it's a beautiful day to save lives.

[gcnetics]

private, dependent, multimuse roleplay blog.

[gcldensage]

who   :   zoya  &  priya   |   @gcnetics where   :   outside  the  intern  locker  room

the stench of the intern locker room is one she will forever hate and try her best to never endure, but alas, she’s standing on the other side of the door with her arms crossed and her body stiff. there weren’t many interns that she liked, and it was well known around the hospital as she didn’t even attempt to hide it. she was stern, didn’t sugarcoat things, and definitely took her sweet ass time allowing them to even touch an instrument in her operating room. however, priya was someone that she found herself slowly warming up to, watching her patience when it came to having to prove her abilities and working overtime to make sure that zoya was always prepared and aware of updates on patients. zoya could’ve argued with the chief that she didn’t just teach anyone, she wanted someone that would be dedicated, someone that had an intense interest that her teaching wasn’t going to be tossed the side because a different specialty was beginning to become more intriguing; priya remained consistent. hand pushes the door open, but she refuses to step over the threshold, simply allowing her voice to echo into the locker room:   “   kapoor, outside.   ”   she counts to ten, the longest she will wait before her eyes land upon the intern. a chart is handed to the other, brow raised.   “   i requested you today. go check on the post-ops and then come find me, we have a surgery in three hours and you’ll be scrubbing in.   ”   a pause.   “   and assisting.   ”

[gcnetics]

for a second, she thinks she’s hallucinating. lack of sleep, caffeine deprivation, the faintly toxic fumes of bleach that seem permanently soaked into the walls—any of those could’ve easily been the culprit. but then zoya singh’s voice actually echoes through the locker room again, sharp and melodic in a way that makes priya’s stomach drop straight to the soles of her shoes.

outside.

she doesn’t even hesitate, not really. it’s more of a panicked scramble than an organized exit, but she manages to make it out into the hallway without tripping over her own bag, at least. hair slightly frizzy from the humidity, white coat slung half-on, half-off her shoulder, she looks up just in time to see zoya standing there—calm, composed, clinical, and somehow still the most unfairly beautiful human being in a fifty-mile radius. priya’s mouth opens, closes, then opens again like she’s trying to debug her own speech process.

“dr. singh,” she manages, only slightly breathless. the chart appears in her hands before she can even blink. zoya’s handwriting, sharp and deliberate, crawls down the page like it’s mocking her for being nervous. requested you today. those four words are all priya can see. her brain latches onto them with a kind of frantic warmth she doesn’t have time to unpack. “post-ops. right. i’ll, uh, make sure all the vitals are logged, dressings checked, neuro assessments done every hour on the hour.” she’s talking too fast. she knows she’s talking too fast, but zoya hasn’t interrupted her yet, which means there’s still a sliver of hope she isn’t completely bombing this interaction. “and then i’ll find you.”

and then the second part hits her. scrubbing in. her pulse trips over itself. she’s not sure whether she wants to throw up or hug the nearest available surface. “and... assisting,” she echoes softly, like saying it out loud might make it more real. she straightens up, trying to look professional—someone who absolutely belongs in a neurosurgical OR, not someone whose heart has started sprinting because her attending might’ve, possibly, requested her. “thank you, dr. singh,” she says at last, quieter now, almost reverent. “i won’t-uh, i won’t let you down.”

[mindsbeat]

a short, sharp laugh escapes taren before she can stop it, almost like she can't fucking believe they're doing this again. she presses her palms to her face for a second, trying to silence the anger that bubbles up inside of her but it's no use — they're playing the same goddamn game they always play, adelaide's hellbent on dissecting her again, and again, and again, and it's fucking maddening. every glance, every pause, every deliberately measured word cuts her open in ways she can't even defend against. "oh, jesus fuck, here we go. okay, adelaide, you got me! having a mental breakdown in your kitchen mortified me. are you happy?"

the words burst out before she can filter them, rough and jagged as her pulse hammers in her throat and her stomach twists in that familiar, sickening way but she can't stop staring, couldn't escape adelaide's orbit if she tried. it's like she's emitting some ridiculous pheromone that taren's drawn to like a bloodhound. "god, what do you want from me? you want me to thank you for letting me take an emotional shit on your kitchen floor? i'm not fucking reliving this right now!" the distance between them closes slightly without taren even realizing it, and her chest is tight and heaving and her head is spinning. but even after her outburst she couldn't possibly walk away. at the end of the day, taren craves the cold precision in adelaide's eyes and the way she sees right through her — even though she absolutely despises it every single fucking time the woman pries her open and airs out all of her vulnerabilities.

taren's fingers twitch again and part of her wants to just say fuck it and reach for adelaide, to see what might happen if she broke the rules first and crossed the line they've been dancing on for a decade. but the other part wants adelaide to strike, to show some reaction, anything — to finally do something about the way she's been torturing taren for years now. her breathing comes out in ragged, sharp little bursts — and adelaide's final jab about her date hits harder than anything else. "fuck you, by the way. since when do you give a shit who i show up with? actually— right, of course you care. god forbid i don't sit tight in your back pocket so you can toy with me and never actually do a damn thing about it."

[gcnetics]

adelaide doesn’t move at first—not when taren spits the first curse, not when her voice starts to tremble around the edges, not even when she takes that involuntary half-step forward, pulled closer by the gravity of her own fury. she just watches. it’s unbearable, that silence. the kind that folds over itself, heavy and charged, until it feels like static in the air between them.

“taren,” she says once, quiet but cutting through the noise like a scalpel. it’s not a reprimand so much as a warning, the kind of tone that’s meant to steady, but never quite softens. but taren doesn’t stop. she never does. every word she throws lands somewhere deep, and adelaide can feel her own pulse picking up, an irritation rising under her ribs that has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with how close they are. with how familiar this dance has become. by the time taren’s hissing out god forbid i don’t sit tight in your back pocket, adelaide’s patience fractures. it’s not clean, it’s not deliberate, and it’s certainly not professional. it’s reflex.

in one sudden, precise motion, she reaches forward and cups taren’s jaw, tilting her face up just enough to still the tirade. and then she kisses her.

it’s not gentle. it’s not sweet. it’s sharp around the edges, a silencing more than a confession, a way to stop the endless self-sabotage spilling from taren’s mouth before it destroys them both. adelaide’s hand is steady against her cheek, thumb pressing lightly along the hinge of her jaw as if to keep her from pulling away, as if she’s still trying to control the situation even as it slips completely from her grasp.

and when she finally pulls back, her breath is a little unsteady, her voice lower than before. “that,” she murmurs, almost against taren’s lips, “is why i give a shit.” the words hang there—equal parts reprimand and admission—before adelaide drops her hand and takes a single, measured step back, her expression unreadable once again.

[pinkauras]

sienna lingers in the doorway for a second, keeps her grip on the handle like it might give her an excuse to slip away before ultimately deciding to step inside anyways, closing the door behind her softly. she doesn't bother turning the lights on, just lean back against the door and lets the dim morning hang between them. "right, totally," she agrees with a shrug of her shoulders, though her tone doesn't exactly scream that she's agreeing. "you look exactly like me when i didn't implode and cry in a stairwell three days ago," she finishes, a small smile softening the jab.

seeing priya like this is different. the other girl is usually brighter, bolder — even when she's anxious. sienna crosses the room slowly, setting her stethoscope down on the table before pulling out a chair beside priya instead of across from her. "do you wanna talk about it?" obviously the stress is getting to all of them, sienna included. their house has been a rotating schedule of breakdowns since they started the program but sienna has had a feeling that was only going to become more frequent with the latest announcement. it was, apparently, priya's turn and sienna was ready to be the strong and steady. "or like, we can not talk about it too if that's better. i could tell you about the guy downstairs who's necrotic toe fell off when he took his croc off. it rolled across the emergency room."

[gcnetics]

priya presses her palms flat against the table, staring at the faint woodgrain like it might steady her. for a second, she thinks about brushing it all off, forcing her usual grin into place, but sienna is too close now, close enough to see through the cracks. “it’s stupid,” she says finally, her voice low, almost reluctant. “i just keep thinking… what if i’m not enough? what if i get cut, and it’s not because of anything i did wrong, it’s just because i’m the easiest one to let go? like…” she huffs out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “like if i disappear, no one would even notice i was gone.” the words hang between them heavier than she intends, so she tries to chase them away with something lighter, a crooked smirk tugging at her lips. “besides, i’m pretty sure i wouldn’t survive the stairwell crying thing. i’d get caught in five seconds. at least in here, i can pretend i’m reviewing labs or something.”

she glances sideways at sienna then, grateful for the company, and leans back in her chair. “okay, but wait-” her eyebrows lift, the faintest spark of amusement cutting through the haze. “did you say his toe actually fell off? like, just… plop?” a grimace twists across her face. “you have to give me more than that, because that’s disgusting and also? kind of impressive?” her mouth quirks in something caught between horror and fascination. “did anyone scream? please tell me someone screamed.”

[beneathoaktrees]

@gcnetics - Rome & Gabe

Given that the Head of General was also the Chief of Surgery, there was an additional absenteeism that came along with that. And with the additional changes, Rome was getting pulled in on more and more calls. Which was fine, considering he knew his ass would be on the chopping block before too long if he didn't get more surgical hours. However, today's consult was with a family with MLH1 gene mutation throughout the family tree, all ending up with their young daughter presenting with Constitutional Mismatch Repair Deficiency Syndrome. While they'd thought the cancer that came along with it would simply have to be colorectal, Rome had explained to them that ultimately, because of her age, she was more likely to present with brain and blood type cancers instead. And this first cancer would, unfortunately, be unlikely to be her last, should she survive it.

Being an expert in genetics had its benefits, because while he'd treated this family for their inherited bad luck, it also meant he could advise them on their future treatment options. Unfortunately, conversely, he knew far too much about their eight-year-old's future, having inherited two copies of an MLH1 mutation. Staring at the chart following the conversation, he awaited Gabe outside the room to chat through the next steps. Looking up from the chart as the door closed, he sighed. "Sorry, I couldn't give them better news. The mutation didn't show up as prominently on the dad's side, so we weren't really expecting this," he explained. Rome would be kicking himself later for not pushing harder for the parents to perform the genetic testing on their kid. To be tested would mean they would be informed of what the possibilities were. "Thanks for taking on the kid. We'll need a neuro and oncology consult for this one. I'm just the bearer of bad news today," he sighed.

[gcnetics]

gabe presses a hand to the back of his neck, exhaling quietly as the weight of rome’s words settles between them. he’s seen plenty of rough cases in peds (too many kids whose bodies betray them before they ever get a real chance) but something about the way rome says it, measured and weary, hits differently. “you did what you could,” he says after a beat, voice low but steady. “there’s no version of that conversation that ends well, no matter how you slice it.” he glances through the window into the room, where the family sits huddled together, the mother’s hand still resting on her daughter’s head. “we’ll loop in the others, see if we can get ahead of it. maybe not much, but… something.” gabe drops his gaze back to the chart, his brow furrowing. “you’ve been managing this family a while?” he asks, quieter now, like he already knows the answer but isn’t sure he wants to hear it.

[gcnetics]

who: priya & miller | @ncbodyssoldier where: a patient's room in the neuro wing

she hadn’t meant to break the damn thing. really, she hadn’t. priya had just been trying to wash her hands after rounds, same as any other morning, but she’d leaned a little too hard on the faucet while turning it off and the whole metal handle came loose with a sickening clunk. and now, because she doesn't know who else to call without getting chewed out for it, she’s done what any panicked, half-delirious intern on the later half of their too long shift would do: she’s paged miller. 911, no less.

the sound of running water fills the room—not flooding, thank god, but definitely not stopping either. priya is crouched over the sink with a towel in hand, trying to twist the broken handle back into place, muttering something that sounds vaguely like a prayer. “come on, come on, please just-” the metal clanks again, water splashing across her sleeve. she flinches and groans, wringing out the cuff uselessly.

by the time she hears footsteps in the hallway, she’s already accepted her fate: she's going to die here, wrist-deep in a half-broken sink. “before you say anything,” she calls out without turning around, “i know this looks bad, but technically it was already kind of broken. i just… accelerated the process.”

[mindsbeat]

@gcnetics / taren beck & priya kapoor

apparently, they're all supposed to be teaching better, so taren's been trying to do just that. she even let the fucking intern assigned to her this week scrub in, and now she's letting her clamp, for fuck's sake — which may have been a huge mistake. taren leans over the table, heart hammering with irritation she can't quite pin down. she's trying — really trying — but she's never been great at teaching the small stuff. she's much better at throwing her residents into chaos and seeing if they sink or swim, so every instruction taren gives feels like it's bouncing off a brick wall. "no, your grip— kapoor, your grip," she says, the words sharper than she intends as she exhales through her nose. there's a little bit of guilt there, but mostly taren hates that she's thinking about firing squads on attendings instead of the damn aorta in front of them. her eyes flick up, catching priya's, and taren forces herself to smile and remain fucking calm. "okay, take a breath. you can do this. just… slow it down." it comes out more like a command than encouragement, and taren knows it but she doesn't care. right now, patient survival is priority number one.

[gcnetics]

priya swallows hard, throat dry despite the mask covering her face. she knows she’s been holding the clamp too tightly—her knuckles are practically white from the pressure—but the way dr. beck snaps at her makes her hands want to shake even more. her first instinct is to apologize, to stammer out something about nerves, but she clamps her teeth shut instead. if she says sorry now, she’ll just look weak. it’s not like she doesn’t know the stakes. it’s someone’s aorta in front of them, not a practice dummy, not a simulation. she forces herself to inhale slowly through her nose, lets it out through parted lips, tries to tune out everything but the surgical field.

still, she feels the heat of taren's stare burning a hole into her, and the forced smile doesn’t make it easier. in fact, it makes it worse, like she’s being tested, cornered into either proving herself or collapsing under the weight of expectation. her chest tightens, but she adjusts her grip, carefully, like she’s one wrong note away from ruining the entire piece.

“slowing down,” she says softly, more to herself than to anyone else, eyes locked on the vessels. it’s steadier this time, or at least she hopes it looks that way. she doesn’t dare look up again, not yet, not until taren decides whether she’s worth keeping in the field or shoving back to the sidelines.

[silverskies]

who: adrienne delgado & gabe spencer | @gcnetics when & where: september 24th, peds floor

ade has been avoiding gabe. any peds cases that show up in her hands are passed off to a different member of the plastics department -- especially if he's the one requesting the consult. she's been in this position before; the other woman, the person a man lies to his wife about. it hadn't been her finest moment, but then again -- she had been twenty-two and thought her professor actually loved her. in gabe's case, she had no emotional stake in any of this -- they weren't sleeping together, just two friends who had opted to go to the gala together so they didn't have to arrive alone. finding out the ex he'd mentioned was really his estranged wife. to put it simply? she didn't want the smoke. ade wasn't trying to get in between the two, or cause any problems -- her dumb ass just happened to be in the wrong place with the wrong person.

it takes about two weeks for her luck to run out, where there's no one else for her to page aside from gabe. part of her is almost desperate enough try and page violet, even though she's off for the night. with a grumble, she pages dr. spencer. leaning against the nurse's station, she watches him with an unimpressed look, her annoyance from before beginning to resurface. "just because i need you for a consult doesn't mean you're off my shitlist, by the way." ade states, not bothering with social graces as she practically shoves the chart into his hands.

[gcnetics]

gabe's been expecting this moment, though he’d half-hoped it might never come. adrienne had been moving around the hospital like he was radioactive, ducking out of consults, redirecting plastics cases with an efficiency that was almost insulting. he hadn’t pressed it. he isn't the type to chase someone down, especially when he can tell she’s made up her mind about him. but still, it stings more than he wants to admit. when her page comes through, he almost thinks it's a mistake, a reflex, but there she is, leaned against the nurse’s station, arms crossed and eyes sharp, making it clear this isn't a thaw in the ice so much as a crack under pressure.

her words land like a jab, and he lets the corner of his mouth twitch just enough to prove he heard her, not enough to soften the blow. he takes the chart she all but rams into his chest, glancing over the details with steady professionalism. “i figured as much,” gabe replies evenly, voice low, measured. he doesn’t give her the satisfaction of defensiveness, not yet. but when he looks up from the chart, there’s something in his gaze that’s heavier than annoyance, an undercurrent of weariness he hasn’t bothered masking lately. “but for the record? i never lied to you.”

he’d told her about sophie in vague terms, always in past tense, letting adrienne draw her own conclusions. he hadn’t corrected them, maybe that was his sin. he exhales slowly, tapping the pen against the chart. “you don’t have to like me, delgado. just—don’t make the patient pay for it.” and with that, he flips the page open, forcing himself into the work even as tension coils tight between them, the conversation neither of them wants to have pressing just under the surface.

[ncbodyssoldier]

theo was finishing charting when he saw priya walk out of her patient’s room. the goal, he was told, was to show how good of a teacher he could be. with the restructure hanging over their head, people were going to be shifted around which meant that theo was probably going to get a new set of interns. and now was his chance to show the powers that be that he was good at what he did and he could stay. because he’s created a home in washington, he’s made a home here. and he wasn’t interested in leaving. 

so seeing priya while he was going to start his own rounds seemed to be fate, except the intern looked ready to bolt the second he caught up to her. theo had struggled to dissect the way the intern interacted with him. he has a sneaking suspicion that she’s scared of him. but he can’t unpack that right now. “why wouldn’t i want the real answer?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing as he slid his hands into his pockets. “i was going to ask how it was going but more in the sense of how are the charts you’re working on going, but if there’s something you want to talk about, let’s talk about it.”

[gcnetics]

priya blinks at him, caught like a deer in headlights, and then her brain does the thing it always does—scrambles for humor, anything to smooth over the jagged edges inside her. “oh, you know,” she says, straightening the stack of half-finished notes in her hand like they're a shield. “my charts are thriving. they’ve never been happier, really. i think one of them might be considering grad school.” her grin is quick, sharp, the kind that's easier to wear than the truth.

she tilts her head toward him, feigning nonchalance. “besides, i wouldn’t want to ruin your day by talking about my existential dread. that’s, like, strictly an after-hours thing, right? happy hour material. charts now, therapy later.” her joke lingers in the air, a fragile cover that she hopes is convincing enough to make him drop it (or at least pretend to), but theo doesn't always make pretending easy.

[mindsbeat]

as usual, it pisses taren off how a simple reality check from adelaide is enough to rattle her. it’s the same way she’s always been — the woman cuts her open without raising her voice, peels back every layer she thought she’d stitched down tight in a matter of three minutes and she doesn’t even have to try. you think showing up on someone’s arm makes you look put together? “no.” yes. that’s exactly what she thinks — that putting on fake eyelashes and doing her hair and showing up with ezra makes her look like she’s got her shit together — that’d been exactly the goal and it pisses taren off that adelaide clearly isn’t buying what she’s trying to sell. had she ever really believed that’d be the case, though? it’s all for show, all a way for taren to scream i’m not a complete fuck up like you must think i am! without actually having to say it. clearly, that’s not working, and taren scowls at adelaide’s obvious dismissal, but she doesn’t let it go. “i’m just saying that whole thing a couple weeks ago was a fluke. and it won’t happen again, okay? everything’s actually good now.”

when adelaide shifts like she’s about to leave, taren’s hand twitches before she even realizes it, fingers moving forward against the edge of the counter like she’s reaching for an anchor. she doesn’t quite touch her — she can’t — but the impulse is there, reckless and automatic. “i’m not trying to prove anything to you.” lies lies lies. “look, if you’re pissed i disappeared on you, that wasn’t—” she cuts herself off, jaw tight, because what excuse could possibly make sense? that she was too humiliated to look adelaide in the eye? that she couldn’t stand the idea of being looked at as the wreck who fell apart in her kitchen? taren forces her shoulders back, tries to steady her voice. “—that wasn’t personal. i just got busy.”

[gcnetics]

adelaide doesn’t flinch at the words —she rarely does—instead, she tilts her head a fraction, eyes narrowing in a way that feels less like judgment and more like precision, like she’s trying to measure the distance between what taren says and what she actually means. “busy.” she repeats it softly, like she’s testing how it sounds in her own mouth. her fingers slide along the edge of the marble counter, a subtle, idle motion that contrasts with the static tension humming off taren. “okay.”

she doesn’t move closer, but she doesn’t step back either. she stays exactly where she is: that unyielding, infuriating point of stillness taren always seems to orbit. “you don’t have to give me an excuse, taren,” adelaide continues after a moment, voice low but clear. “i don’t think you disappeared because you were busy. i think you disappeared because you didn’t know what to do with the fact that somebody saw you. and maybe that scared you more than the breakdown did.”

there’s no accusation in her tone; if anything, there’s an edge of something quieter beneath it—a flicker of understanding she won’t quite let soften her expression. “you can call it a fluke if it helps you sleep,” she says, straightening, her posture still impeccable. “but it wasn’t nothing. and pretending otherwise won’t make it go away.” she glances at taren’s hand on the counter—the almost-reaching, the held-back impulse—then meets her eyes again. “i’m not pissed,” she adds, after a beat. “i don’t waste energy being angry at ghosts.” and then, like she’s offering a final out, adelaide tips her chin toward the door, her voice cool but not unkind. “you should go back out there. your date’s probably looking for you.”

[gcnetics]

who: ezra & hollis | @pinkauras where: the third floor attendings' lounge

ezra isn't used to being on the defensive with hollis. usually, it's the two of them against the world—late-night tequila-fueled vent sessions after brutal shifts, inside jokes no one else understands, the kind of loyalty that comes from surviving so much together. but right now? he can feel that bond straining under the weight of hollis’ gaze, the kind that could carve him open more efficiently than any scalpel ezra's ever held.

he leans back in his chair in the attending’s lounge, arms folded behind his head like he has nothing to worry about. classic deflection. if hollis wants contrition, she isn't going to get it. not yet, not when ezra can already taste the hypocrisy of it all sitting on his tongue. “you gonna keep looking at me like that, or are you planning on actually saying something?” his smirk pulls sharp, half a challenge, half a shield. he knows exactly what this is about. he isn’t stupid. hell, he’s been expecting this confrontation since the second hollis found out.

still, ezra can't resist throwing gasoline on the fire. “look, i’m not gonna apologize for sleeping with taren. she’s an adult. i’m an adult. things happen.” he drops his hands and gestures loosely, as if it's the simplest math in the world. “besides, it's not like she's the only one i've been sleeping with.” the corner of his mouth lifts higher, arrogance wrapped around the truth like armor. “what? it’s not bragging if it’s true.”

[gcnetics]

who: ezra & cyrus | @silverskies where: the hospital cafeteria

ezra stabs at the limp pile of greens on his plate like they’ve personally wronged him, the plastic fork bending dangerously close to snapping. lunch in the cafeteria is already bad enough—lukewarm food, fluorescent lights, residents scurrying around like ants—but today they have the added pleasure of being lectured by administration about how they're a “toxic influence” on their residents. toxic. as if they're some radioactive spill leaking into the halls of pvmc.

“so basically if we don’t start playing nice teacher, we're out,” he mutters, leaning back in the unforgiving plastic chair. his jaw works as he chews, irritation clear even in the way he swallows. “as if anyone gives a shit whether i hold their hand through a tibial nailing. half of them would pass out if i actually let them do something real.” he glances across the table at cyrus and jabs a finger in his direction, voice lowering but sharpening. “can you believe that? us. fired. for not being… what, mister rogers with a scalpel? i don’t respond to threats, i make them.”

his smirk is sharp enough to cut, but it didn’t quite hide the flicker of unease beneath it or the awareness that, for once, this isn't just some bluff he can play off. the hospital means too much, even if he’d rather chew glass than admit it. he leans forward again, tone edging on defensive. “you think i’m that bad?”

[silverskies]

at this rate, adrienne is pretty sure that the tension in the air around them may physically choke her. it takes everything in her not to interrupt him, forcing her gaze to never leave his -- despite the instinct to deflect, and dance around the point. she wanted honesty out of him, but actually having it wasn't as satisfying as she hoped. it only left her with more questions, and a sinking feeling in her chest. this was much easier when they were just flirting and toeing a line. you think i don't fucking care? you're out of your mind. "could have fooled me." she narrows her eyes, endlessly frustrated. ade doesn't know what she wants when it comes to him -- but the silence that's now turned into barbed honesty isn't helping.

she hates that him calling her by her own last name makes her stomach knot, jaw clenched. it's stupid, ade decides in that moment, but the effect is unavoidable. however, a bitter laugh passes her lips at the words this is me giving a shit. "should i feel special? that after weeks of silence, you're giving me all of this bullshit after i sought you out?" ade points out, anger threatening to boil over. she knows she hadn't exactly reached out after slept together either, but that's not the point she's trying to make. he's not supposed to be the person she's stuck on, so caught up in what he's thinking or doing; he's supposed to be her annoying friend that she pushes boundaries with. yet here they are, throwing metaphorical punches in the hall when they should be enjoying the open bar and schmoozing with donors. "you don't get to turn this on me, ezra."

[gcnetics]

ezra lets out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, one that bounces off the empty hallway walls and makes his shoulders tense even tighter. he can feel his pulse hammering at his throat, the restraint it’s taking not to reach for her, not to shake some kind of truth out of her. “bullshit?” he repeats, eyes narrowing. “that’s what you think this is?” he takes another step in, close enough now that the space between them barely exists, his voice cutting low and fierce. “you come out here swinging, delgado, and now you want to act like i’m the one turning it on you? newsflash: you don’t get to throw the first punch and then play the victim.”

his jaw works as he stares down at her, every word rolling out hotter than the last. “you think i liked keeping my mouth shut the last few weeks? you think i didn’t want to say something? you have no idea how close i’ve come to breaking the silence every damn day.” a scoff escapes him, rough and bitter. “but you? you didn’t reach out either. you didn’t knock on my door, you didn’t call, nothing. so don’t stand here acting like i’m the only coward.” his voice hardens further, though the crack underneath is impossible to miss. “you want to know why i didn’t say anything? because i thought maybe you didn’t want me to. maybe you’d made it clear that night was just…a mistake. easier to let it rot in silence than hear you say the words out loud.”

ezra tilts his head slightly, eyes boring into hers. “so tell me, adrienne—if this is all bullshit, if i don’t get to turn it on you, then what the hell do you want from me? because i’m done guessing.”

[gcnetics]

who: ezra & theo | @ncbodyssoldier where: a patient room on the peds floor

ezra's never been the kind of guy to hover. you either figure shit out or you don't, and in orthopedics, hesitation can be more dangerous than a wrong answer. but ever since sullivan, in all his barely veiled disdain, had told him he needed to “actually teach his residents,” he’s been trying to at least look like he gave a damn. that's how he finds himself lingering at the edge of the peds floor, watching theo fumble through the kind of charting ezra can do in his sleep.

he shifts his weight against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “you’re overcomplicating it,” he says finally, voice flat but sharp enough to cut through the hum of the nurses’ station. “if you want the staff to take you seriously, stop drowning in your own paperwork. you think i’m being harsh?” ezra adds, pushing off the counter to stand straighter, looming the way he does when he wants to end an argument before it starts. “i don’t see anyone lining up to get your ass out of here. so. learn faster. do better.”

it comes out rougher than he’d meant, but hell, teaching isn't exactly in his blood.

[silverskies]

there’s a moment where she wonders if she read this moment completely wrong — though his hand on her jaw pulls her back in, unconsciously leaning in to the touch. adrienne lets him tilt her head, looking up at him with an uncharacteristic clarity. in that moment, there’s no games or questions; just ade and ezra and what happens next. she looks up at him through her lashes, the sound of his voice pulling her under. before she can give him any kind of answer — something that would probably have been along the lines of isn’t it obvious.

it’s reminiscent of their kiss in the on-call room, only this time she went in knowing what to expect. unlike the night before, adrienne doesn’t hesitate — she lets go of everything that kept her from crossing this line. maybe it won’t mean anything, maybe they’ll ruin a decade long friendship by finally giving in to the chase. ade doesn’t let her mind wander to what will happen after; just this moment, and the man in front of her. the man she’s wanted to for as long as she can recall, even if she still won’t let herself actually admit it. she leans forward onto her toes to meet him half way, hand finding a fistful of his shirt as they kiss. smirking against his lips, ade follows his lead as he pulls her in, her arm wrapping around his shoulder as he does. even now, in uncharted territory — they’re still unexpectedly in sync.

eyes fall shut as his forehead rests against hers, sighing as her back arches and leans closer into him. she doesn’t expect to crave this as much as she does; the intimacy, an unexpected tenderness from him. now that she’s had a taste, adrienne doesn’t want to let go — even if the rational part of her, the one she’s ignoring right now, reminds her that every girl he takes to bed probably feels the same. his voice keeps her from drifting off into her own thoughts, slowly opening her eyes. a small huff of laughter passes her lips at his question, eyes rolling as she leans the small distance closer to capture his lips once more. “you talk too much.” she tells him between kisses, entertained by the irony of it — god knows she’s never missed a chance to interject with her own opinion.

[gcnetics]

ezra huffs a laugh against her mouth, the sound rough, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. you talk too much. the accusation shouldn’t land the way it does, but it feels like permission, like she’s telling him to shut up the only way she knows how.

“yeah?” he rasps, words low, brushing over her lips before he catches her mouth again. this time there’s nothing tentative about it, nothing slow or cautious. just hunger, sharp and insistent, his restraint wearing thinner with every second she stays pressed against him. his hand curves over the small of her back, pulling her flush to him, the heat between them undeniable. she tastes like his damn bacon and the faint bitterness of last night’s tequila, but it doesn’t matter. it’s better than he imagined, and he hates that he’s spent years pretending he didn’t imagine it at all.

ezra deepens the kiss, crowding her gently back toward the counter, his body braced against hers without thought of pulling away. one hand tangles in her hair, the other still firm at her hip, thumb stroking just above the waistband of the borrowed shorts she’s swimming in. it’s grounding and incendiary all at once, like he’s daring her to tell him to stop. when he finally breaks for air, his lips trail along her jaw, down the line of her throat in slow, deliberate passes before he pulls back enough to look at her properly. his eyes search hers, darker than she’s probably ever seen them, his chest rising and falling like he’s just come off a sprint.

“you sure you want this, ren?” his voice is low, roughened by desire but edged with something else—restraint, maybe, or the ghost of caution he can’t quite let go of. his thumb brushes her hipbone as he waits, gaze locked on hers like the answer might unravel him either way.

[gcnetics]

who: priya & ryan | @beneathoaktrees where: a random hospital starwell

priya lingers longer than she should in the stairwell, hands curled tight around the railing as if the metal might anchor her. the hospital air carries that ever-present mix of sanitizer and exhaustion, and she swears it's starting to seep into her skin. restructuring. downsizing. words that have been floating through every whispered conversation in the cafeteria. words that kept finding her no matter how she tried to dodge them.

of all the people she could run into here, it had to be ryan, someone who seems entirely too steady for the chaos priya feels gnawing under her ribs. she straightens automatically, bracing herself the way she always does in front of authority, rehearsing excuses in her head even before he says anything. she isn't supposed to be here while on the clock, she knows that, but she also knows she needs a breath before she falls apart in front of the wrong person.

“i’m fine,” she blurts, too quickly, before he even asks. the echo of her voice off the concrete walls makes it sound ridiculous. her grip on the railing tightens. “i just needed a second. everything feels like it’s… closing in. like the walls are moving.” she gives a half-laugh, brittle and sharp, then glances at him sidelong.

[gcnetics]

who: priya & sienna | @pinkauras where: a 4th floor conference room

priya isn't supposed to be here. she knows that as soon as she slides the badge over the scanner and ducks her head just enough to not look suspicious—but here she is anyway, tucked into the corner of an empty conference room on the fourth floor, the kind with the too-long table and the chairs no one ever adjusts because it isn’t their problem. she hasn’t turned the lights on, just lets the gray slant of morning through the blinds, casting striped shadows across her white coat. it's quiet here, in a way that the interns’ bullpen never is. no pagers chirping, no one snapping at her to move faster, no looming reminder that tess harrison reed has the power to pluck her out of the program at any second. priya's trying to steady her breathing, to pretend she has some semblance of control.

and then, inevitably, the door creaks open.

her head snaps up, guilt already blazing across her face even though she hasn’t technically done anything wrong—well, except for the part where she isn't supposed to be hiding out in here. she freezes when she sees who it is. “sienna,” she breathes, voice pitching low like she’d been caught sneaking out of class in high school. the silence stretches a beat too long before she tries to fill it, words rushing out in a tumble. “i swear, i was just-just needed a second. not running away, or, you know, completely imploding about the possibility of getting fired. definitely not that.” her attempt at a laugh sounds thin even to her own ears.