Lofty shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he stood alone in the ED staffroom, staring blindly through the half-open shutters out towards the ambulance bay. In. Out. In. He tried to steady his breathing. Realising that he had been rubbing his hands together so hard that they had turned a bright shade of red, he thrust them into the trouser pockets of his scrubs. A quick glance at the clock; 7:56. He needed to distract himself. In. Out. He closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the ceiling. Please stop, please please stop.
He started at the cardboard box being placed (rather heavily) on the table. Dylan. He let out a breath. The older doctor always seemed to have a calming effect on Lofty's anxiety.
"Morning." Dylan cleared his throat, hands settling on his hips and gaze directed down towards the box on the table.
"Err just a selection of things I brought.. I hope they help. Talk to me if you need anything." With his face still tilted downwards, Dylan shot Lofty a glance up through his eyebrows before turning and abruptly leaving the staffroom. Lofty felt his cheeks flush. Dylan was embarrassed about yesterday. Why wouldn't he be? I was a total mess in front of him. Again. Lofty could still feel the touch of the doctor's forehead resting on his own as he had calmed the nurse after his panic attack. It had felt so natural. How strange. A faint smile tugged at Lofty's lips. How could it feel natural to be so close to Holby's most aloof doctor? Lofty felt his stomach twist.
Perching on a stool, Lofty peaked into the cardboard box. What was this? A light blue CD titled "Calm", a little brown bottle of "Rescue Remedy", a small yellow box containing two sheets of- what was this?- "Dysto-logesS"?, and a small card on which was scrawled "Ben Hardy" and below: a telephone number. Lofty stared, gawking. He became conscious of his heart again, but for a different reason. It seemed to swell in his chest as he sat there in disbelief.
"What's that?" Robyn sang, entering the staffroom for her morning cup of tea.
"Oh, oh nothing." Lofty muttered, scrambling off his stool and shoving the box into his locker. He walked out towards the main desk; still unable to process what exactly had happened. Who knew Dylan could be so thoughtful? Lofty had always seen something deep swimming in the doctor's blue eyes. Robyn had laughed when he'd told her. "Dr Keogh? A heart? Never!" She'd chuckled, and given him a shove for being soft. But there was something there. Lofty was sure of it.
Lofty's morning had gone rather smoothly, for a day in Holby ED that is. He'd sorted a teen footballer's dislocated shoulder, stitched up a nasty forehead gash on a patient who had slipped on the icy pavements and even managed to relocate a run-away patient; after 30 minutes of searching he'd found the elderly lady having a cigarette outside in her hospital gown. Then at 3:27 came a call to resus: a 20 year old burn victim, caught in a house fire. Oh no. Lofty could feel his heart beginning to pound as he helped Dixie, Dylan and Louise transfer the patient onto a bed in bay 2. He could feel his palms sweating. Oh no, please please not now. Sounds began to muffle. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Connie was busy treating a patient in bay 3. Please don't let her see, please oh please.
"Lofty?" Dylan sidled up to the nurse and placed a worried hand on his shoulder. Lofty couldn't meet his eyes. He was paralyzed.
"Rita, Rita can you take over please? Lofty, you're coming with me, now." Lofty could barely hear Dylan's low rumbling voice over the sound of blood in his ears and was barely aware of the doctor dragging him to the staffroom.
Lofty could feel the air condensing all around him. Fear wrapped its iron hands around his throat and began to squeeze. Panic rose in his throat like acid as he gasped for air. I think I am going to die. Surely I am going to die.
Lofty blinked his eyes open and glanced at the staffroom clock; 4:08. His eyes fell to Dylan, the worried figure paced restlessly back and forth, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. As he noticed Lofty stirring he rushed over to where the nurse lay on the sofa.
"D-Dylan, Dylan, its okay." The doctor was frantically shining his flashlight into the nurse's eyes, one hand measuring his pulse.
"Eat." He instructed, thrusting a small tablet into Lofty's palm.
"Glucose and magnesium." He explained, handing the nurse a mug of water. Lofty swallowed then let out a long shaky breath. He felt exhausted, drained, like he had just run a marathon.
"W-what?"
"You had a panic attack. I brought you in here. You're okay..." He trailed off, trying to recompose himself. A leaden weight settled in Lofty's chest. No. He felt numb.
"I'm going to lose my job" He mumbled.
"No, no. I won't let that happen." Dylan blurted, manner-of-fact. "Here" he thrust a small bunch of key's into the nurse's palm. "I want you to go back to my boat. My shift ends in a couple hours. I want to make sure you're okay." The doctor rose to his feet and walked towards his locker to hide the blush rising in his cheeks.
"O-okay.. See you later." Lofty pushed himself up off the couch. He watched the blonde doctor's back as he left for cubicles.
Dylan asked me to go to his boat? Well, instructed, but that was just Dylan's way. Lofty felt deeply touched by the doctor's kindness. He'd never seen Dylan like that; so flustered. ...Could he? No. Ben shook his head. He pulled on his navy hoody and grabbed the cardboard box. He knew he should be worrying about the danger to his career, but all he could think of was the blue eyed doctor. Yes, Dylan please. Please help me fight this.
