by Willa Okati
In relative silence. Wait. What?
Nathan could only stare. Luz had climbed into her mother’s lap, yes, but she’d let Fitz take her hands and pat them together. He spoke in soft, fluent Spanish. Where had he learnt—? God, it hardly mattered. He needed to learn the language himself—could Fitz teach him? If nothing else, the magic words a doctor could use to calm a terrified child?
You sound like you’re planning on his sticking around.
Nathan gave himself a good hard shake. Think about it later. Scarlett O’Hara had that much right, anyway.
He crouched in front of Luz. “Okay, hon. Ready to give me your arm?”
She screamed, and would have carried on screaming if Fitz hadn’t distracted her. Fitz took her small right hand and showed her how to make a fist, and how to feign jabs at him. She didn’t mind that. She almost giggled.
“Almost got me that time. Make you a deal. If it hurts for more than one second—we’ll count—you can pop me one in the nose. Hard as you want. Promise,” Fitz said, pretending to bob and weave in defence against Luz’s right crosses while steadying her left arm for Nathan.
Nathan knew a cue. Thank God. And by God—the needle slipped in, plunger down, slowly, and out. Done, as quick as it could and should be done, with Luz’s mother staring as if Fitz were some sort of suspect but miraculous angel.
Luz nodded solemnly. “Promise.”
Fitz winked at Nathan. “Go ahead, then. See? The shot’s already finished. You’re a brave girl.”
Luz’s eyes rounding into an O of surprise—and her smile, small but growing—was one of the best things Nathan had seen in a while.
He glanced sideways at Fitz. Almost the best…
* * * *
Fitz checked the sky as they drove away from Luz and her mother. “Getting late. Anybody else to see to?”
“One more. She’s on our way.” Betty didn’t like to come out during the day, and the roads wouldn’t be safe at night, so they compromised.
He could have told Fitz about her. He wanted to. He wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t.
Fitz hummed his assent with a note of curiosity, sharpening when he saw the crescent of wheel-rutted dirt by the side of the road. Foliage overgrew a fence so thickly that, Nathan knew, visibility was poor at best beyond the perimeter.
Nathan knew Fitz would still check it for himself, and he did, though not at the very edge of the gate. A few feet back. “We walk from here?”
“No. That we don’t.” Nathan rattled the fence lightly. Betty would hear. “She isn’t ill, as such. A couple of minor concerns. You’ll see.”
He would swear he saw Fitz make the connection. He was good. “Agoraphobic?”
“Life’s treated her hard. She doesn’t like people. It took me ages to get her to come to the fence.”
“How’d you manage it?”
“Patience.” Nathan waited. There’d be no point in announcing himself a second time. She’d come, or she wouldn’t. “And some more patience.”
“Lonely?”
“I think so.” He wondered what her house looked like, beyond the trees. “She doesn’t choose to be alone.”
“The phobia chose for her,” Fitz said.
Nathan nodded once. He lowered his voice to a bare whisper to keep private things private, though as good as Betty was at hiding, she might have been a foot away and he wouldn’t have known. “You’ve seen it before, then.”
“Few times. I wish I’d never seen it once.”
“I wish that about anyone who’s suffering.” Nathan offered Fitz a rueful half-smile without thinking, and saw it mirrored in him. He understood.
“But you do what you can, where you can,” Fitz said. He stepped back.
“What are you doing?”
Fitz held his ground at a respectful distance. “I told you, I’ve seen it before. She isn’t like Luz. She’s a grown woman, and if she doesn’t know me then I’ll scare her.”
“Not more than Ilse did when I made the mistake of bringing her,” Nathan admitted.
“I have got to at least see a picture of Ilse. She sounds like the love child of Meatloaf and a Valkyrie.”
“Not too wrong.” Nathan recalled Ilse’s face with a grimace. Sympathy had not been in her personal lexicon, or in her genetic makeup, but how many people willingly signed up for long days with low pay? “She was available. I made do.”
“Yeah, well. You’ve got a better nurse now,” Fitz said. He winked. Then, the cheeky brat, he lifted his chin to draw Nathan’s attention back to the fence and movement behind it. “She knows you, she trusts you. I’ve got your back, but I won’t scare her.”
The Fitz that Nathan remembered—and had seen for himself today, more than once—crowded in. He made people give way. Somewhere, somehow, he must have learnt when to stand down.
Fitz nodded in response to Nathan’s querying stare. He settled into place, smoothing his hair down and tugging his sleeves into neatness. Go on. If you need me, I’ll be here, said his stance.
Nathan pushed the thoughts aside to keep for later. “Betty?”
The small, thin woman crept to the fence, her feet bare but clean. She wasn’t so very old, perhaps in her late fifties. At a glance, Nathan thought she might be doing better. She’d combed her hair and her clothes looked clean. Still terrified by life. Her husband had known how to use his fists pretty well, leaving her nose crooked and her mouth set with a permanent downward droop from nerve damage.
He rustled his bag, letting the top of a file poke out. Fitz took his cue straight away, drawing back with a gentleman’s nod to Betty. Nathan crouched down. “Everything all right, Betty? I have your vitamins for you.” There was little else he could do for her, and he hated it. But he came every week. Twice a week, when possible.
She didn’t take the bag, peering past him instead. “I can see you. Who are you?”
Maybe he should have skipped the visit today. But…if Fitz were going to stay… If…
“Betty, this is my—this is Fitz. Fitz, this is Betty.” Nathan held his breath and prayed.
She ducked her head and mumbled to herself.
Nathan took a guess. “No, Ilse’s not coming back.”
She peeked up at Fitz.
Fitz stayed where he was, outside the radius of arm’s reach. “Ma’am.”
Nathan couldn’t be sure for all the shadows, but he thought he saw the tiniest hint of a smile tug at the undamaged corner of Betty’s mouth.
Fitz cleared his throat quietly, tucking the file away.
“I’ll come around again next week, Betty, all right?” Nathan said, though Betty had already begun retreating. He slid the pharmacy bag through the fence. She’d come back later. “I’ll bring you something from the bakery.”
She might have heard him, or might not have. Hard to tell.
“God,” Fitz said, watching her. “I’ve seen it before, but…”
“I know.”
Silence lingered, dividing them though they stood together.
Don’t ask me why I care. He was Fitz. He’d already know, or be able to guess. I come because I’ve always thought that could be me, someday. But now?
“You should bring her a puppy,” Fitz said, very casually. “One of Gibson’s hounds just whelped a litter. Did you notice?”
“I didn’t.”
“Maybe when they’re old enough. It’d help.”
“If you think you could talk him into letting one of his dogs go… I don’t know. Maybe.” Nathan cocked his head. “Help? How so?”
Fitz gave him an odd look. Or perhaps it wasn’t so odd after all. “Everyone needs something to love.” He tucked his hands into his pockets, his shoulders rounding forward. “Sometimes I wondered, you know? If that could be me some day.” A lock of hair fell across his forehead. “Let’s get back before the sun’s down.”
Nathan’s throat felt strange. Dry. “Let’s.”
He’d turned to go, gravel crunching beneath his heel, when the foli
age behind the fence rustled and bent. “Wait,” Betty said.
Nathan stopped, hand out to guide Fitz, though Fitz didn’t need it. He’d paused in his pace half a beat before Nathan himself.
“Here.” Betty thrust something through the fence. Nathan didn’t recognise them at first, caked in earth. “Carrots,” she said. “Do you like carrots?”
Actually, he did. They must have been from her garden. But she couldn’t share with him. Betty was barely at a healthy weight as she stood. She needed all she could get. Better to say no. Thanks but no—
Fitz settled more firmly on his heels at Nathan’s side.
Be grateful for the small gifts. It wasn’t bad advice.
“Thank you, Betty.” He took the gift from her, patting off the dirt. Late winter carrots, palest of orange. The outer ring would be sweet, the core almost astringent. “I do like these. What made you think of them?”
Fitz’s warmth pressed a little closer to his side. Almost ridiculously nice, that sensation.
Betty shuffled her bare feet in a pile of fallen leaves. Was she hiding a tiny smile? “Don’t know.”
Impulse moved Nathan to dust the largest of the small bunch off on his sleeve. He bit off the tip and tasted the dustiness of earth, but beneath that a flavour much sweeter than he’d expected. “They’re good. Thank you,” he said, swallowing down the mouthful. “We’ll see you soon.”
Fitz had shifted, slightly, when Nathan had said ‘we’. But he didn’t make mention of it. Yet.
Chapter Six
And before Nathan knew it, they were back home again. He was home, that was. Fitz came along for the ride, his permanent destination still undecided by Nathan.
Nathan couldn’t shut out his awareness of Fitz beside him, taking up more than his share of room in the Jeep and humming a song Luz had very seriously taught him. When he parked the vehicle in front of his home, he gestured to indicate Fitz should hop out first. Fitz obeyed without question for once and began to stretch his legs.
Nathan sat behind the wheel for a long moment, tapping the old leather, before he followed.
He found Fitz waiting for him not far away at all. Just around the bend of the vehicle.
“So,” Fitz said, leaning on the tailgate, legs crossed at the ankle, hands locked behind his head. A ridiculous pose. He still made it work.
The Fitz that Nathan had known and this Fitz transposed themselves, one over the other, past and present, in Nathan’s mind. Old Fitz and New Fitz—both meant every bit of the cheeky cockiness. New Fitz wasn’t quite as good at concealing how it was meant to hide a hint of vulnerability.
Fitz unfolded himself. “You look like you’ve got a headache.”
“I do,” Nathan said, honestly. “I’m still trying to figure you out.”
Fitz frowned and gestured at his body, up and down. “What you see is what you get.”
Nathan lingered at collarbone level, at the pendant Fitz wore. Even as he watched, Fitz reached for the smooth, river-washed touchstone. “I’m not sure about that,” he said.
He thought Fitz might misunderstand that. Not difficult, seeing as Nathan wasn’t too sure himself. He might not be a master at understanding fleeting complexities of expression, but it didn’t take a genius to recognise the quick progression of doubt, dismay and bravado—then a second go-round, this time with new consideration as what he saw sank in.
Fitz’s grin hinted at making a reappearance. “So? Did I pass the tests you set me up for today?”
Aha. Busted. Nathan’s lips twitched, wanting to curl up. “They were all scheduled for today. I’m not good enough to set up a battlefield run at the literal last second.”
“But…?” Fitz prompted.
“If you need to ask, you’re not as good as you say you are.”
“As good as you think I am,” Fitz said—not asked—relaxing almost fully.
Nathan watched him uncoil like a contented cat, and shook his head minutely in amazement. “How do you do that?”
Fitz’s eyebrow went up. “Mmm?”
“Something a friend of mine said earlier,” Nathan replied. Chelle’s teasing echoed in his mind’s ear. It shouldn’t be this easy, or this natural to stand in his drive with Fitz. As if this were just another day in a string of days, comfortable from long habit yet not boring. With Fitz, never boring.
You need a wife, doesn’t have to be a woman, better if it’s a nurse.
Fitz watched Nathan think. Still idle himself, but in a contented sort of way. Almost purring. “So…?” he said, casting the ball of yarn he’d been toying with—conversationally speaking—Nathan’s way. “Your practice. Mostly kids and senior citizens?”
“Mostly. It’s not ideal.”
“What is?” Fitz shrugged.
“I meant, it’s not as exciting as a hospital job,” Nathan said, with the odd sensation that he was probing at some sort of lock with what might or might not be the right key. “Or Haiti. Or a big city. Everything you’ve done up until now. I like the quiet life, and I like my patients. Apparently I’m not good at telling when they hated a nurse, but I think I’ve figured out how to discern when they like one. But yes. Mostly the very old, and the very young, and very little excitement. We don’t even have a Wal-Mart within fifteen miles.”
Fitz watched him, intent, head tilted in that odd way of his. He wrapped his hand around the stone pendant and pulled, deep in thought.
That was all New Fitz, taking his time to think before he spoke.
New Nathan—he could be new, too, if he wanted—waited for him. Or maybe that was Interim Nathan, coming to the last of his waiting.
“I should hate you,” he said. “Why don’t I? That’s what I really don’t get.”
Fitz cut him an odd look, but didn’t answer that one. Yet, Nathan figured. Instead, he toed at a few loose pieces of driveway gravel. “Seniors tell the best stories,” he said, as if feeling his way through the words. “So do kids. I mean, they’ve either done it all or they have it all still to come. It’s the best of both worlds.”
“Huh.” Nathan rolled that one over. “Funny. I never looked at it that way.”
Fitz winked at him, a flash of cheekiness. “I’m good for something after all. Who knew?”
Nathan smoothed his hand over his lips. Sense memory reminded him, abruptly, sharply, with an all-too-familiar tug of heat in his gut, of what Fitz’s mouth felt like to the touch, soft and sleek, open, wet, yielding… He cleared his throat. “I didn’t say that. Don’t get a swollen head.”
Oh, he could have chosen his words more carefully, couldn’t he? Fitz didn’t play about with this kind of golden opportunity. Nor did he fail to deliver a glimpse of deliberately ill-concealed dark desire from beneath his lashes, looking up at Nathan. “Too late. And way too easy.”
Nathan hesitated. His body wanted him closer. Now. “Yeah. That’s what I’ve been thinking since you knocked on my door.”
“Ah.” Fitz tugged at his necklace and bit at his lip.
“At least in part,” Nathan clarified, though he wasn’t sure why.
“Not a little part.” Fitz couldn’t hold back, even now. He glanced pointedly downward. “Not even a little bit little.”
Nathan felt his face warm up, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t at least try to return fire. He met Fitz’s gaze and held it. “You didn’t answer me before,” he said. “About it being easy. And why it is. And why I don’t… Seven years, Fitz. That’s a long time.”
Fitz tugged at the pendant string before offering up a too-casual shrug. “Not that I haven’t already, but I think I’ll try honesty.”
Nathan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Just. Not in frustration. More fondness. Nostalgia? Perhaps. “Oh, will you?”
“Yep.” Fitz popped the word like cracking gum. “Ever notice how being honest has more impact than telling lies? People say they want the truth—”
Nathan snorted. “I think I see where you’re going with this. Jack Nicholson did it better.”
“Wrong. You can handle the truth. You don’t like to—sometimes—but you can take what gets dished.” Fitz raised one shoulder. “Most people can’t. It’s one of the things I learnt. And one of the things I always liked about you. But yeah.” He pushed himself off the tailgate and towards Nathan in a light, loose drawl of a gait, giving him plenty of time to get away if he chose to.
He didn’t.
Maybe that made him a fool. But what was that people said about being fools for love?
Nathan couldn’t remember the exact quote, but he could feel it, down to his bones, when Fitz brushed the back of his hand against Nathan’s cheek. “You want to know? Really want to know why it’s ‘easy’, why you can’t hold on to that grudge you were hell-bent on?”
Nathan caught and covered Fitz’s hand with his own. “And how you knew I wouldn’t. You did know that, or you wouldn’t have come.”
“Ah.” Fitz touched his fingertip to Nathan’s temple. “Smart, too. Always liked that as well. Okay. Let’s see you handle the truth, and you can. I know you can.”
“I might have changed since you and I last saw each other.”
“You have. I did. We’re still the same us. And before you say it, I know. That brings us right back around to where we started.” He twirled a finger, sketching a spiral in mid-air. “You don’t hate me because you were waiting for me to come home. Same as I was waiting to come home. And now I’m here, if you’ll let me be.”
He took his hand away and stepped back, his meaning clear. Choose. Choose now, and better think fast, Doc. He’s waiting.
Nathan wasn’t unappreciative of the irony, really he wasn’t.
It didn’t help—or did it?—that Fitz looked for all the world as though he understood, and as though—no lies, no tricks—should Nathan choose no over yes, he’d accept that and walk away, and—
No. God, no.
He licked his lips. Watching Fitz watch him. Breath caught in Fitz’s throat. “You’ll abide by what I decide?”
Fitz inclined his head once, just once. Waiting. On the knife’s edge.
