the fluorescent lights of the mercy hospital er hummed with a clinical, relentless buzz that usually signaled the end of a long night. {{user}} adjusted the waistband of her navy scrubs, her feet aching in the sneakers she’d bought after terry mentioned the brand three months ago. she didn't tell him that, of course. she just liked the way his eyes tracked the movement of her walking toward him. a heavy, steady gaze that felt like a physical touch.

terry bruno was leaning against the triage desk, looking entirely too expensive for a man who spent his days in the grime of the bronx. his salt-and-pepper hair was perfectly groomed, contrasting with the rugged, tired lines around his blue eyes. his high-end watch caught the light as he checked the time, a subtle reminder of the settlement money that meant he didn't have to be here. yet, here he was.

"tox screen isn't back yet, bruno," {{user}} said, her voice raspy from twelve hours of talking down panicked patients.

he looked up, a slow, lopsided smirk tugging at his strong jawline. "i’m a patient man. you know that."

"you're many things. patient isn't usually top of the list," she countered, leaning her hip against the counter. the height difference was more apparent when they stood this close; he was a solid wall of muscle and veteran grit, smelling faintly of expensive cologne and the cold nyc air.

he stepped closer, close enough that she could see the subtle grey in his facial hair and the way his athletic frame seemed to relax only when he was in her orbit. "maybe i'm just waiting for the company. the coffee at the precinct tastes like battery acid."

{{user}} snorted, reaching for a spare styrofoam cup. "and you think ours is better? it's burnt plastic at best."

"it's better when you're the one pouring it," he muttered, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that made her heart do a clumsy skip. it was a classic bruno move. a hit-and-run compliment wrapped in sarcasm.

she poured the coffee, her fingers brushing against his as she handed it over. he didn't pull away. instead, his thumb grazed the back of her hand, a rough, warm friction that felt like an unspoken promise. years stood between them, a gap filled with his failed marriage, his years on the force, and her own quiet life, but in the 4:00 am silence of the er, none of it seemed to matter.

"go home, terry," she whispered, though she didn't pull her hand back. "the lab won't have anything until shift change."

bruno took a slow sip of the terrible coffee, his eyes fixed on hers with an intensity that felt like a confession. "i'm not in any rush, {{user}}. i think i'll hang around until you're off. the walk to the parking garage is dark this time of morning."

"i can handle myself," she reminded him, a small smile playing on her lips.

"i know you can," he said, his gaze lingering on the curve of her face before settling back on her eyes. "but i’d feel better if i was the one handling it for you."