nose. "Fuck."

Then her phone started ringing. JACK Abbot filled the screen.

Keegan froze.

For one irrational second, she considered letting it ring out. That would only make everything worse.

She cleared her throat and answered. "Hey."

"Hey."

His voice was close in a way text hadn't been.

Keegan lowered herself onto one of the kitchen stools, keeping the ice pack against her face while she listened to drawers closing and keys being picked up at his end.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Sitting in my kitchen." She listened to him moving around before asking, "You're leaving soon?"

"About five minutes."

"Early for you."

Abbot made an offended sound. "I am capable of arriving somewhere before the exact second I'm required, despite whatever slander you've apparently been spreading."

Keegan smiled carefully.

Something about the ordinariness of him moving around his apartment while she sat in hers settled her.

They'd reached the stage over the last few weeks where neither needed to fill every second of a phone call. Abbot could be doing something on his end, Keegan something on hers, and neither seemed particularly inclined to hang up.

For a while, she just listened to him get ready.

Eventually he spoke again.

"You sound tired."

Keegan adjusted the ice pack. "I am."

"You okay?"

There it was. No real suspicion behind it now, just Jack asking because she sounded tired and had left early.

Keegan looked down at the kitchen counter.

"I'm okay."

There was a second of quiet from his end. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She kept her voice steady. "Just one of those days."

It was a very good thing this wasn't a video call.

Her hair was dishevelled, bruising was forming beneath both eyes, her lip was split, and she was sitting at the counter holding an ice pack over a broken nose.

If Abbot could see her, this conversation would be going very differently.

Instead, all he had was her voice.

"Well," he said after a moment, apparently accepting it, "you're home now."

"Apparently."

They drifted into talking about his upcoming night. Keegan attempted to predict exactly how terrible it would be; Abbot refused to let her curse his shift before he'd even left the apartment.

She could hear him picking up his bag.

The familiarity of it made something inside her ache.

Under normal circumstances, she'd still be at the hospital. Abbot would arrive in another half hour and find her at the station, probably still finishing something she should've handed off twenty minutes earlier. She'd give him whichever patients were crossing into nights, complain about something from her day, and he'd tell her to go home.

Instead, she was hiding a broken nose from him over the phone.

"You're definitely okay?" he asked again.

Keegan looked down at her hands.

"Jack, I'm fine."

"All right."

And that was it.

No interrogation.

No sudden flash of insight.

Keegan felt both relieved and strangely disappointed.

Before she could examine that too closely, she asked, "Are you coming by tomorrow?"

Abbot went quiet for a beat. "After shift?"

"Yeah."

"If you want me to."

Her answer came without much thought.

"Yeah."

There was another small pause before his voice warmed.

"Okay. I'll see you in the morning."

"See you then."

"And eat actual food before you sleep."

Keegan sighed, but there wasn't much annoyance behind it. "Go to work, Jack."

His quiet laugh followed her into goodbye.

When the call ended, Keegan kept the phone against her ear for another second.

18:24. In twenty-five minutes or so, Abbot would walk into the ED expecting an ordinary handover.

As far as he knew, she'd had a long day, Robby had sent her home early, and she was tired.

She could tell him tomorrow morning.

In person.

When there wasn't a twelve-hour shift he needed to get to.

For now, that was enough.

Abbot walked into the ED at eighteen-fifty-two.

Day shift was still properly day shift, though the department had begun its slow transition towards nights. A few night nurses had arrived, bags were disappearing beneath the station and people were beginning to gather whatever they needed for handover.

Nothing immediately looked unusual.

Abbot dropped his bag beneath the station, set his coffee beside a computer and logged in.

Rory had been weird.

He'd thought about it on the drive, though not enough to turn it into anything significant. She'd sounded exhausted. Robby sending Keegan home because she didn't know when to stop was hardly impossible.

Whatever had happened, she'd said she was fine.

He mostly believed her.

"Hey, Doctor Abbot."

He looked up.

Whittaker had stopped across the station with a chart tucked beneath one arm.

"Hey."

Whittaker glanced at him, then towards the department as if something had just occurred to him.

"How's Rory?"

Abbot's attention shifted completely away from the screen. "What?"

Whittaker's expression changed. That alone was enough.

Abbot straightened slightly. "Why are you asking me that?"

"I thought she told you."

The tightening in Abbot's stomach became something heavier.

"Told me what?"

Whittaker hesitated just long enough to make it worse. "She got hurt earlier. A patient hit her."

Abbot went still.

The conversation with Rory rearranged itself in his head in an instant.

‘Robby told me to.

Long day?

Yeah.

Jack, I'm fine.’

His jaw tightened.

"How bad?"

Whittaker glanced across the department towards Robby. "He punched her in the face and she went down. She hit her head, but her CT was clear. Robby checked her out."

Abbot was already standing.

"Where is he?"

Whittaker nodded across the station.

Abbot left before he could say anything else.

Robby saw him coming and stepped away from the nurse he was speaking to.

"Jack."

"What happened?"

No greeting.

No lead-in.

Robby glanced once towards Whittaker and immediately understood.

"She didn't tell you."

"No."

Robby exhaled and shifted closer, keeping the conversation out of the general noise of the station.

"Patient with an arm laceration. He'd been giving her trouble from the start, didn't want a woman treating him. I spoke to him, told him Keegan was more than capable of handling the repair. She went back in, he got agitated, shoved her backwards and punched her before she could get out of the room. Whittaker got in there and security took over."

Abbot's expression barely changed.

"Where did he hit her?"

"Nose and mouth."

His jaw flexed.

"Damage?"

"Likely nasal fracture. No septal hematoma. Split lip. Some bruising and soreness from the fall." Robby watched him absorb it before continuing. "She had a headache and some dizziness after hitting her head, but no loss of consciousness that she remembers. Neuro exams normal. CT head negative."

Abbot took in each piece clinically because that was easier.

It helped. Not enough. "Was she okay when she left?"

Robby's expression shifted slightly. He understood what Abbot was actually asking.

"She was shaken," he said. "Not confused. Not medically unstable. Not falling apart. But yes, she was shaken."

Abbot looked down at his phone.

18:56.

He'd been speaking to her less than an hour ago while she sat at home with a broken nose after having a head CT.

She had told him she was tired.

A new thought occurred to him.

"She drove herself, didn't she?"

Robby looked mildly irritated at the memory. "I told her not to."

"Of course she fucking did."

Abbot rubbed a hand over his face and looked towards the doors.

He wanted to leave.

The impulse was immediate and uncomplicated: pick up his bag, walk back out and drive straight to Rory's apartment.

He needed to see her. Not a text saying she was fine. Not Robby telling him her CT was clear.

Her.

Robby seemed to read it. "She's home. She's safe."

"I know."

"You've got twelve hours."

"I know."

The words came out clipped.

Abbot looked towards the board as the night shift gathered around the station.

Patients didn't stop needing treatment because someone he cared about had been hurt.

Rory had known that.

The realisation landed slowly. Abbot looked back at Robby. "She did this on purpose."

Robby didn't answer.

He didn't have to. Abbot thought back to the phone call.

‘You're leaving soon?

About five minutes.’

She'd wanted to know exactly when he was coming in.

"She waited until I was committed to the shift."

Robby's expression gave him enough of an answer.

Abbot stared at him in disbelief. "Unbelievable."

"She didn't want you worrying."

"Well, that worked brilliantly."

Abbot pulled out his phone and stared at Rory's name.

He wanted to call. He also knew exactly what she would do. She'd insist she was fine, tell him to work and make him spend the next twelve hours listening for strain underneath every word.

She had asked him to come by after shift.

He said it aloud, quieter now. "She asked me to come over in the morning."

Robby nodded. "Then go after shift."

Abbot looked at the clock.

18:58. Twelve hours.

He locked his phone, picked up his coffee and forced his attention back to the department.

"Give me handover."

And Robby did.

.

..

…

Keegan woke to the sound of her front door opening.

For a few seconds, she stayed half-buried beneath the blankets with the television murmuring quietly across the room, trying to work out whether she'd actually heard it or dreamed it.

Then came the familiar click of the lock turning again, followed by the heavier sound of a bag being put down near the entrance.

She knew who it was before he called her name.

"Rory?"

His voice carried down the hallway.

"In here."

Keegan pushed herself a little higher against the pillows and immediately regretted moving too quickly. Pressure pulsed through the bridge of her nose, forcing her eyes closed until it settled.

She'd slept badly. Every few hours she'd woken because the swelling was uncomfortable or she'd rolled onto the wrong side. Sometime before dawn she'd given up trying properly and turned the television on instead.

Abbot appeared in the doorway.

He was still in his scrubs.

That was the first thing she noticed.

He hadn't gone home. Hadn't showered or changed. Judging by the paper cup in one hand, he might've stopped for coffee, but that was apparently all he'd allowed himself.

His hair was flattened oddly at one side after twelve hours, his jacket unzipped, exhaustion written across his face.

Then he saw her.

He stopped.

Keegan had known this part was coming.

She'd seen herself in the bathroom mirror that morning and knew the bruising looked worse than when she'd left the Pitt. Both eyes were shadowed underneath, the swelling through her nose having peaked overnight, the split in her lip still obvious.

Abbot said nothing at first.

His expression changed so completely that she wished he would.

"Hey," she said quietly.

That seemed to pull him back into motion.

He crossed the room, set the coffee down and sat beside her.

By the time he reached the mattress, whatever he'd been feeling had been forced behind something more controlled.

Doctor first.

Keegan recognised it immediately.

Abbot looked at her face, then directly into her eyes. "How's your head?"

"Better."

"Give me a number."

He moved through the rest calmly and precisely—dizziness, nausea, blurred or double vision, vomiting, confusion overnight, how she'd slept, what pain relief she'd taken, whether the swelling had affected her breathing.

Keegan answered without arguing because she could see what he was doing.

He needed facts. So she gave him facts.

No dizziness since yesterday evening. No nausea. Vision normal. Headache mild. Intermittent sleep. Pain relief taken exactly as instructed.

Abbot leaned closer and checked her pupils, one hand settling lightly against the side of her head to keep her still.

His touch was clinical and deliberate.

Mostly.

His thumb lingered against her temple for an extra second after he'd finished.

"Follow my finger."

Keegan did.

He watched her eye movements before studying the bruising around the bridge of her nose. He knew better than to prod the fracture itself unnecessarily, but his gaze tracked every bit of swelling as though he could somehow determine how much it hurt from looking.

"Any bleeding overnight?" he asked. "Anything draining that wasn't blood?"

"No to both."

His jaw tightened slightly. Then relaxed.

Keegan watched him work through the assessment with the same focus she'd seen him use on hundreds of patients.

It should've annoyed her more than it did. Instead, she found herself noticing how tired he looked and how carefully he was controlling every reaction.

When he'd finally run out of things to check, his hand dropped from her cheek.

It didn't leave her.

It came to rest on her thigh over the blanket.

"Okay," he said, and Keegan heard the relief beneath the word. "Neuro exam's normal. Nothing you're telling me makes me think anything changed overnight."

She let out a slow breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"Okay."

The doctor part was finished.

She knew what came next before he even looked at her.

Abbot's expression hardened.

"You lied to me."

He didn't raise his voice.

Somehow that made it worse.

Keegan looked down at the blanket. "I knew you'd find out. I was going to tell you this morning."

"After I spent twelve hours at work."

Abbot leaned back against the headboard and dragged one hand over his face.

The hand resting on her leg didn't move.

"You called me from this apartment with a broken nose and a head injury," he said, voice still controlled, "and told me you were tired."

"I'd already been cleared. The CT was clear, Robby examined me, and I was home."

"And you thought that meant I didn't deserve to know?"

Keegan looked at him then. "That's not what I thought."

"What did you think?"

She hesitated.

Saying it aloud made the logic sound considerably worse.

"I knew if I told you before the shift, you'd come here. You would've been late, and if you thought I actually needed you, you might not have gone in at all."

Abbot stared at her. "Yes."

Keegan shook her head carefully. "Exactly."

His eyebrows lifted. "That's your defence?"

"It wasn't about keeping it from you." She shifted against the pillows, frustration creeping into her voice. "I just didn't want you dropping everything because I got hurt. I knew you'd worry, I knew you'd come over and start checking me and looking at me like—"

She stopped.

Like he was looking at her now.

Keegan turned her face slightly away.

Abbot's anger shifted.

It didn't disappear, but some of the sharpness left it.

"I spent the entire night knowing a patient had hit you," he said. "I knew your CT was clear and Robby had discharged you. I knew you were home. None of that stopped me wondering whether your headache got worse, whether you were sleeping, whether you were scared."

His hand shifted from her thigh to her knee, fingers closing around it through the blanket.

"I was worried sick, Rory."

There was no anger in that sentence.

Just exhaustion. Keegan looked at him properly. She'd succeeded, technically. He hadn't abandoned his shift. He hadn't rushed across town.

Instead she'd given him twelve hours to imagine it.

Her hand came down over his.

"I'm sorry." Abbot's eyes stayed on hers. Keegan squeezed his fingers slightly. "I'm sorry I lied."

His palm turned beneath hers.

Their fingers laced together.

Something in him loosened.

Not all at once. He was still upset, still exhausted, but the hard edge of him softened now that she'd stopped defending it. His thumb moved slowly across the back of her hand.

"You scared the shit out of me."

Keegan swallowed. "I didn't mean to."

"I know."

Abbot shifted closer.

Keegan let him.

He moved up against the headboard beside her, one leg stretched over the covers, and released her hand only long enough to slide his arm around her shoulders.

There was a brief second where he seemed to wait.

Keegan closed it herself.

She moved against his side.

Abbot drew her the rest of the way in.

Keegan rested her head against his chest, angling herself so there was no pressure against her nose. He immediately adjusted around her, one arm securely around her shoulders while his other hand settled back onto her leg, palm moving slowly over the outside of her thigh through the blanket.

There was nothing clinical about the touch now.

Keegan closed her eyes.

Abbot pressed his mouth to the top of her head and stayed there for a moment. "Jesus, Rory."

His voice was quieter now.

She curled one hand into the front of his scrub top.

He kissed her hair again, then her temple, careful to stay away from the bruising. "My poor girl."

Keegan's eyes opened. "Don't."

"I'm allowed." His hand moved slowly up her back.

The argument carried so little force that she didn't bother continuing it.

Keegan shifted enough to look at him. Up close, she could see exactly how worried he'd been.

The tiredness around his eyes. The way his gaze kept drifting across her face despite already having examined her. The tension that still hadn't completely left his mouth.

Abbot lifted one hand and cupped the uninjured side of her face.

This time, Keegan didn't stop him.

His thumb brushed lightly beneath her cheekbone.

"Look at you."

Her instinct was to turn away. Abbot's hand followed rather than restraining her, fingers resting lightly against her jaw until she looked back at him.

"Hey."

There was no doctor in his expression anymore.

Only Jack.

All day yesterday, she'd been trying to stay upright.

Stay useful.

Stay calm.

Get through CT. Get through Robby. Get home. Keep Abbot at work. Keep everyone from treating her like something fragile.

Now he was sitting in her bed with one hand around her leg and the other against her face, looking at her like he'd spent twelve hours waiting for permission to do exactly this.

Keegan leaned into his palm.

Abbot softened completely.

"There she is."

Her eyes burned unexpectedly.

She hated that.

Abbot noticed anyway.

He didn't point it out.

He just pulled her back against him and wrapped both arms around her.

Keegan let him.

Really let him this time.

She tucked herself against his chest while one of his hands spread over her back and the other cradled her head carefully away from where she'd hit it.

"You're okay," he murmured into her hair. "You're safe. I've got you."

Keegan breathed out. This time, she stopped trying to answer every reassurance.

Abbot kissed the top of her head and then her forehead before resting his cheek against her hair.

His hand eventually slipped down to her thigh again, rubbing slow circles as though he needed the contact as much as she did.

"My girl," he murmured. After a second he added, even softer, "My poor, stubborn girl."

Keegan's face warmed against his chest. "You're pushing it."

The faintest amusement finally returned to Abbot's voice. "I've had twelve hours. I've earned at least another hour."

That got a careful smile from her.

When his hand started rising on instinct towards her face again, Keegan caught his wrist before he could touch her.

"No doctor."

Abbot looked down at her fingers wrapped around him, then sighed and let his hand return to her leg.

"Fine, sweetheart."

He kissed her hair instead.

Keegan didn't complain this time.

They stayed like that for a while.

Abbot shifted farther down against the pillows until he was almost lying beside her, one arm behind Keegan's shoulders and the other resting across her stomach beneath the blankets.

She stayed tucked into his side with her cheek against his chest, close enough to hear his breathing.

Every so often his hand moved over her arm, her leg or through her hair.

The television continued quietly at the foot of the bed. Keegan wasn't watching it. Her fingers had been tracing the same seam in Abbot's shirt for several minutes when she finally spoke.

"I was scared."

His hand paused in her hair, then his fingers continued slowly through it.

Keegan stared at the folds of his shirt. Maybe those were the words because she hadn't said them yet.

She'd told Robby she had a headache. Told Dana where it hurt. Told Mel she was okay. Told Jack the same thing repeatedly.

Nobody had asked her to name what it had actually felt like.

Abbot's arm tightened gently around her, but he didn't interrupt.

Keegan swallowed.

"I mean before he hit me. When he shoved the tray, I knew something was wrong. Then he shoved me into the wall and I remember thinking I needed to get out." Her fingers stopped moving against his shirt. "Whit was outside. There were people everywhere. I knew I wasn't actually alone."

Abbot's hand moved down her back in one slow pass.

"But it didn't feel like that."

She went quiet.

Keegan could still remember the strange narrowing of the room.

The sudden understanding that she wasn't the doctor anymore, that nothing she said was going to make the man listen. There had barely been any time between recognising the danger and seeing him move towards her again.

"I thought about you."

Abbot's hand stilled against her back.

Keegan closed her eyes.

"It was probably only a second," she continued. "I knew he was going to hit me and I just... thought about you."

His hand came up behind her head and held her gently against his chest before his lips pressed into her hair.

"That's not stupid, sweetheart."

Keegan curled her fingers into his shirt.

"I wanted you there."

Abbot didn't rush to answer. That made it easier to keep going.

"I really wanted you there." Her voice dropped. "And I hated that I did because I should've been able to handle it. I've dealt with aggressive patients before. I've been grabbed, screamed at, threatened. I know what to do."

His thumb moved slowly against the back of her neck.

Keegan took another breath.

"This was different."

"Yeah."

She drew her knees up beneath the blanket and curled closer.

Abbot adjusted around her without comment, his leg pressing alongside hers and his arm settling more securely around her.

Keegan stayed quiet for another moment.

Then: "It brought something back."

She felt Abbot's breathing change beneath her cheek. Keegan pushed her face a little farther against his chest.

"Something from before," she murmured. "A long time ago."

Abbot's hand covered hers where it rested against him. "Okay."

That was all. Keegan opened her eyes. She'd expected questions despite knowing him better than that.

What happened? Who was it? How old were you?

Something she would have to refuse, turning the moment into another thing she had to defend.

Abbot gave her none. She slowly turned her hand beneath his until their fingers fitted together.

"I haven't told you about it."

"I figured."

Keegan's fingers tightened slightly. "I don't really tell anyone."

Abbot lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss against her knuckles before lowering them back to his chest.

"You don't have to tell me now."

Keegan tilted her face enough to look up at him.

His face was tired and serious above hers, concern still there but none of the clinical concentration from earlier.

He wasn't assessing her anymore.

"What if I never want to?"

Abbot didn't hesitate. "Then you never tell me."

Keegan studied him.

"And you're not going to wonder?"

"Of course I'll wonder." His thumb moved over her fingers. "Doesn't mean I'm entitled to it."

Something in Keegan's chest loosened.

Abbot brushed her hair back and let his hand settle gently against the side of her head.

Keegan leaned into it.

"I thought I'd dealt with it," she said eventually. "Or not dealt with it, I suppose. Just put it somewhere I didn't have to look at anymore."

The words sat between them.

Then Keegan continued.

"Then he shoved me against that wall and for a second I wasn't—"

His hand left her hair and moved to her back, drawing her firmly against him.

"You don't have to finish that."

Keegan shut her eyes.

She breathed against his chest until the tightness passed.

Abbot didn't tell her to calm down. Didn't ask where she'd gone in her head. Didn't try to turn the unfinished sentence into something he could solve.

He stayed warm and solid around her, his palm moving slowly between her shoulder blades.

Eventually, Keegan's grip on his shirt relaxed.

"I don't want to talk about that part."

"Then we won't."

Keegan swallowed. "Not today."

"Okay."

She was quiet for another few seconds before adding, "Maybe eventually."

Abbot pressed a careful kiss to her forehead. "Whenever you want."

Keegan looked up at him.

They'd been like this for three months now—time at each other's apartments, constant casual touch, a handful of kisses neither had pushed further.

Normally being this close might have made her self-conscious.

It didn't now.

She didn't need anything more from him.

She needed exactly what he was already giving her.

Keegan shifted upwards and tucked herself beneath his chin.

Abbot understood.

His arms closed around her again.

For a moment, Keegan just listened to his breathing.

Then she said it again.

"I was really scared, Jack."

No qualification this time.

His cheek rested against her hair, one hand spread across her back.

"I know, sweetheart."

Keegan's eyes closed.

"I kept thinking last night that I should've done something differently."

Abbot's hand slowed against her back.

"No." His voice remained quiet but certain. "We're not doing that to you."

"He was my patient."

"And he assaulted you." Abbot held her a little closer.

Keegan went still for a moment. Then slowly nodded against him. Abbot softly kissed her hair.

"You got through it." His hand moved gently down her back before settling there. "Now you don't have to do anything."

That might have been the first thing anybody had said since yesterday that she actually wanted to hear.

Keegan slid one arm around his waist beneath the covers and held onto him.

Abbot pulled her closer.

She could feel herself becoming heavier against him, the tension she'd carried since yesterday finally beginning to drain away.

When her eyes started closing, Abbot pressed another soft kiss into her hair. "Sleep if you want."

Keegan made a small sound and tightened her arm around him. "You're exhausted too."

"Then we'll both sleep."

That was harder to argue with.

Keegan shifted until she found a position that didn't hurt, Abbot moving with her rather than letting go. Her head settled against his chest, one of his legs loosely tangled with hers beneath the blankets, his hand warm and still against her back.

For the first time since the attack, she didn’t need to reassure herself she was okay.

Jack was there.