Dr. Zayne

"One mission turned into five. My partner is on some other assignment so it was just me out there. But I did try to stay off of it, I promise! And I've been icing it and elevating it and I even bought a pretty brace. That might have been forgotten at home but I'll wear it tomorrow."

She stilled briefly, tilting her head at the faint twinge of discomfort as she silently sucked in a breath.

"Okay, so that didn't hurt, but it didn't feel good. But seriously I'm sorry. This isn't even your field and a twisted ankle has nothing to do with my heart."

With a soft exhale, she stopped her nervous rambling. Her gaze flicked to the desserts, the sweet aroma nearly making her stomach growl.

"Apparently, the snowflake macaron is pear flavored."

-🦋

Zayne’s fingers pause, “…Didn’t feel good,” he repeats quietly.

His grip shifts. One hand stabilizes your ankle while the other presses lightly along the joint. “You’re favoring the lateral side,” he murmurs. “And you’re downplaying it.”

“Again.” At your explanation, his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “One mission turned into five,” he repeats. “Alone.”

“That wasn’t a request, Tella. That was a risk assessment failure.” He exhales softly through his nose, easing the tension in his own shoulders before continuing the examination. “Brace. Ice. Elevation,” he lists. “Forgotten at home.”

“You’re making it very difficult to be lenient with you.” His fingers test your range of motion, guiding your foot gently. When you flinch, his gaze sharpens. “Mm. Then your comment about it not being his field, that makes him stop.

Zayne looks up slowly. “…Your heart,” he repeats. “My field,” he says calmly, “includes anything that compromises your condition before it ever reaches that point.”

“…You don’t get to separate the two.” His hand lingers at your ankle before he finally releases it. “If you continue stacking missions on an unstable injury, it will become my field.”

The corner of his gaze shifts toward the box on his desk. “…Pear,” he repeats. “The snowflake one is yours,” he says. “You didn’t come all this way just to watch me eat it.”

“But you don’t get it until I finish evaluating you, and depending on what I find,” he adds, “I may confiscate the entire box under medical authority.”

“Yes.” His thumb shifts slightly against your skin. “I thought it would pass,” he admits quietly. “That it was… familiarity, proximity, and history.” A faint, almost self-aware exhale. “…It didn’t.”

His gaze softens, “And when it didn’t,” he continues, “it became something I couldn’t justify acting on… Because you matter too much to risk losing.” His fingers tighten around your wrist. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there,” he adds.nHis eyes flick to your lips then back to your eyes. “…It means I chose not to cross the line.”

📱 Not tonight. I’m leaving now.

📱 Sure. Coffee. A walk. You. No substitutes.

Then, as you turn and redirect, he lets you. His gaze follows you to the pastry bag. He exhales, some of that earlier tension finally loosening from his shoulders.

“A reasonable treatment plan,” he says. He steps closer, close enough that his presence settles at your side rather than across from you. “Though I should warn you,” he adds, glancing down at the bag as he reaches for it, “if it’s as sweet as you claimed…”

A slight tilt of his head. “…you may regret your choice.” He pulls the box free, opening it with careful precision, but there’s a subtle pause before he sets it down, his gaze flicking back to you instead of the desserts. “…or,” he amends softly, “you’ll insist I help you finish it.”

On screen, Bob is stress-eating French toast while Louise watches like a tiny, chaotic mastermind.

Zayne doesn’t say anything at first. Then, very quietly, “…He’s coping.”

You glance up at him. “With French toast?”

A pause. Zayne exhales softly through his nose, almost a laugh.

“…There are worse methods.”

On screen, Louise says something unhinged. You feel it before you see it, his chest shifts slightly under your cheek.

That was a suppressed laugh.

You tilt your head. “You like her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t not say it.”

He finally looks down at you, eyes soft but guarded, like you’ve caught him in something he wasn’t planning to reveal.

“…She’s efficient,” he says.

You grin. “That’s one way to describe her.”

Another silence settles, comfortable this time. The kind that doesn’t need filling. The episode keeps going, Bob spiraling, Louise thriving.

Zayne’s hand stills for a moment… then resumes that gentle, rhythmic motion along your arm.

“…If you were in that situation,” he says suddenly, eyes still on the screen, “you wouldn’t let it escalate that far.”

You blink. “Are you calling me more stable than Bob?”

“I’m saying,” he replies evenly, “you’d ask for help sooner.”

Your fingers curl slightly into his sleeve. “And you’d help?”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate.

“…Obviously.”

On screen, Bob takes another defeated bite.

Auroral Corona over Norway