Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A sense of heavy foreboding hangs over Dr. Edega as he pores over patient intake forms.

His hands are shaking. His hands don’t shake. He’s a surgeon, for God’s sake. The best in the city, approaching the best in the state. He performs life-saving operations without flinching. A prodigy of his caliber is above such weakness. So why are his hands shaking?

He heaves a sigh and runs a hand down his face. The sound turns strangled halfway through, and he has to bite his lip to force it back down. His hands are still shaking. His body is reacting like it’s in mortal danger. He’s in his office, alone, with the door locked and windows shuttered. Every second he spends in such an absurd state of panic is a second damned to eternal insignificance. But instead of taking control and putting an end to this nonsense, as any logical mind would do, the weight of regulating his composure only quickens his pulse.

So what, he’s finally able to reason? So what if his body is betraying him? He can still get his work done. He isn’t so incompetent that a mild stress reaction can put him out of commission. So he grabs his clipboard, and he reads the forms, like he’s done every day for innumerable years of his life, and today is no different.

Except, something’s wrong. His chest clenches, squeezes, and refuses to let go. Someone less educated might describe the sensation as his heart being wrung or twisted. The assertion that an organ could be so flexible is outlandish, but for once, he’s at least able to understand where the misconception could have come from. And every time the patient’s name crosses his line of sight, the feeling jolts through his system again.

The man in that room cannot be Mark Booker. There’s no resemblance. Mark — the Mark he built his career with — has dainty features and bright eyes. He’s uptight about his posture and the position of his glasses on his nose. He lifts any mood with his presence alone. The man in that room looked practically battleworn, and Dr. Edega has seen faces less pale and sunken in the morgue. It’s simply unfathomable that someone could change so much in so little time. 

And yet, his familiarity with the records room could only come from a former employee. The primal terror that surged through his gaze when their eyes met could only come from recognition. Does that mean he acknowledges his wrongdoings, then? Has he finally returned to apologize for all the chaos he caused by walking out in the middle of a staff shortage without so much as proper notice?

Feelings of disgust settle into his chest, in seeming rebellion to his desire for vindication. Why? It’s perfectly reasonable to want answers from the man who abandoned him after everything they had endured together. But he isn’t even the only one. Dr. Edega almost had an investigation launched against him, with the amount of employees that left under his management. As if their shortcomings were reflective of his performance. And just when he thought he had finally found the perfect solution…

A faint cracking clears the thick fog in Dr. Edega’s mind. His gaze snaps to its source: the pen he’s holding, bent awkwardly between snow-white knuckles. He hadn’t even realized he tightened his grip. He releases the tension in his body through an exhale, and feels himself slump in his seat like a ragdoll. At least this time, the dramatic display of rage is somewhat warranted, even if unproductive.

He can’t remember the last time a treatment went as disastrously as today. And it could have been even worse, had Ada Paige’s baffling ineptitude lasted any longer than it did. Never in his life has Dr. Edega heard of a doctor falling asleep on the job, especially not someone with such ceaseless drive as her, and she owes it to this hospital to get her act together. Such a sentiment should not be considered outrageous, especially with her already-subpar performance as of late.

So why did the intern take her side?

The intern, who works around the clock, who doesn’t stop until they’ve perfected their treatment. A pinnacle of performance, and more importantly, budding proof that the Rhythm Doctor program will pioneer a new era of medicine. They’re everything Dr. Edega could ask for, and everything the others should look up to. So why would they risk the safety of a patient — of Mark — just to prove some point? When they could have done it in their sleep otherwise? When they only acted out in the face of their coworker looking inferior beside them?

They’re going to leave, too. Them, and Paige, and Ian, and Mark, until his career collapses around him and he becomes trapped beneath the rubble. That much has become clear to him. But he doesn’t know why.

The fear has gripped him so heavily now that he’s resting his head on his hands, elbows on his desk, breathing through his teeth so nobody hears his trembling turmoil. Situations like these are exactly what the rhythm defibrillation method should be for, but it doesn’t work on him. At least, it didn’t seem like it would, because it read his heart all wrong. It only showed five beats instead of seven. It wouldn’t do this for anyone else. It sits on the long list of “bugs” for Ian to figure out, that distract him from his work on the Miracle Defibrillator. If he’s made any progress towards a solution, Dr. Edega is none the wiser.

But Mark, his heart was the same. The treatment went through, but was ineffective. He’s here because something is seriously wrong with him, because he knows he doesn’t have much time left if something isn’t done. And if their situations are so similar, and if he doesn’t get the Miracle Defibrillator working soon, then he and Mark…

A scream bubbles up in Dr. Edega’s throat. Just in time, in complete desperation, he’s able to bite down on the edge of his clipboard before it escapes. A small, high-pitched noise worms its way out, but nothing else. The clenching of his muscles and pressure against his gums bring him back to his senses, enough to lean back in his chair and grumble about the dents he put into the nice masonite.

At least he finally feels like himself again. This pathetic display was nothing more than a momentary distraction. He will resume his work, and he will see to it that the Rhythm Doctor program achieves its fullest potential, because he’s Dr. Gabriel Edega.

He snatches a new clipboard and pen. He signs the intake forms. He turns over to his cluttered schedule pinned to the wall. This week, he will monitor the intern’s performance for any more signs of foul play. He will shift Ian’s main priority to the Miracle Defibrillator. And… he will have to speak with Paige. As much as he already knows what she will say, because her honesty is so predictable. She will push the importance of “patient-focused care”, as if that hasn’t already wasted them enough time. But he’ll find a way to get his point across.

He will see the Miracle Defibrillator to completion, no matter what.

Chapter Text

A sense of heavy foreboding hangs over Dr. Paige throughout her entire shift.

Not that hospitals are a joyous place to begin with, but the newfound unease in the atmosphere doesn’t feel like typical anxiety or melancholy. Whatever it is feels ready to snap at any moment, giving way to an eruption it was suppressing through the force of will alone. Not unlike her own life, Dr. Paige gloomily remarks, albeit dismissively.

When she’s drowning in paperwork or doing endless rounds, she can almost pretend like things are normal. But in these brief moments of respite, slumped against the wall and holding her breath until she’s yanked back into the fray, it becomes impossible to ignore. Resting feels even more treacherous than normal, even when she’s been relieved of her responsibilities for the day. Like every moment she spends stationary is one she spends failing someone, but she can’t be sure who.

And then she’s reminded, as he comes stalking down the hall in a huff. Her boss, who hasn’t uttered a word to her since the disaster she caused with Mark. She almost prefers this to the slew of reprimands she would receive before. But that doesn’t stop his presence from making her wish she could sink into the ground and disappear.

She finds herself so struck by dread at his approach that she’s frozen to the ground, despite her internal pleading to get away. Fortunately for her, the senior doctor doesn’t so much as glance up from his papers before turning to the nearest door and peering inside. Relief mingles with curiosity in her chest as she sees him lower his clipboard beneath his eyes, staring intently at the scene inside. To have Dr. Edega’s full attention is such a rare occurrence that Dr. Paige can only assume he’s witnessing some grand divine revelation.

Much to her own disdain, her desire for answers wins out over her self-preservation. Slowly, she pushes herself onto her toes until she can get a decent view of the room. All she can see is Lucky lying on his bed, hooked up to the rhythm defibrillator. The intern must be treating him. What’s so special about that?

Dr. Edega turns on his heel before she gets any time to theorize. She feels her eyes go wide as their gazes meet, just briefly enough for him to raise an eyebrow, before his head snaps back down to his clipboard. Their standoff lasts several seconds longer than it should, with Dr. Paige’s breath hitched in her throat the entire time, fear seizing any excuses before they can form in her brain.

“You aren’t in trouble, Dr. Paige,” Dr. Edega eventually says, his stagnant tone betraying nothing. The assertion is so simple, and yet, so unbelievable to her that it sends her head spinning even more violently. 

“I’m not?” She can’t stop her confusion from escaping, leaving her sputtering at her own reaction. “I mean— yes. Sir. Thanks.”

“Mr. Jonronero seems to be progressing at an acceptable pace,” he remarks without acknowledging her bumbling imbecility. “There have been no further complications with his recovery.”

“That’s, um. Good.” Dr. Paige scratches the back of her head, feebly hoping the action will make it stop buzzing with anticipation.

“Though…” Dr. Edega exhales through his nose before continuing. “I can’t help but pity that he could be back with his team, if only he had remained steadfast about our new treatment plan.”

From the corner of her eye, Dr. Paige can see him flick his gaze upwards to meet hers. He’s challenging her. She grits her teeth. “I played no part in Lucky’s-“

“Mr. Jonronero.”

“I didn’t influence him at all.” She takes a breath, keeping her voice calm, but firm. “If he had decided to go through with it, I would have fully supported his decision.”

“Forgive me for finding this difficult to believe.” Dr. Edega’s typical irritation seeps back into his tone. “You have done nothing but express your disdain for the Rhythm Doctor program since its conception. What would suddenly spur you to support it now?”

“Dr. Edega, please,” Dr. Paige begs while extending her arms, unable to stop her voice from trembling. “I know I’ve addressed a lot of concerns. Maybe more than I should have. But I would never let my opinions get in the way of what’s best for the patients. Please believe me when I say I care so deeply for—“

“I don’t believe you don’t care, Dr. Paige,” he cuts her off sharply, placing a hand on his hip. “Clearly you must be doing something right, for the intern to have taken such a strong liking to you.”

Dr. Edega’s voice climbs as he speaks, laced with uncharacteristic exasperation. The tension in the air threatens to smother the pair where they stand.

He composes himself and continues. “I simply believe you aren’t applying yourself. If you were, Mr. Booker would not have been left in the intern’s care the other day.”

Guilt pierces Dr. Paige like a knife, spreading its sludgy warmth through her veins. Ever since the incident, panic has yanked her from every slumber she can manage, terrified that she had dozed off in her chair again. She can’t even imagine what would have happened if she’d stayed asleep for any longer, or if another patient had an emergency in that time, or if the intern hadn’t, for whatever unfathomable reason…

“Yes, I know, that was really bad,” she admits, letting the words tumble freely from her mouth. “I’m sorry. It will never happen again. No more excuses.”

“You would have been able to treat him,” Dr. Edega says, enunciating every word like he’s speaking to a child. “You would know how to use our revolutionary technology by now.”

Dr. Paige nibbles on her lip. “Yes, I-I’m sorry, I’ve been trying—“

“Clearly not hard enough.”

“It’s just hard to get the hang of, and with so much else to take care of—“

“No more excuses.” Dr. Edega taps his pen against his clipboard. “Isn’t that what you said just now?”

Dr. Paige’s lips purse, her teeth sinking lightly into the skin underneath. Frustration bubbles up within her, but she can’t justify it. None of this would be happening if she could just get her act together. 

“Your performance with the rhythm defibrillator will see significant improvement,” Dr. Edega insists like it’s a guarantee. “Ian and the intern have been covering for you for too long. We are falling behind.”

Another spike of guilt surges through Dr. Paige’s chest at the mention of her friends, and the thought of saddling them with more work. She tugs at the collar of her shirt, as if this would loosen the heavy weight sitting in her neck. She has to do something right by someone. She must.

“They’re already so good at it,” she argues, feebly, as if attempting to convince herself. “If they can just do the rhythm treatment, I can help them, I can take care of everything else…”

“Honestly, Dr. Paige, why are you so resistant?” Dr. Edega snaps. He clenches his clipboard with splintering force, his eyebrows knit into a deep glare. “Do you not want to improve the efficiency of our workforce? If you truly wished to help your colleagues, wouldn’t you stop leaving our lead researcher to pick up your slack and stretch himself even thinner?”

The sickly heat in Dr. Paige’s blood freezes over in an instant. She feels her eyes go wide behind her glasses, and Dr. Edega raises his eyebrows in response.

“It seems I’ve finally gotten through to you,” he says coolly.

“Y-you’re saying…” Dr. Paige tightens her grip on her collar. “The reason Ian’s been working so hard… it’s my fault?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” Dr. Edega clicks his pen closed, then waves dismissively. “Ian is a brilliant man. Only he can do what he does. But he is only one man. If something were to happen to him, we would be back where we started. We must do everything in our power to ensure he can work in peace.”

The end of the sentence turns fuzzy in Dr. Paige’s ears. She becomes too overwhelmed by a staticky weight in her body to listen. It pulls down on her muscles, harder and harder, and the floor caves beneath her to accommodate her endless sinking. Scenes from earlier in the week play through her mind like a tape, of her best friend collapsed against the vending machine with lidded eyes. Of him struggling to explain why he’s here off-hours, until he gives up and retreats to the basement. Of him spending more and more of his time ranting about computer jargon that goes above her head. Something felt wrong, but she couldn’t put a finger on what. Or maybe she just didn’t try.

The overhead lights suddenly become blinding, drowning the hallway in a sea of white. She can only see Dr. Edega, raising his eyebrows further at her slack-jawed mouth and fingers coiled in her hair. She wasn’t even aware of her own movements until she caught on to being perceived. 

“Are we clear?” He asks so slowly it’s almost patronizing.

I’m sorry, she tries to say. No words come out. So she breaks her body from its stony paralysis to nod instead.

Seeming satisfied, he turns and continues down the hall, the pressure of his piercing judgement leaving with him. She finds herself feeling so light that she stumbles to the floor – quietly, so as to not re-attract his attention – and pushes her back against the wall. Her hand snakes up to grip the side of her head, but the world continues to spin around her just as violently as before, no matter how much she tries to regulate her breathing like Ian taught her.

If something were to happen to him. The words play out in her head, over and over, louder and louder. Because of just how plausible it is. She’s seen it happen, with one of the patients. No family history of cardiac conditions, no record of severe injury, far too young for his heart to be as weak as it is. She’s been wracking her brain since his arrival for what could possibly have caused such deterioration. But, horrifyingly, she realizes now that she could have an idea.

A quiet ding shoots through her ears, the only audible sound in her surroundings. Instinctively, she pulls her phone from her pocket and reads the notification on screen.

Ian

hey ada just remember to lmk when ur home :))))

Her vision immediately becomes blurry with thick tears that she rushes to wipe away. Of course he would care for her, even when she hasn’t cared enough back. That’s just how he’s always been, fretting over her study habits while drowning in exams of his own, keeping her on his LAN party even when she couldn’t pull her weight, letting her take extended breaks just because she “looks tired” when he’s been working just as hard. That’s just how he’s always going to be, whether she deserves it or not.

And now, he’s working harder than she’s ever seen him, exhaustion etched into his face and weathering his spirit, sulking through the hallways like he isn’t all there. The sweet, charmingly awkward boy she went to college with has been nowhere to be seen, and, as the lurching of her heart into her throat blocks her breath from escaping, she realizes just how much she’s missed him.

How did she let him get so far away? Is it because she convinced herself this is just normal? That she goes through this all the time, so suddenly, it’s okay to let him do it to himself? That things will get better if they just keep pushing, even when it’s just been him pushing this whole time? He’s getting more and more work put on his shoulders because she’s been neglecting to learn. She’s already worried for her own health and she’s not even keeping up, if Ian keeps going like he is…

She sees it so clearly. The most important person in her entire world, fighting for his life like he’s just another patient. She sees herself being unable to bring him back. She sees herself needing to treat him with the rhythm defibrillator, and not knowing how. All because she became complacent. And then, what will any of this have been for? What will anything afterwards be for?

Before she knows it, she’s stopped crying. Her vision stills. She’s staring at the floor, her teeth pressing down on the nail of her thumb. The distress she was feeling has completely disappeared, in place of stiff numbness that hangs in her chest. She can only identify the feeling as fear, but she doesn’t feel afraid. She feels nothing.

Dr. Edega is right. It’s time to make a change, before it’s too late.

She wipes her eyes one more time for good measure, then pushes herself to her feet and advances towards the basement.

She must fix the mistakes she’s made, no matter what.

Chapter Text

A sense of heavy foreboding hangs over Ian throughout his commute.

He keeps a hand stuffed in the pocket of his lab coat, gripped tightly around his cell phone. He waits and waits for the comforting vibration of a returned text to swoop in and save him from his own mind. Each minute that passes without the familiar sensation, he feels his pulse quicken as the dread encasing it thickens further. He almost finds himself grateful for it, as the soft rocking of the bus makes it hard for his heavy eyelids to stay open. All of his problems become so much worse if he doesn’t make it to work on time.

By the time he arrives at his stop, with his phone as silent and still as when he boarded, he can feel his heartbeat in his throat. He begins weighing the risks of using the rhythm defibrillator on himself. Surely he’s proficient enough with it by now that it can’t be too dangerous, right?

He heaves a bitter sigh as he steps onto the pavement, quickly drowned out by the doors squeaking closed and the bus speeding away. With how much time he’s spent squirrelled away in that stuffy basement, infiltrating the internals of a machine which resents his very existence, he’d better be so proficient with it that he can bring back the dead. After all, that’s practically what Edega seems to expect of him nowadays.

As the towering structure of Middlesea Hospital looms over him in the distance, Ian finds he can’t even muster up the energy to be angry. He just has to put an end to this godforsaken project, then work his shift, then go home and care for his mother. Then… maybe, just maybe, things will look a little brighter.

A long-awaited buzzing in his pocket breaks Ian out of his stupor. His heart jolts so severely that he nearly flings his phone into the nearby bushes in his rush to pull it out. The glow of the screen shines through the dark walkway as he fumbles to catch the device, then illuminates his face like a lightbulb once he brings it forward. His glasses reflect the light, obscuring the sparkle of hope in his eyes, enough so that it would be impossible to see how it fizzles out and dies as he scans the incoming message.

It’s just a shitty scam script that’s been going around. The area code isn’t even remotely familiar.

The disappointment that crashes through him is almost enough to bring him to his knees. Why hasn’t Ada answered him? She always lets him know when she’s gotten home after her shift, or at least if her schedule’s changed. She hasn’t even seen his messages from hours ago, he finds as he opens the chat and nearly faints on the spot. What could have possibly happened to keep her away for this long?

It could be the very thing that keeps him wide awake in his bed, he realizes before he’s able to stop himself. He hasn’t been able to forget, even for a moment, what she admitted to last week. That she, who would give every waking hour she had to the hospital if she needed to, fell asleep at her desk in the middle of a shift. And she surely hasn’t been getting enough rest to stop it from happening again. For all Ian knows, she passed out on her walk home, and she hit her head on the way down, and…

Maybe her phone died and she forgot, he reasons, if only to kill that train of thought immediately. Maybe if he messages her again, she’ll see it and remember. His fingers move faster than his brain, scrambling for some way to break the horrible silence. 

23:46

did u get stuck w overtime again?

Ian feels himself cringing the moment the message goes through. If she’s still working, she won’t be able to reply. Obviously. He begins furiously tapping at the keys again, in desperation to save himself from his own idiocy. 

23:47

just msg me when u can pls im worried

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and yanks open the front doors. That will have to do for now. He should just be grateful that message wasn’t Edega sticking him with even more work, or a situation with one of the patients, or the carer calling with an emergency, or…

His stomach lurches with such ferocity, he finds himself having to drop down and curl his knees into his chest in the middle of the hallway. His mother always tells him to be grateful for what he has in times of trouble. For him, it’s only ever served as a reminder of what he still has to lose.

Fortunately for him, he doesn’t throw up. Deep breaths and popping a mint into his mouth are enough to keep his churning insides at bay for now. But the minute or so of sitting and squeezing his eyes shut has tricked his weary muscles into thinking it’s safe to rest. He groans as he feels a wave of fatigue wash over him, warm and comforting and desperate. He doesn’t even want to think about the last time he had a proper night’s sleep. The fact he can’t immediately remember tells him everything he needs to know.

He’s able to trick it for just long enough to feel around for a chair and hoist himself onto it. He’s able to fight it off by remembering just how screwed he would be if Edega came down the hallway right about now. But being back on his feet doesn’t spur his limbs forward as much as he hopes it would. His boastful belief that he could make it to the basement with his eyes closed is being tested as he stumbles around through his hazy vision, but thankfully, he seems to be succeeding. All he has to do is get there, and then the rest of the world can disappear completely for a little while. He can do it.

He finds the door and lazily pulls it open. He flicks on the switches for the lights and the furnace. A yelp rings out from within the empty room.

That’s not normal.

No one but him is supposed to be down here.

Suddenly, he’s wide awake.

In the moments it takes for the ancient electrical system to activate, Ian can only see the faint glow of a screen, hovering above the ground at an awkward angle. It’s exactly the dimensions of the rhythm defibrillator, he notes with increasing confusion, as a pair of arms on either side scramble to lift it up. The lights flicker on just in time to reveal the figure holding the machine, rosy and stained with tears, as she shoves it onto the nearby desk.

“Ada…?” Ian’s legs have begun moving on their own, taking him down the stairs two steps at a time, before he even speaks. In his complete disbelief, he’s unable to bring his voice above a whisper.

“Ian?!” His best friend's voice cracks with exasperation, her chest rising and falling with noticeable fervour. “Your shift isn’t until morning! What are you doing here?”

“Your shift ended two hours ago,” he rebuts, gently wrapping his hands around hers. She flinches away, and he has to stop himself from doing the same as the chill coating her skin sends shockwaves through his. In the end, he stumbles across the floor to match her movements. 

“Your hands are cold,” he continues, unable to keep concern from his tone. “Your hands are never colder than mine. Ada, how long have you been down here?”

“It’s not- I swear it’s fine,” she insists, but she’s betrayed by a thick shiver that runs through her whole body. Ian would have half a mind to chew her out for spending God knows how long in the uninsulated basement and not even using tge heater. But the longer he spends staring at her, with her eyes glued to the ground and her teeth clenched to slow the quivering of her lip, the more he realizes she’s probably hearing it enough from herself. So instead, his legs spring into action again, practically dragging her towards the furnace and rushing to snatch the emergency blanket he keeps by his desk.

“Why didn’t you turn the heater on?” He finally asks, when he feels like he can without bursting into tears himself. It’s not an easy task, especially while watching Ada try and push the blanket off her shoulders before realizing just how much she needs it and sinking into it.

“I- I didn’t think it would be this cold,” she snivels as she allows Ian to coax her into a sitting position. “Besides… no one’s… supposed to know I’m here.”

“Ada.” He says her name so softly, with so much purpose, that she can’t help her gaze lifting upwards to meet his. He feels all-too-familiar butterflies infesting his stomach when he sees her eyes soften, and again as she delicately takes his hands back into hers, but the relief surging through his every muscle is strong enough to will them away.

“I just can’t get it.” Her words, quiet and hoarse, barely escape. “No matter how hard I try, I just can’t. I don’t get it.”

Ian furrows his brows, about to inquire further, until he turns his head back towards the rhythm defibrillator on the table. It’s still on, blaring its chipper tutorial music through headphones that dangle off the side. If he strains his ears, he can hear the steady ticking of the metronome that kicks in when new users struggle with onboarding.

“That’s what this is about?” He turns back towards her, but she’s already dropped her gaze again. “Ada, it’s okay, this stuff takes—“

“No, it’s not.” The intensity in her tone seems to shock even her, causing her to tense and recede into her shoulders. She removes a hand from Ian’s grasp to wipe new tears from her eyes, but tightens her grip on the other.

“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” Ian’s voice shakes in spite of himself. “I would’ve helped. D-did you think I wouldn’t…?”

“No!” Ada’s head snaps up as Ian jumps at her harsh reaction. “No, Ian, you’ve helped enough. I’ve read all those music books you gave me, I’m trying the tips you put in the intern guidebook…”

She quietly trails off with a small sigh. Her free hand pushes against the ground to lift her to her feet, but Ian is quick to block her with his arm.

“I have to figure it out on my own from here,” she insists through gritted teeth. Her stony expression remains stalwart even as she watches it shatter Ian’s spirit. All he can do is loosely shake his head, frozen in despair until she tries to stand again. He grabs her wrists, but she pulls them free and rises to her knees, so he springs up and squeezes her shoulders, but the force isn’t enough to keep her down, so he throws his arms around her in a massive, crushing hug that forces a startled exhale from her mouth. Her breath tickles his ear, and realizes he can’t remember the last time they had just allowed themselves to be close to each other. He would want to stay like this forever if he didn’t hate everything else that was happening.

“Ian, let me go,” she pleads, but she doesn’t fight him. Her voice is so hoarse and desperate that his watery eyes spill over and his tears stain her shoulder.

“I’m worried,” is all he can manage to say in response.

“I know,” she sighs with increasing agitation, “you’re always worried, and I just want to help you so you’ll have less to worry about.”

“What?” He sputters, and his voice is rising, too. “That isn’t– this won’t–”

“Don’t lie! I’ve seen how tired you are and I haven’t done a single thing to help! I- I don’t want you hurting yourself just because I’m not doing enough.”

“B-but that’s exactly what you’re doing to yourself! How is that fair?!”

“It’s fair because I’ve been leaving all the rhythm treatment to you while you’re building this stupid miracle machine alone! I can’t let it happen anymore, Ian, I can’t.”

“I really don’t–”

“Please, Ian. Please just let me do something right!”

The bubbling anger festering in Ian’s chest threatens to boil over. He wants to scream, as loud as his lungs will allow, that she does everything right. That the patients never stop asking for her, and that this place would be run into the ground without her, and that he wouldn’t be half the doctor he is if he couldn’t see her every day. That someone would have to be witless to not see how much right she can do. 

But no matter how hard he pushes, the words don’t leave his mouth. Because he can’t look away from her eyes, full of so much pain that she must be genuinely convinced of what she’s saying. And he can’t stop thinking about all the times he passes her and Edega in the hall, and how all he tells her is what she’s doing wrong. Surely, he always thought, someone as wonderful as her would know her worth enough to not let him get into her head. But he realizes now that maybe he’s the only one here with his wits about him.

Suddenly, all of his anger hardens into a thick lump of sadness that settles into his stomach and ties it into knots. He’s openly sobbing into Ada’s shoulder before he can stop himself, until she finally unglues her arms from her sides to pull him closer, and he ends up in the crook of her neck. He thinks she’s crying too, based on the way her chest is rising and falling against him, but his own hysterics are too strong for him to be sure. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers in a voice too broken to not come from crying, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

But all Ian can see in his head is the nicest person he knows believing all these awful things about herself, and all he wants is to debunk every lie one by one, even though his throat is so tight he can barely even breathe.

“I’ve been a horrible friend,” is all he can manage to say in response.

Ada just shakes her head before placing it on top of his. The silence is peaceful in a way it shouldn't be, that just makes his body feel even heavier.

“You’ll just think the same thing about yourself,” he mumbles almost inaudibly. “That’s proof enough for me.”

“I won’t,” she promises with the infectious conviction that makes his heart surge with joy whenever she speaks. “You’ve been working so hard, and I would never fault you for that… I guess that has to say something about me, too.”

She chuckles, and Ian can hear a hint of bitterness behind it, but he can also feel the muscles in her cheek curving her lips upwards. It gives him enough courage to try coaxing her back to the floor, and excitement surges through him as she accepts the gesture and sits down beside him.

Neither feel particularly compelled to continue the conversation. The sounds of their cacophonous sniffles would drive Ian crazy if he couldn’t hear them slowing down. If he couldn’t feel Ada’s shivering slowing from his nest underneath her head. The world has done nothing but take his ability to feel alive for as long as he can remember. In such a golden opportunity as this, when his senses finally feel like his again, who would he be to not seize it?

When Ada finally speaks again, a sigh precedes it. “I should have just talked to you. I should have just told you I was worried about how much you have on your plate. But… what do you say when you feel like you’re adding to the problem?”

“I don’t want you pushing yourself more than you already are,” Ian insists, firmly, but with a contradictory softness. “You already passed out once. I can’t stand the thought of that happening again.”

Another surge of panic sneaks up on him as the consideration enters his mind again, but a hand landing on his knee is quick to scare it away. The silent promise of security sends his previous fatigue crashing through him, so fast that he needs to reach out and grab Ada’s hand before the ground disappears from under him. 

“I guess it’s hard to feel like I’m actually… doing anything?” He hears her voice from somewhere, low and faltering. “Either I’m being redundant or I’m screwing things up. If I don’t find some way to keep up, I-I’m just leaving you to do it all.”

“Rhythm defibrillation isn’t the magical cure-all Edega seems to think it is.” Ian finds himself running a thumb over her knuckles as he speaks. “It’s revolutionary, yes, but only with help. If patients are still in distress, their heart rate will just spike again, and treatment will be stuck in a never-ending spiral. It only works because people like you do the heavy lifting on the patient’s side.”

The words he’s saying only register to his swirling mind as he speaks them. He’s far too exhausted to be rehearsing an explanation; his passion for his work is the only thing keeping him halfway coherent. And yet, Ada looks down at him with such overwhelming gratitude, like he had put an ear to her heart and repeated exactly what it was begging to hear.

From where he’s sitting, if he leans his head in just slightly, he really can hear her heart. Beating heavily but steadily, a sure sign that she’s here with him. Its rhythm is like a lullaby to his drooping eyes, but nothing in him wants to pull away.

“The patient’s side… Edega thinks it’s ‘outdated’.” She says it so quietly, as if he were in the room and listening. But with the way her chest deflates and her heart beats just a little louder, Ian can feel the weight of the words leaving her mouth.

“Edega’s wrong,” he responds, just as hushed. “He’s wrong about a lot of things.”

Ada lets her head fall into her hands. “What are we doing, Ian? What have we let this place do to us?"

He finds himself unable to do anything but shrug. His shoulders fall a little lower than he means for them to. The mention of their boss reminds him that the world is still turning, it hasn’t stopped for them to have their moment, and it never will. Dread creeps into his muscles and burns away at the fatigue, as it’s learned to do so well throughout the past few weeks.

“We have to say something,” Ada declares, in the exact invigorated tone he knew she would, pushing herself up with all the urgency he knew she would. It just makes his stomach drop further and his eyes blink open faster.

“No.” He grabs her wrist so fast that she flinches. “We can’t.”

“This isn’t just about us anymore, Ian.” She yanks her arm, but only enough to pull him to his knees. “The way things are going, the patients are going to end up suffering. It’s our responsibility to look out for them.”

“Ada, it’s not that simple.” His voice cracks as he watches her face fall.

“I’ll be right beside you. We can do this together. I know we can.”

She says it so effortlessly. Like she’d walk straight into fire with him if she had to. Her stubborn purity forces from his mouth an admission that he hadn’t even allowed himself to accept.

“He wants the Miracle Defibrillator to be ready for use by tomorrow.”

The pressure of the words looms above their heads. The silence that follows them sucks the limited warmth from the air.

“He what?” Ada’s question comes out like she’d been punched in the gut.

“I- I….” Ian takes a shuddering breath before words come tumbling out and his hands start flailing wildly with his speech. “I told him it wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t listen. He was all ‘I’ve seen what you’re capable of’, but he doesn’t know I’ve been embellishing how functional it actually is, because any time I told him something was going wrong, he’d just tell me to keep working until I fixed it. And I thought it’d be fine, all I had to do was get it to clinical testing and he’d see how insane this all is, but now he’s saying we’ll need it for Booker, which is absolutely absurd that he’d think that would work. But when I said that, he screamed at me, I’ve never heard him raise his voice like that in my—“

A hand lands on Ian’s back, cleaving through his racing thoughts. Only as it starts trailing up and down his coat does he realize he’s shaking.

“You were dealing with all this alone?” Ada’s voice is just as frail as his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers like the shame could rear up and kill him.

“I guess I don’t really have the right to say anything,” she retorts, but there’s no humour to her tone.

They sway in each other’s arms for several moments. Ian clutches onto her lab coat as if it’s the only thing keeping his feet on the ground, until he realizes his illusion of safety is so shattered that it’s not coming back. A primal desperation for stability, so strong and familiar that it can only be comforting, surges through his veins until he can see clearly again. He can find a solution. He just needs to do the only thing he knows how to do. Think.

He shuffles over to the desk, pulling Ada along with him. Begrudgingly removing a hand from its death grip on her coat, he pulls his notebook closer and flips through the pages, past the status reports and intern progress reflections and mindless doodles. He stops at a diagram that’s admittedly barely legible, with how much theoretical nonsense is scrawled in the margins. But, for once, his desperate experimenting on the side might pay off.

“You’re going to have to explain this to me,” Ada says flatly as she stares at what may as well be an alien language to her.

“I’ve been working on something.” Ian frantically skims through his work as he talks. “My biggest worry in all this is Connectifia abortus. I still haven’t figured out how to get rid of it, and the amount of power required to run the Miracle Defibrillator could set it off. But if I can make this program do what I want it to do, it’ll act like… a firewall, I guess. Isolating it and sequestering it until treatment is done.”

Ada puts a contemplative hand on her chin, but Ian sees her brows furrow. He continues nonetheless.

“I’m not thrilled about the idea of implementing this until I can be sure it’ll solve the problem for good. But if the alternative is running the Miracle Defibrillator unchecked… I think I have to try.”

“How long will this take?” She asks as the nail of her thumb slides into her mouth.

“I’m not sure. It shouldn’t be more than a few hours, assuming everything goes smoothly the first time.”

“And how often does that happen?”

Ian feels his muscles deflate. “Never.”

Ada shakes her head. “I don’t like this,” she mutters.

“Me neither. But you were right earlier. The patients are at risk if I don’t at least try.”

“What does Edega think will happen? That Mr. Booker is just gonna sign his life away?” She’s pacing now, scuffing her soles against the dusty floor. “He seems smart. He should know this is a terrible idea. Is it really worth risking your health over something so improbable?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Ian mumbles. “He was asking me all kinds of questions about the technology yesterday.”

Ada pushes her glasses up and runs a hand down her face. She lets them linger on her forehead until gravity drops them roughly back onto her nose.

“I don’t like this,” she repeats. Her voice is so much smaller this time.

“I know,” he responds in kind. “I don’t think it’s possible for either of us to get what we really want.”

“I-it’s just, you’re already doing so much… we saw what happened to me, and I didn’t even know you were still thinking about that, and if you keep going like you are…”

Ian sees her bite down on her lip, as if suppressing a thought she can’t bear to give any power. Her jaw quivers underneath the pressure. He sets his notebook aside and reaches out to lace his fingers between hers. He tries, as hard as he can, to tell her things will work out. To believe they will just because he wants them to so badly. But he’s never been a good liar.

“Do you want me to stay?” She asks it like she’s seeking permission.

“You’ve been here all day,” he argues, but there’s no fight to it.

“I won’t push. There’s not much I can even do. But if you’re hungry, or you need patient records, or if I could collect data while you run tests…”

No, Ian wants to say. It’s so easy. It’s just one syllable. But her warm smile traps the word behind his tongue. He can see, reflected in her sparkling eyes, the same vision in his own mind. Of his work going so much faster with an extra pair of hands to crunch the numbers and categorize the results. Of a mutual supply of reassurance at the ready whenever things feel too daunting. Of their heads laying on each other’s shoulders, weighed down with exhaustion, but with somewhere to safely rest.

“Just don’t make me watch you fight this alone.” She’s pleading. Like this is her life hanging in the balance.

Ian’s hands fall to his sides. He takes a step back. Without a word, he leans over his desk and feels around in the space behind the bookshelf until his fingers wrap around a plush handle. With some effort, he hoists a tattered futon out of its nook and unfolds it on the floor behind them.

“Oh my God.” Ada’s smile returns. “Is that the same one you’d bring to my place in college?”

“So what if it is?” A chuckle finds its way from Ian’s mouth, a sensation that’s almost foreign to him as of recently. With the way it widens her grin, he never wants it to go away.

“I just don’t want you driving if you get too tired,” he feels the need to clarify as he finishes setting it up against the darkest wall he can find.

“You’re so thoughtful.” Ada drops down beside him, ruffling his hair and fluffing up the pillow he set down. “Man, this brings back memories. We really haven’t changed much, have we?”

Ian’s gaze finds its way to his knees. The thought of them in their school days, still making time for game nights together despite their mountains of work, tugs lightly at his heart. “If it were up to me, we would have changed even less,” he can’t help but whisper.

Ada sighs and wraps an arm around his shoulder. “I get it,” she responds just as gently. “I’ve… missed you.”

“We see each other every day.” He chuckles again, but it’s an empty sound.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” His words are muffled as he buries his head into her shoulder. “I missed you too.”

“We can do this,” she says like she’d put an ear to her heart and repeated what it was begging to hear.

“It’ll be okay in the end,” he affirms, because he finally feels like he can.

Something tight in his chest is screaming at him that he’s wasted an astronomical amount of time. It’s probably right, he thinks, especially if he wants to be sure he can get the firewall working. But his goal feels clearer now, in this rare moment of respite, than it ever has before. A moment longer in each others’ arms is all he needs.

They have a long night ahead of them. But no matter what happens, they can tackle it with a little help.