Chapter 3 #3
Reid catches my eye over Grace's head and gives me a look that’s all kinds of amused and embarrassed.
What a freaking night.
"Maybe people are finally going to sleep," Joyce says, covering a yawn, which makes me yawn, because yawning is a virus and nobody is immune.
"Or maybe they're just getting started," Reid says, appearing at the nurses' station. He's back to leaning on the counter, looking more tired but still vibrating with energy. The man has to have a battery pack somewhere. No one is this energetic this far into a night shift.
"Please tell me you're not here with another patient," I say.
"Nope. Just checking on everyone. How's they doing?"
"Most of them are out cold. It's like they just…ran out of steam."
"Good." Reid shifts his weight, his arm brushing mine. The contact is brief and accidental and sends a little zing up my spine that is entirely inappropriate for a workplace setting. "How are you guys holding up?"
"We're hanging in there."
We're standing closer than we need to be, and I'm aware of it in a way that's both comfortable and electric. Like standing near a bonfire — warm enough to be pleasant, close enough that you should probably step back but don't want to.
"So," he says, "have you worked other festival nights?"
"This is my first one. Do you?" How have I never met him before? I've been here three months. This hospital isn't that big.
"Usually get called in for extra coverage. Never seen anything quite like tonight, though."
"The butterfly guy was sweet."
"Marcus? He was. We got pretty lucky tonight." Reid grins. "He asked Tony if he thought he'd be a pretty butterfly."
"What did Tony say?"
"That he'd be the prettiest butterfly in the ER."
I laugh. "You guys are good at this."
"At what?"
"Making people feel safe. Even when they're completely out of their minds."
Something changes in his face. The grin softens. Becomes quieter and more real — less performance, more person. It's a really good look on him.
"That's the job," he says. "But tonight..." He pauses. "Tonight's been different."
"Different how?"
"Different good. Getting to know you has been great."
My brain offers several possible responses, ranging from you too (boring) to I've been looking forward to every time you walk through those doors (insane and terrifying) to please never leave this nurses' station (restraining order territory).
Before I can settle on something that won't get me fired or arrested, his radio crackles to life.
Tony appears from the hallway, still drying his hands on his pants. "You're kidding me."
Reid's whole body deflates like someone let the air out of him.
He drops his head back with a dramatic groan.
"The grand finale. Tony, I'm going to need you to carry me.
I'm wasting away. I haven't eaten since —" He checks an imaginary watch.
"— since forever ago. I'm basically a skeleton at this point. "
"You ate three granola bars fifteen minutes ago."
Reid sniffs dramatically. "Like I said. Forever. I'm withering away." He holds out his arms like a toddler demanding to be picked up. "Piggyback. Let's go."
Tony stares at him, dead-eyed. "Absolutely not."
"Tony. Tony, look at me. I talked down that old lady who thought you were her runaway cat. She was going to put you in a carrier."
"She was not going to put me in a carrier."
"She had the carrier, Tony. She was unzipping it. I saved your dignity."
Tony opens his mouth to argue, then closes it.
Reid doesn't wait for permission — he just launches himself onto Tony's back, wrapping his arms around his partner's neck.
Tony staggers but catches him with the resigned sigh of a man who's been through this before.
How long have these two been partners? Because this has the energy of a very specific, very practiced dysfunction.
"I hate you," Tony says, already walking toward the doors.
"You love me. I'm a delight." Reid hooks his arm over Tony's neck, making him gag, and grins back at us. "How many is that, Laine?"
I'm laughing too hard to answer immediately. My eyes are watering. Joyce is shaking her head but her shoulders are going too. "This'll make eleven and twelve."
"Eleven and twelve, Tony! We're making history!"
"We're making a scene is what we're making." But Tony's smiling now too, even as he adjusts his grip on Reid's legs. "You're buying breakfast after this."
"Deal. Waffles. Mountains of waffles."
They bicker their way through the automatic doors, Reid still clinging to Tony's back like an oversized koala, their voices fading as they head toward the ambulance bay.
"— and I want bacon —"
"You always want bacon —"
"Because bacon is perfect, Tony, it's the perfect food —"
Joyce and I exchange looks, both of us grinning.
"Hey, Laine?" Reid's voice echoes back through the doors.
"Yeah?"
His head pops back around the doorframe, still perched on Tony's back like the world's most chaotic parrot. "Thanks for tonight. For being..." He searches for the word. "You."
God, he's deadly.
"You too," I manage.
"Dude, let's go," Tony groans, and then they're gone for real, the sound of their arguing fading into the early morning.
"You know," Joyce says, "I've known that boy for five years, and I've never seen him chat this much during a shift." She laughs. "I mean, you saw, he's chatty, but tonight was something else. I think you might have a little something to do with that."
I should not care about that. He's a Paramedic I met a few hours ago. It should not matter that Joyce — who has been watching people interact in this ER for three decades — noticed something different about how he talked to me.
But my stupid heart is still doing the thing. "Maybe he's just having a good night."
"Mmm-hmm." Joyce gives me a knowing look. "A very good night."
"It's funny, I've never met him before tonight. I thought I knew all the EMTs."
"He's day shift, honey."
Of course he is. There goes my hope of continuing this... whatever this is. This flirting-over-hallucinating-patients thing. This weirdly specific connection forged over butterfly metaphors and alien pizza interrogations. Day shift. Which means I won't see him unless—
Unless what, Laine? You switch to days? Stalk the ambulance bay? Just casually happen to be at the hospital twelve hours early?
No. No, that's insane. You met him tonight. You don't rearrange your life for someone you met tonight.
But what if—
No.
Twenty minutes later, the doors slide open.
"Make way for the expedition!" Reid announces.
He's pushing a gurney with a woman on it, while Tony trails behind him pushing a wheelchair with a man. They look like a very tired parade.
"Good evening, miss," the woman on the gurney says formally as they wheel her past. "Might I inquire about the year?"
Oh lord. I tell her and she gasps dramatically, clutching her chest. "William! We've traveled even further than we thought!"
"Indeed, my dear Margaret!" William responds from the wheelchair Tony is pushing. "What marvelous medical facilities they have in the future! Look at the lighting!"
Reid catches my eye and mouths "time travelers" with a wide grin. It's late. He's been working hard. And he's still smiling. Still finding the joy in it.
I know people who smile through their shifts.
I've been one of them. But usually it's performance — the mask you wear so the patients feel safe, so your coworkers don't worry.
This isn't that. This is a man who is genuinely, stupidly delighted to be pushing a time-traveling woman through an ER at four in the morning.
Either he's insane or he's the most alive person I've ever met.
Both options are equally dangerous.
But I get it. Because I can't wipe the smile off my face either.
And that terrifies me a little, if I'm being honest. Because I know this feeling.
I felt it in New Zealand with Caleb. In Spain with Marco.
This warm, magnetic pull toward someone who makes the world feel bigger and brighter and more interesting.
And every time I've felt it, I've eventually gotten on a plane.
Not this time. You're staying. Remember? You bought throw pillows.
Throw pillows are not an anchor, Mitchell.
By six in the morning, the festival casualties have finally stopped coming. Reid appears one last time, but this time he's not bringing anyone.
"That's it," he announces. "Festival officially wound down. We're heading back to base."
"How many total?" Joyce asks.
"Fourteen. Tony owes me fifty bucks."
"Fifty?" I raise an eyebrow.
"We raised the stakes after patient ten."
I laugh. "Smart betting."
Reid pulls off his gloves and leans against the nurses' station. We lock eyes and there it is again — that zing. Steady and warm and insistent, like a pulse.
Ask for his number. Just do it. Open your mouth, form the words, and—
Tony appears, looking like he lost a fight with the night itself. "Let's go, man. I'm beat and we still need to restock the rig."
Reid straightens up, a wry grin on his face. "He's right. It was a long night." He looks at me. Holds it. "It was great getting to know you, Laine."
"Wait." The word comes out before I can think.
Reid pauses. "Yeah?"
Say it. Say "can I get your number." Say "I'd love to grab coffee." Say literally anything that isn't—
"Nothing," I say. "Just... thanks. For tonight."
NOTHING? You said NOTHING? You stopped him — you literally said "wait" — and then you said NOTHING?
"Thank you. Really." Reid's expression is serious now. "You made a crazy night feel manageable."
And then he's gone, pushing through the doors one last time. Broad shoulders, messy hair, that walk that's half bounce and half stride, and he's gone.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway.
He's gone. You had approximately nine hundred opportunities to give him your phone number, and you used exactly zero of them. Zero. The butterfly guy had more game than you. The butterfly guy was trying to grow feathers and he still had more social courage than you did.
"Earth to Laine," Joyce says. "You okay?"
"Yeah." I shake myself. "Just thinking."
"About?"
I look at the now-quiet ER. The rooms where we treated fourteen festival casualties. The door Reid just walked through. The fact that I said wait and then nothing and that I'm going to replay that moment in the shower for the next six to eight weeks minimum.
"About how this was the best weird night I've ever had."
Joyce grins. "I had a feeling you'd fit in here."
Me too, Joyce.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go home and have a long talk with my fiddle leaf fig about my complete inability to function around attractive men.