A twelve hour shift in the ER could be brutal for any doctor, but for Ryan Ashton, it was every day. Often, the work was gratifying, and making a difference in the lives of other made up for all of the ridiculous hours and sometimes uncomfortable situations. It was a mostly thankless job, filled with grumpy patients who were in pain, and their families who always thought they knew better, but Ryan truly loved the work. He was the type of person who thrived in a high pressure environment and the majority of his residency had been handling traumas straight off of ambulances and tending to crashing patients on gurneys. Now, as the attending physician, his life was more about paper work, supervising and seeing people only after they had been dealt with by nurses and subordinates.

Truthfully, it got a little boring.

“Doctor,” said a blonde nurse, dressed in pale blue scrubs, “we've got room seven's x-rays back if you want to take a look.”

The dark-haired man looked up from scrawling his name on a form and slid a chart back into its appropriate spot behind the nurses station before putting his hand out for the x-rays. Ryan held the films up to the light and immediately spotted a clean break in the forearm. “Get him in a cast up to the elbow, I'll write a script for painkillers and be in to talk to him as soon as I can,” he said, before handing the films back off to the nurse.

As she left, his eyes wandered to the clock on the wall. It was just past nine, and Ryan only had a few more hours on his shift before he could go home and sleep. Above him, the fluorescent lighting continued to beat down on the shiny floors, hurting his already tired eyes even more. Briefly, he wondered if he had time for a quick cup of coffee before he had to make his rounds to patients waiting to see a doctor. It had been a fairly slow night so far, just a few broken bones, a sick kid or two, and only one heart attack. Normally, Boston was more lively than this.

We got a bus on the way!

Ryan knew how quickly things changed around a hospital, especially in the ER, but he had apparently thought too soon that the rest of his night would be forms and prescription writing. Coffee would have to wait.

“ETA?” he asked, watching as the trauma team began to mobilize.

“Less than five minutes,” one resident answered.

“Stats?”

“Nineteen year old African American male, multiple gunshot wounds to the torso.”

As they said, a city never slept.

Ryan waited for the arrival of the rig and quickly made his way down to the ambulance bay as the teen on the gurney was rushed past him. He wasn't in good shape, but Ryan had faith in his staff and he knew that they would work as hard as they could and then some to save his life. “Get him stable first! He's my number one as soon as you're done. He's gonna need surgery to dig those slugs out.” And then Boston PD would be by, wanting to know who shot this kid and why, and they would need the evidence from his body. It was better to extract the bullets sooner rather than later. The kid was in for a rough few hours if he made it that long.

Although Ryan wanted to be in the ER where the action was, there were things he was legally obligated to do first. He dealt with the EMT's fairly often, but they were hardly ever the same people as their shifts were as sporadic as his own. He never took the time to get to know any of them, either, not that he really had the time. The city had a limited number of medical vehicles, and they weren't to be out of commission long from one emergency to another.

“One of you have a report for me?” he asked, his smile polite but slightly tired as he reached for a pen from his coat pocket. Ryan looked expectantly to the dark-haired EMT, waiting for someone to hand him something to sign. All that money spent at medical school and those years of being a resident had ultimately led up to him signing his name over and over. He was living the dream. “And where are the cops? They're never far behind you guys,” Ryan chuckled.

"The boys in black might be a few minutes tonight, Doc. We were right back on after a non-transport call, took us less then a minute to respond, and we were long gone before I heard the sirens."

As he'd spoken, Travis was pulling his clipboard box from the rocket bag, ticking down information quickly before passing it over. Despite the reputation amongst most of the medical profession, EMT's had escaped the stigma of terrible handwriting and scrawled signatures. Two years of practice had his penmanship blocky and clear, his signature loopy but recognizable. And even as he was handing it off, Travis was already reporting.

"So we pushed about 3200 cc's Saline, another 1200 Ringers Lactate. We did our best to open him up to it, gave him a rescue-- 30 atropine, 15 epinephrine. His BP dropped from 100/82 to 85/60 on scene, with no further loss in transport."

Josh had finished their trauma kit and left it on the desk to go refill their supplies, so the dark haired EMT grabbed the green box and held it under the board. "We've got your blood and spewdom tests done on the way--negative on narcs and barbs, but spewdom came back a grainy positive for coke."

It was concise, given quickly and easily with the ease of practice. Travis could have done this part in his sleep, and he held out the board with a half smile, tired but genuine,

"I think that's all I got for you, doc."

Being in the profession of helping people, Ryan knew that he shouldn't have loathed the police the way he did, but they were constantly getting in his way whenever they made a visit to the ER with a patient. All they were ever concerned about was evidence—collecting it, preserving it, getting it in the plastic bag and into their hands as soon as possible. They didn't seem to understand that the health of a person was always more important than whether or not they needed to be handcuffed and hauled down to the station. “Those extra minutes probably saved his life,” the dark-haired doctor found himself nodding, impressed by the rapid response time of the ambulance. That was what he liked to see, and he cared very little for the guilt of the boy who had just been wheeled through the doors. “Hopefully they'll go over to Harbor and give us a little more time to work on him,” he laughed wishfully.

Ryan accepted the report from the EMT, and looked over the notes as the man relayed the situation to him. Again, he was nodding, happy with the way things had been handled. The writing on the chart was clear and precise and Ryan appreciated that. His own signature was worse than the scribblings of a toddler, but the hospital was a busy place, and he didn't always have time to write out his whole name when singing off on something. If it weren't for the legal ramifications, the doctor would have slashed an X onto every form and left it at that.

“Good,” he said, scribing his name on each space where it was needed. “You did half of our work for us, so I appreciate that.” At the mention of the drugs, Ryan sighed. “The police are gonna love that.” It was just another reason for them to be up the ass of staff, getting in the way even more than normal. After he finished signing off, Ryan gave back the appropriate forms and kept the remaining for himself.

The EMT in front of him looked tired, and that was something they and everyone else at Boston General had in common. “Thanks for your time...” Ryan said, and caught a glimpse of the other man's ID badge, “Travis.” He smiled in return and prepared to head back inside, confident that the nurses and residents had the situation under control. “Have a good night.”

"Thanks, Doc. You too."

And Travis couldn't help a crooked grin as he walked back towards the ambulance bay. It was rare enough that the attending physicians, particularly on overnights ,were that friendly. Most wanted either play by play accounts of exactly what they done on the run, or would throw a fit that a nurse couldn't sign off on the forms. It was normally a nightmare trying to get signed off and out- and he didn't blame Josh for running while he could- but this one was...a nice change.

And he was cute. Travis was shallow enough to hope that their shifts would overlap at least a few times, on that fact alone.
--

But the next night, fate seemed determined to teach him the danger of hoping. He'd barely signed in, getting shift report from the afternoon EMTs, when his radio had gone off.

"Squad 11, squad 9. Report to the third block of Fifth street, intersection road Waldorff. Rendaveux with Patrol Car 4487, possible domestic distrubance, mutliple injuries."

"10-4 Dispatch."

He'd exchanged a glance with Josh, rueful and worried all at once. Domestics were the worse. No one ever really knew what they were getting into, and things could go south very quickly. It was required for all calls to have at least one police officer present, should the worst case scenario come to pass. Which was a relief. But they still took precations, and that run it served them well. When the wife of the man who'd been found with the 'younger model' found out that she wouldn't be able to press assault charges without being charged herself, she'd thrown caution to the wind and gone for the frying pan. But the trajectory was, unfortunately, drawn on an angle which met the back on an unsuspecting EMT's head rather then her hapless husband's.

Which was how Travis found himself- for a second night in a row- sitting in the ambulance bay of Boston General waiting for an attending. But this time Josh was snickering and helping him hold a gauze compress to the sluggishly bleeding gash on the back of his head, and trying-in vain- to be supportive.

"I mean, I guess it could have been worse. At least she didn't go for the knife block. You'd have a much worse head ache then than now."

"You're gonna have a headache in a minute if you don't shut your damn mouth. Why are we even here?"

"Cap wants you checked out and signed off on one way or another before we go active again. Concussions and all that jazz. Just be patient, and you'll get a lollipop when you're done."

Contrary to popular belief, the emergency room wasn't anything like it was made out to be on TV. Ryan blamed shows like Grey's Anatomy for making people think that doctors and nurses had that kind of time between patients to use the on-call room for anything but sleeping. It had been quite a long time since Ryan had even been on a date, and work kept him so busy that he didn't even have time to try. Unfortunately, that was the price he had to pay for his profession, and Ryan was mostly happy with the job and the people and he knew that he had done a lot of good in his time since medical school. It just got lonely sometimes, mostly when he had a rare day off and realized there was literally nothing for him to do.

It was the beginning of a new shift, and Ryan had just finished signing in before he began to make his rounds. There were a few high-priority patients already in the ER and he was taking over for the attending who had just gotten off. With one asthma attack, and one suspected heart attack, Ryan already sort of had his hands full. After writing scripts, giving breathing treatments and getting the paperwork together for admittance, there was finally a small break in the day. Ryan went to get himself the first of many cups coffee, wanting to stay ahead of his fatigue before it started to catch up with him around sunset.

“Doctor,” a frazzled-looking nurse said, “there's an EMT coming in for a concussion check. Something about a frying pan.”

Ryan raised his eyebrow. “A frying pan?” That wasn't something he heard every day. He assumed that the EMT would need to be signed off on, and he didn't mind seeing to the problem himself. “I'll go down to the ambulance bay. You go check the status of that asthma attack, see if she's doing any better.”

Tossing his empty cup in the trash, Ryan made his way toward the ambulance bay. He wasn't expecting to see the same EMT from the night before, but he wasn't complaining when he laid eyes on Travis once again. “Frying pan, huh?” he asked, smiling softly when he saw the man's partner helping him with the gauze. Obviously, this wasn't just a bump on the head and not something Ryan could have signed off on quickly in order to get these two back to work. Travis could have needed stitches, or had a concussion, but there was no way to tell until he actually took a look.

“You're going to have to come inside,” he said, knowing that didn't sound promising. “You can tell me what happened on the way.”

"Man, what did I tell you?" Josh's voice was teasing as he helped Travis get shakily to his feet. "You've got a fountain in the back of your head, no way you are going on any more runs tonight."

"Shut up Josh." Once on his feet Travis was steadier, and he brushed his partner aside to put his own hand on the gauze.

He'd known the truth, but it always sucked to get taken off rotation, especially so early in his shift. Being an EMT was where he'd always wanted to be at in his career. It had taken a long time for him to get into the kind of physical condition he'd needed to do the job really well, and then to get on the alpha shift that worked for his schedule. It didn't leave him a lot of time to have a life outside of work, and that could suck. He'd dated briefly over the summer, but after the third call in Brian had flat out told him that he wasn't worth the effort. They'd reconciled over that eventually- after Brian's face had healed- but that had been his last romantic entanglement.

Now he was going to be put off a shift, and the one time he had a night off there was nothing to do and no one to do it with.

"Alright Doc, he's all yours. I'm going to call us in and see about a replacement, Trav, but I'll stay and drive you home after."

"Thanks, man." Travis waved in the general direction of his partner, then looked up at Ryan. "Alright, Doc, lead the way."

It was obvious that Travis hadn't wanted to come inside the hospital, even though he knew that he would need to be checked out. Ryan sympathized with him to a point, he hated missing work too, and there had been a few times during his residency where the attending had sent him home for being sick, or when he had tried to work on a severely sprained ankle after a running accident. Travis seemed like the kind of guy who was committed to his job, and Ryan could appreciate that. EMT's played an important role in the community, they were often the first people that patients saw before additional medical treatment and they had saved countless lives. That was something to be proud of, a reason to want to stay at work, but tonight it couldn't be avoided.

“This way,” Ryan said once Travis had stepped out of the rig. He pointed the other man in the right direction and followed along.

Thankfully for Travis, there was a lull in the ER and there weren't too many traumas until later in the night. “So, what happened?” he asked, grabbing the necessary paper work from the nurses station on his way over to an available space. He pulled the curtain back and motioned to the empty gurney. It felt good to be active again, to see his job as more than just signing off on forms and seeing patients for a few minutes at a time.

“It's not every day that we get frying pan injuries around here,” he chuckled. Concussions were common, but they usually happened to teenagers who played sports like hockey or football, or small toddlers who had taken a tumble in the backyard. After filling out some of the information on the forms, Ryan moved toward Travis to take a look at his head. Carefully, he pulled the gauze back with gloved hands and saw that the gash was fairly deep. “You might need some stitches,” he noted, more to himself than anything. He reached for something to clean away the blood, needing a better view.

"Yeah yeah, laugh it up." But Travis's grumbles were good natured, and he bent his head to give Ryan more room. "We got called out to a domestic disturbance, some deal about a wife finding her husband with some younger thing. The side piece got out okay, but the husband got so worked up his heart was spasming and she was hitting him. So we get called out with the cops, wife finds out she can't press charges without getting locked up herself, so she goes at him with the frying pan. Unfortunately, my head was between her and him."

The pressure on the wound stung, and he winced a little as the gash was cleaned. He hated head wounds, mostly because they over-bled every time. Still, if he had to have someone look at it, it was nice for it to be a doctor. He liked nurses just fine- they were incredibly useful for intakes and they kept candy at their station- but if he was going to get slammed over the back of the head, it was nice for it to be a doctor who looked him over.

"Stitches? Are you going to have to shave my hair?" His tone was appalled. "Jeez, Doc, how am I ever gonna snag a guy with a bald spot?"

If his head wasn't really starting to pound, Travis might have caught the little slip. He wasn't over eager about blurting out his sexual preference- it made some of the older fire fighters uncomfortable-, but he wasn't ashamed of it, not really. Still, hospital, public space. It was usually the kind of thing he avoided. But the concern-and the concussion- were enough to drive the worries from his mind.

Domestic disturbances had the possibility of carrying some pretty severe injuries. Although Ryan had never been on the scene of one himself, wives and husbands were often brought into the ER and he had seen everything from stab wounds, to crushed vocal cords and even a poisoning one time. Travis should have considered himself lucky that he had only taken a frying pan to the head because it could have been much worse. “Did they get her for assault?” Ryan asked, curious. The Boston PD would haven't been doing their job if they would have left the scene without taking the wife in. “Sorry she got you, though,” he said, sincere as he continued to inspect the wound.

Gently, Ryan squeezed both ends of the wound together, seeing if the skin would join together. “I don't think so,” he chuckled in response, although he had picked up on that small slip. “You'll do fine with some liquid stitches. No bald spot, no deal breaker.” He hadn't thought that Travis was gay, but obviously it was true that a person learned something new every day.

Picking up another pad of gauze, Ryan placed it over the wound. “Hold that on there for me, and I'll be right back.” The nurses were busy, and the dark-haired doctor didn't mind getting the necessary tools together to close Travis's wound. Once that was dealt with, he could check for a concussion but he was pretty sure that the EMT was going to be okay. Quickly, he slipped behind the curtain after tossing his gloves and went to collect a few things for the short procedure.

All of five minutes later, Ryan had returned and he set the tray with the stitches and extra cleaning supplies on the gurney beside Travis. “Are you having any kind of nausea or dizziness?” he asked, donning a new pair of gloves, “any ringing in your ears, double vision or seeing stars? How's your balance?” Ryan didn't mean to fire off his questions so rapidly, he was just used to getting in and getting to the point. He exercised care when brushing aside Travis's hair again and began to place the liquid stitches over the wound on the other man's head. They would dissolve over a period of a few days and would keep everything clean to promote healing.