A much shorter story than I've been used to writing, but this is an idea that dawned around Christmas, hence the title and the timing in the story! Life keeps getting in the way of writing, though, so it's been a long time coming. Enjoy.
Flu season had come early that year. Maybe two years of covid and strict isolations had altered immunity somehow, or maybe they'd all just forgotten how intense it could be to manage everyday emergencies, major trauma transfers and critically unwell respiratory patients. Including, of course, a new spike of covid cases. Things had never been harder, although for Sam and Dylan there were small reprieves. Since the end of the summer, they had quietly and privately been rekindling their relationship; in the darkening winter it was a comforting glow they both appreciated.
It had been Sam who insisted that they go slowly.
"Wait," she said, stepping back from his embrace once it became clear that their only logical next step would be to remove all clothing and continue activities in the bedroom. "Just… Stop, a moment." Her heart beat furiously in her chest – she wanted to be swept along with it all, she was desperate for her skin to meet his in a way it hadn't for ten years or more. But she was older now, not the twenty-three year old who didn't know better.
"What is it?" Dylan frowned in confusion at her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. He couldn't read her with his brain incapable of thinking further ahead than removing her clothes. Though she felt magnetically pulled towards him, she took a breath and composed herself.
"We can't do this the same as we did before. We can't dive headlong into bed like we're back in London with no thought for the consequences. We only started thinking about there being an 'us' this afternoon, for crying out loud!"
"But I thought that was what you wanted?" Logical thought eluded him, though it was slowly returning as it dawned on him that sex probably wasn't on the cards anymore.
Sam let out a sigh. She pulled a hand along the length of her ponytail, vaguely hating herself for being older and somewhat wiser. "It is. But… We're not the same people we were. We're not a registrar and an F1, desperate to do everything before we get found out! There's not a deployment hurrying us along or a sense of impending implosion." She took his hands wistfully and led him to sit back on her little sofa. "I think we owe it to ourselves to go slowly this time. And –" she added, slightly embarrassed, "I'm not twenty-three anymore, thinking I'm invincible. I've had no reason to be on the pill for years, and thirty-seven is too old for a pregnancy scare from one night of runaway passion."
"When did we grow up so much?" Dylan asked, after a long silence. "You've such an old head on those shoulders, now." He kissed her temple softly.
"You say that as if it's not been creeping up on us for years," she murmured with a gentle smile, pressing her forehead against his.
Dylan looked up from the mound of paperwork at his desk and his gaze fell on Sam. It was early October and the weather had turned: her cheeks were pink from the biting wind outside. As she turned, coffees in hand, he caught her eye and his expression warmed automatically. She smiled in return and excused herself from conversation with Jan to head to the Clinical Lead's office.
Despite their exchanged glances, she still knocked on the glass pane of the door, observing all the formality between a paramedic and Clinical Lead. There had been none of that when they'd been a registrar and an F1: she'd have taken any opportunity for proximity, not worrying about the obstacle of a closed door. Now, she took no advantages, not while on shift. She wasn't so nearsighted as to equalise their statuses or think herself important enough to interrupt whatever was happening in that office.
"Busy day out there?" He felt somewhat silly for asking, but he'd not looked further than the end of his desk for some time and had no idea about the department climate since he'd sequestered himself in his office.
"Mm," Sam hummed, pushing one of the cups she carried across the desk and under his nose. "It's not as bad as it has been, but it wouldn't take much. We had our first little one with bronchiolitis of the year, though."
Dylan frowned. "Really? But it's so early!"
"5th of October," Sam confirmed. "I'm sure it's the earliest I've ever seen it."
"How old?" He finally noticed the coffee she'd brought him. "Is this mine?"
"Well, it's not anyone else's, Grumpy," she teased, though it was clear her mind was on her bronchiolitis patient. "Eight months. Gorgeous little thing, really struggling."
"She's in the best place now," he said. There wasn't much to be said that Sam wouldn't have heard before, either as a doctor or a paramedic. He took a drink and closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose in discomfort.
"Everything alright?" Sam checked.
He looked up and nodded. "Headache," he explained. "Awful night's sleep; I was changing over from nights yesterday, you know what it's like when it just doesn't go your way."
"I know the feeling. As long as that's all it is."
"That's all. I'll be fine – I'll sleep better tonight, with you there," he admitted.
Sam's eyes sparkled in that almost undetectable way. It was nice to hear that after all the time that had passed, her presence could still make a difference. It would be the first time she'd stayed overnight on the boat and she'd been looking forward to it for longer than she cared to admit, given that it had been at her insistence that they'd slowed relationship matters to a crawl.
At that moment, her radio began to crackle and emit a new call-out. She turned on the spot and locked eyes with Jan out in the department, who was motioning for her to leave. She nodded, turning briefly back to Dylan. "I'll see you later then."
"Wait," he said quickly, getting up from his desk. When he was beside her, he kissed her cheek and murmured, "Be careful out there."
It wasn't the first time he'd said it, but it gave Sam butterflies the same as it had when it was the first time. She was being sentimental and faintly ridiculous, but his words felt like an invisible protective barrier around her.
She hadn't dared say it yet – neither had he. But she loved him, and she was fairly sure he loved her too.