Desmond
Iwouldn’t lie; it was good to be back. Back in the swing of things, back in the ER, back by Anya’s side during the worst day of someone else’s life.
It was where I belonged, residual limb pain be damned.
The prosthetic still felt like a negotiation some days. Today it felt like a tool. Solid. Responsive. I moved through the department with the same rhythm I’d had before the accident, just recalibrated. Slightly different weight distribution. Slightly different center of gravity.
Different didn’t mean lesser; I was learning.
Across the trauma bay, Anya was in full command mode. Calm. Precise. That terrifyingly composed expression she wore when the room got loud. Watching her work did something unfair to my blood pressure.
We weren’t public. Not technically. There were glances. Accidental brushes of hands when passing instruments. A language built out of eye contact and restraint. It was almost worse than being open about it.
The ambulance doors burst open. Ezra’s voice came in ahead of the stretcher. “Forty-eight-year-old male, minor structural collapse at a warehouse, blunt force to the head, possible LOC.”
The stretcher rounded the corner. And my brain short-circuited.
Giovanni Marshall.
Fire Chief. Built like he’d been carved out of something stubborn. Dark hair greying and curling at the edges from sweat. Blood matted at his temple, running in a thin line toward his ear.
He looked furious. “I did not lose consciousness,” Gio snapped before the wheels even locked. He might appear agitated, but he didn’t fight against the restraints.
Ezra walked alongside the gurney, infuriatingly calm. Which was scarier than anything else — Ezra was never calm. “You absolutely did.”
“I absolutely did not.”
“You hit the ground and went lights out for a solid three seconds.”
“That is not medically significant.”
Anya stepped forward smoothly, a mask of professionalism quickly settling into place. “Chief Marshall.”
“Doctor.” He nodded curtly, jaw tight.
She glanced at Ezra. “You’re saying loss of consciousness?”
“I’m saying he face-planted and forgot his own name for a second.”
“I did not forget my name.”
“You asked me what my name was.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
Ezra grinned, his stern demeanor faltering just a moment. It was not subtle. I stepped into position on the other side of the bed, and Gio’s eyes flicked to me. There it was. The brief pause. The assessment. The almost imperceptible softening. “Good to see you back, Doctor Vaughn,” he said.
“Good to be back,” I replied. His gaze dropped for half a second to my prosthetic. No pity. Just acknowledgement. Then back to my face.
Anya began her exam. Gentle but thorough. Fingers probed around the wound. Checking pupil response. “You are bleeding, Chief,” she said mildly.
“It’s entirely superficial.” Giovanni waved his hand in the air, as if he could dismiss the room’s worries with the motion alone.
“You don’t get to decide that.” Ezra leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed. Watching Gio like he’d been waiting three years for this exact opportunity. “You know,” he said conversationally, “most people appreciate when I bring them to the hospital alive.”
“I walked to the rig,” Gio shot back, brow furrowing.
“After you napped on concrete.”
“I did not nap.”
Anya held up a penlight, shutting down the infantile bickering in her trauma room. “Follow this,” Gio obeyed without hesitation.
Ezra watched him instead of the penlight.
I’d known about them. Everyone close to them had.
Three years ago, it had burned hot and fast and then…
stopped. No explosion. Just silence. Now there was something electric in the air.
“You could have at least pretended to be impressed with my driving, Cap,” Ezra added.
“You ran two red lights.”
“For you? I’d run them all.” Gio’s jaw ticked, something akin to shame flashing in his eyes, just for a moment. Anya glanced between them, catching it. Filing it away. She hadn’t been on nights, hadn’t been comfortable enough to catch the tension between them.
“We have a job to do,” Gio said sharply, trying to pivot back to control. “There’s a structural assessment pending, and I can’t sit here for four hours because he’s dramatic.”
Ezra pushed off the counter. “You’re not going anywhere until she clears you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You weren’t fine when you blinked at me like you’d never seen my face before.”
“That was not confusion.”
“Was it awe? I tend to have that effect on people.” I coughed to hide a laugh, but Anya didn’t miss it. She never did, shooting me a look. Professional. Neutral. But I saw the corner of her mouth twitch.
She stepped closer to Gio, her tone cooling just enough to command attention.
“If you lost consciousness, even briefly, you’re at risk for a concussion.
If you return to an active scene and your reaction time is compromised, you put your entire crew at risk.
” A calculated pause. “You put civilians at risk, Chief.”
Gio held her gaze, but she didn’t blink. I was an adult man, and I was not turned on by the way my girl was going toe-to-toe with a well-respected, albeit stubborn, fire chief.
I’ve been called a liar before, though.
He exhaled through his nose. “…Fine.”
Ezra beamed as if he’d personally won something. “See?” he said lightly. “Phenomenal teamwork, everyone.”
Gio shot him a look that would’ve flattened a lesser man. But it did absolutely nothing to Ezra. If anything, it made him brighter. I adjusted my stance beside the bed; the prosthetic responded smoothly. No wobble. No hesitation. As Anya began cleaning the wound, Giovanni winced despite himself.
Ezra leaned in slightly. “You always were dramatic.” He chucked his chin gently. “Good thing we got you here quickly.”
Gio’s eyes cut to him. “You’re enjoying this entirely too much, Becker.”
“Three years of pent-up ‘I told you so,’” Ezra replied. “Let me have this.”
“If you two are finished…” Anya secured the bandage. “We’re ordering a CT. If it’s clear, you’ll be discharged with monitoring instructions.”
Gio opened his mouth to argue — Ezra beat him to it. “Say thank you, Chief.”
He stared at him. Then, begrudgingly, “Thank you, Doctor Volkov.”
Anya nodded once. As the tech wheeled him toward imaging, Gio’s hand shot out, catching Ezra lightly by the wrist. It wasn’t aggressive, but it certainly wasn’t subtle either. “I did not lose consciousness,” he said quietly.
Ezra’s expression softened in a way that almost no one ever saw. “You did, Gio,” he replied just as quietly. “And it scared me.” That seemed to land. Gio released him as the stretcher rolled away. The trauma bay exhaled.
I looked across the room at Anya. She looked back at me. That silent language again. The one built on surviving things. Ezra stood there a second longer than necessary, watching the empty doorway. And I couldn’t help but notice a silent language hanging in the air between him and Marshall.
Pining was a quiet thing. It didn’t shout.