Rheese cuddles x

"Reese! You're late."

Sarah gets intercepted by Joey coming out of the elevator as she hurries down the ED. It only occurred to her when she woke up in Connor's apartment this morning that she had to find a bus to take, not wanting to wake him up and ask to borrow his car.

"I'm sorry. Last night there's been an incident…"

"Yeah, I heard," Joey cuts her off. She can't tell if he's impatient or desperate. "That's the thing, the patient's blood work just came back. He's HIV positive."

Sarah takes the report from her boyfriend. She finds the patient's name, and then just stares at the paper as her mind takes a few seconds to come to terms of the situation.

"Sarah," he sounds out, worried.

"Take this to Dr. Berman will you?" Sarah takes a breath, snapping herself out of the moment. "I have to – make a call."

She hands him back the report. Joey shifts his feet, eyes fixed on her, hesitant to say some more, but doesn't, and instead turns and makes for the elevator.

She grabs her phone, impulsively searching for his number, and finds that she doesn't have it. Why would she, considering he's only a colleague she barely knows? Last night certainly was nothing more than her being responsible for her patient. She lowers her phone and sighs, mulling over her options. She could ask Maggie, or better let Dr. Berman handle the situation, but she feels a strange loss of privacy at the thought. Somehow this feels personal, just between the two of them, and everyone else is an intruder if they were to get involved.

"Maggie," she hurries around the nurse station. "I need an hour of personal time if that's okay?"

"Yep," the nurse takes her eyes off the screen for one sec. "But you just got in. is something wrong?"

"Yes," she doesn't feel like being news breaker right now. "It is."

Doubts emerge in the older woman's eyes, but Maggie knows better than to pry, making a silent okay to Sarah before she takes her leave.

Connor wakes up to a tearing pain in his left arm. He needs nothing else to remind him of the mishap in the ED last night, and Sarah. He has to admit, that he was lucky to have her. She made his pain and exhaustion go away, and she made him feel safe.

He drags himself out of bed. The Tylenol bottle still sits quietly on the night stand. She's going to make a great doctor, even though she doesn't realize it yet. He thinks as he swallows some more pills before sauntering over to the spare bedroom.

For a moment he is convinced that it was merely a dream, before he lays eyes on one of his gray t-shirts neatly folded up on the center of the bed that's been cleanly made. He goes over the closet, then the bathroom. Everything's been left untouched. If he didn't know better he'd say she got cold feet, but he appreciates the respect, the formality between the two of them, a beginning to a delicate yet solid friendship.

He rummages the refrigerator for a quick breakfast, unsurprised to find that she probably didn't have time to steal herself one, even though neither of them would ever consider it stealing. He can't help be amused at the thought that she too often looks like a kid who's broken a glass, always careful and self-conscious about making mistakes, one of the rare but valuable qualities you see in doctors, despite its downsides, and he's been determined to get her over it.

The doorbell snaps the stream of his thoughts. He puts down the milk halfway through pouring it, and rounds the counter to get the door, and, to his astonishment, finds Sarah standing in the hallway, still dressed in her clothes from yesterday.

"Hey," he tries to greet her brightly, but her face is serious, if not solemn, and her eyes look sad, more so than usual.

"I have to take you to the hospital."

He can't read her face, but her voice is telling him she's scared. He blinks at her, frowning.

"The patient that stabbed you…he's HIV positive," the words don't come out right, not to her. The whole thing feels insensibly wrong. It cuts into her heart to see the innocent perplexity in his eyes overtaken by astonishment and terror, but just for a split second, before he goes to hide away behind the walls, leaving the door wide open with her in it.

When Connor shows at the door a second time, in his jacket and carrying his bag, Sarah lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Suddenly she falls into this false illusion of the two of them going to work together on an ordinary morning, though it only lasts a few beats, before reality strikes again with a ding of the elevator.

It's a silent ride downstairs, and a silent ride to the hospital, yet it feels unadulteratedly different than it did last night. She's never felt so distant from him even though he's sitting in the passenger seat right next to her, and refusing to look at her. She loses count of how many stealthy glances she's thrown his way. His face is blank from the side, and she's too scrupulous to try and make eye contact, until they've pulled into a parking space and he gets out of the car first. She follows, and, over the car roof, their eyes meet, just for a split second. Then he turns away and flounders toward the ED.

They look like they're slammed, the staff flustering around the place shouting out orders. No matter how familiar he is with the setting, Connor walks in more than a little overwhelmed.

"Connor," Maggie spots him in and comes up to him, her eyes wide with concern, fully focused on him for just the moment. "I've just signed you in. Dr. Aljadeff is ready for you."

"Thank you Maggie," Connor replies lightly the way he does when he's being pulled into work, and makes his way to the elevator without one look back at Sarah.

Sarah shuffles a few steps behind him, hesitant to follow, a dozen scenarios playing in her head. Does he blame her somehow, for what happened last night? If anything she blames herself, for she was in the room and she failed to get hold of the patient in time. It makes her angry, now that she thinks about it, that the man would do something like this, when he knew he's carrying an incurable disease, well if, he knew, to be fair, but Sarah has this gut feeling that he does, otherwise why would he attempt suicide…?

"Reese," Dr. Choi pops the door of the lounge as she pulls on her white coat. "We've got incoming. You're with me."

Turns out it was an apartment building set on fire about six blocks away, on a supposedly peaceful Saturday morning when people were sleeping in. PD already suspects arson, but still no clue on a suspect. They treated burns after burns, and about a dozen fractures caused by attempted escapes from windows, a few of which were more than attempts after all. These people are lucky to have to wear a cast rather than burn to death.

Their day comes to an end with the tragic death of Dr. Choi's burn patient, who begged then to let him live a little longer just so he could say goodbye to his wife, but never got to. Watching him go like that makes Sarah even angrier at the amount of disregard that the suicide patient has for his and someone else's life.

She leaves Ethan alone sulking at a computer screen and strides her way right up to the ICU.

There's no one else in the room, and when she throws the door open purposefully loud, at the sound he man opens his eyes, following her as she comes closer.

"Hey uh, the doc that tried to stop me back there, he okay?"

"Did you know you have HIV, Mr. Yates?"

"Yeah. Found out 'bout fifteen years ago," he takes a self-loathing tone. "I'm sorry."

If that first one was a genuine question, the next few might as well be rigorous interrogation, and Sarah has to oblige herself not to flip out at the patient.

"Sorry?" Sarah questions unbelievingly. "Do you realize what you have done? You stabbed a doctor, and it's not just that you could've killed him. He's practically being given a death sentence –"

"I tol' you I wanna die," now he sounds desperate. "Why can't you just let me die?"

"I don't care," Sarah pushes closer, gritting her teeth. "But you wanna drag someone else down with you? Treating other people's life like a joke? That makes you a murderer. Do you hear me? You're a murderer."

She stresses every syllable. She's practically yelling, and about an inch from spatting at the guy, who's cringing at her words, face contorted in remorse.

"Reese," Dr. Charles calls from the door. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

He excuses them from the patient, and steers her toward the nurse station, "That was a little too aggressive don't you think?"

"I suppose you've heard what he did," tears of anger push at the back of her eyes as she tries to defend herself.

"Yeah, and I'm very sorry that this has happened, but it is inappropriate for one to accuse others of their actions without knowing the whole story," he talks calmly and earnestly, but that fails to calm her down.

"Actions?" she snaps, perhaps in too cynical a tone. "What he did to Connor was assault, and attempted murder given his awareness of his own condition."

"I understand your concerns for Dr. Rhodes. I really do," his words make her flinch, catching her off guard, but he's too good at the game of pretend. "I mean, you were there, and – and it could've been you, and it's totally normal to fear for your safety. But – what's important now is that we have the information, and the patient is under control so he can't hurt anyone else okay?"

"It's not fair," Sarah shakes her head, and pulls on a helpless sneer trying to bite back the tears. "It's just not fair…"

Daniel is about to console her when a code sounds from the room. He takes off rushing in with a nurse, but Sarah stands her ground. The patient is not arresting, so the DNR is off limits, though, for the first time in her line of work, Sarah would be glad if patient's death wish could be honored.

She watches as the flock nock themselves out over a man who doesn't want to be saved, and figures she's got better things to do with her off time. She doesn't feel like heading home yet, not after everything today had to offer. And Connor, the thought of him crosses her mind as the elevator carries her down, alone, now that it's past the usual time of switching shifts. She's made no attempt to get through to him. She doesn't know how anyway, determined that he wants nothing more to do with her than having been her patient, and vice versa.

She shoves some of that coffee beans Joey gave her in her mouth as she makes her way to the lounge, preparing to go over her notes again and try not to lose another patient on her next shift tomorrow. She pushes through the glass door and as her eyes land on the couch, her heart skips a beat and she forgets to chew.

There sits Connor, hunched over with his head down, fiddling with a little bottle of pills in his hands.

"Hey," she sounds out, and he finally lifts his eyes up at her. "What'd they say?"

"They're starting me on PEP and…there's no way to test for it now," his voice is distant, if not indifferent, as if he was talking about just another patient, but his eyes are glazed over, and look lost, but mostly tired.

She stands there at a loss for words as he looks away. Nothing he told her was not what she already knows, and there's nothing she can tell him that's not what he already knows.

"I thought you went home."

He throws a glance at her, "I was going to, but…what was I supposed to do just sit there and stare at the wall I…I don't want to be alone."

Those words strike her heart and it shatters into a million pieces. Half-awake, she lands one knee beside him on the couch and wraps her arms around his shoulders. He welcomes the embrace by tilting his head and slipping further into her chest. She's sitting on her right leg now, her chin resting on his head. She can feel his eyelashes flattering against the crook of her neck. There are no tears, just quiet. His fragrance creeping its way up her nostrils, and the feel of him in her arms, both soft and solid at the same time, it reassures her that as long as the world still turns, there is light in it.

All she has to keep time with is the sound of his breathing, in sync to her own, and she almost loses track of it, before her compressed leg starts to tingle and she has to wriggle for balance, accidentally grabbing onto his injured arm. He winces at the move, hissing, and she beats herself up once more for her clumsiness.

"Sorry," she flusters when pulling back, and ends up dumping herself bottom-down in the other end of the couch. She instantly straightens up, eyeing him with a wary eye. "Have you had that dressing changed?"

She does not let slip the glitter of bemusement that flits the corner of his eye, before it gives in to a weary sigh, "No. They're all busy."

"I'll help you," she gets to her feet, straightening her white coat. He follows her, still holding the pill bottle, and pauses his steps by the door. They share a brief moment of staring into the ED, that bizarre echo in the air, a bleached gloom given off by the ceiling lights as they glow lonely in the night bracing for the catastrophes it has to offer. Across that space the trauma rooms are open, awaiting, and it strikes her in an instant that the last thing he needs is to relive last night, and same goes for her.

"Fine," she turns and walks to the lockers, his eyes following her. She throws off her white coat and pulls on her casual one, and finds that he's turned to face her.

"Let's go home," she smiles, freeing her hair from the collar of her coat.