You grimace as your ass lands firmly on the bleach-clean tiled floor of this intake room in the ED. Your patient — belligerent, drunk — stumbles toward you before a tree trunk of a man puts himself in your path. Dr. Simon Riley’s body language exudes malice and you wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of the look you just know he’s giving right now.

“Don’t you dare touch my resident again.”

He’s… sticking up for you? The senior physician who has been a complete thorn in your side since you started residency? Who has pushed you harder than anyone else? Matter of fact — where did he come from? Wasn’t he supposed to be in his office?

He turns and offers a hand as security comes in and you continue to hold it long after he’s helped you up. You follow him back to his office like a lost puppy. He flips the do not disturb sign before ushering you in, closing the door and sitting you down at the chair in front of his desk.

“Lab coat,” he instructs emotionlessly, and you carefully shuck it off and hang it over the chair. He hums. “Scrub top.”

You wince as you pull it off your head. A purple contusion is already beginning to form by your collarbone where you were pushed down and he gently moves the strap blocking his full view. A tear works its way down your face and he swipes it away before grabbing the back of your neck softly and pulling you against his standing form, gently tugging at the hairs at the nape of your neck as he soothes you.