This story is for Tanith Panic because she's such a great friend. I've hardly written Dylan or Lofty before so I don't know how successful will be, but I hope you like it. Lofty will be called Ben in this story as that's how Tanith Panic thinks of him. If anyone else would like me to write a story for them, you only have to ask.

Dylan was still trying to keep it together when Ben appeared in front of him. Dylan didn't look at him: the sight of Ben 'Lofty' Chiltern was no use at all if your object was to keep calm – but Dylan didn't need to see him. He knew the sympathetic, concerned look that would be on his face as he wondered what was wrong with the consultant. He'd seen it so many times and secretly longed that one day it might be directed at him.

Now it was, he couldn't appreciate it. He hated to show weakness to anyone and to show it to Ben seemed even worse.

"I know it's none of my business," said Ben. "I know I'm just a student nurse and I should just mind my own business."

"Then why don't you?" said Dylan, and turned his back.

He could imagine the hurt look on Ben's face too. "But if you did want to talk…" said Ben.

"I very much doubt that hell is going to freeze over anytime soon," said Dylan.

He heard the smallest, slightest intake of breath. "Sorry," said Ben. He moved away.

"Ben…"

The footsteps stopped. "Yes?"

Dylan couldn't quite believe he was going to say it. But he needed help, Ben had offered and he was unsettled enough to care that he'd probably hurt Ben's feelings. He slowly turned to face him.

As soon as he did, he realised that making up his mind wasn't the same as knowing what he was going to say.

"Can we…" said Dylan, gesturing vaguely to his right.

"The broom closet?" said Ben, surprised.

"This is private," said Dylan.

Ben nodded and they went into the cupboard together. Dylan switched the light on. It wasn't especially small, but a lot of the space was taken up with brooms and even more space was taken up with things that weren't brooms.

Dylan found he was counting the brooms and was very relieved to discover there were five of them.

"What is it?" said Ben gently.

Dylan looked into his kind eyes and felt the stirrings of panic. It was nothing like the panic he had felt in Bay 4, but it was enough to convince him that it might be better to keep his irrational fears to himself. "No. This isn't a good idea." He opened the door again and looked out into the corridor. Four people were standing at one end, talking.

He turned back to Ben, who was looking bewildered but not hurt. "We don't have to talk now, Dylan. We could talk another time."

"No." For the third time in as many minutes (another reason to make this his final decision), Dylan changed his mind. He shut the door. "I have a problem."

"I'd like to help you with it if I can," said Ben simply.

"There are… things I have to do," said Dylan. "Checklists. Counting things."

Ben looked at him uncertainly. "I suppose even being a consultant has its dull side."

"No!" burst out Dylan. The sound created a slight echo in the tiny cupboard. Ben took a step back, but luckily not quite enough for him to end up in a heap with the brooms. Dylan tried to continue more calmly. "No. Not things that are my job. Things that aren't my job, but I have to do them or I couldn't do my job."

Ben's face was screwed up in concentration. "Could you maybe give me an example?"

Dylan showed Ben his lucky charm. "I have this. I have to have it. And I can't do a procedure without checking things through, even though I know the procedure. And I have to count things."

"What would happen if you didn't do it?" asked Ben.

"A patient would die," said Dylan.

"That seems like a good reason for doing it to me," said Ben.

Dylan was shaking his head. "No. You don't understand. This is stupid. I'm going."

He turned away, but felt Ben's hand on his sleeve. "No, don't go, Dylan. I know I'm stupid, but I really do want to help."

Dylan heard the sincerity in his tone and hesitated. "You won't tell anyone?"

"Of course not," said Ben.

His voice rang with certainty. Dylan faced him again. "The things I do: I don't really do them for a good reason. Intellectually, I don't think the patient will be in any more danger. In some cases, a patient might be in more danger with a checklist because it delays treatment. Especially when everyone starts arguing about it."

Ben nodded sympathetically.

"But it's a feeling I get," said Dylan. "A feeling that the patient will die."

"So you do it because you care about your patients," said Ben. "And that's a good thing."

"No, I don't care about my patients," said Dylan. "All I care about is doing my job. And that is keeping patients alive."

"That's even more important than caring," said Ben.

Dylan was silent, wondering how to put his feelings into words; wondering if he dared. Could he really trust Ben? He was only a nurse and not a very bright one. He might easily not understand. "But sometimes I... I panic. If I get it into my head that the situation isn't safe, I don't know what to do."

"Is there anything you could do to make it safe?" said Ben. "Or anything I could do when I'm working with you?"

Dylan surprised himself by feeling touched. There was nothing Ben could do to help him, but he was trying so hard. "I try to keep it safe, Ben. I do my checklists. But I can't control everything. I can't control the most important thing of all."

"What's that?" Ben almost breathed the word.

"I think it might sound stupid," said Dylan.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure I've said and believed much stupider things," said Ben.

"I'm sure you have, but that's hardly the point," said Dylan.

Ben lowered his head. "No. Of course not."

Dylan felt guilty. "I didn't mean to…" He stopped himself, frustrated. "I don't like working in… in one of the bays. The one after three. Or the cubicle with the same number. Or anything that's related to it."

"You don't like the number… the number after three," said Ben.

Dylan sneaked a glance at him. There was sympathy on Ben's face, but no obvious pity or even surprise. Just acceptance that this was the way it was. "If I work in that bay or that cubicle, the patient will die. I know they will. A part of me knows they won't, but the feelings are too strong."

Ben nodded. "Then I'll do everything I can to make sure you don't have to work there."

Dylan stared at him. He'd had a feeling Ben would be kinder than most; would make the effort to understand. He hadn't expected this. "Why would you do that?"

"Because part of my job is to help the doctors to do their jobs," said Ben simply.

Dylan felt crushing disappointment. He knew it had been foolish to hope there might be another reason why Ben would want to help him, but he hadn't been able to help his hopes from rising.

That wasn't important, however. All that mattered was that Ben wanted to help him.

He looked into Ben's eyes. There was the concern and sympathy he'd expected, but also determination.

Even if his reasons for helping weren't the stupid reasons Dylan had dreamed of, there was no doubt that he did want to help.