#doctor reader

You were never supposed to be on Project Hail Mary, it was an extremely last minute decision on Stratt’s end. You met her maybe… three days before you were induced Though, she made you feel as if you didn’t have a choice but to be in this project.

You were the only nurse at Grover Cleveland, well over-qualified for your position. With a Master’s Degree in Biology, completing and passing the MCAT—essentially you’d completed every step to become a proper doctor at the hospital near your house.

And you hated it. God you hated every part of it, all the responsibility, disrespectful patients, nurses, staff, just generally a displeasing job for you. You’re sure that other doctors loved their job, but you loved this area much more. You weren’t willing to move in order to find a better job at a hospital, it wouldn’t be home.

So, you compromised. You believed it was better to be happy and poor than miserable and rich. Your family believed otherwise, as hard as you worked for your degree, but you really didn’t care.

You get paid extra just for being a technical Doctor, though some staff who don’t really know you still refer to you as a Nurse. It doesn’t bother you with staff, no, you care more about the children.

All the kids in school call you Doctor, so any staff member that’s going out of their way to push down your hard work is simply just trying to be disrespectful. It’s best to ignore.

You didn’t speak much to Dr. Grace, but he respected your title highly, you think it’s because people don’t respect his. You’d often hear him talking to students;

“That’s Dr. Grace to you, Kevin!”

Sometimes, when kids would ask to go to the nurse, you could hear him reply that this school didn’t have a nurse, only a Doctor.

You found it amusing, especially considering you two didn’t talk much. His classroom was on the other side of school compared to your office, he only came into your office once to ask for bandaids.

You remember the faint knock on your door. “Come in!” You’d reply, working on your computer and still using your ‘student voice.’ When Dr. Grace walked in, you continued typing a report from a kid that scraped his knee pretty badly.

“Just one second hun’.”

“Take all the seconds you want, I get paid by the hour.” Dr. Grace replied, closing the door behind him. He had never been in your office, so he really took in the comforting atmosphere of it. 

Your head jolted up at the blatant voice of a grown man, seeing Dr. Grace smirking at you. You couldn’t help but laugh at the misunderstanding.

“Oh, sorry Dr. Grace, thought you were a student.”

“I didn’t think I was that short. Shot my ego straight down, Doctor.”

You giggled, pushing your rolling chair aside, away from the computer to better talk to him. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Do I?”

You crossed your arms. “What do you need?”

He walked over to the counter of your desk, crossing his own arms on them and leaning over to peek at what you may have on your desk.

“Bandaids. Like a pack, my kids are pretty violent so we ran out.”

You’d nod your head, standing up to walk to the corner of your office, and opening a drawer. “I can give you a map to the nearest Walmart.” You replied, searching for some band-aids. Preferably ones with cute designs on them, biology themed?

“Hardy har har.” 

You tossed him the pack, he caught it. “Will that do?”

They were bandaids with planets on them, he rubbed them with his thumb, looking at them pretty intently. “Yeah. That’ll be fine.” He put them in the pocket of his suit, and you couldn’t help but think about how different your work attire was. Yours was much more calm, much more casual.

“Alright, tell your kids to stop falling or cutting themselves on paper, Band-Aids are expensive.”

“I think if I told them that they’d just wanna do it more. They’re menaces.”

“Right, bye Dr. Grace.” You sat back down in your rolling chair, typing on the computer.

He gave you a slight wave as he walked out.

Most interactions with people coming into your office were… boring. Everyone was scraping their knees, or needed packages of bandaids. Again, overqualified.

After school had ended, you were finishing up some paper-work, well, procrastinating on it. When someone knocked on your door, you assumed it was George Rams’ mom, he had a fight today and you were the one who got stuck with fixing him up. You were sure she had some concerns, most parents aren’t used to actual doctors working in schools, you’ve had parents complain a lot about a ‘nurse’ handling something that a proper doctor should handle.

“Ma’am, I am a doctor.” You’d say. It was often just met with an ‘Oh, thank you for your time.’

The woman who came in was cold and had a stoic expression, she had the vibe like she commanded a room. You were surprised that such an authoritarian figure would have a child getting into fights, but it’s also expected for children to have a rebellious phase in Middle School, better than High School at the very least.

“Hi Mrs. Rams, is this about your son?” You sat up, giving her your attention.

“I have no son. My name is Eva Stratt, I am working with the United Nations to solve the growing Patrova Line problem with Astrophage.”

You stare at her, not saying much. Because what did this have to do with you? Did she confuse your office with the front office? Was this a mental health issue?

You open your mouth to reply before she states your full government name, which makes you pause your words in slight surprise.

“You are a Doctor right, overqualified for the position as a Middle School Nurse?”

“Maybe.” 

“It seems to be a theme with this school to hire those overqualified to work here. Please stand, Doctor.”

You do, you don’t know this woman, but you stand.

“I hereby grant you clearance to know all information about Project Hail Mary.”

She places her hands on your shoulders, her words imply that she knows someone else overqualified to work here. Dr. Grace, right? That’s the only option, he’d be gone for quite some time, with constant substitutes. Normally a teacher would get in trouble for that but the principal seemed pretty lenient, almost scared to say anything about it.

“Come with me.”

She begins walking out, but you don’t follow.

“Uhm, Ms. Stratt thank you for this… whatever this offer is but-“

“It is not an offer. You will come with me either by willingness or force. I would suggest following me.”

She stares at you for a moment, until your feet automatically move. You follow Stratt, you leave your computer open with George Rams’ medical information on it. You don’t know why—well, yes you do. It’s fear, you’re scared of what Stratt is gonna do to you if you don’t follow her. 

Over the next three days, you don’t ever see Dr. Grace. 

Stratt tells you the purpose of Project Hail Mary, that this is a suicide mission. 

She tells you that you’re not her top candidate, and that you’d only be sent if Dr. Grace is sent.

“He’ll only be sent if something happens to our two scientists, but we know he will not want to be there at all. We aren’t sure if he will cooperate, or if he will do self harm in the hull in order to escape the responsibility.”

That doesn’t sound like Dr. Grace, but at this point you don’t know if you really know Grace at all.

“Not only do you know him, but you’re an extremely qualified Doctor, so you’ll be the ship medic if he is sent up. If he does harm to himself, or others, you will be in charge of that situation. Or if any mishaps happen where someone is wounded, we need this Project to follow through.”

You slowly rose your hand during one of these meetings. “What if I… don’t… want to go. This is a suicide mission, I-“

“We don’t care. Grace will not want to go. So you two can bond over that.”

Awesome. 

And with your luck, after a deadly explosion of Astrophage, the two scientists were rendered useless before launch. Pronounced dead at the scene.

And you were forced to be put into a medically induced coma, and to go aboard the Hail Mary, all so you could be a medic.

——

When you woke up, everything was hazy.

“What is 2+2?”

Four. You thought.

“Aughhr…” You say.

“Incorrect.” The voice restates its question. “What is 2+2?”

Why can’t you talk? You smack your lips, not wanting to open your eyes yet, because you’re still trying to remember things. You make loud noises, groaning continuously. You roll out of bed, before feeling an edge, okay, don’t roll over there. You open your eyes slowly, seeing you’re very high above the ground, with several empty ‘hospital’ beds below you.

A robotic arm grabs you and moves you back to the center of the bed. “What is 2+2?”

“Fruckc.. off…” You groan, trying to sit up, to look around. The lights are bright and fluorescent, and the gravity feels unreal. Your arms feel stronger, you don’t feel unhealthy.

You feel tired. You feel gross.

You can assume it was a coma, your memories are hazy, you have no clue where you are. But you know that you probably just got out of a coma.

“What is 2-“

“It’s four!” You yell at the arm. “Four! It’s fucking four!” You rub your face.

“Correct!”

The arm takes several IVs out of you, you assume a feeding tube was taken out of you moments before you woke up, because your throat feels really weird.

You look on the other side of the bed, seeing a floor and a ladder that leads to a hatch. This room obviously has nothing of importance to provide you, so you sit up, slowly standing. Now that you’ve answered the question, the robot helps you up, guiding you to the hatch.

When you begin climbing, the robot arm holds onto your back to prevent you from falling, and when you get the hatch door open, you can’t help but say “Thank you,” to the arm.

When you step out of the hatch, you enter a hallway— and you smell blood. It’s so much blood, it’s a nauseating smell. You cover your nose with your hospital gown.

Is this a hospital? Hospital gown, smell of blood, coma, seems like a hospital. But why would a robot arm be taking care of you? That doesn’t seem right in the slightest.

You hear loud thuds, like a ball rolling down the hallway. You turn your head in fear, maybe a cart or an emergency patient is being rolled. You step to the side to make way.

But you see a… rock… crab? In a clear… low polygraphed ball.

What the fuck is that?

“Human! Human is alive! Three humans on ship! Grace friend!” It begins rolling towards you, you have no clue what it is. You don’t want to know.

Ship? You start to wobble down the hallway, in your mind you’re running, but you’re actually walking quite slow. You turn the corner, looking behind you as the rock shouts ‘Amaze Amaze!’

You bump into a wet figure, gasping, and backing up to see blood on you.

You quiver in confusion, you look up. A bearded man with longer hair looks down at you. He’s muscular, he has frustration in his eyes, and he’s covered in a lot of blood. You think you hear him ask if you’re okay, but it doesn’t fully register.

You begin shaking your head, about to scream.

But behind the man, is Dr. Grace. You remember him, his face, his name, that’s about it.

“Dr. Grace!” You shout, walking over to him, again, imagining yourself jogging much faster towards the only person you know.

Dr. Grace accepts you into his arms, registering that you just woke up from a coma. Regardless, his embrace feels safe.

“You’re awake!” He screams, happy as can be despite the blood now on his shirt. He seems to have been worried about you, because his arms are shaking in your tight embrace.

“I don’t- I, what’s going on? I don’t remember anything…”

“It’s okay, It’s okay. God, you’ve been out so long, the mission is basically done.”

“Mission?”

“Project Hail Mary.” He says, memories come back faintly at the mention of the name, and you rub your head slightly.

“Human does not remember!” The rock states the obvious. It goes slightly ignored.

“Okay…” You push yourself away. “That doesn’t explain the… rock, or this guy covered in blood.”

He blinks at you, despite being covered in blood, he’s pretty reserved. The blood doesn’t seem to be… from him. It’s like he took a bath in someone else’s blood. He ignores you entirely, and looks at Grace.

“Who’s is this?”

“Gosh, so many questions! This is Dr….” He repeats your last name. “She’s the Doctor at the school I worked at, I… I’m not sure why she’s on this ship. I’ve been wondering that since I woke up.”

You push yourself off of him, not realizing you’d been hugging him so tightly for so long. He didn’t seem to mind, it actually looked like he needed the brief human embrace.

You rub your eyes. “Who is he? Why is he asking who I am?”

“Because I was curious?” The bearded man turns his head at you.

“Okay, okay everyone calm down please. Uh, Rocky.”

“Yes Grace, question.”

“Can you take Simon to uh… the showers where he can handle the blood situation? And clothing situation? I should probably talk to the Doc here privately. Catch her up, you guys are throwing her off.”

“Understand. Come Grace blood friend to bathing center.” Rocky rolls away, and the burly man named ‘Simon’ follows it with heavy footsteps that squelch against the metal floors.

The silence is heavy in the room, your brain is foggy, fuck, your eyesight is foggy. You have the rest of your life on this spaceship, and you can’t even remember what you’re on it for.

Dr. Grace guides you into the laboratory, simply because it’s an easy room to get to in that moment, he helps you sit down.

He reexplains the entire Project Hail Mary mission, the issues with astrophage and the Patrova Line. The more he speaks, the more you remember. The more you remember why you’re on this ship.

You interrupt him mid-sentence. “How long have you been alone, Dr. Grace?”

He blinks at you, shocked at the interruption, but he considers it. “I have no clue… maybe eight months, if you’re asking how long you’ve been out since I’ve been awake.”

“…I’m sorry. Stratt sent me as a… medic for the ship. I was supposed to be the one handling any issues. But from the looks of it you seem to have gained injuries.” You gently take his hand, looking at a scar, running your thumb over it. He lets you.

“None of that explains the rock, or that random guy— seriously, who was that? Eight months is not that long, and I’ve missed so much.”

“Well, that rock is— Rocky. He’s from the planet Erid, making him an Eridian. I taught him our language, and he’s helped a lot with solving the Astrophage problem. Perfectly healthy, it’s just we can’t survive in each-other’s atmosp-“

“You solved the Astrophage problem?” You perk up, eyebrows raising.

Dr. Grace perks up with you. “Yes! Uhm- Tau Ceti, the star, it has a Patrova line to a planet we named Adrien. On that planet was basically um… microorganisms, to put it simply, that were a ‘predator’ for astrophage. Then all I did was send those back on probes to Earth.”

You sigh, leaning back in relief that the problem had been solved. 

“That means I’ve missed it all, we’re all going to die out here.”

“Not exactly, Rocky gave us some astrophage as fuel, we have enough to make it back to Erid. So, not back to Earth right now but… maybe in the future?”

You sigh again, taking it all in, you originally thought you had no choice but to die. Hearing that’s not the case? Extremely relieving. You rub your head, the brain fog clearing.

“As for the man, he actually arrived like… four hours ago? It’s really complicated but we think he’s from an alternate dimension, and accidentally managed to enter a wormhole. His ship is designed for water, like an extremely thick submarine. We managed to get him out of it and bring him in, as the ship didn’t look suitable enough to survive out in space.”

You blink. “That doesn’t explain the blood he had on him? Is he an axe murderer?”

“He says that in his world- or, dimension, all the stars have died, all the planets are gone. There’s just space stations, and he was a Convict for… something he doesn’t wanna talk about. They basically had him go into an ocean of blood, but he was being used as a sacrifice? Or bait? Either way he’s pretty shocked about being alive still.”

Dr. Grace fidgets with his hands and fingers, you can tell he’s been really thinking about this the past four hours. “We’ve spent a lot of time getting him alive, with CPR and feeding him liquids. But he recovered quickly. My hypothesis is that he’s from a dimension that didn’t solve, or didn’t realize the astrophage problem, leading to planets and stars being eaten by them.”

“…Or it’s completely unrelated to astrophage.”

The brain fog is coming back, but you get the general idea. “Is he nice?” You ask, rubbing your head intently.

“He doesn’t seem like a butt.”

That’s not a very direct answer. He may just be closed off though. Your stomach grumbles loudly, it’s almost embarrassing.

Dr. Grace shows immediate concern. “Oh! Gosh, I’m so sorry. Stay right there!” He runs out the lab, and comes back with a small pouch.

“What is that?”

“Liquid food, your body isn’t used to solids so you have to work back up to them. I know it sucks.”

You groan, begrudgingly opening the satchel and taking a sip. You’re met with an immediate flash of flavor and deliciousness on your tongue, it tastes like chicken, several healthy vegetables mixed in. It’s the best thing you’ve had in… what, four years?

Dr. Grace chuckles at your expression, and how quickly you down the food. Immediately you feel better, your muscles feel somewhat better. Mentally, you still feel gross.

“Uh… shower? Is that possible?”

Dr. Grace nods. “Yeah! Come, I’ll show you.”

You follow him down the hallway. “Originally,” He starts, “The ship wasn’t gonna have a shower room, but I had to beg Stratt. Saying it’d be inhumane to make a person bathe without a proper shower.”

You nod. “Were you and Stratt close? She barely talked to me.”

He glances at you over his shoulder, shrugging. “I’d like to think she trusted me more than others, but I wouldn’t consider us friends. She had a mission that took priority over any friendship.”

Dr. Grace points down a hallway. “That room is the shower room, let me know if you need anything.”

The offer isn’t perverse, it’s genuine.

You walk over to the door, unthinking, and nudge the door open. The shower room is relatively large, like a mini-locker-room shower. There’s several unopened bars and packages of soap, conditioner, all sorts of stuff. One of the showers is already running.

The floor is red.

Oh.

“OH I’m SO sorry I-“

“It’s okay.” Simon says. “It’s a locker-room shower, other people are expected to be in here.” He looks at you with a cold look in his eyes, you can see several burns and welts on his arm, something you should definitely treat under different circumstances.

Until then, you close the door. “Just- let me know when you’re done, I’d prefer!”

You hear a quiet ‘Mkay’ from him, and you notice a ball rolling down the hall again, Rocky turns the corner and looks at you.

“Blood Human is in bathing room, Doctor Human.”

You sigh. “Thank you, Rocky.”

Before the crab has a chance to roll away, you ask; “Uhm… where would my clothes be?”

Rocky rolls around in excitement. “Rocky show! Follow! Follow!” He rolls off in glee, and you jog slightly to catch up.

He stops at a door, there’s four beds, one of them has a cage so you assume it’s Rocky’s bed.

“This Doctor bedroom. Clothes under bed.”

You smile at Rocky. “Thank you, sorry for being scared of you.”

“Apology accepted. Rocky understand that Eridian beauty is difficult for Human brain to comprehend.”

You just kinda… blink at him, but you shrug. “Sure!”

You go over to your bed, pulling out a box. Stratt had, seemingly, broken into your home to take some of your personal clothes and pack them. Which is creepy, but you appreciate it. You search for comfortable loungewear, maybe some shorts and a tank top, something reasonable to wear out of a shower.

You find a black tank top and matching shorts made of silk, they’re somewhat loose on you. You intend to get some real sleep after your shower, not comatose sleep.

You walk out with Rocky, who politely waited for you. You run into the once bloodied man in the hallway, he seems freshened up. He’s wearing a tight t-shirt and sweatpants, presumably belonging to Dr. Grace or the deceased members of the ship.

He’s drying his hair with a towel that rests over his shoulders, and he looks at you. You both pause, Rocky rolls away from you both.

“I’m done showering.” He added blankly, walking away.

You watch him intently, you can’t tell what his tone is. He just seems tired.

You go into the shower room, taking a long hot shower, you don’t even care if the water supply is limited anymore. You use all the soaps they’d given you, taking full advantage of this moment alone. No one walks in, reasonably. 

Afterwards, you put on your black tank top and shorts, you figure you should probably tell Dr. Grace that you’re going to bed, so he’s not worried about your uncomfortably long absence. 

You walk down the hallway, holding a wet towel and the old hospital gown, you peer into the laboratory, seeing Dr. Grace talking to the man.

He’s explaining everything he just explained to you.

“So basically, we’re headed to Erid. I’m not sure if we’re going back to Earth, but we won’t die.”

“That’s all I care about, Ryland. I don’t wanna die.”

Dr. Grace smiles at him. “That makes two of us.”

They’re sharing a nice moment, it feels like you’re watching an old married couple. Supposedly, they’d just met a few hours ago, but they talk to eachother like they’ve known each other quite some time. Simon is obviously pretty reserved, given his situation, but Dr. Grace saved his life, so he seems to trust him more than you.

You hate to interrupt but you knock lightly on the door.

They both look at you at the same time, Dr. Grace’s expression softens, Simon’s stays the same.

“Hey, uhm. Sorry, I guess this is a weird thing to tell you both but I’m going to bed. I need some real sleep.”

“Okay.” Simon says. “We’ll probably be close behind, at least, I will. I think Ryland is a bit worried about the ship and its destination.”

“Yeah,” Dr. Grace agrees, “Mary’s been through a lot, so if anything off collision happens I’d like to be awake but… I assume we can do shifts?”

You yawn. “I don’t really care.”

Rocky rolls around in the lab, you reckon he’d been hiding around a shelf. “Rocky watch Doctor sleep!”

You grimace. “What?” 

Simon’s expression is similar to yours. Being watched sleep isn’t exactly something you’re wanting to do.

“Eridians watch each other sleep, to keep each-other safe. You get used to it.” Dr. Grace says, and honestly you don’t really care after learning that, as long as Rocky isn’t being creepy, right?

You just nod, gesturing for Rocky to follow.

When you lie down in the bed, it’s a lot more comfortable than the hospital one you originally woke up in. You can feel Rocky staring at you in silence, but you don’t really mind, it’s not the end of the world. You find yourself falling asleep relatively fast.

——

When you wake up, it’s dark outside.

Okay. That’s a given. 

The lights are off in the hallway, and you can hear light snoring. You sit up slightly, peering into the pod next to you. The once bloodied man, Simon, is sleeping heavily.

You can see the welts on his arms, even with little to no light. You really want to look at them when he’s awake. For right now, you’re up, you have no clue how long you napped for, maybe four hours? Either way, you feel relatively refreshed.

Rolling out of the bed, you stand up. Rocky shuffles, moving closer to Simon. He doesn’t say anything, but he figures he should watch Simon sleep now since you’re awake.

You trudge down the hallway in search for Grace, you know he’s awake, or sleeping somewhere that’s not the pods.

You walk into the lab, the lights are on, but Dr. Grace has his head down on the table. He’s sleeping.

What do you do? Do you wake him up? 

You stand there for quite some time, feeling through your now dry hair. 

“Dr. Grace?” You whisper, he shifts slightly.

“Mrgmmph…” Is his reply.

That means he’s not in a deep sleep, so you calmly walk over to him.

You rub his shoulder softly. “Hey, you should probably sleep in the beds. You’ll hurt your back sleeping here.”

He puts his hand on you, a failed attempt at pushing you away.

“Mnmoo…” 

“Moo?” You repeat to him.

“No… I said no… I don’t wanna get up…” He grumbles, waking up slightly.

You pause, rubbing his shoulder still.

“Rocky isn’t watching you sleep.”

For some reason, that does it for him. He peeks an eye open under his glasses, and he sighs. It takes a moment, but he gets up. He rubs the eye boogers out under his glasses, flicking them somewhere. Gross, but understandable.

He walks with you quietly to the dormitory, you two don’t say much, but your hand moves down to his back, you don’t really know why. 

You guide him to his bed, it’s comforting, the way you gently open the blanket up for him, taking off his glasses and setting them to the side. He doesn’t say thank you, but you know he’s grateful.

Simon rolls over and faces the other way.

——

It had been a few days, maybe three? Not an extremely long time, especially compared to how long Dr. Grace had been alone, and for what Simon had to put up with before he came here.

Simon seems to be having a hard time adjusting to freedom, and adjusting to trust. Dr. Grace did say he was a convict, a criminal, so you assume he may have done something wrong? You have no clue what defines ‘wrong’ in his dimension though.

Either way, he’s been through a lot.

One day when Dr. Grace was showing Rocky some more things about Earth in the little TV room, you were left alone with Simon in the laboratory.

It had been awkward, especially since you walked in on him literally showering. God- you felt horrible for that.

Bringing it up again would just make things a lot more awkward, right? So you choose not to. No matter how much you want to apologize over and over.

He’s looking at all the science lab tools, you don’t really understand them, but if anything he understands them the least. You hope he doesn’t ask you to explain anything, because it would be a very botched explanation of equipment only Dr. Grace (and even Rocky) really know how to use.

Just as you’re thinking that, he speaks.

“So what’s your purpose here?”

You laugh a little, being caught off guard. He lifts his eyes to meet yours, and you realize he’s asking a serious genuine question.

“Oh, err, I guess I’m the medic for the ship? I… haven’t really been doing the best job, because I’ve been in a coma. I’m glad Dr. Grace was able to help you.”

Simon looks down at his arm, at the welts that had calmed down. 

“Why are you calling Ryland, Dr. Grace? He’s a Doctor? I didn’t know that.”

“He has his doctorate innnn…” you bite your lip trying to remember, “molecular biology? So technically he has the title. He’s more focused on science and space and stuff, I’m surprised he knew C— well, never mind, he’s a teacher, CPR is a useful skill.”

Simon blinks at you, registering all the new things he’s learning about Dr. Grace. The fact that he has a doctorate, the fact that he’s a teacher. Has Simon been to school, does he know how college works? You really don’t know how different your dimensions are.

“Right.” He states, sighing. “I’m glad he knew it. He saved my life.” 

You nod in agreement, quite awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I… don’t really know what you’ve been through but whatever it was it seemed-“

“Traumatizing?”

“I was gonna say exhausting but, traumatizing could be a word to describe it.” Like you said, you didn’t know his situation.

He goes quiet softly, fingers running over his welts. 

You can’t help but ask.

“Can I see them?”

“What?”

“The welts, I’m guessing they haven’t been treated yet, right?”

Simon considered, it didn’t even occur to him to treat them. He walks over to you, showing you his arm. 

His forearm is covered in tiny blisters, it’s gross. When working in the medical field, this stuff isn’t gross to you. There’s irritation in certain parts, visibly red skin. His forearm is… large, there’s so much room for these blisters to appear, they go all the way down to the palm of his hand. It looks like his arms are the most affected. 

“What are these from?”

Simon bit his lip. “I think radiation?”

You look up at him, eyebrows raising. “How much radiation were you encountering for this to happen?”

He looked away slightly. “On the Iron Lung.”

He doesn’t say anything else and… okay? The medical tool? Wh… what? 

“Iron Lung?”

“That’s what… they… called the submarine I was on. It needed to use a radioactive camera to see, I think. I didn’t really… read the manual.” He admitted shyly, avoiding your gaze. He isn’t as tough as he looks.

That makes more sense. “Well, since you’re not around radiation anymore, this seems treatable. Maybe some scarring but I can definitely work with this, if you’d let me.”

He thinks about it, watching you analyze his blistered arms carefully. You study him, waiting for a reply.

He swallows, his adam’s apple moving visibly. “…Please. It hurts.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You and Simon calmly walked to the shower-room, you weren’t sure if there was really a bathroom? And even then that may be uncomfortable to deal with.

You pull a stool up, having him sit. Leaving him there for a moment, you find a ton of medical supplies in a closet, and you bring them.

You turn a faucet on to a lukewarm temperature, using a clean rag to gently wash his arm with soap. You do it carefully and softly, making sure you don’t accidentally pop any blisters or cause more irritation than needed. 

“Have any blisters popped?” You ask, drying his arms by patting them.

He thinks. “No.. uh, I think this one? I’ve tried not to mess with them.”

“That was a very smart decision.” You smile softly at him, he doesn’t know how to take the compliment. 

You look at the one popped blister on his palm, digging in your basket of medical supplies, applying hydrogel to protect the area. “Are you okay with taking an antibiotic?”

“If it helps.”

“So yes, okay. I’ll give you some when we’re done here.”

You get some medically safe moisturizer, applying it to extremely irritated areas of his arms. He winces softly. “I know, I know.” You’d say to him. “It’s almost over.”

When you’re done, you give him some advice. “Wash it with this bar of soap and lukewarm water everyday to keep it clean. Pat it dry, don’t rub it.” He nods. 

“If any blisters pop, come to me. Here, take these antibiotics, they’ll help.”

You were surprised the ship had antibiotics to help exactly with what Simon needed, you guessed the hull had everything you guys could need for the short time you would be out here. You even spotted condoms while searching through the closet. 

Stratt definitely… over-prepared.

Simon takes everything you handed him, looking at it, back at you. He looks grateful.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just… wouldn’t have known what to do, I guess. Thank you.” He covers his mouth, he looks like he’s about to cry.

You place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Simon, it’s okay. You’re welcome, I would do it again in a heartbeat. Just come straight to me if you have any more problems, okay?”

He nods, sighing, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. “Okay, okay. I will.”

The two of you get up, conversing slightly. Nothing of importance, he’s asking a little about your life on Earth before Project Hail Mary. You both leave the shower room laughing, running into Dr. Grace.

He looks surprised, raising his eyebrows. 

“Uh… what were you two doing in there together?” He turns his head, double checking around the corner to see that yes, he really did just watch you both come out of the shower room together.

Used to be so easy

To give my heart away

But I found out the hard way

There's a price you have to pay

I found out that love

Was no friend of mine

I should have known

Time after time

So long, it was so long ago

But I've still got the blues for you

Leaving New York was one of the easiest decisions.

The most difficult part was leaving without anyone to look back on at the airport. Embarking on a new professional opportunity, a chance you had always dreamed of and precisely why you had studied for most of your life. Finally, the sleepless nights, the headaches, and the years working in hospitals and private practices; it all came down to that moment.

As I was saying, you were on your own. Your best friend, the woman you ended up in love with during your residency and first certification... Addison Montgomery... Shepherd was trying by all means to resuscitate a marriage that was a slow-motion death spiral waiting to happen. The evenings you spent together, whether at her house or your apartment, were put on hold with the excuse that Derek had decided to go home early, and to his wife’s misfortune, he never kept his promise. So both of you, alone, drifted out of touch. 

There was no going back once your ultimate choice was made.

On the same night your plane left New York, the pouring rain carried in each drop a plea, a tear of sorrow, and a pair of angry hands that pushed the woman’s tender body up against the windowpane. Blood, insults, and the departure of the man who was in himself the failure of more than a decade of affection. Derek walked outside the room without hesitation, leaving behind a woman who was emotionally, physically, and mentally traumatized. This only strengthened the sense of abandonment she already felt.

Addison’s first reaction wasn’t to go after her husband or her cheating lover. It was to call you. Her trembling fingers dialed a number that no longer had a signal. She eventually found out in the worst way that she was all by herself. The beeps were redirected to voicemail. The dark night featured dew, rain pounded the roof, and the hum of a house that no longer represented a story.

She hurried to your apartment in the rain and desperately knocked on the door, screaming your name like a merciless prayer. That’s when your neighbor, a woman in her late sixties, stepped out into the hallway and embraced Addison’s silhouette, smaller than she had ever seen her before. The elder entered her own apartment, taking a deep breath as she pulled out a towel and a sweater for Addie, surprising her by the sudden embrace she provided.

The woman’s husky voice sounded like a plea. “Where is she, Dolores?”  

She hadn’t noticed how much she cherished being with you, how you truly made her feel alive, even if only for a few hours together or between surgeries, you were always there with her. 

Until you weren’t there anymore.

When you agreed to fly back to the United States, new job possibilities came to light: one in Seattle, another in New York, and one in Los Angeles. 

As a result of your successful work with children in Africa, with additional teams to provide palliative care for the sickest and improve the quality of life for the tribes. It wasn’t predominantly about medicine, and certainly, the healthcare professionals who stayed wouldn’t let your work die. Given the magnitude of your worldwide reputation, your expertise would be in circulation and tremendously appreciated anywhere; you were well aware of that.

Yet all the places highlighted seemed to relate to a story.

New York held the weight of an ambiguous love, a friendship that dissolved into something platonic, and a thunderstorm of feelings you understood you would probably never forget, and as for Seattle... Well, you were definitely not one for the cold rain. Although the proposition of ​​working with one of your former professors seemed like a promising alternative and a trip to the small roots you still had in the country. What was remaining for you was Los Angeles.

The bright fluorescent lights of the medical facility were indeed an element that discomforted your vision. After two years in a hot environment, where the sun was practically burning hot and the moon reflected warm shadows, that artificial light still made your optic nerves dry for a brief second, but it was something you would deal with head-on. 

On your way to the nurses’ station, you exhibited high-heeled boots, black jeans that, for God’s sake, hugged your sleek leg muscles like a thin layer of skin, and finally, the creamy silk blouse that emphasized your eyes and the rich shade of your natural long locks. One of the female attendees who was chatting quickly gazed into your eyes; apparently, the perfume you had chosen to apply this morning got there seconds before your presence was acknowledged.

Armed with an almost sinful smile and a persuasiveness that was potentially just a breath away, your accent sounded a notch deeper than usual. “Good morning, ladies. Could you tell me where I can find Dr... Charlotte King?”

Soon after taking over as head of pediatrics and neonatology, your work at the hospital only taught you even more brilliance in the medical field. The residents and interns consistently expressed their desire to work under your name, and as a result, an increasing number of patients were referred to your care. 

Despite your professional life taking off like a rocket, the beach house where you had been sleeping seemed to lack life. It was a furnished house with two bedrooms and a large balcony. Adorned for quiet sunny days, but it still seemed uninhabited, even after two years of residing in that place.

You had few friends; they were always cheerful and looking out for you in any circumstance you could anticipate, even though you only saw them when they were performing surgery at the hospital or when Charlotte insisted you go to her private practice for dinner and then give her a ride back to her house.

Positioned toward the cafeteria table, a cup of chamomile tea with warm milk and a word search magazine occupied your concentration. It was Friday night, and you were seeking the perfect opportunity to cool off and still stimulate your cognitive abilities. However, Charlotte appeared to have other intentions when she collapsed in the chair next to you and removed the Care Bears customized pen from your fingertips.

“Do you even realize what day of the week it is?” she arched her raised eyebrows in a mocking gesture. She noted that your intense engagement with work had prevented you from dictating space-time.

“Do I truly need to know?” the smile on her face emphasized that the next words would be like walking on broken glass with no shoes, so naturally, Charlotte established something you couldn’t argue against, even if you wanted to.

“Look, you never exit this hospital. When you’re not here, you’re in the lab working or in some operating room, changing the course of neonatal surgery. Your house is a cold place. In Los Angeles! You need to jazz up your personal life, dear.” her hand was covering yours, an act of concern and reassurance. “What do you think about dinner with the girls and then going to karaoke at that gay bar downtown?”

You let out a deep sigh, closed your eyes, and let your body loosen up for a second, then immediately broke into fits of giggles. “You should have started off with ‘gay bar’ instead of insulting me for being a workaholic.”

The moment Naomi hugged you, a signature aroma filled your memories. It was a fragrance you were sure you had been devoted to; it was completely distinct from the woody smell Naomi traditionally adopted; it was sweet, and you could feel that warmth in the bottom of your abdomen again, one that had left you in tears in the New York airport. Breathing deeply, just the four of you in the restaurant, it was almost impossible to get your thoughts out of that bittersweet aroma, and considering how Violet constantly appeared to be ready to vomit all night, it would be common to assume that both of them were withholding some information.

“What made you switch your perfume, Nai?” finally, the question that had been burning in your throat took its proper form. Everyone praised your art of analyzing behavior and, even better, persuading your prey to communicate precisely what you were trying to find out, not simply what you would probably want to hear.

“I... Didn’t.” she was cautious, which made her raise the glass to her mouth, where she took a mouthful of wine and glanced away at Charlotte. “Actually, Charlotte gave me a refill of the same perfume I bought for my birthday; something must have changed in the formula.”

Your jaw set, brain processing far quicker than gears. “Maybe... It’s charming; it reminded me of that old friend.” this made the two brunettes in front of you exchange a nervous stare. They agreed that they couldn’t keep the information to themselves for long.

“Actually, maybe this perfume belongs to the person you’re thinking of.” Violet let the cat out of the bag; it was now or never... well, not “never,” but a big change and possibly one of the most challenging parts since the beginning.

The three women learned about your chapter of the story with Addison Montgomery; everyone there had a previous relationship with her, but they were equally estranged when her marriage to Shepherd claimed over half of her social life. Despite being a feminist, Addison still maintained faith in marrying a man whose individuality was a walking red flag. This left her somewhat more alone than she was ever supposed to be.

“Thank goodness I’m not coming to the clinic soon. I don’t picture how I’d respond to looking at her again after so long…” you expressed. It was unexpected to think that even after four years absent from contact, that woman who was your best friend and first platonic romantic partner still influenced your mental picture of time, or potentially it was the dizziness that caused this downward spiral of mental chatter.

At that point, Charlotte had chosen to ask for the bill, paying for the weekly dinner as they had all agreed over time. The two doctors decided to go home while you and your best friend drove down to the bar. Charlotte was definitely more excited to go than you had previously been.

Upon arriving, you both marched directly to one of the tables most distanced from the crowd.

“Tonight we’re going to drink to get wasted and probably fuck. You, my boo, need to get laid.” the blonde tossed her cards on the table, waving to one of the waiters passing by, ordering two cocktails.

“We definitely shouldn’t talk about my sexual activities.”

Eight glasses of tequila and maybe two cocktails later, you found yourselves dancing to the loud music. The dance floor was overflowing, bodies sweating with heat and desire or just the euphoria of knowing they were in a welcoming space. As the night grew darker, Charlotte had successfully kissed two women and a polyamorous married couple and would very likely go home with them. As for you... Just glances, tangible flirtation for a while until a lock of red hair magnetized your attention. She was tall, with shapely legs and a generous cleavage, the devil walking on earth. Your mouth was watering, and for a brief period, so did the woman standing in front of you. When did she get so close?

“Adeline. Nice to meet you.” she extended her hand to greet you, and you responded to the invitation, taking her warm hand and bringing it to your lips, leaving a harmless peck on her knuckles.

After introducing yourself, she went directly to the point, setting her hand somewhere between your neck and loose hair, caressing the nape of your scalp, and scraping her sharp nails against your skin. Her lips were soft and salty, and yet she grew too smooth through the lipstick. Your rough fingers caressed the gentle curves of her hips, moving up until they brought her body between your legs, letting themselves be guided by touch, by imagination... Unfortunately, for your senses, all you saw was the ghost of Christmas past.

Even when you landed in a bed that wasn’t yours, in a room that would certainly not be yours, when between your legs was a glorious woman devouring you as if her life depended on it, your moans were real, of course they were, uninhibited, unfiltered, seductive like a promise to your own brain. Through all the whining, your heart screamed her name. “Addie, Addie please…” inevitably, you reached the peak, with her sweet smell in your head and the image of her red hair resting on your legs. The illusion, once again, in its purest form.

Later the following morning, you leave the apartment with barely a trace, your clothes still retaining the scent of the previous night. Looking down the street, you realized Charlotte had all your belongings, and by the late morning, she was almost certainly at the clinic. 

You slipped your phone out of your jeans pocket and called the emergency number, leaving a short message on the voicemail. “Hey, Charlie. Uh... I’m about ten minutes from the clinic. I’m going to pick up my car, okay? Bye, see you in a minute.” your voice was harsher than expected, maybe even dryer. That’s how you ended up at the clinic with a large cup of coffee and shades, probably stolen from a stack in a very crowded store since they still held the price tag on the temple.

Perhaps it was the alcohol entirely vanishing from your body or the sunglasses blurring your perspective, but less than five steps away, Addison Adrianne Forbes Montgomery lowered her frame on the reception desk, arms loosening as she exchanged words with Dell. 

At that exact point, the world immediately began to slow down, your cardiac rhythm pounding in your ears, a sudden fever sending chills down your cervical spine. Equivalent to a ricocheting bullet, a wave of emotional states that had long ago been bottled away and buried seven feet under the surface. That’s when the receptionist’s attention was drawn straight to your frozen silhouette. He called out your name in a cheerful announcement but quickly tracked the change in the atmosphere; during that moment, the redhead realized who that unconventional last name belonged to. 

It was like seeing an angel, she remembered. For how much time had she been waiting for that comeback? All the forces of the universe were always playing comically against her: first the end of her marriage with Derek, then the love affair with Mark that eventually ended in an unborn child, and then the three-way romance that concluded with one of the interns in Seattle being heavily driven along by her ex-husband. 

She needed a fresh start in Los Angeles, and what a twist of fate, this was the perfect place to reunite with an old flame... A burning spark that in Addison’s heart probably would have never been extinguished, for your joyful laughter was forever written in her soul. Even though your groundbreaking achievements in medicine were honored across the globe, the redhead in question had never thought your paths would cross again.

Addison was at a loss for words while entering the apartment after that rainy night. The decor was untouched, and your fragrance soaked through each room. However, the apartment became lifeless due to your absence. Not just from the residence, that neighborhood, or the country, you left her life. It happened so carefully that, amidst the waves of tears on the soft couch, wrapped in your sheets, with your perfume enchanting all her sensibilities, she watched as practically nothing could make sense anymore without you. Friday nights, rosé wine bottles, and even the hospital were no longer interesting.

Used to be so easy

To fall in love again

But I found out the hard way

It's a road that leads to pain

I found out that love

Was more than just a game

You're playing to win

But you'll lose just the same

The leaves danced like poetry in the collision of glances that undoubtedly carried hundreds of emotions, including relief and doubt; time did seem to fade away, resembling a scene from an Old West duel. Addison was the first to take the very first stride towards that wave of uncertainty, her heart also humming as if she had just completed a marathon in high heels. You could never adequately express how much you treasured those glowing eyes, so breathtaking even after so much time.

The expressions on both of your faces were exceptionally hard to read; Addison maintained her posture even though her eyes said the exact opposite. With a painful lump loosening in her throat, she muttered in a silent breath, “You're alive.”

A chuckle escaped your lips. You could deny any geographical separation; at that moment it was obvious that nothing had truly changed.

She was the same Addison you had fallen in passionate love with, and you were the charismatic and outspoken woman she had let into her heart and soul. Your eyes were basically the same, calm and comforting. Hair remained perfect and even more voluminous, and the sideways smile appeared, something Montgomery dreamed of witnessing again. She could say with all her tenderness that it was a dream; even so, you commented, “No need to sound so disappointed.”

“There you are!” your best friend Charlotte’s voice cracked, pulling both of you out of the mental space cultivated by nostalgia. The blonde came striding in with her hurried aura, meeting you. She smiled openly, a hint of mischief shining through simply because she knew how well your night had been spent. “Here’s your car key. It’s parked in my spot. Your purse is there, too.” she said, handing you the keychain that holds your house keys, your car key, and a red pom-pom along with a pendant of your personalized initials.

Addison examined that exchange of information with a furrowing eyebrow before clearing her throat and captivating the blonde's attention, who continued with a smile on her face and pretty much an infallible plan to fulfill a theoretical assumption she had in mind, due to your background with the clinic’s newest employee.

After greeting Montgomery, Charlotte immediately turned her attention to you, “Can you pick me up when my shift at the hospital is over?”

Your hands were sweaty, your face flushed from Charlotte's lack of filter. “Of course. Let me know when you’re finished.” you managed to reply, pondering the presence of your past right in front of you.

“You're a sweetheart! See you later, darling.” Charlotte said, standing on tiptoe and sealing her lips to your cheek. Before you could realize it, she was gone, and Addison was staring at your face with even more hesitation.

A deep breath, a masked relief, was all you needed to summon the courage to finally proceed along Addison’s steps, guiding her by the arm until you reached the empty office. Just when the redhead was standing in the middle of the room, she could hear the door lock and your stride to the leather couch, where you sat quietly and extended your arms for her to do the same as you.

“So... It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.” she began, tucking a piece of her red hair behind her ear.

“You cut your hair.” you pointed out, studying how that cut emphasized her authoritative yet charming facial features.

Addison couldn’t hide her bright smile, remembering one of the times you had inspired her to cut her hair, but she never had the courage to, mainly because Derek thought she would look older. “And you let yours grow... It looks stunning.”

So long, it was so long ago

But I've still got the blues for you

At that moment, the conversation descended into a collection of past emotional memories about how Addison felt distant in so many specific instances, but also in relation to how she lost your friendship so unexpectedly, leaving a wound in her heart. On the other hand, you failed to mention your burning love for her, only emphasizing how much you missed the friendship you two had founded and how, over time, the strings that held together that attachment had lost their way or essentially headed down different paths, as was to be expected. You talked about your two years of service in Africa, about the sleepless nights caring for children and mothers so young they barely could comprehend what was to come in their lives. She told you about the love affairs that adjusted her standpoint on life, directing her to Los Angeles. To you.

All this exchange was abruptly interrupted by both of your cell phones ringing, announcing a hospital emergency. Immediately, heading to the parking lot, you offered her a ride, and together, you went to St. Ambrose. In a very quick change of clothes into surgical scrubs, your chief resident detailed the case that was being transported by ambulance, and with your instructions, the team was ready to handle it. Addison was watching your conduct, waiting to do her part. 

That case moved along like a smooth breeze, both doctors operating together as if they had been doing it for years, observing and anticipating each other’s precise movements so that the patient would finally become stable along with the baby, who would be born prematurely if the women weren’t so good at their respective specialties.

“Good work there.” Addison emphasized, catching your eye as you scrubbed your hands after the surgery.

You grinned, cheerful; you had always fantasized about that instant. “Thank you... Likewise, you haven’t lost your abilities with your hands.” a tender phrase of flirtation escaped your lips. From where? You had no idea, but whenever she was around, your filters dissolved like an uninhibited waterfall.

She giggled, feeling her cheeks heat up with the blush that observation induced. After that surgery, nothing would ever be the same, and you could feel the change in the surroundings as soon as you stumbled out of that operating room.

That week prior to their first mutual reconciliation talk, things at the hospital soon started to collapse completely. As more potentially fatal cases arrived at their door, schedules became chaotic, day could turn into night, and shifts could no longer be twenty-four hours but rather further extended. There was definitely no time for naps between surgeries; just a coffee and a muffin would be enough for that wave of babies, children, and mothers with health complications. Amidst all that chaos, your thoughts traveled straight to Addison, who was taking on the night shifts so she could also be in attendance at medical appointments at the private clinic. The purple scrubs stood out; only neonatal attendants wore them, and as opposed to you, Addison was looking like a glowing goddess in them, which made your heart race when she smiled at you, her eyes exhausted from a week without a break from work.

Your attire was anything but traditional, and Addison considered it your distinctive style. Working with children and their mothers, your scrubs had small handmade stars, and for a few days she swore she saw some embroidered designs there too, on the hem of the shirt and pants—maybe a Care Bear or a Disney character. When she approached you, you didn’t pull back from a tight hug, keeping your face snug against her neck as if that would take away any tiredness from your body. She felt exactly the same. Your perfume activated her senses, causing her to cling even more tightly to you.

So many years

Since I've seen your face

But here in my heart

There's an empty space

You used to be

“Are you doing okay?” you asked, whispering in her ear and attaching one hand to the nape of her neck, caressing it as if the entire world had simply stopped in that empty hallway, where nurses were shifting from one side to the other, checking on patients.

She breathed in, slowly detaching you from the tight embrace, and when she caught your eye, her throbbing exhaustion made her guide you to the first on-call room in the corridor. 

“I need a rest, and so do you, so come here and let’s rest.” she demanded, lying down on the bed and pressing her back against the wall, leaving enough space for you to lie down next to her.

It wasn’t something you were completely used to, but another thing you missed those nights in New York where you both shared a bed or a couch. When you lay down next to Addison, her arms found your waist, and she buried her face in your neck. Your arms worked their way around her body, wrapping her in a warm and cozy embrace. Your heart pounded in your chest, that hidden passion coming back like a high-speed train, overpowering your senses and driving hot tears to well up in your eyes. 

A pout escaped your lips; you had waited so many years for this moment, however platonic it might be. “I love you, Addison Montgomery.” you blurted out, holding low your voice. 

She wasn’t asleep.

Both bodies lingered affectionately in that small bed, intertwined, maintaining the warm feeling of comfort and the full attraction of two hearts that had been bruised on their way back to each other. Addison was seeking a fresh start, oblivious that coming back to the past would only heal all the fears and frustrations she had built up from toxic relationships with her former best friends. It was this moment that she understood that the problem wasn’t her and her misconceptions about falling in love with friends; no, the problem was that none of those friends were you.

You were the one who was holding her hand through questionable choices without question, the one who also embraced her when things didn’t go as originally planned. Addison vividly remembered the wedding day; even knowing you weren’t one of the bridesmaids, you were beside her and muttered in her ear that everything would be alright, that it was a mutual decision, and that getting married had always been her dream. She knew, deep down, that the union was for status and ego. Even so, you were there, in a crimson dress so exquisite that she wondered twice about the need to go down on your body and devour you completely, even knowing there were only minutes remaining before she had to walk towards the Shepherd family name. 

Archer took her, and she looked so beautiful in her wedding dress... You felt that still-growing passion tighten, grow to the point where tears of pride faded and eventually turned into tears of sorrow, because witnessing the love of your life marrying a man who didn’t deserve even a fraction of the woman she is was genuinely torturous. After the “I do.” Montgomery’s bright eyes searched for your figure somewhere among the family members. Unfortunately, she couldn’t find you. 

For the first time that late afternoon, she felt half her heart tighten. Because she had affection for Derek, and she also felt that you were holding back the most tender and joyful aspects of her.

In the following years, you were constantly present, and you were frequently at game nights, playing doubles with Mark Sloan. She was jealous of that, of the close relationship you two shared. For a long time, Mark had a particular aspect of you that she wished belonged to her. It wasn’t a sexual affair; you were always very open about your sexuality, something she respected given she was a coward in admitting that potentially her happy ending wasn’t with the current husband at the time. You and Mark talked about women openly and even had a little battle to find out who could collect more numbers on the nights you both went out. Even if Addison was jealous, she noticed that you respected her marriage and would never bring up that kind of subject with her, a friendship about intimate and lustful matters without judgment.

In your arms, Addison could leave her heart open to be taken care of, broken, or rescued from an anguish she had experienced her whole life. After four years without you, she came to figure out that time would never be her true friend, that you might have grown so much that you would certainly never let her come back into your life.

Then again, you were intertwined in that moment, and even though she was ready to ask more about the conversation she witnessed between you and Charlotte, she also knew that you would never lay down with another woman if you were in a committed romantic relationship with the doctor.

“Please, Addison. Stop thinking. I haven’t slept in two weeks, so please... Let me have this break.” you positioned yourself more comfortably in bed, consequently bringing your faces one millimeter away from the woman in your arms. Your breaths became one, and at this crucial moment, Addison couldn’t rest.

Her hand reached up to meet your face, emerald eyes tracing every delicate feature before she could touch, index finger memorizing the curve of your nose, the small freckles on your rosy cheek. You opened your eyes, conscious of what was happening. When your impulses became louder than the indecision in your subconscious, you moved inches closer, brushing your nose against hers in an affectionate caress. Addison felt her skin tingle, closing her eyes to feel that exchange of affection more intensely. She felt your hand travel down the fabric of her scrub top and move inside, finally touching the skin of her back, caressing it with delicate fingers, drawing her body closer. She wrapped one leg tight around your waist, lying down with half her body pressed against yours.

“I missed you so much…” she said, swallowing hard.

So long, it was so long ago

But I've still got the blues for you

You should get up and move on, abandoning any thoughts that held you in this position and never gazing at the past that way all over again. You called all three of your friends on the night you left for Africa, but your cell phone vibrated once. Somehow, Derek showed up, wishing you a good flight and letting you know he was going home early to surprise his wife. That night, Addison and Mark didn’t answer the phone. With your chest cramping from anticipating what had been happening, the first few minutes of the trip felt suffocating. Heavy breathing, hot tears, and irreparable anguish. You fell asleep halfway to your destination, as your body was weakened. Over time, you acquired the ability to be free of the anchors that surrounded your heart, allowing you to radiate happiness beyond the need for societal restrictions. You learned to smile openly, to dance in the rain, and to see life from a completely different point of view.

That’s why you refused to leave. This time, without marital partners or lovers involved. No forcing yourself to pretend that your heart wasn’t holding out for hers. You stayed simply because love doesn’t just vanish overnight; respect, affection, pride, and the feeling of friendship—all of that was the culmination of the reasons why. From the minute you fell in love to the moment your senses had to pause to breathe, break down the situation, mature, and eventually, be able to surrender.

“Now you’re the one thinking out loud.” Addison chuckled, looking up and resting her head on her hand.

You carefully approached the door, unlocked it, and waited for the redhead. "Let's go home, Addie." both smiled brightly, which was just what you needed. Home.

Though the days come and go

There is one thing I know: I've still got the blues for you

📌 ∶ @jayquery , @lizaornot , @autisticbiologistmess , @taliiiaasteria.

⸻ english is not my first language, but I hope you enjoyed it. constructive feedback is always welcomed! let me know if you want to be tagged in future fanfics. thanks for reading! 💞

I’m accepting requests! if you enjoy my writing and want to read a story about a specific character, I’ll do my best to make it happen!

a special kiss to Lai, who encouraged me every step of the way in writing this story. I love you forever, baby. 💋

Zayne looks cold on duty, but he softens the second he sees you.

Every nurse swears he never smiles.

Until you walk into the hallway.

He stops mid-charting and murmurs,

“Love… you’re finally here.”

His whole face relaxes, just for you.

He always finds small excuses to check on you during rounds.

You’ll be in another ward and suddenly hear:

“Doctor, I’m just reviewing patient files… happened to pass by.”

He absolutely did NOT “pass by.”

He walked three floors just to see your face.

Zayne gets jealous in the most quiet, polite way.

If a male patient or doctor gets too friendly, he steps behind you,

Hand lightly brushing your lower back as he says with that cold voice:

“She’s assigned to me today.”

Translation: Back off. Mine.

He memorizes your schedule better than his own.

You forget your lunch breaks.

He doesn’t.

He quietly leaves a thermos on your desk with a note:

“Eat. Please.”

Zayne always checks your pulse when you look tired.

Not because you’re sick.

He just wants to touch you without admitting it.

“Your heart rate’s slightly elevated… come here.”

He sneaks forehead kisses inside empty supply rooms.

His cold voice drops to a hush when he pulls you close:

“Five minutes. Just you and me.”

He pretends he doesn’t like PDA in the hospital… but he does.

He’ll say,

“Professionalism, darling.”

Yet his hand always finds yours under the desk during meetings.

When you get overwhelmed, Zayne becomes incredibly soft.

He cups your face gently and whispers:

“Love… breathe. I’m right here.”

His voice alone calms you like medicine.

If anyone talks badly about you, Zayne’s stare could freeze blood.

He doesn’t raise his voice.

He just steps forward and says,

“…repeat what you said.”

Nobody ever does.

11. Living together means waking up to Zayne wrapping around you.

Zayne is scary-fast in emergencies… but always checks if you’re safe first.

Before sprinting to a code red, he whispers:

“Stay behind me.”

He hates when you skip meals more than anything.

He’ll stand in front of your computer like a wall and say,

“Put the chart down. Eat.”

He reads your research papers at night and leaves notes.

Little sticky tabs saying:

“Brilliant thought.”

“Proud of you.”

“Teach me this part?”

15. When he’s tired, Zayne becomes clingy.

He always waits for you when your shifts overlap.

Standing outside the ward, hands in pockets, cold expression —

Until you arrive.

Then his voice melts:

“There you are, i have been looking for you darling.”

17. He gives you his white coat when you feel cold.

Zayne can’t focus when you’re on a dangerous case.

He stands watching from the corner with his arms crossed,

Jaw tight, eyes sharp.

He looks like he’ll murder the disease itself.

At home, he cooks for you.

He’s surprisingly good.

He places food in front of you and says softly:

“You worked harder today. Eat first.”

Zayne loves washing your hair on off-days.

He stands behind you, fingers massaging your scalp, whispering:

“You deserve softness, love. Let me.”

He never raises his voice at you. Ever.

Even when he’s upset.

He talks quietly, gently:

“I’m not angry… I’m worried.”

Zayne brings you coffee EXACTLY the way you like it.

He tries to hide his affection at work… but fails.

The nurses tease him because whenever you walk into a room,

His voice instantly softens.

“Ah… darling, come here.”

After night shifts, you both fall asleep together on your couch.

“We should shower first…”

Him, pulling you into his chest:

“No. Stay. I want you here.”

And he sleeps with his arm around your waist,

I think the only way you two could have met where you made a lasting impression is if you were somehow at the same asylum as him. Be it as a doctor or a patient. But I’ve never read a fic where the reader was one of the doctors, so that’s what we’re gonna go with here.

Joining up at smith’s grove sanitarium hadn’t been your first choice, since it was known as a pretty run-down place, that treated their patients more as prisoners than people. It may have been a place for the worst of the worst, but they were still people in your eyes.

You get Michaels attention by somehow wrenching his care from Dr Loomis’s hands, using all kinds of laws and loopholes to rip it from him and then running for the door pretty much. To you, what Loomis did should get him placed in jail and his license removed, as it could only have made his patients states worse.

Building a relationship with Michael is what many would call impossible. But you believed that every person had something special that fueled them, and just being treated like a worthwhile human being always seemed to do the trick.

It took months, if not years for you to really worm your way into Michael’s heart, or whatever was left of it. He hadn’t really had many positive male people in his life, something you also blamed Dr Loomis for, but over time he grew closer to you, in his own way.

To others it may seem like Michael was the same as always, but at this point you’ve worked with him so long that you know him. You can feel his attention follow you, even when you are on the other side of the yard where the patients get sunlight.

It’s no shock that you are most patients’ favorite, especially after you become head of the hospital, after a very long and stressful battle with those stuck in their old ways. It made you start cleaning house, getting rid of bad caretakers and methods to replace them with better ones.

You took it extremely seriously, and would have any so called interviewers or investigators removed from the premises, to not mess with your patients’ care.

You gain a bit of a reputation in the media at how incredibly cruel you can be to the people who wish to use and abuse your patients. Some call you crazy for protecting them, especially as everyone knows Michael Myers resides there.

But to you, it doesn’t matter. You have no spouse, no children, you haven’t talked to your family since you left home at 18, all you truly have is your job, so that is what you use your energy on.

And if a lot of that time is spent with Michael, then so be it. Having Michael actually emote or pay attention to you, is a big step in the right direction in your book. You can never get him to talk, but he does succeed in learning a couple of signs, though you suspect he only does it because he knows it makes you happy.

Later you would look back on Michael’s escape as something you blamed on yourself. Over the long time you had been his caretaker, you always made sure to be there on Halloween, since it was such an important date for him.

He never told you this, obviously, but you could tell. It just happened that you had needed surgery around that time, something you couldn’t put off as much as you wanted. If you wanted to keep caring for your patients, then you needed it done.

So, it truly shouldn’t have been such a surprise for one of your nurses to call you in a panic that Michael had somehow gotten out. Being bedbound, there wasn’t much you could do but give orders from home and watch the tv.

You didn’t technically live in Haddonfield, but you lived close enough that you could bike to town for groceries if you needed to, but also so you could drive to work without much issue.

Seeing no reports of murders outside the usual made you sigh and slump in on yourself. You had put off taking your pain medication, wanting to be clearheaded and aware, just in case you needed to be. And what else kept one clear in the head but pain.

As bedridden as you were, there wasn’t much you could do when you heard your back door open. You only knew it was that door, as it had a loud squeaky hinge you never got fixed, as it wasn’t like you used that entrance much.

Seeing Michaels looming stature shouldn’t have been a shocker either. What did amaze you to a certain, professional extent, was that he hadn’t put on his usual coveralls or mask, instead it was one you two had made together using safe materials.

There was no verbal or physical reply when you spoke to him, outside of a slight rise of tension in his shoulders when he heard you grunt in pain, as you turned to look at him.

You didn’t want to call the hospital, knowing just how volatile Michael could be. And you may have replaced many doctors and nurses, but they still feared him, all but you at least. The only thing you truly could do was speak to him, to make him stay so he didn’t go kill anyone.

Maybe it was the years of care you had given him, but Michael at some point moved closer, just staring down at you and the bandages around your stomach.

You had a feeling he wanted to poke it or maybe just unwrap it, but you had worked with him about other people’s pain tolerance. Michael still only seemed to care when it was you, but you put a lot of stuff in his notes about your professional opinion and growth.

There were worse caretakers than Michael. In all reality he wasn’t really a caretaker. A lot of it was just him standing by the door, in the corner, or right at the foot of your bed to watch you. Hed shuffle after you wherever you went in the apartment, even carrying you when you couldn’t move too much.

you had decided to heal enough to bring him back to smith’s grove when you healed enough, already knowing how violent Michael could be with other people.

To Michael though, this meant more than you meant. He wasn’t one to feel lust or much romantic attraction, but he was drawn to you and attached enough to just stay, to even bring you your pill bottles and water, like how you would to him at smith’s grove.

You theorized it made him happy, in his own way, to know he was helping in the ways he knew how. Another more paranoid part of your brain did worry about what he did when you slept, since the pain medication had that effect.

Nothing ever looked out of place, but you did catch him kneeling beside your bed on more than one occasion, just holding your hand. Or the times hed place your hand on top of his head so you would caress him.

It was inappropriate for a doctor to do such a thing with his patients, but Michael seemed calmer and more at ease when it was just you two. He couldn’t cuddle in bed with you, and neither did he seem to want to, but being held and coddle in small amounts seemingly worked for him.

Michael clearly wasn’t pleased when you took him to return to smith’s grove, but he actually came along without issue. It caused a whole media storm, but over the years you had mastered those too. As long as it helped your patients, then you would do it, to a certain extent.

Having Johnny be rolled into your office, a trail of blood following him and staining the sterile white floors. He's marked as a priority, still concious yet barely holding on.

After sedating him, you work carefully, though quickly, to extract the bullets from his swiss cheese body, white dress quickly staining with red as you dug into his flesh.

At some point in the operation, he slipped awake without you realizing. He stared in awe as you worked, captivated by your focused eyes, the way the light hit them gorgeously.

He could ignore the pain with just the joy of witnessing an angel like you, his fingers twitching subtly, holding back from reaching out.

"You look sexy in red.."

You freeze for a minute, looking up to his battered and bruised face, a cheeky smile still holding onto his cheekbones. This was wrong on so many levels. First of all, he's awake mid surgery after sedation. Second of all, he's delusional! Calling you sexy? There must be head damage you missed..

You ordered to push morphine and re-sedate him, watching as in a few moments, he drifted back to sleep.

Weeks later, you'd forgotten about him, gone back to your mundane life, living day by day in a routine. Wake up, shower, eat while driving to work, work for 12 hours or more, come home, pass out, repeat. You were becoming exhausted, the only thing keeping you alive is the reward you get from saving another life, though even those became scarce.

A random number soon called your phone mid brushing your teeth, a drop of water somehow hitting accept and speaker at the same time.

A scottish voice picked up the phone, sounding near panicked yet relieved for your answer.

"Ya picked up! Thank 'od. I was worried ya woul'nt."

You spit out the toothpaste and hastily rinsed your mouth while the man attempted to explain himself.

"Okay, so.. this'll sound crazy, but you're the nurse who saved that fucked up military guy, right?"

"Which one?" you questioned, still rushing to clean your mouth. It was much too early for this..

You could hear a choked sound on the other end, a form of embarrassment likely. Didn't really matter to you.

"Ah, the uhm.. the one who called you sexy?"

A moment of silence passed between you both, long enough for him to ask if you were still on the line. This couldn't be right.. there was no way this was the same man, and certainly no way he meant it! How did he even contact you?! Wasn't it illegal to give out a doctor's number for reasons like this???

"You're kidding."

"No, Ma'am, a am not; Or, Sir? Ahm sorry, a promise a dont mind either one, ya were.. well. Ya saved my life, and you were gorgeous on top of that. I know it's early, you got work, but a gotta ask, would you be willing to go on a date some time?"

You could've fainted right then and there, halfway out of your bathroom and towards the front door for your shoes. Now that you're remembering it, the man was at least somewhat cute when you saw him. A nice face, pretty eyes brimmed with tears. Okay, you can't be thinking like this about a stranger.

Even so, he is just that. A stranger. Doesn't matter if you saved him or if he complemented you a million times. He knows nothing of you, and you know nothing of him.

"I.. I don't know. Listen, it's a sweet gesture and all, but I don't even know you, Hell, how did you get my number?-"

"Ah, Hell, don't worry about that! A thought you'd say something like this, a swear, ahm a good guy. Ya can ask my buddies, ah promise ahm square!"

You sighed, the persistence of this man was immeasurable. It was too early, too soon in the morning to deal with this behavior. Surely he'll forget about it by the end of the day... right?

"We can, uh.. we can talk after my shift, how about that?"

"Really?!" His voice pierces your ear over the mic. His excitement is settled with a small cough. "Really, doc, ya'd do tha'?"

"Sure.."

"Thank you, I promise you won't regret it. I'll pick you up after your work, promise."

"Hey, how did you even-"

You straightened under his scrutiny, meeting his gaze despite the unease clawing at your chest. “I–I mean no harm,” you replied calmly, refusing to waver. “I’m a doctor. I was trying to remove this to help you breathe. Do you know where you’re bleeding from?”  

For a moment, his eyes narrowed, and you thought he might ignore you altogether. His grip on your wrist tightened briefly, but then, slowly, it loosened. His gaze shifted, the icy edge softening, though his expression remained distant—haunted, almost lifeless.  

“Doctor…” he muttered, his voice low and strained, as if the word carried more weight than it should. “A little Hase like you should leave. You don’t want to get tangled up with someone like me. Men like me only have one ending. The kind reserved for mobsters. So go. Pretend you never saw me.”  

His words hung in the frosty air, heavy with bitterness and self-loathing. Your jaw tightened, the weight of his resignation settling over you, but you weren’t one to back down.  

“I will not,” you said firmly, your tone unwavering as you met his distant stare. “I am a doctor, and you are not a dead man yet. So I’ll ask you again—do you know where you’re bleeding from?”  

Something shifted in his expression. His eyes widened just slightly, caught off guard by your defiance. A bitter smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, fleeting but noticeable a glam of life in his eyes.  

“Stubborn little Hase, aren’t you?” he murmured, the faintest trace of amusement cutting through his somber tone before his features darkened again. “Fine. Lower left side. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  

You nodded briskly, already moving to assess the wound. His words lingered, though, like a shadow curling in the corners of your mind. Whatever weight he carried, it was more than just physical—burdens you couldn’t begin to imagine.  

Carefully, you lifted his shirt, exposing the bullet wound oozing dark, viscous blood. Without hesitation, you reached for the tools you’d gathered: a pair of tweezers, a needle, thread, and a bottle of alcohol. The chaos surrounding you melted into insignificance as you focused, your hands steady despite the urgency clawing at your nerves.  

“Okay, hold still—”  

“König,” he interrupted, his voice low and gravelly as he offered his name. His icy blue eyes never left yours, watching you intently, as if assessing whether you were friend or foe.  

“Okay, Hold still, König” you instructed, reaching into your bag for your tools.

He grunted, his lips quivering faintly. “I’ve been still this entire time.”

Suppressing a smile, you worked quickly, sterilizing your tweezers and cleaning the area around the wound. “This might sting,” you warned.

He didn’t flinch, his jaw tight as you began extracting the bullet. His muscles tensed under your touch, and a low groan escaped his throat, but he didn’t move an inch. His control was unnervingly precise, a testament to the kind of man he was.

You gripped the tweezers and leaned in, the edges of your vision narrowing as your focus honed in on the task. With painstaking care, you maneuvered the tweezers to locate the bullet. König’s muscles tensed under your touch, his jaw clenching, but he stayed perfectly still, his control unnervingly precise.  

As the metal object came into view, lodged deep within the torn flesh, you adjusted your grip and pulled. Blood welled around the wound, and König let out a low, guttural groan, though his body didn’t move an inch.  

“It’s almost out,” you murmured, more for your own reassurance than his. With one final tug, the bullet slipped free, clinking faintly as you dropped it onto the snowy ground beside you.  

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Glancing up, you saw König watching you, his expression unreadable, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps relief, perhaps trust.  

“Now the hard part’s done,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt. You grabbed the needle and thread, preparing to stitch the wound. “Just a little more, and you’ll be good as new. Well, almost.”  

König let out a dry chuckle, though it sounded more like a sigh. “Good as new, Hase? I think that ship sailed long ago.”

“I don’t,” you replied, a gentle but firm conviction in your tone. “I believe you’d be lovely company to have around.”

Your words caught him off guard, and his lips quirked into a faint, almost disbelieving smile. He let out a low chuckle, this one lighter, more genuine than before. You couldn’t help but smile back, though your focus quickly returned to the task at hand.

With careful precision, you finished stitching the wound, your hands steady as you tied off the last thread. Grabbing a clean cloth, you cleaned the area around the stitches and reached for the bandages.

As you wrapped them around his waist, your fingers brushed against his skin, warm and solid beneath your touch. Despite the lack of defined abs, his build was undeniably strong, and you couldn’t help the slight blush that crept up your cheeks.

König noticed immediately. His icy blue eyes studied you with quiet curiosity before he asked, his tone calm but with a hint of amusement, “Are you okay, Hase? Your face is red.”

Your head shot up, and you stammered, “I’m okay! I’m fine!” You quickly glanced away, fumbling for an excuse. “It’s just… the cold, that’s all.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if he didn’t entirely believe you, but he didn’t press the matter.

“We should call an ambulance,” you said, reaching for your phone. “You need proper medical care—”

Before you could dial, König’s hand shot out, gently but firmly grabbing your wrist. His grip was steady, his calloused palm warm against your skin.

“No, Hase,” he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of urgency. His icy blue eyes bore into yours, more serious than before. “But… Can I call someone? Just for a moment. With your phone.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the intensity in his gaze left no room for argument. Slowly, you nodded, handing him your phone.

As he dialed, you shifted awkwardly, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. You tried not to listen, but his deep voice made it impossible to tune out. After a few rings, a man’s voice answered, sharp and suspicious.

“Hello? Who is this?”

König exhaled through his nose, the faintest edge of irritation in his voice as he responded, “ Horangi. It’s König.”

A brief pause followed, the silence thick with tension. Then Horangi’s voice returned, his tone a mix of disbelief and reprimand. “König, what the hell happened?”

“I got shot,” König admitted, his voice lower now, almost begrudging.

“You what? Damn it, König. Where are you?”

“I’ll send my location,” König muttered, groaning lightly as if he were already bracing for the lecture he knew was coming. He glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before returning his attention to the call.

“Can you pick me up?”

Horangi sighed audibly on the other end, muttering something under his breath in Korean before replying, “Fine. But you owe me for this. Stay where you are. I will be there in a few minutes.”

König ended the call and handed your phone back to you. “Thank you, Hase,” he said quietly, his tone softer now.

You studied him for a moment, unsure what to say. He seemed more tired than before, the weight of whatever world he lived in pressing heavily on his broad shoulders.

“You have a friend coming?” you asked gently, trying to gauge his condition.

He gave a small nod. “Yes. He’ll be here soon.”

Silence stretched between you, broken only by the faint hum of distant traffic and the occasional gust of wind that rustled through the alley. Your eyes lingered on König, studying his face—the sharp edges softened by exhaustion, the weight of something unspoken behind his icy blue gaze. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life he led, what kind of dangers waited for him beyond the walls of this quiet alley.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and gravelly, pulling your attention back to him. “It’s cold. You should go home, Hase.”

You straightened slightly, meeting his tired gaze with quiet determination. “No. I need to make sure you get picked up safely.”

A deep, amused chuckle rumbled in his chest, surprising you. It wasn’t bitter like before, but rich, almost warm. “You’re protecting me. That’s ironic,” he said, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you puffed them in mock frustration, gently swatting his uninjured arm. “It’s my job,” you retorted, voice firm despite the blush creeping up your neck. “Would you do the same if you were in my shoes?”

König’s smirk lingered, but his expression softened as his gaze rested on you. For a moment, he didn’t reply, his icy blue eyes searching yours, as though your question had struck deeper than you’d meant it to. Slowly, his hand lifted, calloused fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness.

The gesture left you momentarily breathless, and silence stretched between you once more, heavy but not uncomfortable. You both sat there, the world around you fading into the background, neither of you daring to break the quiet.

Then, suddenly, the sharp screech of car tires shattered the stillness, yanking you back to reality.

Before you could react, König’s instincts took over. His arms shot out, pulling you close against his chest in a swift, protective motion. His body tensed, shielding you from whatever unknown danger might be approaching.

“Stay down,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding.

The tension broke only when a familiar figure emerged from the shadows. Horangi appeared, sprinting toward you both with a practiced urgency, his sharp eyes narrowing as they darted between you and König.

Without missing a beat, Horangi waved over two more figures trailing close behind him. They moved with the same calculated precision, their presence commanding despite the chaos lingering in the air. One was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a sharp jawline and dark eyes—Oni, you guessed from the way he carried himself with silent authority. The other, slightly shorter but no less imposing, had a cocky smirk that seemed permanently etched on his face—Hutch.

“You’re reckless, König,” Horangi muttered, crouching beside him while sparing you a brief glance. “Is this what you call lying low, boss?” His voice carried an edge of exasperation, though there was an unmistakable undercurrent of concern.

König didn’t answer immediately. He shifted slightly, loosening his protective hold on you but not letting you go entirely, as though reluctant to leave you vulnerable. “I didn’t plan for this,” König grumbled, his voice gruff but steady.

Oni stepped forward, his piercing gaze briefly flicking over König’s wound before settling on you. His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t speak, his silence unnerving yet oddly respectful. Hutch, on the other hand, let out a low whistle, his eyes darting between you and König with an amused grin.

“Well, well,” Hutch drawled, his tone teasing. “Didn’t know you had a personal medic, König. Gotta say, she’s a bit of an upgrade from the usual lot we deal with.”

Your cheeks flushed at the comment, but König shot him a warning look that shut him up immediately.

“Enough,” Horangi snapped, his tone sharp as he straightened. “Let’s get him out of here before we draw more attention.”

After Hutch and Oni helped König into the car, he leaned back against the seat, exhaustion pulling at his features. You stood by the door, briefing Horangi on König’s condition—quickly summarizing the severity of the wound, the care you’d provided, and his current state. Your voice was steady, your professionalism cutting through the tension like a beacon of calm.

What you didn’t notice, however, was König watching you intently through the tinted window. His icy blue eyes had softened, their usual sharpness dulled by something almost foreign: quiet admiration. He listened to the cadence of your voice, his gaze lingering on your focused expression. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself a moment of calm. There was something about the way you carried yourself—gentle but unwavering—that disarmed him more thoroughly than any weapon ever had.

As you finished and dismissed yourself, König’s eyes followed you. The faint breeze caught your white lab coat as you walked briskly toward your clinic, the fabric fluttering like wings in the wind. The image was seared into his mind, reforging the thought he’d had before—kleiner weißer Hase.

When you disappeared into the crowd, König’s lips twitched into a rare, almost wistful smile. For a moment, his icy exterior melted, replaced by something warmer, something yearning. A quiet vow slipped past his lips, too low for anyone to catch but himself.

“The hunt is on, Hase.”

Oni and Hutch exchanged a glance from the front seat, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and silent amusement. Horangi, leaning against the car, raised an eyebrow at König but said nothing. The three of them, seasoned in the ways of König’s unpredictability, decided it was best to leave him to his thoughts—for now.

------------------

part 2

kleiner weißer Hase: litte white bunny

John continued, calm and absolute. “Any delay would have risked permanent neurological damage. The attending made the right call.” He looked directly at Simon as he said it, and you didn’t miss the way Simon’s jaw ticked, a muscle feathering in frustration.

When the conference adjourned, Simon lingered by the door. His broad frame blocked your exit. You crossed your arms, already prepared.

“I owe you an apology,” he muttered, voice low enough that only you could hear. “You were right.”

You raised an eyebrow, tilted your head, and let out the sharpest little scoff you could manage before brushing past him without a word. His breath hitched behind you, but you didn’t look back.

Hours later, after another surgery left you wrung out and sweaty under your scrubs, you slipped outside to the hospital gardens. The benches there were shaded by sprawling trees, a rare little haven. You sank down, letting your head tip back, finally breathing in air that didn’t smell of antiseptic.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

You startled slightly as John appeared, holding two takeaway cups. He offered one with a little shrug. “Didn’t know how you take it… figured I’d gamble on something simple. White, one sugar.”

You blinked at him, hesitant, but took it. “Thanks.”

He sat beside you, not too close but close enough you could feel his presence. “Funny, isn’t it?” he said, looking out across the gardens. “Five years ago we didn’t even swap last names, and now here we are—colleagues.”

Your cheeks heated at the memory, unbidden flashes of skin and laughter in a dingy hotel room surfacing before you shoved them back down. “Yeah. Funny.”

John glanced at you then, his expression softer than you expected. “I never forgot you, you know.”

That jolted you. “You don’t even know me.”

“Not properly,” he admitted, a smile tugging at his mouth. “But I remember how it felt. And I’ve thought about what might’ve been… if we’d actually bothered to exchange more than first names and a room key.” His gaze held yours, steady. “To me, you were the one that got away.”

Your stomach flipped, and before you could stop yourself, you gestured too wildly with your coffee cup as you stood up. The drink sloshed, spilling right down his trousers in a steaming splash.

“Oh my god—!” You shot to your feet, napkins already in hand. “I’m so sorry!”

He looked down at the stain, then up at you, utterly calm. “Don’t worry. I’ve had worse.”

“I didn’t mean to—” Your words died as you realized you were hovering your hand over his thigh, dangerously close to blotting. You yanked it back, mortified, face burning.

John chuckled, low and warm. “Relax. It’s just coffee. Besides—” his grin widened, “—gives me an excuse to change before I ask you to dinner.”

Your eyes widened. “Dinner? As in—you and me? No.” You shook your head so fast it made you dizzy. “John, that’s not—this isn’t—”

He hummed, calm as ever, standing smoothly despite the damp patch. “Didn’t expect a yes straight away.” His eyes sparkled when he looked at you. And with a nod he simply said “That’s alright. I’ll ask again later.”

You gaped at him, utterly thrown. Then he winked, turning back toward the hospital, leaving you rooted to the bench—heart hammering, coffee forgotten in your hand, and the ghost of that night five years ago burning in the back of your mind.

The residents’ lounge smelled faintly of latex and stale crisps, the kind of room that saw more stress than rest. Kyle sat hunched over a training dummy on the table, carefully threading a suture needle through fake skin with steady precision. His tongue poked out slightly at the corner of his mouth — concentration written all over him.

Meanwhile, Johnny wasn’t concentrating at all. He was perched at one of the computers, typing away with far too much intensity for what was supposed to be downtime. His scowl deepened as your name flashed across the screen.

“She was famous at her last job,” Johnny muttered, scrolling quickly through old articles and research notes. “Look at this — publications, conference mentions, commendations. No wonder the division head recruited her.” He spoke like Kyle was actually listening.

Kyle didn’t look up, eyes still on his stitching. “Mm.”

“But if you’re so famous…” Johnny leaned closer to the monitor, narrowing his eyes like the screen might confess a secret. “…why move hospitals?” His voice dropped, more to himself now, like he was untangling a mystery. “Why here? Why now?”

Kyle tied off his suture with a neat little tug. “Why don’t you just ask her?” he said dryly.

Johnny twisted in his chair to glare at him. “Why don’t you just ask her,” he mimicked in a whiny sing-song, complete with exaggerated hand gestures. “Because I don’t want to talk to her. Period.”

Kyle finally glanced up, unimpressed. “Could’ve fooled me. You’ve been glued to that screen since she walked in.”

Johnny bristled, slamming the mouse down harder than necessary. “I don’t care about her.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.” He bent back over the dummy arm, lips twitching with the faintest smirk.

Johnny turned back to the computer, muttering under his breath — as if the monitor, at least, would believe him.

He scrolled deeper, his jaw tight. Something in the directory caught his eye — a restricted file linked to your name. His finger hovered over the mouse for a moment before he clicked.

The screen blinked, a progress bar loading. As the file opened, his frown deepened, eyes narrowing. He leaned in, lips parting slightly, ocean blues widening and—

The north wing always buzzed with a different energy than the other departments. Brighter somehow, warmer, with the constant chatter of patients and families moving through. You adjusted your white coat as you stepped into the reception hub, where one big desk sat already occupied by two gorgeous women.

“Hi! You must be the new doctor!” chirped the woman with a bobbed haircut and big, round glasses. Her name badge read Bell, and her smile was so enthusiastic it was almost disarming.

Beside her, a taller woman with long braids leaned lazily on her elbow, scrolling through a tablet. She gave you a slow once-over before smirking. “Bell, tone it down. You’ll scare her off. I’m Tanya. Welcome to the chaos.”

Before you could respond, a man in a white coat appeared from the hallway, adjusting his stethoscope. He was handsome in a clean-cut way, with sharp cheekbones and an easy grin. “Ah, you’re the new recruit. Jihoon,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand. “Gynaecology. Don’t worry, I’m not as scary as my field makes me sound.”

Bell giggled. “He’s the one you go to if you need endless snack recommendations. Man knows every vending machine on site.” She grinned like a child on Christmas.

Tanya rolled her eyes but you caught the fondness beneath it. “Just ignore her. I do.”

You smiled despite yourself, tension easing a little. For the first time since arriving, it felt like you might actually fit here.

Jihoon leaned casually against the reception desk, folding his arms. “So,” he asked with a grin, “met any of the other surgeons yet?”

Your stomach gave a small twist. Of course you had — more than met them. You’d been entangled with every one of them in one way or another, pasts knotted so tight it felt like they might strangle you if you weren’t careful.

You schooled your expression and nodded once, aiming for casual. “Yeah. Briefly.”

Jihoon didn’t notice the stiffness in your tone, but Bell did. Her smile slipped into a little frown as she leaned forward over the desk. “Uh oh. Are they being mean to you or something?”

You blinked at her, startled. “What? No. Nothing like that.”

Tanya snorted softly, tapping her pen against the desk. “Please. Half the surgeons here walk around like they own the place. Don’t let it get to you. Give it a week and you’ll learn to tune them out like the rest of us.”

Bell huffed, clearly unconvinced, but let it drop. “Well, if they are being jerks, you just tell us. We’ve got your back.”

Tanya scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t think she needs our help. Word around here is you beat up mobsters on your first day.” Her lips curved into a grin. “So cool!” she squeaked, the fangirl moment catching even Bell off guard.

You blinked innocently, bemused by her reaction. “That right?”

Jihoon chuckled, shaking his head as he signed a file and handed it to Bell. “Hospital gossip travels fast. Better get used to it.”

Bell giggled, covering her mouth. “Okay, that is kind of cool, though.”

Your lips parted, ready to confirm it — when your phone buzzed loudly in your pocket.

You glanced at the screen. Emergency surgery.

“Duty calls,” you said, snapping the phone shut and already moving. The three of them watched as you strode down the hall, Bell’s excited whisper following you out of earshot.

You changed into your scrubs in record time, hair pulled back, mask dangling from your ear as you scrubbed in at the sink. The water was warm, the smell of antiseptic sharp, your mind already racing through the steps of the surgery.

Then another pair of hands plunged into the sink beside yours.

You glanced over — and froze. Simon.

His square jaw was tight beneath his surgical cap, his movements brisk, mechanical.

“What are you doing?” you demanded, frowning. “This is my surgery.”

“I’m taking over,” he grunted, already drying his hands with quick, practiced snaps of the towel.

“Excuse me?” The words cracked sharp in the tiled room. You finished rinsing and grabbed a towel yourself, glaring at his back.

He didn’t look at you, just pushed through the double doors into the OR.

Your pulse kicked up, but you refused to let him bulldoze you. Tossing the towel aside, you followed.

The patient lay prepped on the table, anesthetized, monitors steady. A scrub nurse hovered uncertainly by the instruments. The circulating nurse shifted nervously at the sight of you and Simon walking in together.

Murmurs rippled across the small team.

“Neuro said she was leading…” someone whispered.

“Now it’s Captain Broody?” another muttered.

Simon didn’t say anything — not out loud, at least. He simply slid into the lead position, voice calm and clipped as he instructed the nurses. The scalpel was in his hand before you could blink.

Every muscle in your body screamed at the audacity, but you forced yourself into silence, eyes sharp, jaw locked. An outburst here wouldn’t just bruise your pride — it could compromise the patient.

So you stood by, gloved and masked, forced to watch as Simon took over your case. His hands were steady, movements sure, the team falling into rhythm around him as though he had been meant to be there all along.

And damn it — the surgery was a success.

He peeled off from the table, bloody gloves glistening under the lights. Only then did he glance your way, eyes glittering with that infuriating, cocky edge.

“You can stitch them up, fellow,” he drawled, tone laced with smug dismissal. Then he stripped off his gloves and strode out without a backward glance.

Heat flared in your chest, pride stung raw, but you forced it down. The patient came first. You stepped forward, voice brisk as you called for the sutures.

The familiar rhythm of your perfected stitch steadied you. Needle, knot, cut. Needle, knot, cut. You finished in record time, clean and elegant, the team casting sidelong glances but wisely holding their tongues.

When the patient was safely transferred and your gloves were off, you didn’t hesitate. The doors swung behind you as you stormed into the corridor, scanning for Simon’s broad frame.

He had just pulled his gown off, tossing it into the bin with casual ease, when your voice cracked through the air like a whip.

“Simon!”

He stopped but didn’t turn, shoulders squaring as if bracing himself.

You marched up, jaw tight, fists clenched at your sides. “I am not under your guidance,” you hissed, trying to keep your voice low, professional — but it trembled with rage. “And you were not assigned to that surgery. I was. How dare you undermine me in front of other doctors.”

That made him turn. His eyes were sharp, unreadable, his mask hanging loose around his neck. “I saved that patient’s life.”

“You think I couldn’t have?” you shot back, fire burning in your chest. “You think barging in, hijacking my case, makes you some kind of hero?”

“I think,” he said evenly, stepping closer, “that when a life’s on the line, I don’t gamble.”

The words landed like a slap, the corridor’s silence swallowing them whole. It was bullshit and even he knew it. But basically implying you’re not capable…you fumed. A few nurses passed by at the far end glancing your way before quickly scurrying off — gossip already sparking like wildfire.

Your voice dropped, steel replacing the shake. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll take it straight to the board. Do you understand me?”

For a long beat, he just stared — that infuriating, smug calm etched into every line of his face. Then, finally, his lips twitched into the faintest smirk.

“Noted, fellow.”

And he walked away, leaving you seething in the corridor, every nerve in your body screaming for blood.