The GSW came in hot— mid-twenties male, single shot to the abdomen, tachycardic and crashing fast. Elizabeth was called down from surgery just in time to meet Susan at the trauma bay doors.
They didn't need to speak. They never did in these moments.
Susan barked orders with calm precision. Elizabeth anticipated every step. Retraction, clamp, suction. Elizabeth's hands moved with surgical grace, and Susan kept the rhythm like she was born in that chaos.
"Is it weird how hot this is?" Haleh muttered under her breath to Chuny, both watching the seamless choreography unfold. "Because damn."
They got the bleeder, stabilized the pressure, got him upstairs.
And only when the adrenaline dropped did Susan wince—barely—but Elizabeth caught it.
"You're hurt," she said, voice low and clinical.
"I'm fine," Susan replied, already starting to walk off. "Just a little—"
"Exam 1. Now," Elizabeth cut in, not stern, just steady.
Susan sat on the edge of the gurney, cradling her right hand. Elizabeth rolled up her sleeves, already scanning for swelling.
"You didn't say anything," Elizabeth murmured, wrapping gentle fingers around Susan's wrist.
"I didn't want to slow us down," Susan said. "We were in the zone."
Elizabeth huffed a quiet breath, half a laugh. "That's one way of putting it."
Silence fell, comfortable, the air between them taut and still. The only sound was the soft brush of Elizabeth's hands moving over Susan's skin.
Susan was watching her—blatantly. Her gaze on Elizabeth's face, the way her brow furrowed slightly as she examined the joint, her lower lip tucked just slightly under her teeth.
When Elizabeth finally looked up, their eyes locked.
Susan, ever the deflector, grinned. "If you were a guy, people would definitely be whispering about us by now."
Elizabeth flushed—actually flushed—and narrowed her eyes in amusement.
"Well," she said, voice laced in that dry British irony Susan was starting to crave, "I suppose I'll just have to make twice the impression then."
Susan laughed, low and warm.
"God, you're trouble."
Elizabeth smirked.
And then, for a breathless second, the moment hovered.
Close. Too close. The air charged again, familiar and electric.
But the door didn't open, and neither pulled away.
Susan couldn't stop thinking about it.
It wasn't just the way Elizabeth touched her wrist, or how she always smelled vaguely of sandalwood and some ridiculously expensive lotion. It was the pull—quiet, magnetic, and increasingly hard to ignore.
She'd had… experiences before. A few late-night "this doesn't leave the dorm" kisses in college. Some complicated weekends in Scottsdale she never quite talked about. But this—this was something else. This was Mark Greene's widow. His widow, for god's sake.
And yet, here she was, standing at the threshold of the lounge like an idiot.
Elizabeth was sitting alone, reading over a chart with a furrowed brow and a coffee gone cold.
Susan cleared her throat. "Hey. You want to get out of here? Just for a bit."
Elizabeth looked up, eyes cautious but curious. "Where to?"
Susan shrugged. "Magoo's. Coffee. Unless you're suddenly too fancy for barista-burnt espresso."
Elizabeth smirked. "What, like a date?"
Susan blinked, then deadpanned. "What kind of slob do you take me for? First date at Magoos? Please. I have standards."
Elizabeth laughed, warm and unexpected, closing the chart. "Well. Lead the way, then."
It wasn't romantic. Not technically.
The lighting was terrible, the coffee worse, and the table they were sitting at had someone's initials carved into it with a key. But somehow, in the dim haze of too-late hours and the quiet rhythm of conversation, something settled between them.
Susan watched Elizabeth across the table. The way she twirled her spoon absentmindedly in her tea, the line of her jaw illuminated by the neon beer sign on the wall.
She didn't want to want her.
But she did.
When they finished, Susan got up, grabbing both cups and tossing them in the bin like it gave her something to do.
Then, almost casually, like she wasn't throwing her whole heart off a cliff, she said:
"I'd take you on a date. If you wanted."
Elizabeth turned slowly, her smile fading into something softer, unreadable.
She didn't answer right away.
But her silence didn't feel like a rejection.
It felt like a beginning.
Susan hated herself.
Why the hell did she say that?
"I'd take you on a date if you wanted." Jesus. What was she thinking? Elizabeth was Mark's widow, not some stranger at a bar, not someone you flirted with between trauma cases and bedtime stories.
She tried to rationalize it away. Maybe Elizabeth hadn't even heard her. Maybe she just didn't care. But the silence afterward… it hadn't been nothing. It was the kind of silence that followed you home and sat beside you on the couch while you ate cereal at midnight.
They ended up on opposite shifts for a few days—an unfortunate blessing. Susan still checked on Ella at daycare, of course. Made sure she was napping, had her favorite blanket, smiled at the staff like everything was normal.
She just… avoided her mother.
Until she couldn't anymore.
Until she found herself at Elizabeth's door with her heart in her throat and a thousand regrets on her tongue.
Elizabeth opened it, barefoot, her hair loose, wearing a soft sweater that made Susan's thoughts spiral in entirely unhelpful directions.
"I'm sorry," Susan blurted. "I made things weird. I didn't mean to. Can we just—can we pretend I never said anything?"
Elizabeth tilted her head, eyes searching hers. "I'd rather we don't pretend."
Susan froze.
Elizabeth stepped aside. "Come in."
Ella was already asleep, the monitor low and steady in the background. The apartment was dimly lit, quiet, warm in that way only a home can be.
Elizabeth poured two glasses of wine and handed one over. Her fingers brushed Susan's. They both noticed.
"I had a girlfriend once," Elizabeth said suddenly. "During med school. Claire. My parents found out. Threatened to cut me off. Said I was wasting their name."
Susan blinked, caught off guard. For once, completely speechless.
Elizabeth's voice softened. "I can't thank you enough for what you've done these last months. For Ella. For me. You didn't have to. And yet… you did. Ella loves you. I—"
She faltered, then reached across the small distance between them and took Susan's hand.
"I don't know what I'd do without you."
Susan felt like the air had been knocked out of her.
She opened her mouth, the words catching. "Mark would've wanted—"
"No." Elizabeth cut her off gently, her voice firm but kind. "It's not about Mark anymore. At least… not for me."
Susan swallowed, hard. She felt her blood rushing everywhere—fingertips, cheeks, throat, chest.
"Elizabeth…" she whispered. "Tell me I'm mixing the signals or I'm going to kiss you."
Elizabeth's lips curved into a slow, wickedly tender smirk. Her voice was lower now, laced with something Susan had only dared imagine.
"Finally."
The first kiss wasn't soft.
It wasn't tentative, or cautious, or anything like the slow burn that led to it. It was weeks—months—of wanting, unsaid things, near-touches, and long stares finally combusting.
Elizabeth leaned in like she'd decided something irrevocable, and Susan met her halfway, lips crashing together with the force of something undeniable.
Hands tangled. Teeth scraped. Susan gasped into it, moaned without meaning to—God, her mouth, the way Elizabeth kissed like she was trying to memorize her from the inside out. Her hands slid up Elizabeth's back, pulling her closer, closer, like proximity could quiet the wild rhythm of her heart.
Elizabeth tasted like red wine and control finally surrendered.
Susan whimpered into her mouth, one of those tiny, helpless sounds that slipped out before she could stop it.
They broke apart for air—barely.
Elizabeth's lips were swollen, parted, her cheeks flushed. Her breath came in little stuttered pulls, and her chest rose and fell just enough for Susan to notice—too much—the outline of her breasts under that damn soft blouse, the faint outline of her nipples pressing against the fabric.
Jesus Christ, Susan thought, her pulse thundering. Why am I looking? Why can't I stop looking?
Elizabeth tilted her head back against the couch, chest heaving slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"That was magnetic," she breathed. "And that was just kissing."
Susan laughed—too high, too sharp, too panicked—and tried to get control of her spiraling thoughts. "Jesus, I—"
She stood suddenly, pacing, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. "Ella's in the other room. I shouldn't even be here. I shouldn't—God, I don't even know what I'm doing."
Elizabeth stayed still, calm, watching her.
Susan's chest felt tight, breath caught somewhere between arousal and panic.
"I think I'm having a minor meltdown," she said, half-laughing. "Like, clinically. Because that was—you—and I—"
"You're not alone in this," Elizabeth said softly. "I felt it too."
Susan looked at her, eyes wide. "Yeah?"
Elizabeth nodded slowly. "I've been feeling it for a long time."
The silence between them settled like an exhale—heavy, charged, undeniable.
And for once, Susan didn't run.
She just sat back down.
Close.
Very close.
Susan sat at the edge of Elizabeth's couch, still catching her breath. The room was quiet now—too quiet. Ella's baby monitor buzzed softly in the background, but it only amplified the silence between them.
Elizabeth was watching her, her expression open, waiting.
But Susan couldn't look at her anymore.
"I should go," she said quietly, standing up too fast. Her hands were shaking.
Elizabeth didn't try to stop her.
"Are you sure?" she asked gently.
Susan nodded. "I just—need to think. It's late. You should rest."
Elizabeth stood too, still barefoot, still beautiful, and for a second, it felt like she might say something more. But she didn't.
Instead, she walked Susan to the door and whispered, "Goodnight."
Abby found her in the rooftop, sitting on the ledge, legs dangling out, jacket pulled tight against the wind. A half-finished coffee cup sat beside her, long gone cold.
"Thought I'd find you up here," Abby said, easing down next to her, lighting a cigarette with practiced ease. "You've been weird all morning. Not your usual sarcastic ray of sunshine."
Susan didn't answer right away.
Then, suddenly, she let out a breath like it had been trapped for hours. "I kissed Corday."
Abby raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.
"And she kissed me back," Susan added, softer now, as if saying it out loud made it more real.
Abby blinked once, twice. "Wow."
Susan nodded, eyes fixed on the skyline. "Yeah. Wow."
"So… how was it?"
Susan finally turned to look at her, dazed. "Abby. I felt like I was about to spontaneously combust. I've never been so turned on and so close to a panic attack at the same time."
Abby took a long drag, exhaled slow. "That sounds… kind of amazing. And terrifying."
"Exactly."
They sat in silence a moment.
"You're not gonna run from this, are you?" Abby asked finally.
Susan gave a bitter little laugh. "I already did. Last night. I bolted."
Abby nudged her shoulder gently. "Then maybe don't let that be the end of it."
Susan didn't answer—but she didn't deny it, either.
And Abby didn't press. She just stayed there, beside her, quiet and steady.
Elizabeth hadn't slept much.
She'd stayed on the couch long after Susan left, her glass of wine untouched, the soft sound of Ella's monitor buzzing like static in her ears. Her lips still tingled. Her chest still ached.
And the quiet felt heavier without her.
It wasn't the kiss—well, it was, but not just that. It was the way Susan had looked at her. Like she was on the verge of either running or staying forever. The kind of look that haunted a person.
The kind of look Elizabeth hadn't let herself hope for in years.
So when she arrived at the attendings' meeting the next morning, heart tight and posture impeccable, she wasn't sure what to expect.
Susan was already there. Leaning back in her chair, legs crossed, hair tied up in that perfectly lazy way that somehow made her look more devastatingly beautiful than when she tried.
And then—of course—she opened her mouth.
"Dr. Weaver, are we pretending these metrics reflect actual human staffing or are we just writing fantasy novels now?"
Laughter rippled through the room, even from Luka.
Elizabeth didn't laugh. She couldn't. Not because it wasn't funny—it was—but because every time Susan cracked a joke with that sardonic glint in her eye, something flickered inside her. A pull. A thrill.
There it is again, Elizabeth thought. That traitorous, full-body flicker of excitement.
Susan wasn't trying to perform. That was just who she was—confident, sharp, with that edge of weariness only people who had been through it carried. And God, did Elizabeth feel her. Every movement, every eye roll, every quip.
And now she'd kissed her. And Susan had kissed her back.
By the time the meeting ended, Elizabeth's heart was pounding behind her blazer.
People started to file out, murmuring about patient loads and the broken MRI machine. Susan stood too, slipping her notepad into her bag, already halfway turned to leave.
Elizabeth reached out—just a touch to her arm.
Susan turned, surprised.
Elizabeth didn't let herself hesitate.
"Please don't disappear," she said quietly.
Susan blinked. Her green eyes wide, raw, like she hadn't expected to be wanted out loud.
Elizabeth smiled—soft, a little unsure. "I'm not asking for everything. Just… don't vanish."
Susan's voice was hoarse when she finally replied. "Okay."
And that was enough.
For now.