tried to remember why the many instances of robby’s self soothing looked so familiar and then i realized. bentoncarter always at the scene of the crime.
Summary: During a chaotic holiday week in the ER, Carter starts acting strangely around you—showing up early, staring, and stumbling over himself—until Carol and Susan point out the obvious: he’s completely in love with you, and you secretly feel the same. Everything becomes clear at the Secret Santa exchange.
Tags: Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Everyone Sees it but Them, Public First Kiss
divider by mikeykuns
The first time you notice something's off with Carter, it's a Tuesday morning during shift change. He's standing at the admit desk, staring at you with an intensity that makes you self-conscious, but the moment you look up from the chart you're updating, he quickly diverts his eyes to the patient board, pretending to study it with sudden fascination.
"Carter, you're not even on for another hour," you say, glancing at the clock. "Why are you here so early?"
He fumbles with his stethoscope, nearly dropping it. "I, uh... wanted to review some cases. Get a head start. You know how it is."
You do know how it is, but Carter's never been the type to show up an hour early just to hang around the admit desk. Still, you shrug it off. It's the holidays, everyone's acting a little strange with the added stress and the Secret Santa exchange looming over the department.
But then it happens again on Wednesday. You're in the lounge, finally grabbing a coffee after a brutal three-hour surgery consult, and Carter walks in, sees you, and immediately freezes like a deer in headlights. His eyes go wide, and he just stands there in the doorway.
"Are you going to come in or just block the entrance?" you ask, amused despite your exhaustion.
"Right. Yes. Coming in." He moves stiffly to the coffee maker, pours himself a cup he doesn't seem to want, and hovers near the bulletin board, stealing glances at you every few seconds.
"Carter, are you okay?"
"Fine! Totally fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" His voice cracks slightly on the last word, and he clears his throat. "How's your day going?"
"Long. Yours?"
"Also long. Very long. Extremely... long." He nods too many times, then apparently decides he's had enough of whatever this interaction is and practically flees the lounge, leaving his untouched coffee on the counter.
You stare at the abandoned cup, thoroughly confused.
By Thursday, Carol had noticed too. She sidles up to you at the nurses' station while you're charting, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, what's going on with you and Carter?"
"What? Nothing. Why?"
"Oh, come on." She leans against the counter, lowering her voice. "He's been following you around like a lost puppy for three days. Yesterday, he walked into a supply closet because he was too busy watching you walk down the hallway."
You feel heat creep up your neck. "He did not."
"He absolutely did. I saw it. Mark had to help him untangle himself from an IV pole." She's grinning now, clearly enjoying this. "It was the most pathetic thing I've ever seen, and I've watched Ross try to flirt."
"Carter's just... he's been stressed lately."
"Uh-huh. Stressed. That's what we're calling it." Carol taps her pen against your chart. "Remember last year when I was acting weird around Doug before I finally admitted I had feelings for him?"
"That was different."
"Was it though?" She raises an eyebrow. "You remember how you told me I needed to either do something about it or stop mooning around the ER like a lovesick teenager?"
You do remember. You'd been pretty direct about it, actually, over margaritas at Doc Magoo's after a particularly hellish shift. Carol had been grateful for the tough love, even if she'd thrown a napkin at you first.
"This is not the same situation," you insist.
"If you say so." But her smile suggests she knows better.
Friday afternoon, Susan joins the conspiracy. You're in the lounge again—you're starting to think you should just avoid the lounge entirely—when she walks in and immediately zeroes in on you with a knowing look.
"I heard something interesting," she says, settling into the chair across from you.
"I'm too tired for cryptic statements, Susan."
"Carter asked Mark for advice on buying a gift for someone."
Your heart does a weird little flip. "Okay?"
"A romantic gift. For someone he has feelings for but hasn't told yet." Susan's overseeing your face. "He was very specific about wanting it to be thoughtful and personal, not generic."
"That could be anyone," you say, but your voice sounds unconvincing even to your own ears.
"Could be," Susan agrees. "Except Carol saw him staring at you for a full five minutes yesterday while you were talking to a patient. He didn't even blink. It was actually kind of creepy, but also kind of sweet?"
Carol appears in the doorway as if summoned. "Are we talking about Carter's massive crush?"
"We are not—there's no crush," you protest.
"Honey." Carol sits down next to Susan, and you realize you're being tag-teamed. "I've known you for four years. We've been through hell together in this ER. Remember when that guy came in with the chainsaw injury and you held my hair back when I threw up afterward?"
"Your point?"
"My point is, I know you. And I've seen the way you look at Carter when you think no one's watching." She softens her voice. "You like him too."
You open your mouth to deny it, but the words don't come. Because she's right. You do like him. You've liked him for months now, maybe longer. You like his earnestness, his dedication, the way he really listens to patients. You like how he gets excited about diagnoses, how he's always trying to learn, how he brings in donuts for the nurses without being asked. You like his smile, rare but genuine, and the way his hair falls across his forehead when he's been running around the ER for hours.
"Oh my God," Susan says, reading your face. "You do like him."
"This is a disaster," you mutter, dropping your head into your hands.
"This is not a disaster," Carol says firmly. "This is perfect. You both like each other, you're both just too chicken to do anything about it."
"We work together. It's complicated."
"So do me and Doug," Carol points out. "So does literally everyone in this hospital who's ever dated. It's only as complicated as you make it."
Susan nods. "Plus, it's kind of romantic. Secret Santa and secret feelings? Very Hallmark movie."
"My life is not a Hallmark movie."
"It could be," Carol says with a grin. "Just wait for the gift exchange tomorrow. I have a feeling it's going to be interesting."
She's not wrong.
Saturday arrives with the kind of organized chaos that only an ER during the holidays can produce. There's a multi-car pileup on the expressway, two cases of food poisoning from a office party, and a Santa Claus with a dislocated shoulder from a mall incident. By the time the Secret Santa exchange rolls around in the early evening, you're exhausted, covered in various bodily fluids, and seriously considering just going home.
But the tradition is sacred, apparently, so you find yourself crowded into the lounge with what feels like the entire ER staff. Mark is playing Santa, wearing a hat that Weaver produced from somewhere. Doug is making jokes about his gift being "the gift of his presence." Carol is trying to organize people into some semblance of order.
And Carter is standing in the corner, looking like he might pass out.
You catch his eye across the room, and he goes pale. Actually pale. Susan, standing next to you, notices and elbows you gently.
"He looks terrified," she whispers.
"Maybe he got stuck with Kerry for Secret Santa," you whisper back.
But then Mark starts calling names, and people begin exchanging gifts. There's laughter, some gag gifts, and some genuinely thoughtful ones. Carol gets a beautiful scarf that makes her tear up a little. Doug receives a book called "Feelings for Dummies" that makes everyone laugh. Mark gets fancy coffee that he immediately opens and starts brewing.
Then Mark calls your name.
Your stomach flips. You make your way to the front of the room, hyperaware of everyone watching. Mark hands you a wrapped package—not large, but carefully done, with neat corners and a real ribbon, not the curling kind from a roll.
"Secret Santa says this is for you," Mark says with a smile that seems to know more than it should.
You look around the room, trying to figure out who drew your name, and your eyes land on Carter. He's gripping his coffee cup so hard his knuckles are white, and he's staring at you with an expression of such naked hope and terror that your breath catches.
Oh.
Your hands shake slightly as you unwrap the gift. The paper falls away to reveal a book—not just any book, but a first edition of your favorite novel, the one you mentioned once, months ago, in passing during a quiet moment at the admit desk. You'd been talking about comfort reads, about the books you return to when the world feels too heavy, and you'd mentioned this one. You can't believe he remembered.
But it's not just the book. Tucked inside is a bookmark, clearly handmade, with a quote from the novel carefully written in what you recognize as Carter's precise handwriting. Below the quote, he's written: "For the quiet moments between the chaos. -J.C."
Your eyes blur with tears. It's so thoughtful, so personal, so perfectly chosen that you can't quite process it. This isn't a generic gift. This is someone paying attention, someone who listens, someone who cares.
You look up, and Carter is watching you with barely concealed anxiety. The room has gone quiet, everyone sensing something significant is happening.
"Carter?" you say softly.
He sets down his coffee cup and crosses the room, and suddenly you're standing face to face, the book clutched to your chest, and everyone else might as well not exist.
"I hope it's okay," he says, his voice low and rushed. "I know it's maybe too much for Secret Santa, but when I saw it at the bookstore, I just—I remembered you talking about it, and I thought—I mean, I wanted—" He stops, takes a breath, runs a hand through his hair in that nervous gesture you've come to recognize. "I'm your Secret Santa. Obviously. You probably figured that out."
"Carter—"
"And I know this is probably not the right time or place, and we work together, and there are all these reasons why this is complicated, but I just—" He's rambling now, the words tumbling out like he can't stop them. "I really like you. I have for a while now. Months, actually. Maybe longer. And I know I've been acting weird lately, everyone's probably noticed, I walked into a supply closet the other day because I was distracted watching you, which Mark will probably never let me live down—"
"You really did that?" you interrupt, fighting a smile.
"So you heard about that." He winces. "Great. That's... great. But yes, I did, and it's because I can't seem to think straight when you're around, and I've been trying to figure out how to tell you, and then I drew your name for Secret Santa, and it felt like maybe it was a sign, or at least an opportunity, and—" He stops abruptly, seeming to realize he's been talking for a while. "I'm sorry. I'm rambling. I do that when I'm nervous."
"I've noticed," you say softly. Your heart is pounding so hard you're sure he can hear it. "Carter, this gift is... it's perfect. It's the most thoughtful thing anyone's ever given me."
His face lights up with hope. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You take a breath, aware that everyone in the lounge is watching but finding you don't really care. "And for the record, I like you too. I have for a while."
"You—really?" He looks stunned, like this possibility never occurred to him.
"Really. I thought I was being obvious about it, actually. Carol and Susan certainly figured it out."
"We did!" Carol calls from somewhere behind you, and there's scattered laughter.
Carter doesn't seem to hear her. He's staring at you like you've just told him he won the lottery. "I can't believe—I mean, I hoped, but I didn't think—" He stops, shakes his head, and suddenly he's smiling, really smiling, and it transforms his whole face. "Can I take you to dinner? After shift? Or before shift? Or literally any time you're free?"
"Yes," you say, and you're smiling too, so wide your cheeks hurt. "Any of those times. All of those times."
"Okay. Good. That's—that's really good." He's still smiling, and he takes a small step closer, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, close enough that you can smell his cologne mixed with the antiseptic smell that clings to everyone in the ER. "Is it okay if I—can I kiss you? Is that—is this okay?"
Your answer is to close the distance between you, rising up on your toes to press your lips to his. For a moment, he freezes in surprise, but then his hands come up to cup your face, gentle and sure, and he's kissing you back with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative, a question and an answer all at once. But then his fingers slide into your hair, and you grip the front of his lab coat, and the kiss deepens into something that feels like a promise. He tastes like coffee and mint, and the way he holds you—like you're precious, like you're something to be treasured—makes your heart swell.
When you finally break apart, breathless, the lounge erupts in cheers and applause. Carter's face is flushed, his lips slightly swollen, and he's looking at you with such open adoration that you feel heat flood your cheeks.
"Best Secret Santa ever," Doug calls out, and everyone laughs.
Carter ignores them all, his attention focused entirely on you. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he murmurs, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.
"Me too," you admit.
"Yeah?" That hopeful note is back in his voice, like he still can't quite believe this is real.
"Yeah." You lean into his touch, the book still clutched between you. "Thank you for the gift. For paying attention. For being brave enough to say something."
"Thank you for not running away when I started rambling," he says with a self-deprecating smile. "I know I can be a lot sometimes."
"You're not a lot. You're just right." You kiss him again, quick and sweet, and his smile against your lips is the best thing you've felt all day.
Around you, the party continues. Someone turns on music. Carol catches your eye and gives you a thumbs up. Susan is grinning like she just won a bet—she probably did. Mark is shaking his head with an amused smile.
But you barely notice any of it. You're too focused on Carter, on the way he's holding your hand now, his fingers laced through yours, on the way he keeps looking at you like he can't quite believe his luck.
"So," he says, "about that dinner. Are you free tonight? After shift?"
"I'm free," you confirm. "Where did you have in mind?"
"Honestly, I was so focused on the gift and working up the courage to tell you how I feel that I didn't plan past this point." He laughs, a little embarrassed. "I have no idea. Somewhere nice? Somewhere quiet where we can actually talk?"
"Anywhere is fine," you say. "As long as it's with you."
His smile could light up the entire ER. "I really like you," he says again, like he needs to make sure you know, like he's still amazed he gets to say it out loud.
"I really like you, too, Carter."
And when he kisses you again, soft and sweet and full of promise, you think that maybe Carol was right. Maybe your life is a little bit like a Hallmark movie. And maybe, just this once, that's perfectly okay.
The ER will still be chaotic tomorrow. There will still be emergencies and long shifts, and difficult cases. But right now, in this moment, with Carter's hand in yours and his smile warming you from the inside out, everything feels exactly right.
