#bbd serkan

It makes sense. You don't have a shift before tonight, and they're all so far behind on their work that it would be foolish to drag any of them away for a follow up appointment. You have no doubt any one of them would go with Serkan, but right now, you're channeling your inner BB—efficiency is best, and you are, without a doubt, their most efficient option.

"You okay with that, Serkan?" Sal asks, arms crossed over his chest.

"Yeah! That's fine with me," he replies softly, lacking the spunk he had before the accident.

You meet BB'S eyes across the room and he scratches his jaw. You can feel his gaze through his visor—he knows what you're thinking and he knows what you're trying to do for them.

So he lets you go.

You make it to the doctor's office and stand behind Serkan as he talks with the receptionist. It's been a while since the accident, but you can still pick up on his nervous energy. Time well spent with him has taught you his quirks—how he jiggles his legs when he thinks too hard, how his hands clench and unclench when he laughs nervously, how his eyes seem to stare hard into any empty stretch of wall.

How he cringes away from blood.

How he looks exactly like you.

When the conversation with the receptionist is over, you follow Serkan to the neat rows of soft, cushy blue chairs. The white, liminal walls cloud your vision as you sit next to him. There's a single painting on the far wall of some nondescript meadow, but Serkan's eyes are not pulled to it. He sits, hunched over, hands clasped together as his leg jitters. He's not looking at the painting or the walls or the stump where his finger used to be.

Instead, he looks up at you.

Then down at the floor.

Then off to the chair on his left.

Then back at you.

"Is everything okay?" you ask softly, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

"Fine! Yes!" he jerks up, spine straightening almost immediately, "Sorry."

You laugh under your breath, shaking your head, "Don't say sorry. You haven't done anything wrong."

"But—" he blurts, mouth hanging open uselessly as the rest of the sentence forms in his head.

"But?" you offer, searching his eyes for something, anything.

"But I...I took you away from work. And stuff. So sorry." he murmurs, feet shuffling awkwardly against the tile.

"You didn't take me away from anything," you furrow your brow.

"But, uh—sorry," he fiddles with his thumbs, laughing nervously, "Uh, is BMW okay with this?"

You freeze, confused. What does BB have to do with this? Of course he'd be okay with you looking out for one of his friends. Coworkers? Does BB have friends—?

"Why wouldn't he be?" you ask, confusion evident in your voice.

"Ah, I dunno," Serkan waves his arms around aimlessly, as if the motion alone will be able to properly convey his thoughts, "You...and me? I mean, not like that, sorry—but like, yeah? I mean...sorry."

That made no sense.

“Serkan,” you sigh, a smile playing at the edges of your lips, “I don’t know why BB would have a problem with me being here with you. Can you explain it to me?”

“...”

“It’s okay if you don’t know how.”

“...”

“BB and I aren’t an item, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve known him for a handful of months now but it’s not like I’ve known you guys less.”

“You’re...not?” Serkan looks up at you, finally meeting your gaze.

His eyes are full of wonder, a spark of something, as if he hadn’t dared hope for this very outcome. You laugh a little, warmth blooming in your chest—of course he’d keep this to himself, what kind of guy would step on his coworker’s toes like that? Not Serkan. Not the Serkan you know.

“I was literally on call with you and your family last week!” you smile, laughing harder now, “Sure, it was brief, but like—Serkan, come on—!”

“Hey—! I mean, what!? How was I supposed to know—!?” he stumbles, cheeks flushed red, hands waving in the air again like they always do, “I just thought you were being nice!”

“I’m nice to BB. I’m sweet on you. I hope you know the difference.”

“Urk...sorry...” he hangs his head like a kicked puppy.

“Serkan— !” you can’t help it, this time you do laugh, loud enough to cause the seven year old in the corner to look up from his mother’s iPod, “Don’t look so depressed, I’m just teasing.”

“You were joking...?” he looks up at you again, gnawing on his lower lip.

“No, silly. Teasing. I'm one hundred percent serious otherwise."

Then, you get the absolute pleasure of watching a flustered smile spread across his lips. You open your mouth to say something, anything to stop him from getting in his own head, but then a nurse steps into the waiting room and calls his name.

Serkan startles, as if he'd forgotten where he was. He turns to you with a look of flustered regret.

"It's okay, I'll still be here. Someone's gotta hold down the fort," you smile reassuringly, waving him to his appointment.

He positively beams, looking lighter than you've ever seen him.

It isn't a solution to his health problems, nor is it a bandage for the consequences of it. But today, you have made his life just a little bit brighter. And that's something you're proud of.