Grace got some double Valentine's love. Enjoy!
They say that being a trauma surgeon means you learn how to function on the tiniest amount of sleep. She's even had fellow surgeons confess to not even missing the extra hours in their own bed, that they are so committed to their work that sleep falls to the bottom of their priority list.
Screw that.
Eva groans heavily when the loud vibrations begin on her bedside table. She twists in her comforter and sighs deeply into her pillow when she hears the catchy intro of We Didn't Start the Fire belt out from the speaker. Unfortunately, not even Billy Joel's coarse, stellar voice could make this any less of a rude awakening.
Without looking, she reaches her arm towards the side table and feels around for her cell, following the strength of the recurring vibrations through the wood. Twisting in the warmth she's created, she lays on her front when the receiver reaches her ear.
"Chris?" she mumbles sleepily, pushing up and curving her chest to rest on her elbows. "What's wrong?"
"Did I wake you, Peaches?" He chuckles down the phone. Maybe if she was more awake, she'd have chuckled with him but the exhaustion wins this round and she groans heavily again, mirroring the one when she first woke. "How'd you know it was me?"
"Billy Joel," she croaks sleepily as she drags her body up in the bed. He quips something about how changing his ringtone worked a charm. Pulling the phone from her ear, she blinks towards the bright light a notices the time. "Please tell me you have a good reason for calling me at 4am."
She's joking, her little laugh at the end was intended to express that, but he doesn't reply. Instead the wind batters against his microphone and the familiar sound of sirens sound amidst it all. "Chris?"
"I uh… I couldn't sleep," he confesses shyly. "I thought we could have some coffee."
Eva doesn't hesitate pulling her comforter away and swinging to sit upright with her feet off the side of the bed. She clicks on the screen of her cell to activate speaker phone and tosses it on the bed. She reaches to her side chair for the first thing that looks warm enough to accompany the sweat pants she's already wearing. She ends up climbing inside a navy oversized hoodie - something an old boyfriend left behind, but damn it's comfy.
"Do you need me to pick you up?" She asks, rummaging to the corner of her closet for those Ugg boots her father gave her one birthday. They're wedged behind that bag for Goodwill that she brought home with the vow to take it tomorrow, though that was at least a hundred yesterdays ago.
"Not exactly," he says smiling, the smirk loud - she can hear it all the way from the tiny microphone on her bed.
"What do you mean?" She shakes her head silently, grinning at his antics, and bending over, reaching down to help her ankles passed the resistance in each boot. Her spine straightens reflexively at the sound of her buzzer bouncing on the walls of her entryway, down the hallway and vibrating into her bedroom.
Of course he's outside. She picks up her phone to put it back to her ear, "Tell me you're kidding." It's not out of the question where Chris is concerned, he is always up to something.
"Come meet me downstairs. It'd be a crime to let a gorgeous night like this go to waste."
She sighs happily, "You're insane."
"You love me," he quips back in return.
As silently as she can, she grips onto her keys to keep them from jingling with every step passed her neighbour's front steps down the the front door. He looks sad but he perks up when she silently greets him. He's right, it is a nice night. It's cool and breezy but not enough to merit the boyfriend hoodie.
"You cycled here?" She points to his bike propped up next to her car. It's dark and on a busy Saturday night with roads filled with buzzed drivers, he's crazy.
"It wasn't all bad," he shrugs. He picks up the throwaway coffee cups from the hood of her car and stretches one out to her. "You should have seen me trying to balance with these things, though."
"I can imagine," she laughs. The coffee is still quite hot, he couldn't have picked them up too long ago. She sits down on the step to her apartment building and he follows to join her, sipping on their drinks.
They enjoy silence together. It's what they're used to in all honesty. After long shifts, they'll go to the bar and things will start off busy, but as soon as everyone scatters like they always do, they sit in each other's company comfortably. They'll sip on their drinks and look out across the water and relax.
But something's not right tonight. He's hurting. And she knows why.
"This is about Rick, isn't it?" She prods, fidgeting with her coffee cup.
He handled it far too well last week. Chris was calm, even collected, when she explained Rick's diagnosis; even if they had the worst of relationships, his nonchalance should have been a warning sign that Chris didn't actually soak it in entirely.
Chris frowns at the mention of his brother's name, and he tries to fool her with a cough to mask it. He shakes his head, "Would you believe me if I said I just missed your voice, Peaches?"
"Not a chance," she laughs. "Why do you deflect like that?"
He sighs and turns his coffee cup into the palm of his hand a couple of times. "He could have come to me. He could have told me, Eva. I wish he knew that."
"He knows," she comforts him. "And I told him over and over to let me bring you in, but… but he's just as stubborn as you." Chris breathes heavily out his nose, nodding sadly in agreement. Chris is more like Rick than he's willing to admit.
"Thank you," he says abruptly. She wasn't expecting it - it's an unnecessary gesture. She did her job as a doctor, something any decent professional would have done. "I never said it last week and I should have. You didn't have to help him, you could have sent him to a specialist. And you put up with him, that in itself deserves praise."
Reminded of Rick's interesting tactics to get her to help, she almost blushes, but quickly reverts the situation back to what has brought Chris all the way to her apartment like this. "Have you called him?" She asks.
"Now that," he sighs, "That is why I can't sleep. " The cogs in his head begin to turn like the have most of the night, the same worries plaguing, a plethora of words climbing up the back of his throat but refusing to be released. He mutters a colourful expletive at his own mind games and sighs, "How did I let it get to where I lose sleep at the very thought of calling him?"
She reaches over to hold his hand, "You love him. And you're scared. It's normal to hesitate."
She thinks it's harmless, just a friendly gesture, paying no attention to how his eyes latch to her warmth entwined with his fingers. She's acted so nonchalantly, still staring out into the parking lot. So while his stomach flutters, he simply squeezes her hold, muttering another thank you before he gulps away the bitter end of his coffee.
"We didn't start the fire…" she sings softly, smirking a wide smile in his direction. His eyes widen, surprised that she is singing willingly for him and he's already planning how he will tease her for it later. it makes her giggle, causing her to fails as she tries to finish the next line, "It was always burning-"
Chris' chest explodes with a short bout of laughter, "I love you, you know that?"
Her giggles subside and her smirk softens into an appreciative smile, "You're not too bad yourself." Then she yawns loudly and unexpectedly - coffee after midnight usually does nothing to her.
"You're tired," he notes after her yawn. He stands and takes her empty cup, helping her up swiftly before tossing the empty polystyrene into the trash can and heads back to his bike, retreating to allow her the chance to enjoy the rarity of a night in her own bed.
"Hey," she calls over to him, opening the lock on her door. "You can come up if you want." He looks confused, tilting his head at the offer. "I'd end up picking you up tomorrow anyway. You can stay."
"Really?" He teases.
"On my couch, hot shot," she tosses back.