Alicia slams the front door with a heavy sigh, removing her scarf and jacket with a shuffle and walking straight to the fridge. She groans. Half a suspicious-looking avocado, a bottle of smoothie and some pickled onions. Not even any milk. Working shifts has destroyed her — it isn't even like any of the shops are open. Out the corner of her eye she spots a takeaway leaflet. Hardly the healthy option, but Chinese or pizza for one will have to suffice so late on a Sunday.

The notifications on her phone's display distract her. Three messages, two from Louise and the other from some relative urging her to meet up. Minor things that can be left until later.

Her phone starts to buzz in her palm. Hesitating slightly, she slides across and holds it to her ear.

'Hello—'

The voice comes so quickly and so gabbled at the end of the phone that it fails to make sense, barely sounds English. Its speed and urgency send shivers up her spine; after several attempts to break it off, it still continues, unrelenting.

'Where are you?' She asks calmly, glancing at her car keys on the side.

As the rushed tones continue, she cranes her neck to her shoulder to balance the phone. In less than thirty seconds, she is in the cold night air locking the door.

'I'm coming, alright? I'm coming. Ten minutes.'

-x-

Ethan slumps against the wall, sliding his phone into his pocket. His eyes are thick with tears, throat itchy from shouting at yet another colleague, and his tie is askew and spattered from the long shift endured. Sitting on the floor is something he knows will not help — he can almost feel the grime permeating through the fabric of his trousers. But, he is weathered. He has seen it all. It almost makes it irrelevant that nobody has cleaned in weeks, because nobody is paid to. Dirt is the least of his worries. This is how he knows, deep down, that things are bad.

'There you are!'

As soon as Alicia is through the door, her shoulders visibly sag. Her expression collapses with both relief and empathy. She appraises the situation quickly, blue eyes wide and alert, scanning the room. Bottles of chemicals tossed aside — probably corrosive and definitely ridiculously unsafe to be lying about. A lab coat is draped over a chair, scorched and torn. Tatty paperwork piled as high as a mountain. And, worst of all, the puddle of blood surrounding the table. In truth, lake is a more apt description.

'I was worried sick about you.' She admits, face contorted with concern. 'How have things got this bad?'

He laughs long and hard and cold. This makes her flinch and recoil, something he quickly feels guilty for.

'Search me.' He mutters.

'You had so much to say on the phone, have you exhausted yourself now? Is that it?' Alicia chuckles, not meaning to be patronising in her consideration but managing it all the same. She crouches down next to him.

'I am not up to this. Clearly I'm not. Clinical lead for three weeks and everything has flopped. I can't be selfish, this is not putting the patients and their needs first. It is putting them last. I am exhausted. The place is a mess. There are god knows how many medicines and the ingredients thereof just in and amongst, I, it's—'

She squeezes his knee. 'Not true. You need to stop all this self-deprecating talk, you do yourself a huge disservice. You are amazing. It is the state of the system, not you, who's carrying the onus for this.'

He frowns, moving his leg out the way. 'Sorry for ringing you.'

'Don't be, you reached out,' she says, pausing for a second. Her stomach grumbles loudly, something which neither of them giggle at. 'This is what friends are for.'

'Friends.' He repeats evenly, before tipping his head back hard against the wall in more despair.

She stiffens, as if in bitter understanding, then promptly rises to her feet to begin to clear away. 'I know what you're thinking, but I will always be your friend. If things change or if things never change, you can count on that.'

'Bold.' Ethan mutters back, vaulting them both into another awkward silence. He continues to watch her from the floor.

She works busy, nimbly, as if she is used to dealing with such grand scale clutter. Not once does she complain. The blue rubber gloves stretch over overworked fingers. The mop soaks up the water. The blood is sprayed and covered. The white jacket is held up for inspection and then promptly binned. The paperwork is gathered between two hands, placed inside a folder and slid onto the third shelf. The drawers are closed with a bang that echoes through the building.

Eventually, she goes to sit next to him without another word. His eyes don't move once from where they fixed. They flutter closed as they sit side by side.

'Thank you.' He says quietly, with as much sincerity as he can muster.

'You rang me. I came. I always would.'

'Vice versa too, I hope you know.'

'I'd do anything for you.' She whispers.

The mood shifts dramatically as he locks eyes with her. Slowly, yet with a degree of purposefulness, he reaches out for her fingers. Both hands lock and twine: it is like at once they remember how to be like this. The simple touch, one fleeting connection, has reunited them once more.

He glances from her face down to her stomach subtly, nodding to himself a little. 'Pepperoni? Token garlic crust, of course. Not forgetting all the sides to feed a small country.'

A smile dances across her lips. This is the only response he needs.

As they march through the cold and dark, eyes sparkling and breath smoking, they chatter enough to catch up on all the months they have missed. And they really have missed them. More than they even realise.