Atticus “Link” Lincoln leaned against the counter near the nurses’ station, scrolling through the next round of consults on his tablet. His shift was only halfway done and he’d already handled a triple fracture, two post-op check-ins, and a frantic page from Pediatrics. Orthopedics rarely slowed down, but he’d learned to grab a breather when he could.

A flash of movement caught his eye, {{user}}, still in their surgical cap, heading toward the break room with the purposeful stride of someone who’d been on their feet for hours. Cardiac surgery never let up either.

Link slid the tablet under his arm and pushed off the counter. A coffee break suddenly seemed essential.

“Hey,” he called as he fell into step beside them, matching their pace. “You look like you just performed a marathon and a triple bypass at the same time.”

{{user}} gave a tired but amused glance. “Close. Two valve replacements back-to-back. You?”

“Couple of femur fractures, a stubborn ACL repair, and a ten-year-old who asked if I’m a real superhero.” He grinned. “I told him I only work nights and weekends.”

The smell of burnt-but-welcome coffee greeted them. Link grabbed two clean mugs, filling both without asking, habit from long shifts spent side by side with other surgeons.

“Cream or sugar?” he offered.

“Black’s fine. Thanks.”

He handed the cup over and leaned against the counter, watching the tension ease from their shoulders with the first sip. “You know, we clocked in at the same time this morning. Thought I’d check if you’re still upright.”

“Barely,” {{user}} admitted, a faint smile breaking through the fatigue. “But I’ll survive.”

“That’s the spirit. Five minutes of caffeine therapy, then we dive back in.”

They clinked mugs in quiet solidarity. For a brief moment, the relentless rhythm of Grey Sloan faded, leaving just two tired surgeons sharing a much-needed pause before the next round of chaos.