Chapter Text
You found candy in your coat pocket. Despite the mountain of paperwork you had to complete before the weekend, you couldn’t help but grin at the handful of hard candy, the kind with the fruity chewy center that you loved. You weren’t sure how you could have missed him slipping it in your jacket, and you didn’t remember taking any from the glass bowl on his desk, but there they were in your hand.
Of course, Tara could sniff out a lovesick fool from a mile away. No sooner had you popped one in your mouth did she wheel her chair to your desk, propping her chin in her hands and batting her eyelashes.
“What?” you asked, muffled, your teeth glued together with candy.
“What are you smiling about?”
“Oh, do you want one?”
Tara shook her head. “I’m so bored of paperwork. So I stretch and take a look around, and what do I see but our Miss Hunter blushing and twirling her hair.”
You slammed your hand down into your lap and laughed awkwardly. “Was I? I don’t know; I guess I was just daydreaming.”
“About what? About who? Was it your boyfriend?” she sing-songed.
You both whipped your heads towards the sound of a crash at Xavier’s desk. He smiled tightly, “Bumped my knee.”
Some hunters get together for a monthly pub crawl to celebrate another month’s job well done. Last month, linked arm-in-arm as you stumbled to the last bar of the night, you’d confessed to Tara your crush.
“Oh!” she’d tittered, poking your cheek. “The scary doctor? Really?”
“He’s not scary, he’s just. He’s just—“ you wanted to say awkward or dryly clever or surprisingly tactile or in possession of the only voice that could soothe you after your family—
“He’s kinda funny if you get to know him…”
It was both a relief and strain to confess the little that you did that night. You really didn’t have anyone to tell; Tara was your friend, but you’d never shared any woes with her worse than my nail broke! or I work nights all this week :(. It was better to carry a burden yourself than unload it on someone else. Sometimes it felt like there was only one person in the world with whom you could be honest, and all you have left of him is tucked under your collar.
But the cat was out of the bag, and when Tara started squealing and hopping from foot to foot, you knew it wasn’t possible to stuff it back in.
Tara turned back to you quickly, “I mean, you did see him yesterday, right?”
You frowned, “Yeah, I mean, I saw him… For my yearly physical.” There was a beat. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Tara sighed and leaned back in her chair, “But he could be!” At whatever expression you made at this, she turned around to shout, “Simone! Back me up here!”
Simone wheeled next to Tara like she’d been waiting for her cue. She leaned in, tapping her tablet on the desk like a stack of notecards. “Hit me, ladies.”
You covered your cheeks with your hands and closed your eyes, feeling a heat crawl up your neck.
“Dr. Zayne,” Tara stage-whispered.
You melted onto your desk at the sound of his name, embarrassment prickling your face.
Simone gasped and Xavier abruptly stood, stalking towards the kitchen. “He finally asked you out?” Simone asked, wide eyes finding yours.
“Finally—? No, no! I had a doctor appointment, that’s all.” You tried to kick at Tara’s feet and stubbed your toe on the desk leg.
“But you’ve seen the way they act, right? She thinks they’re just friends, but—you’ve seen the way they act, right?”
Simone nodded sagely, “That there is a requited crush, I’d say.”
You shook your head, hard, feeling more vulnerable than you would in a protofield. “You guys don’t understand. He’s… slow-to-warm, and I’ve known him since we were kids. I have a head start on most people, is all.” You frowned, and said the thing that leadened your stomach each time you remembered, “I can’t be any more obvious about I feel. He—he probably thinks of me as a little sister.”
Simone raised an eyebrow, “I’d be worried about a brother who treats his little sister like the way he does you.” You ignored this.
“I get it,” consoled Tara. “You’re afraid to ruin your friendship by admitting your feelings. You guys have a lot of shared history, and it frightens you to lose it. Especially after…” You snapped your head up to look at her; Simone nodded along sympathetically. Tara held your hand in hers. She’d seemed to think about this more than you had.
“Not to mention he’s the best cardiologist suited to help you manage your condition; his refusal of your confession, or even a failed relationship down the road, could have a significant impact on your healthcare.” Your eyebrows rose into your hairline. You hadn’t even thought of that.
“Not to mention all the other guys lined up to get a piece of you,” Simone interjected.
Tara waggled a finger in agreement, “Not to mention all the other guys lined up to get a piece of you. You’re hardly lacking for choice.”
The feelings Tara listed, rubbing the back of your hand soothingly, were not too far from your truth. Your face warmed at the realization that you were not so mysterious as you thought. Tara’s observations were surprisingly astute.
“But I saw the way he treated you on that last arctic mission. He was your personal support unit on the field. His face didn’t so much as twitch when you weren’t around—which wasn’t very often, because you two were glued at the hip—but when you were together, I swear I saw him smile. Wasn’t it just too convenient that you both reached the mountain lift at the exact time for you to ride together, everyday?”
You felt shame at doubting Tara’s friendship, flattered at how much she took notice of you, and something else at the thought of Zayne scrolling through his phone settings to look busy while waiting outside your cabin.
“I… appreciate?” you started, “This?” Tara began to vibrate excitedly; you recognized the beginnings of a monologue. Simone pulled out her phone and began scrolling.
“I’m saying you should tell him how you feel! I’ll eat my foot if he doesn’t feel the same way. Life’s too short! You deserve to be happy!” Tara’s eyes sparkled. “I know there’s a lot to be afraid of, but there’s more to look forward to!”
Simone found whatever she’d been looking for and stuck her phone between your face and Tara’s, interrupting her inspirational speech before it could really get going. She had Moments pulled up to a post from the very same bar crawl responsible for this intervention. You’re in a tiny red dress that makes your legs look a foot longer and you striking a silly pose for the camera.
“Forget the doctor. Look at all of these comments.” She took her phone back and scrolled to another picture, one of a particularly pink sunset. You saw suggestions on the best place to see the sunset, offers to go together next time. “Look at these. You’re drowning in options.” She opened one of the commenter’s profiles. “Isn’t this guy, like, a super famous artist or something?” She shook her head and pocketed her cell. “You’re a catch. I don’t doubt this doctor is into you, but you do not want to get into a relationship with another emergency responder. I dated a nurse once and we never had time to see each other. Plus, all those medical dramas are totally true; everyone’s screwing everyone at a hospital. How could they not? They spend more time with their coworkers than their families. It’s not worth it.”
Tara stood indignantly. “Simone! I thought you were agreeing with me!”
Simone shrugged apologetically, “You made better points for not telling him.” She turned to look at you, “I don’t want to see you get hurt. I’m not saying this to be mean. If he’s such a good friend, maybe it’s best to keep it that way.”
You nodded, trying to absorb this discussion. Simone and Tara continued amongst themselves, but you had too much to think about already. You tuned them out as you considered your next steps. You had no idea what you were to Zayne, not really. You’d only just reconnected before everything happened with your family; a lot of your earlier hangouts were just him making sure you were still eating.
Then, it was only that you kept running into each other. The ski lodge, the museum, the patisserie… And he was always so short with you when you arrived at the hospital injured after a mission. Maybe he just feels obligated to see you as a favor to Gran.
But then there were times that… it seemed like something more. You chewed on your thumb, remembering the time he walked you home after a lousy day. You remembered him grabbing your collar and pulling you under his umbrella, letting his hand travel across your shoulders as he let you go. You remembered snowmen on the roof, and peeled apples, and gaudy brooches…
You were pulled from your reverie by the call of your name. You focused your eyes on Tara and Simone, who both grinned at you more deviously than you liked. “What?” you ventured.
“We need to make him jealous,” Tara clapped her hands.
“What?” you turned to Simone, “I thought you said not to bother with him?”
Simone shook her head, “I still think that. I figure if he sees you’ve moved on, he’ll either confess or you, you know, you’ll have the chance to move on.”
“I know someone!” Tara said, “I can introduce you!”
“I know a good place to find someone, anyway,” Simone contributed. “Maybe you just need to get laid.”
“I don’t think I can do this,” you rushed, and put your hands up to quiet their interruptions. “If it isn’t Zayne, then—“ then I’m not interested. You swallowed. You started again, “Honestly, I don’t know if I’m ready to date anyone. I haven’t really dated since college… I guess I don’t even remember how,” you laugh, self-deprecatingly. You can see the evil gears turning in their evil heads; you need to convince them against this plan.
“You guys are such party-poopers!” Tara pouted. “Does no one believe in love anymore? Romance? Drama? The things that make life worth living?”
Thankfully, it was at this moment your watch sounded, signifying the presence of a Wanderer nearby. You flew out of your chair and shrugged on your jacket. Those cursed candies brushed against your knuckles as you slid your phone into your pocket, and you flustered all over again. Sparing a quick, relieved goodbye for your friends, you tugged a sulking Xavier out of the building and toward the blinking dot on your map.
- - - - - - - - -
You were back in the hospital. Seeing Zayne so soon after your physical made your stomach turn for multiple reasons. You knew you were to expect a scolding. You had pushed a Hunter out of the way and took the claw coming towards him to your flank. The wound didn’t seem too deep as far as you could tell, but the swelling suggested bruised ribs. You’d planned to put on a brave face, but every breath hurt; there was no way he’d be clearing you for duty anytime soon.
But you couldn’t stop thinking about what Tara said about that last mission. It’s true, you spent more time with Zayne than what would have been expected for a healthy hunter to spend with the medical team. He sought you out as much as you sought him. You stretched in your seat, letting the back of your head hit the wall with a soft thump.
Maybe you should just go home. It’s not like he can do anything for your ribs besides prescribe painkillers, and you had some leftover from the last stupid injury anyway. You weren’t sure you could face his raised eyebrow and disappointed hmmm’s after the day you’ve had.
Making up your mind, you stood and started toward the entrance, only to be stopped by someone in the familiar Hunter’s uniform. You blinked and looked up, and up, into the friendly blue eyes of the Hunter you’d pushed out of the way earlier. You hadn’t gotten much of a look at him in the field, but now you took a moment to take him in. He was charmingly tall and scruffy, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. You blinked at him questioningly.
“Miss Hunter? I’m Matthew, your damsel in distress from earlier?” He smiled, “One of your colleagues told me who you were. I wanted to thank you properly for what you did out there.”
You blinked again, “Oh! Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it! It’s what we do, right?” You took his outstretched hand to shake, and he did not let go right away.
“Maybe, but we don’t all look as good as you when we do it.” With effort, you didn’t pull your hand back. Heat crawled up your neck as you wondered which one of your “colleagues” passed along your name.
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking his hand back. “What I mean to say is, I’d like to thank you over dinner sometime?” He nodded at your side, stained from the fight. “After you’re feeling better, of course. I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re kinda famous around the Association, you know. You don’t meet too many Anhausen class Evolvers, sure, but your stats at the shooting range… Wow.”
You grinned, flattered despite yourself. You were a pretty good shot. A damn good shot, actually. You felt suddenly revived, and he seemed to take this for permission.
“At the very least, let me get you a drink at the next crawl—“
“Seeing as how she’s only just recovered from her last senseless injury,” cut in a cold voice, “I don’t think she’ll be attending any crawls anytime soon.” You froze, feeling… guilty? Caught?
“Senseless?” Matthew repeated. “That Wanderer would have done way more damage if it wasn’t for her.” He smiled at you, “She’s a hero.” Matthew sealed the deal with a cheeky wink and you responded with a proud grin.
“I did not say she was not a good Hunter,” Zayne conceded, pressing a hand flat against your back, between your shoulder blades. You shivered. “I’m saying she is a terrible patient. Come, let’s see what you’ve done now.”
He directed you towards his office. You turned to throw Matthew an apologetic smile over your shoulder, but found him much closer than you expected.
“Wait! Before you go, can I give you my number? Think about what I said. If not the next crawl, maybe we could go somewhere… quieter?” You thought you felt Zayne’s fingers curl before his hand dropped from your back. Two sets of eyes expectantly bore into you. Shyly, you tapped your phone against his and swapped contact information. You were released from the stares with a friendly bow of his head, followed by one rather more curt towards Zayne. You were too afraid to look at your doctor. By the time you'd summoned the courage, he’d resumed the walk to his office.
He must have expected the urge you had to run, because he turned to make sure you were following. Sighing, you made your way. All sounds fell away except for the heavy impact of your steel-toed boots on the linoleum. You willed your heart to steady; you didn’t need to give Zayne any more reason to complain.
He gestured for you to sit atop the examination bed and you meekly obeyed. You didn’t want to unfasten your uniform; it felt like the only thing holding your ribs together. The fall of adrenaline from that bizarre hallway encounter had you feeling every ache twice-fold.
More softly than you would have expected, but still enough to make you jump, Zayne asked, “Do you need help?” He nodded towards your vest. You shook your head quickly.
“Dr. Zayne, it’s really not as bad as it…” You trailed off, recognizing the meaning behind his lifted eyebrow. “I think I just bruised my ribs…”
“Just?” he murmured. Zayne put on gloves and watched your face as you unbuckled and unbuttoned. You hissed as you awkwardly shrugged the vest off your shoulders and shakily began to unbutton your shirt. Zayne’s frown only grew.
- - - - - - - - -
Your assumption was shared by Zayne, but he sent you off for x-rays anyway. You should have taken the opportunity to run, because the imaging revealed you’d actually fractured your ribs. His lips pressed into a tight line as he reviewed the images.
“So we can take field operations out of the picture for the next two months,” he stated.
“Two months?” you started. He put a hand up to stop you.
“But I’ll clear you for desk duty after a week,” he looked you over. “After two weeks.”
“Zayne—I mean, Dr. Zayne,” his frown returned, “I’ve broken a rib before—“ he hummed disapprovingly, “and I was fine after a month, honest.”
He moved to sit at his desk and began typing. He didn’t look back at you. You felt fury rise in your chest.
“Mina, it’s precisely because of your long list of injuries that I’m telling you to rest.” You heard the sound of his computer shutting down, and he began to adjust files and papers on his desk. He paused to pinch his brow. “I don’t know how else to make you take your health seriously.”
“This is my job,” you said, with effort to not stomp your foot. “My job is to help people. Sometimes I get hurt, but I can handle it. It’s the job, and I’m good at my job.”
“You have a heart condition.”
“I have a duty—“
“As your doctor, I have a duty to—“
“Pot!” you shouted. “Kettle!” You gestured angrily towards him, “When’s the last time you had a vacation? An eight hour’s rest? How—how dare you act all high and mighty when—“ You cut yourself off abruptly, scrubbing your face with your hands. Your gesticulating left you aching. “Whatever. I’m going home.” You fought to keep the momentum of sliding off the examination table as you walked toward the exit, despite the rawness of your entire torso.
You felt so stupid and pissed. You needed to get it through your head. He only saw you as the scrappy kid you used to be, he saw you as a patient. You yanked your coat off the hook by the door, and a candy went flying from your pocket, skittering towards his desk. You hesitated, long enough to hear yourself. Did you really just raise your voice at Zayne? It pissed you off even more to act as childish as he saw you, but before you could make up your mind on apologizing, a cold hand circled your wrist.
You turned to face him, your mouth slightly open. He was looking somewhere near your ear.
“Let me…” he let go of your hand. “Let me take you home,” he said, but you could tell he was making an effort to turn it into a question, an offer.
You harrumphed. He waited.
“…How much longer are you going to be?” you asked, finally. His shoulders relaxed. He took his coat off the rack as well, briefly caging you with his arm.
“Please,” he said, opening the door. “After you.”
The walk to the garage was terrible. He slowed his pace to match your exhausted one, which allowed every passing doctor, nurse, and patient, past or present, to capture him for briefings and catch-ups, leaving you uncomfortably hunched over behind him. He finally had to plant his wide palm at the curve of your spine and usher you to the elevator, curled in toward you as if you were sharing secrets and not just reminders to breathe slow and muttered complaints that yes, Zayne, you were, indeed, obviously, loudly breathing.
He opened the car door for you in a way that still somehow pissed you off, maybe because of how it made your chest ache in a way unrelated to the fracture. You fastened your seatbelt, and leaned back against the headrest. You closed your eyes.
The lecture wasn’t anything new, and it never upset you like this; it’s the thought of two months without Hunting that drove you mad. How could Zayne keep you from your mission? He knew how important it was for you to find answers about your family. There was only so much you could do behind a desk. Granted, a significant part of your search had technically been conducted off-duty, but still.
You thought you were still conscious until you actually were, awoken by the gentle stroke of Zayne’s thumb across your inner wrist. You blinked at him, and were too tired to be embarrassed of your tired whine of a woman who didn’t want to get out of a heated passenger seat.
“We’re here,” he said, unnecessarily. He didn’t let go of your wrist. You two sat for so long that your eyelashes started to flutter again, and he huffed a little laugh. He met you at your door, opening it up and offering you a hand. Sleepily, you took it.
You walked silently to your apartment door, unsure if you were waiting for an apology or for the nerve to give one. You felt wide awake and nervous by the time you were pressing your finger on your lock. You kicked your shoes off and wavered, before his pair joined your own on the ground. Somewhat relieved you two weren’t parting with a final conversation so heated, you hobbled to your bathroom.
“I need to shower,” you said quietly. “I feel like garbage.” He hummed, and started the kettle. You watched his back for a moment before shutting the door behind you.
The shower was glorious, but it wasn’t long before the steam left you feeling wobbly. You scrubbed off the blood and dirt and then just stood under the stream. Honestly, you didn’t feel so bad. Your ribs ached, but it wouldn’t be long until you recovered. Two weeks before desk duty was overkill enough, but two months before you could get back into the field? Your family’s been dead nearly a year now, and your electrocardiograms have been stellar; when was Zayne going to stop babying you? Why did he even bother? You shut off the shower before you got too angry again.
You briefly considered skipping your after-shower routine before deciding not to give Zayne any reason to think you were incapable. Grumpy, you massaged creams into your face and hair and body. You wrapped yourself in your towel and set for a fresh change of pajamas.
You padded into the kitchen to find Zayne had cleaned your leftover dishes and pan from breakfast on top of brewing fragrant tea. Guilt began to overtake your anger. He was tapping on his laptop, hair dryer pointedly resting on the coffee table. You brought two cups to the couch and sat beside him quietly. You forgot to put on socks, and figuring if he could make himself comfortable, you could too. You stuck your toes under his thighs and stared at him.
His lips twitched, his version of a whole smile, and with a few final keyboard strokes, shut his laptop and wound his long fingers around your ankle. You finally looked each other in the eye since raising your voices. He squeezed your ankle and released you.
“I am not trying to—“ he started, at the same time you began, “Zayne, I shouldn’t have—“
You both gestured for each other to go on. Seconds passed. You swallowed, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I know you’re just doing your job. Thank you for taking me home, and for the tea, and the,” you gestured, “everything.” You pulled at a thread on your shirt. “I promise to take it easy.”
Zayne frowned, “And I know you’re just doing your job. I’m not trying to punish you, per se. You’ve taken some hard hits recently, and worked late nights. Please, think of this as a vacation,” you huffed at this. “You are—that is, I want to—“ He looked at his lap, at your ankles. “It’s important to let your body fully recover,” he said, then more quietly, as if to himself, “and not just for your health.” He reached for his tea cup and brought it to his lips. After a sip, he added, “I’m taking a vacation myself.”
You remembered your earlier charge of hypocrisy and tugged the string fully off your shirt, watching the hem bunch up. “Starting when?”
He took another drink, “The end of the week, actually.”
You squinted at him. “Oh, just in time for you to make sure I’m following doctor’s orders yourself, then,” you accused, not unkindly. You nudged him with the toes under his thigh.
He reached for the hairdryer, “You can rest assured I’ll be stopping by to check on you before then. Here,” he plugged it into the wall and stood behind you. The cord didn’t offer much slack, but he began spreading your hair over the back of the couch anyway. “I have an early surgery tomorrow. Allow me this, and then I’ll leave you alone before you really start thinking I’m a bother.”
“Too late for that,” you sing-songed, already over it all. You were pleased for his touch, and, after thinking it over, you realized you’d finally have time to binge that show Tara and Lois have been raving about. A new claw machine was coming to the arcade, and you loved to drag Rafayel to the kitty cafe and watch him squirm. Your investigation had already been stalled; you had to wait until your contact got back to you anyway. Zayne promised to visit.
After your pampering, including a blissful mini head massage from the ever-patient Dr. Zayne, you walked him to the door. He paused in the doorway, shrugging on his jacket. “I’ll bring you dinner tomorrow,” he declared, and you couldn’t complain about that. Then he left, and your apartment was silent.
You crashed as soon as your head hit the pillow, and before you could consider that silence any further.