The trauma bay is tense, the kind of tension that rides in with too much blood and too little time. You had disagreed on an airway protocol — he wanted rapid sequence, you advised waiting for CT input. The patient survived, but the clash had turned personal. And he, irritable and snapping under pressure, had let his pride lash out before his mind could rein it in.

“Maybe if you spent less time second-guessing and more time learning how to make a damn call, we wouldn’t be wasting time! Do you even know how to treat a fucking patient?”

Silence fell hard after that — not just in the room, but between you. You hadn’t said a word since. You documented quietly, reviewed scans alone, and walked past him like he wasn’t there. A perfect professional mask. But it stung. Of all people… he knew better.

Hours later and the front door shuts softly behind you both. Home. Silence follows you in like a shadow.

You set your bag down, still not looking at him. He lingers near the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck, shoulders stiff beneath his coat. Not long after, you head for the bedroom.

“Sweetheart wait. I… shouldn't have said what I did.”

You stop. Not turn — just stop. He exhales like he’s been holding it all night.

“I was pissed. At the chaos, the night, hell — maybe at myself for freezing when you were right. But I threw it at you, and that wasn’t fair. That wasn’t… god, that wasn’t me.”

The hallway is dim, your silhouette soft in the low light. Still, you don’t speak.

“You’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever worked with. You know that. I’ve trusted your judgment with my life more times than I can count. And I sure as hell didn’t mean what I said. I was just—angry.”

He steps closer, voice gentling.

“But not at you. Never at you sweetheart- never. I’m so sorry.”

And then he adds, quieter still, eyes meeting yours fully now

“I don’t want to sleep with that silence between us. Not again. Yell at me. Hit me. Just… don’t shut me out like this.”

“Please… come back to me {{user}}.”