You'll have to forgive me for this very very short one-shot - it was written on the back of sheer end of term exhaustion and a dire need for wish fulfilment! It's not like things I've written before, and I'm not sure whether it 'works' but hopefully you might enjoy it!
He entered the office as he had many times, shrouded in the fog of utter exhaustion, but he was especially grateful that morning for having not opened the blinds as he'd begun his night shift, hours earlier. Dylan dropped onto his desk chair and immediately put his head down on his folded arms. His eyelids were heavy, desperate for sleep.
"God, you look awful," she said softly, her voice carrying from the corner of the room.
He might have flinched in surprise, except it was immense relief and not fear that flooded him on hearing the voice of Sam Nicholls after nearly four years. It took a while for him to summon the energy to lift his head: a large part of him worried that she might not be there when he looked, that he might just be losing his mind and hearing her disembodied voice. But there she was, cross-legged on the coffee table, wearing a pastel blue t-shirt and soft pyjama trousers emblazoned with the talking teapot from some Disney film she'd once forced him to watch. He said nothing, instead drinking in the sight of the woman he never thought he would see again. Her hair was drawn up into a messy bun that seemed unusual without its old ballpoint pen shoved through it. The intricacies of her appearance had never escaped her in life, and this was no different.
"I mean it," she went on, folding her arms. "I've not seen you looking so rough, since..." She left it unsaid – she dared not ask him about or even mention it, that she'd not seen him looking this way since the summer of 2018. There was so much unsaid, that they'd never had the chance to say. She was almost sure that he missed her, although she was too scared of rebuttal to voice it.
Dylan frowned, certain that he had a right to look 'rough' after a night shift that had begun with children burned by a house fire and ended with an overturned car. Gruelling from start to finish, but he had a feeling they both knew it wasn't just that shift that had worn him down. Post-pandemic 'normal' was as far from normal as it was possible to be and he often wondered if he was cut out to be Clinical Lead for the long haul, when even overheard cough sent a shiver down his spine. It was difficult sometimes, to avoid the thought spirals attracted to such sounds, the intense private fear of 2020 coming to pass once more.
"I know it's been hellish out there," she murmured, gesturing with a tilt of her head to the world beyond the office door.
It was as though she could read his mind, although somehow there was nothing threatening about that. At one time in their relationship, they had been close enough to develop the ability to finish each other's sentences as though they shared a continuous train of thought.
"You have to start looking after yourself a bit better though, or you'll find yourself up shit creek without a paddle."
It was undoubtedly a nag, and yet somehow it was laced with kindness too. Did he really look so bad? He hadn't thought so, although the last time he had caught sight of himself had been prior to the night's two major traumas.
"I don't recall you taking so much interest in my wellbeing when you were physically present in this dimension," he muttered gruffly. He was unused to hearing her speak to him gently: it had been far longer than the four years since her death. He watched her unfold her crossed legs and stride purposefully across to his desk. When she leaned in to speak to him, it was with a far more familiar edge on her voice alongside that old familiar spearmint scent.
"I don't recall you ever taking so little interest in your continuing existence while I was present in this dimension, either."
Her words were as good as a slap across his face. He forced himself to look up and meet the blazing brown eyes he'd missed every day since he'd last seen her light in them. Part of him knew she was right, not that he'd give her the satisfaction. It was bloody hard work, looking after himself 'properly' while showing up to run the ED day after day. He had greatly underestimated the pressure of the role of Clinical Lead: at present it seemed relentless in its attempts to crush the life out of him.
"I know it feels hard right now," Sam said, making him wonder afresh whether she really could read his mind, "but that's because you've just finished an intense night shift and you're not looking at the big picture. You're thinking about that little boy with lifelong burn scars, and the mother whose children are in PICU after that crash. But you saved lives tonight, in between managing a department full of people."
His feeling of disbelief was overwhelming. He could hold back no longer. "What are you doing here, Sam? Why can I see you? How do you know all of that?" His throat ached around a lump that wouldn't budge.
She gave him a sad sort of smile. "I'm here to tell you what you need to hear," she said simply. "Like, you need to stop substituting coffee for a meal, because the caffeine is slowly doing you in. And for god's sake, will you start drinking more water before you get yourself admitted with a kidney infection? You're doing a good job in this place but it'll be for nothing if you kill yourself by sleep deprivation in the process!"
Dylan bit back his impulse to snap that it was unlikely anyone out there in the ED would even notice, except for maybe Stevie who would immediately swoop into the power vacuum. "I didn't think you cared," he admitted quietly.
Sam softened at once. "You probably think I'm here to moan, to stop you getting a moment's peace even when I'm gone. But I am proud of you, Dylan. Look at you, Clinical Lead of your own ED! Look at what you've achieved," she said, genuine warmth in her voice and expression. "Promise me you'll at least try and get more sleep?" she urged.
He found himself nodding.
"Take care, Dylan," she said gently.
It felt like a goodbye, and Dylan's heart dropped. He stood up quickly. "Will you be there, when I get home?"
Her face fell sympathetically. "Oh, Grumpy. Of course I won't. I wish I could be." She looked straight into his eyes. "You know this is all in your head, don't you?"
His shoulders sagged and he nodded. He'd known all along, wondering whether he was dreaming, hallucinating or something else. To hear her confirm it still stung. I miss you, do you know that? he thought, unable to say it out loud. He didn't stop gazing at her face, so he knew her lips didn't move when he heard her 'speak' again. I know, Dylan. I miss you too.
"I'm always with you, Grumpy. I know you hate the cliché, but I will always be right here." She put a hand over his heart and Dylan would have sworn blind he could physically feel it.
"Samantha –" he began, but when he blinked, she was gone and he was left wondering.
