by Robyn Elliot
“The nurse told me you were having a severe anxiety attack, Danny.”
Danny shifted uncomfortably, his face burning anew. Stephane let his eyes move over the now rosy cheeked face. He hadn’t minded being directed to the courthouse by Katharine at Danny’s Chambers; in fact, noted Stephane, she’d positively ordered him to take Danny’s coat to him.
“Oh yes, yes, Court Three, it’s nearly lunchtime, so he’ll be out shortly, if you wait in the foyer, there’s a coffee machine, directly opposite Court Three, he’ll be so grateful for his coat being returned…Stephane, is it? Yes, I’m Katharine, Danny’s friend, he was mentioning how he needed his coat, but kept putting off going back to Guillaume's for some reason…Stephane, that would be just fantastic if you could spare the time and take him his coat, I mean, he’d love to see you anyway, for sure...”
Not so much bring me the head of that Garcia guy, rather bring the coat of Daniel Hastings…or something like that. And Stephane certainly got the picture, as Katharine had virtually frog marched him through the reception of Morton Chambers, out onto the street with clear directions to the Law Courts, and be sharpish about it.
Stephane took Danny’s hand again, and this time he held it between both of his, so that Danny couldn’t withdraw it. His fingers stroked lightly, making Danny close his eyes, the sensation inflammatory.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Danny,” Stephane’s soothing accent caused a further bout of inflammation, as Danny raised his knees upwards.
“My life is over,” he heard himself saying, surprising himself. Here he was, confessing the worst, to a stranger. A stranger who was holding his hand, stroking it.
“I doubt that, Danny,” came the gentle response. Instead of reacting defensively, his default position, Danny just closed his eyes, and pressed his free hand, trembling, over them.
Weeks, months, years of strain and confusion seemed to be pushing Danny to the urge of bursting into tears in front of the most gorgeous man he’d ever set eyes upon. Not good, he was thinking, as he suppressed the lump forming in his throat, not cool. Get a grip, Danny, he urged himself, for once in my life…
The impending emotional tempest faded for the moment, and Danny lowered his hand. He extricated his other hand from Stephane's gentle but firm grip. Stephane leaned forward, his eyes studying Danny closely.
“When was the last time you really relaxed, or enjoyed yourself, Danny?”
“I can’t remember…” Danny looked at Stephane incredulously, “I can’t bloody remember.”
Stephane shook his head. He didn’t doubt it for a moment. This crazy uptight guy was in need of some serious r and r therapy. That, and quitting his job. He decided to keep that piece of insightful wisdom to himself. For now. For now? That meant there was going to be another chance to sit and talk with this annoying, weird guy.
Stephane was trying to rid himself of the image of Danny when he found him, in a shrieking, laughing heap on the floor. He was trying to work out why he was actually here, and not a million, metaphorical miles away, instead of sitting at the guy’s bedside; trying to understand why a pale, slender guy, so not my type, Stephane struck up his mantra again, was making him want to stay, and keeping looking at that lovely face.
A thought occurred to him. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I had a good rummage in your pockets…well, my brother’s girlfriend did, to be completely truthful…and we found your business card.”
Danny nodded, seemingly satisfied, then it occurred to him again. “But the court?”
Stephane smiled, folding his arms, tilting his head to one side. Danny swallowed hard again, thinking how good the guy looked, in everything he did. “Katharine.”
The one word had a curious effect on Danny, as Stephane saw him roll his eyes to the ceiling. “I might have known,” Danny muttered, “she can’t help herself, it’s an affliction.”
“She’s obviously a good friend,” Stephane fished. Danny shot him a look. He must be picking up the gaydar, surely, thought Danny. But then, I’m not. Is he flirting with me, or is my cock operating mission control?
“She is, when she’s not trying to arrange my life for me.”
“Does that include your love life?” Stephane asked quickly.
Danny coughed, masking the spluttering at Stephane’s no messing persona. “Occasionally,” he hinted.
Stephane gave him a sultry, slow smile. “And do you think that’s what she was doing today, Danny?”
Danny felt his blush rising again. Blast bloody pale skin, he was thinking, I need a tan, and I need one now! But he decided to go for broke, seeing as Stephane’s eyes were moving over his flushing cheekbones, watching Danny turn a fetching shade of vermilion.
“Probably,” Danny took a deep breath, reckoning that the circle of his humiliation for today wasn’t fully completed, “her gaydar is usually pretty good.”
There, it was out. So to speak. Danny braced himself for the crushing blow.
Stephane stood up, unsmiling, the ironic humor quickly disappearing from his eyes; and leaned on the harsh, metallic rails of the gurney, Danny looking up at him. His gray eyes suddenly seemed darker, as he gazed intently at Danny.
The heart monitor was going haywire. The beeping sounds, not so long ago giving Danny a mental massage, were jumping all over the place, bouncing off the clinical white walls like ricocheting bullets. Stephane’s eyes slid to the monitor, seeing the green line flickering up and down with abandon, as if it understood that the guy its electrodes were attached to, had a heart that had no intention of giving up.
Well, well, thought Stephane, just as I thought; there’s more than a spark behind those lovely eyes, I suspect there’s a guy waiting to explode. In the best way possible.
“Hmm, I can’t disagree about her gaydar,” Stephane said, his voice low, making sweat break out on Danny’s brow. The monitor kept up its now insane pace, as Stephane and Danny gazed at each other. Danny coughed again, this time, from a genuinely dry throat. That, and a wave of dizziness from Stephane's direct gaze, making him feel light-headed.
Stephane disappeared outside for a few moments. Whilst he was gone, Danny started to button his shirt, the electrodes entangled, registering further protests. He patted his cheeks, trying to cool himself down, then sat rigidly again as Stephane walked back in with a plastic cone of water.
Danny took it gratefully, and drained the contents of the cone greedily. He hadn’t realized how parched he was.
“I think the doctor’s on her way,” Stephane started saying. Before Stephane could finish, a woman even younger than the nurse, came into the room, following in Stephane’s alluring wake.
“Daniel Hastings?” she asked, picking up the chart. Like the nurse, she didn’t wait for a response from the seriously ill patient. They’d already been discussing him, the beautiful young guy and his concerned, stunning, French boyfriend.
She leaned over the screen at the heart monitor, nodded seemingly in satisfaction.
“You’ve got a good strong heartbeat there, Daniel, so we’ll get you off this in a second. How are you feeling?”
She glanced at Stephane, before fixing her cool gaze on Danny.
“I haven’t had a heart attack, then?” Danny seeking reassurance, his voice small, from feeling ridiculous.
“No, but you are suffering from severe stress, and that’s serious enough,” the doctor intoned. She looked at Stephane expectantly. “He’ll need lots of TLC,” the doctor began her prescribing, ignoring Danny, “and time off work, with plenty of rest, decent diet, and sleep…oh, and doing nothing strenuous.” She colored very slightly, her eyes moving from Stephane to Danny, then cleared her throat.
Danny, wanting the earth to swallow him up, looked from Stephane to Dr Ruth, resisting the urge to wave his hand and say, er, hello, I’m still here in the bloody room?
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he does all of that…and definitely nothing strenuous,” Stephane assured, as
Danny shook his head and sighed, leaning back against the pillows, eyes closed, in a gesture of defeat, “although, is slow and gentle okay?”
Danny opened his eyes rapidly, and gave Stephane an incredulous look.
The doctor laughed, writing something on Danny’s chart. “Yes, as long as Danny is happy with that!” she said.
Danny looked from one conspirator to the other, both of them evidently construing to make his head entirely blow off. Stephane laughed softly, winking at the doctor, who had the grace, at least, to color a little more.
“I’m going to prescribe you some medication, Danny,” the doctor clearing her throat again.
“Don’t want it…won’t take it,” came the stubborn reply.
“Then I advise you to see your general practitioner – you’ll need to anyway, to sign off work for a while.”
“I’m self-employed,” Danny muttered, then looked at Stephane with a kind of lost look in his eyes. Stephane took his hand, held it, making Danny catch his breath. What the hell was going on here? Pity? Lust? Novelty?
“I’ll make sure he goes,” Stephane promised, and Danny raised his brows in a blend of puzzlement and the growing sensation of quite liking how this bossy French guy was, well, bossing him. As well as intensely annoying him at the same time. Didn’t he have tables to wait; or rather, not wait on?
The doctor seemed satisfied that Danny was to be left to the tender care of an evidently loving boyfriend.
“I’ll get a nurse to discharge you, Danny, and I’ll give you a letter for your doctor.”
“Thank you,” Danny said, making a mental note to steam that open later and peruse just exactly how mad he was.
She made to go, then paused, looking between Stephane and Danny.
“Look after him,” she said to Stephane.
Stephane turned to Danny, the smoky eyes moving over the pale, confused features.
“I will…whether he likes it or not,” he promised, and Danny decided he would like it.
He would like it very much.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stephane followed Danny out of the emergency department, his eyes moving over Danny’s long back, now clad in the overcoat that would indeed better suit a 60-year-old guy. Still, thought Stephane, at least this little interlude – shit, I’m late for my shift – has convinced me this crazy guy really is, well, crazy, but also really, really beautiful. I didn’t see it at first, he thought, as the bright glare of daylight greeted them outside; he’s a stunning guy, just not what I usually go for. And anyway, as Stephane opened the taxi door for Danny, oddly enough, I don’t want to fuck his brains out. Well, maybe just a bit of brain fuckery, but there’s something else going on here…
They sat in silence in the taxi, not looking at each other, both of them suddenly fascinated by what was going on beyond the Perspex windows, onto the rain washed streets. By the time they reached Danny’s flat, it was bucketing down.
Stephane gallantly paid the driver, much to Danny’s protests.
“I know, I know, I’m a struggling waiter…come on, we’re getting wet, here!”
Danny fumbled for his keys, in a zipped side compartment of his briefcase. Stephane made a point of dramatically shivering on the doorstep, the collar of his leather jacket pulled up to keep out the raging tempest.
Danny finally extricated his keys, and opened the door, both of them spilling into the hallway as the rain lashed down. Stephane shut the door, as Danny took off the overcoat, hanging it on a coat hook.
They hadn’t debated, as the taxi had arrived quickly, whether Stephane would continue his single handed rescue of Danny, and they had sat together in the taxi, the silence uncomfortable. It didn’t help when the taxi driver gave them the benefit.
“Bloody hell, mate, if you don’t mind me saying…” I do, Danny thought silently, whatever it is, I do, “but you look frigging awful…like you need a blood transfusion, or something?”
Thanks, van Helsing.
“Apparently, it’s a very rare disease,” Stephane had leaned forward, to fully fill in the taxi driver on Danny’s predicament, “contagious too, highly unpredictable; involves a lot of projectile vomiting, along with bouts of extreme violence…”
Stephane sat back, smiling, holding the glare from the rear view mirror. The taxi driver suitably silenced, Danny had closed his eyes, leaning his brow on the cool window, thinking was it really only five hours ago that he had been standing in a courtroom, his life still in relative order. Very relative order, as he had taken a sneak glance at Stephane.
For a few moments, they stood together in the hallway, in awkward silence. There was a whirring sound, followed by a series of clicks.
“The heating coming on,” Danny explained, not wanting to meet Stephane’s eyes.
“Oh,” Stephane nodded, having no problem meeting Danny’s eyes. Then, he decided he had better go for broke himself. “I should be at the restaurant…” his voice trailed away, as Danny looked at him then, nodding bravely.
“Of course; thank you so much, Stephane, really, thank you,” and he extended his hand for Stephane to shake. Stephane looked down at the lean, long fingered hand, immaculate nails, orderly, controlled, very English.
“I could stay for a coffee, then go and do my shift…Guillaume can’t sack me, he wouldn’t dare,” he laughed gently, doing that thing that Danny noticed he did a lot, raising his brows slightly to emphasize his words. Whilst Stephane was thinking Danny typically English, Danny was doing the same thing in French reverse.
“Wouldn’t he? Does he owe you money, or something?” Danny laughed, slightly forced, but it was some progress, Stephane thought.
“No,” Stephane smiled, and walked past Danny, inviting himself into the kitchen “but he is my brother, more’s the pity.” Stephane frowned, his eyes moving over the immaculate kitchen. Danny walked in behind him, still registering that the highly organized Guillaume was this guy’s brother.
“Do you actually cook anything in here?” Stephane asked teasingly, but it was the wrong thing to do.
Danny took off his jacket, placing it neatly over a chair, then gave Stephane a furious look. It wasn’t lost on Stephane; order, before everything, even emotion.
“I’m too busy to cook!” came the snappy response, as he filled the kettle, aware Stephane’s eyes were moving over him, trying to fathom the mad professor. He turned around quickly, to see Stephane was checking him out, the smoky eyes moving slowly over Danny’s bottom.
“Sorry!” Stephane laughed again, completely unabashed. He took off his jacket and lay it across the table, Danny frowning slightly as he did so. “Do you want me to hang it on the peg? Too untidy for you? Need a spot of ironing done, to get out all those kinks?”
Danny flicked the switch on the kettle, and without another word, swept back into the hallway and switched on the answer machine. He braced himself. He could hear Stephane making his kitchen untidy, over the swelling thrum of the kettle, the chink of cups, cupboards being opened and shut, as he searched for coffee and sugar.
Danny closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Opening them again, he played his messages.
“Hello Danny, it's Mum; I haven’t heard from you for a couple of days, darling, I hope you’re all right, and not working too hard, though I know you will be of course. Darling, please ring me, I’ll cook you some nice lunch, and you can tell me about those painting ideas you were mentioning the other week…speak soon, mmuah, love you, darling!”
Stephane’s ears pricked up, as he poured boiling water over the coffee granules. Hmm, instant coffee; he'd have to change that. Painting? The mad scientist? I presume the arty type, not the hard gloss finish type?
“Oh hi, message for Mr. Hastings; just to let you know your canvas has arrived, we need a delivery date and time, can you get back to me on this number, er, contact James Porter, on 020 66…”
“What the fucking hell are you playing at, Picasso?”
Stephane carefully placed the mug
s on the table, and went to stand at the door, watching Danny leaning over his answer machine, his body slumped with fatigue. “Do you know how that makes us look, a fucking Justice ringing me to tell me you’re at it again, with your fucking vapors? Danny, I’m a reasonable man, but you’d try the fucking patience of a fucking saint, do you know that? Just as well I was here to fucking handle it - think yourself fucking lucky it wasn’t Jack who took the call, it’d be around every fucking Chambers in the fucking cosmos by now…”
“You mean, it isn’t, already?” Danny interjected, sighing, rubbing at his eyes.
“I was supposed to be fucking working from home this morning!” the tirade continued.
“Shagging from home, you mean?” further objection from Mr. Hastings, there.
“Now I’ve got your shit to fucking clean up, again…Maria de Luis can take over with Bob Winter, and I’ll have to pass your other shit onto Katharine, though seeing as she’s your partner in fucking crime, you can split the fucking fees, don’t think you’re getting full fucking whack for lying on the fucking sofa jacking off all fucking day…” Danny pressed Delete, Hugo cut off in the elegance of his oratory.
“Articulate, isn't he?” Danny turned, saw Stephane standing there, looking too handsome to be in his flat at all. “He shouldn’t be speaking to you like that, he sounds a complete piece of shit…your boss, I suppose?”
“Head of Chambers. Now who's articulate?” Danny muttered.
Stephane assumed a slightly distracted expression. “It’s the door on the left,” Danny responded.
Danny watched Stephane go into his loo. One more message. Danny looked down the hallway, saw the door securely shut, and pressed Play.
“Hi babe! Look, by the time you get this, you’ll have probably already been shagged sideways by that bloody gorgeous piece of arse I sent your way…no, no, don’t thank me, just lie back and think of France as he humps you into submission. Mind, I expect full details, and I mean, all the ins and outs, the size of his cock, is he as good a shag as he looks, all that; I’ll ring you later, that’s if you can speak of course, I know how difficult it is to speak with your mouth full…” Danny blew out his cheeks, cringing. God, Katharine was bloody certifiable. He pressed Delete, and abruptly turned, to see Stephane standing, grinning at him.
