Xoe (Guest), I don't know if you'll ever see this, but as you're a guest, I can't pm you and as this is a one-shot, I can't reply in another chapter. Thank you for your review. There was a part of me that wanted Dylan to throw his arms around Lofty and never let go, but I decided to keep it close to what happened in the episode. I'm really happy you liked the story and I'm glad you liked the fact Dylan wasn't completely comfortable with what he was doing.
My second story inspired by Fatal Error: Part 2, but this is only a one-shot. I loved Max for comforting Lofty, but I did kind of wish it was Dylan. So in my story, it is Dylan! I can't actually remember what Lofty did in the staff room (apart from crying) or what he was holding on to when Max came in and I can't get the episode to play on iPlayer or youtube so I can't find out, but I suppose there's no harm in using my imagination.
Dylan watched as Lofty raced from the room. It was unprofessional, of course, but understandable. Perhaps Dylan shouldn't have allowed him to work with this patient. Sometimes the best thing to do was to face the procedure that had gone wrong; to prove to yourself that you could still do it.
But sometimes it was too soon.
Dylan turned back to his patient and used the defibrillator, aware somewhere in the back of his mind that he was being that little bit more careful than usual. He knew they all would after this. Now they'd been reminded of how easily a mistake could be made.
It had never seemed so long. It always seemed longer than it was, but Dylan wanted it to be over and the patient to be stable so he could leave. Lofty had done so much for Dylan. He'd helped him and supported him and understood him in a way that few people ever had. He accepted Dylan's flaws; perhaps even liked him for them. Dylan wanted to support Lofty too.
He worked steadily, trying to concentrate on the present patient and not think of any other. He saw the patient's body jump in response to the shocks and reminded himself he'd seen it many times. He watched the nurses step aside and tried not to think of the one who hadn't.
At last, the patient was stable. Dylan wondered if Louise and the others could tell that all he wanted was to run out of the room as Lofty had done. But he stayed. He did what needed to be done because unlike Lofty, he had no excuse not to.
As soon as he could, Dylan hurried out of Resus and looked around, realising that he had no idea of where Lofty might go. He might be in the loo, throwing up again. Or outside, getting some air. Or nowhere near the hospital at all.
Dylan started to walk, with little idea where of where he was going, but always watching out for Lofty. He looked at every colleague he passed, a question on his lips, but it remained unasked. He wanted to find Lofty, but he didn't want anyone to know he was missing; that he'd left his post. Dylan didn't doubt there would be whispers circling the corridors about Lofty already. He didn't want to add to them. Not even to ease his feelings of desperation, concern and perhaps even fear.
He was almost at the staff room when he heard it. Sobs being torn from an anguished throat as someone fought so hard to hold their emotions in check. It wasn't necessarily Lofty. There were whispers about Cal and Ethan too and the tragic loss of a patient or staff member got to everyone.
But Dylan knew. He knew who it was.
His steps quickened and he burst into the staff room. Lofty was clinging to the back of a chair, his whole body shaking as he tried to fight back the powerful emotions inside him. Unhappiness, guilt, fear, anger towards himself… Dylan didn't doubt there were others.
"Ben," he said as he walked towards him. He had no idea of what he should say; he knew only that he must speak. He must try to help the man who had turned out to be such a surprisingly good friend.
He didn't know if Lofty had heard or not. The crying didn't stop or calm. It didn't intensify either. It just went on and on and it was almost as though Dylan were the one crying because he could feel every sob.
Dylan stood beside Lofty but turned towards him. It felt awkward. Wrong. Dylan had often wished he was better in situations like this, but he realised that even if he was good at this; even if he had every bit of Lofty's empathy and understanding, he would struggle to ease so deep a despair.
"Ben, it's all right," he said softly, his voice sounding odd because he didn't usually talk like that. Not to humans. Then he heard his words again and realised how ridiculous it sounded. "No. No, it's not all right. I can see that. But…" But what? What could he say to make things even a tiny bit better? What could he say that might stop it from getting worse? "I understand that you weren't able to help with the defibrillation. I shouldn't have allowed you to help in the first place, but it didn't matter. Louise was there. The patient is stable."
He listened as Lofty gasped and sobbed and tried to breathe. It seemed as though Dylan's words had made no impact at all, but he knew Lofty and he knew that when he was capable of feeling glad for the patient, then he would.
Dylan tried to think what Lofty would do if their positions were reversed. Hug him, most likely. Dylan put his hand on Lofty's arm. "I'm… I'm going to stay here with you. I think that would be best."
He felt something. Movement. Dylan went still and considered letting go of him, but then he realised Lofty had turned slightly towards him, his body no longer at right angles to Dylan's.
Dylan moved his hand just slightly. Up the arm and towards the shoulder. "They will want to speak to you soon. You know that, of course. But I know you can do this. I know you can say what needs to be said. You asked us to clear. You checked we'd cleared. You always do that."
Lofty continued to cry, but his position had definitely changed. He almost seemed to be leaning back into Dylan's arm.
The people who made the decisions had got the whole thing the wrong way round, thought Dylan, as his hand moved further across Lofty's shoulder blade. They'd think that because Lofty had made the mistake once, he was incompetent. A danger to the department. When actually, Dylan didn't doubt that when he was ready to return and to help with defibrillation, nobody would ever be more conscientious than Lofty because he knew the damage a mistake would cause in a way that, to his knowledge, nobody else in the department did. They were all being careful now and would continue to be until the shock… Dylan cringed mentally at his silent use of the word and hurriedly amended his thought: they would continue to be careful until the emotional effects of the incident had begun to fade.
But Lofty would never forget. Lofty would never cease to be careful.
There was still a concern, of course. Lofty was afraid of the defibrillator now and fear could lead to mistakes, just like getting caught up in the moment and not realising your colleagues weren't reacting as quickly as you. But Dylan knew Lofty would always do everything he could to ensure nothing like this ever happened again.
"You will be able to do this again," said Dylan. "You're a good nurse, Ben. An excellent nurse. We all make mistakes. I made mistakes too. I allowed her to come into the lift with us, even though I had strong doubts about whether or not she could be trusted."
He saw Lofty shake his head just slightly. His eyes begged Dylan not to blame himself for anything. And still he cried. Dylan watched the streams of tears running down his cheeks and dripping from his chin onto the floor. Lofty didn't wipe them away. He couldn't. He needed his hands for holding on to something and he needed to hold on to something so badly…
Or someone, thought Dylan. And I'm the only one here.
He moved his hand across Lofty's back to the other shoulder and exerted gentle pressure. Lofty moved closer not so much with a step as a stumble that brought his chest into contact with Dylan's. Dylan's other arm came up automatically to catch him and all at once, Dylan had both arms securely around Lofty as he cried into his shoulder.
It felt odd. Perhaps it would always feel odd. Dylan wasn't used to hugging and he wasn't used to seeing Lofty cry.
But he was doing the right thing - he felt certain of that. And nothing would make him let go.
He felt Lofty's arms moving, up and around his neck. His grip was convulsive; almost painful, but Dylan made no objection. He increased the pressure of his own hands still further and felt Lofty pressing closer to him as he shuddered in Dylan's arms.
One of Dylan's hands began to move of its own accord, making a small, jerky circle on Lofty's back. It felt unnatural and wrong and for the briefest moment, Dylan wanted to move away in a panic, but he knew he mustn't. He couldn't. He couldn't do anything that would hurt Lofty even more.
He told his hand to relax. He remembered that sometimes, when learning a new procedure, his hand had tensed because it was new to him and it felt strange, but he'd learned to relax and gradually, the procedure had become comfortable. It had enabled him to help his patients; to save their lives.
Now, he wanted to help Lofty. To save his career, for Dylan knew it could amount to that.
Dylan's hand relaxed. The circles on Lofty's back became larger and smoother. He felt Lofty's curls brush his face as he, perhaps unconsciously, moved his head closer to Dylan's.
"I'm… here," said Dylan, trying out a phrase he'd heard others use, including Lofty. It had always struck him as ridiculous because it was obvious whether he was there or not, but perhaps it meant a bit more than a physical presence.
Lofty's hands tightened for a moment in acknowledgement of his words. And then… at first, Dylan thought he might have imagined it. Even when he realised he hadn't, he knew it might not mean anything. A slight quieting of the sobs didn't mean that Lofty would stop crying soon. It certainly didn't mean the anguish was abating.
Dylan felt some of the tension drain from Lofty's body. The sobs became gasps and then nothing. Dylan continued to hold him, waiting for Lofty to decide when it was time to break the hug.
Lofty clung to him for a bit longer, but then he stepped back and stood facing Dylan. "Thank you." His voice was soft and throaty, but Dylan could see from the look in his eyes that he meant it.
Dylan took Lofty's arms and moved him carefully, helping him to sit on the sofa. "I'm going to make you a drink, then I'm going to sit with you."
Lofty nodded and started to wipe his tears away.
Dylan wanted to talk about what happened. He wanted to ensure that he and Lofty had their stories straight. He wanted to ensure that nothing happened to Lofty.
But he realised as he made the tea that it was ultimately Lofty's decision. Lofty knew what he could live with and what he couldn't. He was fragile, if not already broken, but he could make his own decisions.
Dylan returned to Lofty's side with the tea and they sat for a while in silence. Dylan was aware of how close to Lofty he was sitting, Lofty's leg almost touching his. On another day, he might have moved. Today, Lofty needed to know he was there.
"You need to understand the consequences of each course of action open to you," said Dylan. "But whatever you want to say or do, I will support you."
Lofty said nothing, but the gratitude in his eyes that momentarily replaced his misery told Dylan that, at last, he'd said the right thing.