the door to the clinic creaked open at exactly 2:14 am, the heavy thud of boots against the wood floor signaling his arrival before he even stepped into the dim light of the lamp. {{user}} didn't look up from her medical journal immediately, though her heart did a slow, heavy roll in her chest. she knew that gait anywhere.

rip stood in the doorway, his silhouette cutting a jagged line against the montana night. his black jacket was torn at the shoulder, stained a shade darker than the fabric, and his hand was pressed firmly against his side. his jaw was set, eyes hooded and tight with the kind of pain he’d never admit to.

"you know, most people use a phone to make an appointment, rip. they don't just bleed on my porch," she murmured, finally closing the book and standing up. her scrubs felt soft against her curves as she moved toward him, the familiar scent of leather, pine, and iron-rich blood hitting her senses.

"didn't want to wake the house," he grunted, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the small room. he let out a sharp, hissed breath as he lowered himself onto the exam table, the metal groaning under his weight. "figured you were up anyway. you're always up."