"We'll need to talk to Henderson first thing tomorrow," I say, navigating through familiar streets toward her apartment. "Clear the air, figure out where we stand."
She nods, her lower lip caught between her teeth. "Together?"
"Together," I confirm without hesitation. "I'm not letting you face that alone."
When I pull up to her apartment building, neither of us moves immediately. The car idles, heat from the vents pushing back against the cooling evening air.
"Home sweet home," she says, but there's a note of uncertainty in her voice.
I turn off the engine, plunging us into relative quiet. "You want me to help you get settled? Carry your bag up?"
She turns to face me fully, green eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "Stay with me tonight?"
Relief washes through me. She asked. I don't have to leave her, the connection we've built in Montana doesn't end at her doorstep.
"I wasn't planning on going anywhere," I tell her, and the smile that breaks across her face is worth every mile of the journey back.
Together we grab our things and make our way to Mia’s floor. When we reach her apartment, the door swings open and the evidence of her hasty departure, of her breakdown, is scattered everywhere—coffee mug shards still on the floor by the wall, books tumbled from shelves, wilting plants drooping in their pots.
Mia steps inside, dropping her bag by the door. Her hand rises to her mouth as she takes in the chaos. "Shit," she whispers, her eyes widening as they scan the room. "I didn't realize I left it this..." She trails off.
"Lived in?" I offer, setting my own bag beside hers. My attempt at lightness earns me a half-smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"I was a mess," she says quietly, bending to pick up a book from the floor, fingers tracing the bent cover. "Inside and out, apparently."
I cross to her, gently taking the book from her hands. "We'll fix it," I tell her.
She looks up at me, vulnerability and determination warring in her eyes. After a moment, she nods. "I'll get the plants. They look like they're staging a death scene from a Victorian novel."
"And I'll tackle these," I say, gesturing to the pile of dishes in the sink. "We'll have this place back to normal in no time."
She grabs a watering can from beside the refrigerator, filling it from the tap before I start on the dishes. I roll up my sleeves and plunge my hands into the soapy water, watching from the corner of my eye as Mia moves from plant to plant. She speaks to each one in a low voice, a running commentary of apologies and encouragement that makes my chest tighten with affection.
"I'm so sorry, Fitzwilliam," she murmurs to a drooping fern. "I know I promised never to abandon you again after The Great Window Incident of last summer."
We work in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the splash of water and the gentle rustle as Mia moves dead leaves from her plants.
"How do you think they'll react?" she asks suddenly, breaking the silence. "At the hospital. To us, I mean."
I consider this as I scrub dried pasta sauce from a bowl. "With shock, probably. Then gossip. Then they'll find something more interesting to talk about."
"Optimistic," she says dryly.
"Realistic," I counter. "Office romances aren't exactly rare. Even ones that cross professional lines."
She moves to a shelf of smaller plants.
"Are you worried about the professional implications?" I ask, setting another clean plate on the drying rack. The question has been nagging at me, though I've been reluctant to voice it.
She turns to face me, watering can still in hand. "You mean dating my attending?" A small smile plays at her lips. "I'm more worried about Henderson's reaction to my dramatic exit than our relationship."
"Our relationship," I repeat, testing the words. "I like the sound of that."
Her cheeks flush pink, and she ducks her head, focusing intently on the spider plant in front of her. "Me too," she admits softly.
I dry my hands on the dish towel, watching her tend to her plants with the same careful attention she gives her patients. The sight of her here, in her own space, surrounded by the things she loves, makes something settle deep in my chest. This is what I want, not just the passion we've discovered, but this quiet domesticity, this sense of belonging.
I cross to her, my hands finding her waist, pulling her closer until there's barely any space between us. "I’m serious. I don't want to hide this."
