by P. W. Davies
Slowly, the world filtered back into focus. The last embers of Christian’s ghost dissipated, leaving him standing alone again, his eyes opening while he struggled to catch his breath. Swallowing against a dry throat, he straightened his posture, shivering with the last jolts running up his spine.
It’d been too long since the fantasies had been reality, but that seemed to be his life these days.
The remainder of the shower lasted half the time. Fatigue settled in again, making its unwelcome presence known through the final rinse and toweling off. Peter plodded past the barely-used kitchen on his way to the loft and climbed the steep flight of stairs up to where he slept. Somehow, he managed to throw on a pair of pajama pants before collapsing into bed, and remembered to set his alarm while curling under the covers. The promise of five hours of sleep, and the heady buzz from coming threatened to pull him under.
Yes, he still saw Christian in his mind as he shut his eyes, but the warning came with it. Bad boys never knew how to tend a heart like his, and were an indulgence he’d long since learned he should stay away from, regardless of how unattainable the suits were in contrast. His parents would’ve wanted him pursuing something less dangerous; someone a hell of a lot more stable.
“After residency,” he reminded himself, before finally falling asleep.
Two
“… I knew you were trouble when you walked in, so shame on me now…”
One bleary eye opened before the other, the expression on Peter’s face registering confusion as his waking brain tried to determine what was happening. Streams of music poured from the clock radio on the nightstand beside his bed, the volume set far louder than might have been considered reasonable. He blinked against sleep, his eyelids wanting to shut again despite the cacophony of pop music blaring offense into his ears.
That was, until his phone joined the chorus.
Peter groaned and reached first for the radio. Slapping at it, he managed to hit a button that stopped the racket, and then fumbled through the tangled mess of sheets for where his phone had disappeared. With one swipe of his finger, the sirens ceased, but by that point, the damage had already been done. Stretching his limbs first, Peter flopped outward from a curled position and yawned. Afternoon was upon him, and another shift at the hospital lay in wait.
The coffeemaker percolated while the microwave heated something that vaguely resembled food. It took until he polished off his coffee for him to remember Christian, giving the other man one last shiver of acknowledgement as he gelled down his unruly locks of brown and finished shaving. Out the door a mere few minutes later, he determined avoiding the patient would be in his best interests for the remainder of Christian’s stay. Even if a pang of guilt echoed at recalling those plaintive blue eyes.
His plan bore all the earmarks of potential success. He had the will to resist temptation, and spent the subway ride into work repeating it like a mantra – a few months left of residency. Beyond that, though, he reminded himself he wanted something more stable in his future; something with a better chance at being an actual relationship and not a casual fling. Yes, Christian was pretty, but he also didn’t seem like the type of guy who knew what commitment was. The aura of mystery surrounding him was enticing. It also reminded Peter that something shady lurked on the other side of that seductive grin.
Walking through the doors of Temple University Hospital, Peter squared his shoulders. It was safer this way, he told himself, wading into another night of drunks, overdoses, and bar fights.
The sun crested the horizon twelve hours later and brought with it the end of one shift. When his alarm clock summoned him awake again, he started the whole process over, without another thought spared toward Christian Mason. Almost immediately after he changed into his scrubs, a patient walked through the doors complaining of heart palpitations and after that, a man with chest pain which turned out to be indigestion. By the third case of the night, Peter had hit a stride, carrying him to his first break.
As he returned to the floor, however, he paused in front of one of the bays and furrowed his brow at the shut curtain. The silhouette of an IV pole and a man lying on the cot piqued his curiosity, and as he looked for an attending doctor, all his co-workers appeared embroiled in different patients. ‘We keep people waiting all the time,’ he thought. ‘And if this one’s getting admitted, then there’s probably a paperwork bottleneck.’ Still, there seemed to be something familiar, luring him closer to the bay.
No, he told himself. It couldn’t be.
Peter pulled the curtain back enough to slip inside before drawing it shut behind him. As he turned, he caught his breath and blinked while the man lying before him smiled at the look on Peter’s face. “Dr. Dawes,” Christian said, his eyes sparkling with mischief while his grin took on a playful tenor. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were avoiding me.”
His arm remained immobilized in the sling, held close to his body with the IV line running from a needle in the back of his hand. Christian’s other hand rested on his stomach for the moment, but shifted to clutch onto the cot while he struggled upright. The effort to move made him wince, but when Peter motioned to help, he shook his head again. “I won a fight against taking anything more than Tylenol,” Christian said, “and I don’t intend to lose ground in that battle.”
“If you’re in pain, though…” Peter began before Christian shot him a cautionary look. Reconsidering pressing the matter, Peter took a deep breath, attempting to affix the mask of professionalism back into place. It faltered when the robe draped over Christian’s shoulders slackened. “Are you trying to get discharged?” Peter asked, keeping his eyes trained on Christian’s face.
“Post-operative infections keep one tethered to an IV pole, apparently, though by now I’m supposed to be finished with the antibiotics. Rest assured, if it was up to me, I’d be at home, watching the Great British Bake-Off.”
“Great British Bake-Off? And here, I wondered if that was an act.”
“Many things are with me, love. The way I speak isn’t one of them.” As he finished straightening into place, Christian made eye contact with Peter again, a wily smile betraying whatever embers of pain had yet to dissipate. His tongue darted out, licking his lips in what appeared a subconscious act. Something about the way Christian did it, however, bordered on obscene. “Why, do you fancy it?”
“Your accent?” Peter felt a flush creep up his neck while raising an eyebrow at the other man. “I think you’re confusing the purpose of a hospital. It’s supposed to be for healing, not picking up doctors. And if you’re recovering from an infection, you should be upstairs resting.”
“What I should be doing and what I am are often two completely different subjects. In that light, do you always invite yourself into private places, Doctor?”
“I had the suspicion you didn’t belong here. It turns out I was right.”
“Perhaps I was in search of a second opinion.” Tilting his head, Christian eyed the other man from feet to shoulders, his gaze finally returning to meet Peter’s as his smile broadened. “So… tell me, Dr. Dawes, am I mending to your satisfaction?”
Peter sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not your attending physician, Christian.” While the other man patiently held his gaze, Peter shook his head and paused to steal a glance outside the curtain. Disappearing back inside the bay, he drifted closer to the IV pole and crouched to study the display. “Looks like the antibiotics are finished, yeah. Give it another couple of hours and they might be able to remove this IV.”
“My dream of a shower might finally be in reach,” Christian said, kicking his feet while they dangled from the cot. When Peter met his eyes again, Christian sobered, but his gaze lost none of its smolder. “You remembered my name.”
“It was hard to forget.” Peter spoke the words before he could consider them, and winced against their issuance the moment they passed through his lips. “I mean to say, it’s an ironic name for you. I’m sure you g
et that a lot.”
“Only every other week for the better part of my life. You are a poor liar.”
“What was I lying about?”
“The intention of your comment. Your ears are pink right now.” A pause punctuated his comment. He waited until he had Peter’s full attention again before speaking, only this time the volume of his voice had lowered. Its tone crept across Peter’s skin like silk, reminding the young doctor of his own time in the shower, temptation threatening to coil itself around him. Peter swallowed hard, watching Christian slide down from the cot. “Tell me, who you are chastising not to confuse the purpose of a hospital, me or you?”
Peter froze in position. Something about the look in the other man’s eyes held him captive, threatening not to let him go. “Either way, it applies,” he said. “I should be calling security and telling them to take you back upstairs.”
“Should be. Could be. Aren’t. I’m not alone in noticing that, am I?” His feet touched the floor, one after the other, and as his good hand lifted from the bed, it lowered to his side. The way the patient paced closer to Peter bore deliberate slowness to it, drawing out the moment. “You didn’t come to see me, but you’ve thought about me, haven’t you?”
A lump threatened to form in Peter’s throat. “I think about the patients I’ve had a lot.”
“Do you come up to their rooms to visit them all personally, too?” He raised an eyebrow, stopping well within the taller man’s personal space. Craning his neck, Christian peered upward at him, the hand lifting once more, fingers toying with the neckline of Peter’s scrubs. “How did you picture me? Lying on my bed, unable to resist while you straddle me and had your way with me? Or isn’t that your particular brand of fantasy?”
The next breath which escaped Peter’s lungs bore a heavy amount of tension. “Not my preference, no.”
“You’re going to drive me mad with curiosity.”
“It’s not something I want to talk about.”
Christian chuckled softly. His fingers lifted, only to stray to the white coat which hung from Peter’s frame. Gathering a fistful of it, he used his hold on the doctor to press their bodies together, lifting onto his tiptoes until his mouth hovered above Peter’s. They brushed lips. “Well, take what you want from me,” he said. “You have me right here.”
“No.” Peter sighed. Taking a step back, he freed himself of whatever gravitational pull Christian had created in being too close to him. The other man watched, curious, while Peter sat on the cot. “You’re a patient, Christian, and we have rules about that. Maybe if we met somewhere else, I’d consider letting you buy me a drink or something like that, but this…” He shook his head. “No, I can’t do this.”
While he expected the rejection to dissuade Christian, he only seemed to look more intrigued. “You won’t deny that you’re attracted to me, though,” he said. Peter frowned at Christian, prompting him to chuckle. “You are such a Boy Scout. So bent upon doing the right thing while there’s a part of you screaming to do something reckless. Can’t you hear it?”
“Ignoring it. I have my reasons.”
“I think you’re pent up, but who am I to argue with your reasons?” When Christian’s smile broadened, Peter didn’t know whether to be aroused or perturbed. “Doctor, you’re in danger of breaking my heart.”
“Why?” he asked. “Because I won’t disappear into a supply closet with you?”
“No, because you seem bent to refuse me altogether.” Christian sighed in a dramatic fashion. “I’m not usually one to pry, but you have me fascinated. What reasons would have you deny being interested in another person?” Peter sighed, but Christian held up a finger to stop him. “Apart from the fact that you’re on duty. I do understand that. My pernicious flirting aside, maybe I am asking you out for a drink once I’m freed from this purgatory.”
“I don’t know about that, either, Christian.” His hand lifted, fingers combing through the locks of his hair while he stole a glance toward the side. Nobody, it seemed, had paid them any attention. People shuffled around the bays in their normal observance of hospital life, the ebb and flow having a certain kind of rhythm he always found comforting, ignorant of anything else.
Turning his head, his gaze returned to Christian. As he peered into those clear, blue eyes, the look behind them turned coaxing; unrelenting. “I’m a busy guy,” he began, shifting slightly in position as if to give certain parts a chance to calm down. “Dating always turns out to be a train wreck because of it.”
The lazy smile springing to life across Christian’s lips reached his eyes, the look of amusement refusing to wane anytime soon. He nodded, attempting to appear thoughtful while glancing away. “You lot always take yourself seriously,” he observed, “Believe me, I know someone else just like you. I think it’s in your blood.” His gaze flicked down to the tiled floor and back up to Peter, regarding the taller man through his lashes. His grin broadened. “Think about it?”
Peter regarded Christian like a parent worn down by a recalcitrant child. He nodded, surrendering to the admission that yes, he wanted to do something reckless; something careless with this man. Even if it was against his better judgment. “Talk to me again when you’re not a patient and I won’t get in trouble for fraternizing with you.”
“Ooh, fraternizing. How scandalous.”
“In the meantime, don’t give your actual doctor such a hard time?”
Christian lifted his good hand and traced a cross over his heart. “On my best behavior,” he said. “I’ll even return to my room all good and proper without you needing to call security.” Motioning toward the edge of the curtain, he paused while consummating his departure, seeming to chew on his final words before looking back at Peter and speaking them. “Good evening, love. We’ll see each other soon.”
While he remained stationary, Peter watched the entire time as the other man emerged from behind the curtain, pulling his IV pole with him. Christian gasped when one of the doctors noticed him. “Bollocks,” he said. “I’m lost. Where do you keep the bloody cafeteria?” The doctor responded with normal protocol and Peter chuckled at the thought of Christian playing dumb to avoid getting into trouble. It filled his chest with warmth despite himself.
He felt the fondness lingering with him even after he emerged from the bay and resumed taking patients. As much as he didn’t want to admit how endearing he found the other man, the evidence carried through from the smile he wore to the tenor of his pace later, when he descended the stairs to the subway with an added spring to his step. The music playing in his earbuds had an optimistic tone and as he settled into rest, the grin remained affixed into place while he fell asleep.
Waking the next afternoon didn’t bring the thought of Christian directly to mind. Something about approaching the hospital at the beginning of his shift reminded him that he’d promised he would consider the thought of one drink or dinner to his former patient, though, in direct defiance of his better judgment. He chewed on that thought until taking his first break of the night, slipping away from the hospital campus to buy a cup of coffee at a nearby coffee shop before it had a chance to close. Standing in line, a yawn crested past his lips while his eyes surveyed his choices.
“It seems you’ve come to the right place if you’re already tired, Doctor.”
The voice spoke from behind and to the side of him and as Peter turned his head, he realized he knew its owner. Its English lilt still echoed in his head as his eyes took in the sight of Christian, standing beside one of the high-top tables with a mischievous smirk curling the corners of his mouth. His injured arm remained useless and in a sling, while the other hand hung unencumbered by his side. A clean, black shirt, and fresh pair of jeans replaced the hospital gown, and a new leather coat protected one arm while being draped over the other. When Peter’s eyes met the other man’s, he found himself at a loss for words.
“Allow me the pleasure of buying you a coffee,” he said, unapologetic when he assumed a place in line bes
ide Peter. “Considering I was on my way to speak to you. Perhaps, If I’m fortunate, I might make a compelling case for other things.”
Three
As Peter sat across from Christian, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands, he raised an eyebrow at the other man and attempted to weigh him. Christian settled into the chair opposite him, pausing to take a drink of his beverage, the curl of his lips affected like a permanent fixture. His gaze lingered on Peter, remaining there while he lowered the paper cup down to the table. “I’ll admit,” he said, “I didn’t know I might run into you here. If I was a superstitious man, I’d be tempted to call it kismet.”
Peter fought against the blush wanting to surface on his cheeks. ‘Not now,’ he thought. ‘Need to think with your head and not with other things…’ “I didn’t know you were much of a coffee drinker,” he said. “Don’t you all normally drink tea more?”
Christian snorted. “Am I in danger of being stereotyped by you?”
“Is that a stereotype?”
“It is, absolutely. Never mind how many times I prove it true.”
“Sort of like the fear I have that you snuck out of the hospital rather than waiting to be discharged.” Peter raised an eyebrow, challenging Christian with the expression.
The other man smirked, leaning forward in his chair. “No, my dear Doctor, that is more reputation than stereotyping. Though, I wonder if I should be offended you think I would defy the orders of a medical professional.” Christian clucked his tongue and glanced away. A small swath of college-aged people caught his eye, his gaze lingering before returning to Peter. “No, I didn’t sneak out. I did, however, take the attending physician’s recommendation I stay another day as more of a suggestion.”
