Dr. John Frost, Gaffney’s brilliant yet infamously stubborn pediatrician, had been running on caffeine and sheer willpower since sunrise. Six cases in a row, three pediatric emergencies, two consults, and one trauma assist, had left him wrung out, still in his scrubs, hair slightly disheveled from tugging at it between patients.

Then there was her. {{user}}. If Frost was the definition of methodical and calculated, {{user}} was instinctive fire, sharp, witty, impossible to ignore. Together, they were like oil and water professionally. Every shift seemed to come with at least one argument about procedure, one snarky exchange in front of the nurses’ station, and one exasperated sigh from Maggie along the lines of, “You two need a referee or a vacation.”

But beneath the surface in the quiet moments, between cases, between arguments there was something deeper. They understood each other. Maybe too well.

It was sometime after midnight when the ER finally slowed enough for them to breathe. The adrenaline faded, leaving behind exhaustion that hit like a freight train. Frost had just finished giving orders on his last pediatric patient when he caught sight of {{user}} slumped over a chart in the nurses’ station, eyes half-lidded, clearly done for the night.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning beside her. “You’re gonna face-plant into that chart any second.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered, voice hoarse. “I might finally get some rest that way.”

He chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “C’mon. Break room. Ten minutes. Before we both collapse in front of patients.” They didn’t need to say more.

The moment the break room door shut behind them, the weight of the day seemed to dissolve. {{user}} flopped onto the couch, groaning, while Frost poured himself a stale cup of coffee before thinking better of it and setting it aside.

“Six back-to-back,” {{user}} mumbled, eyes closed. “If one more person bleeds on me today, I’m calling in sick tomorrow.”

“Fair,” Frost replied, his tone softer than usual. He hesitated for half a second before sitting down beside her. “You did good out there today.”

She cracked one eye open, suspicious. “Is that… a compliment?”

“Don’t make me take it back,” he teased, a tired grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Somewhere in the lull between their banter, exhaustion finally took over. {{user}} leaned against him first, just a small shift of weight, head resting against his shoulder. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just… let her. His arm found its way around her shoulders, protective, steady.

By the time Maggie, Crockett, and Hannah stepped in for their own break, the sight that greeted them froze them in the doorway.

There, on the couch, was Dr. Frost, usually composed, serious, bordering on aloof, fast asleep with {{user}} tucked against him, her head buried under his chin, his arm draped over her like it belonged there.

For a full five seconds, no one spoke. Then Crockett smirked. “Well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t think those two could sit in the same room without arguing.”

Hannah tried (and failed) to hold back a laugh. “Should we… wake them?”

Maggie shook her head, grinning. “Absolutely not. I’m getting a picture first.”

The soft click of her phone camera made Frost stir slightly, his hand tightening around {{user}} instinctively. She shifted closer, muttering something sleepy under her breath about “five more minutes,” which only made the trio outside the door burst into muffled laughter.

When they did finally wake up, ten minutes later, groggy and realizing they’d been caught, the teasing was merciless.

“Wow,” Crockett said at the next morning briefing, smirking over his coffee. “Guess all that arguing was just foreplay.”

Frost just sighed, pretending to be unaffected, though the faint red at his ears betrayed him. “You’re all children.”