LRPD - part ten

edited 7/21

“You know, some would call this stalking.”

Simon doesn’t even turn his head. John will think what he wants regardless.

“I’m just getting some fresh air.”

“Yeah. Up on the roof at the same time Daisy walks to the garage.” There’s a sigh beside him, and then he too, is standing near the ledge, looking down. “She put it in for it.”

“I saw.” It’s unfair to open an application process when the job posting is already filled, and some could say the engineering behind it, the carrot on a stick, is cruel.

But Simon is past caring about what anyone says about it.

“You intimidate her.” He knows his reputation, doesn't refute it, doesn't particularly care, but with you it's different. The silk spun web connecting him to you, to your family and back is more than enough to make you uneasy.

“She’ll be treated like anyone else, and she’ll be fine.”

“She’s fragile-” He snorts.

“She’s not fragile. Not yet.” He’ll fix this. He has to. He'll break you and strip you and free you. And then maybe after, once it’s over, you’ll be comfortable enough to be soft, to be delicate if you choose. To be whatever you want, to be yourself. Wild and free.

You come striding out from the exit doors towards the parking garage, swinging your beat up backpack over your shoulder as you practically jog towards the elevator. It’s only a few seconds of his day, but they’re hard to beat lately. John chuckles at his side, and Simon’s fist clenches so tight his knuckles burn.

He hates himself for waiting so long, for letting it get this bad. Hates that his inaction has cost you so much, your peace, your security, your happiness. He spent too long telling himself to let it go, let you go, let you live your life.

He should have known better, and now he only has himself to thank for this fucking mess.

“I explicitly told you not to discharge her.” Keller rolls his eyes.

“You were in surgery all morning, and it’s not like I could just explain it away like I would to some layperson. I couldn’t hold them hostage. What did you want me to tell her?” He pinches his brow. This day has gone sideways and is now exponentially worse. He’s about to ream Keller out, work his frustration free on the poor attending when his phone buzzes with some good news.

John: They’re in the ED.

You’re carrying Riley. Holding her as she sleeps, her arms slung around your neck, small spool of drool on your shirt. She’s dead weight, practically sitting on your folded forearms, hot pink cast sticking straight up past your head. She's shackled to you in a vise grip, like even in sleep she’s afraid to let go, and the way you cling to her doesn’t dispute the notion.

Oh sweet girl.

Even though you’re uncomfortable, even though she’s too heavy, you won’t lay her down in a bed or set her in a chair because the last time she was a patient, you almost lost her. You lost your sister, your brother in law, you lost everything.

Except Riley.

Ava’s eyes go wide over your shoulder when she spots him, distinctly mouthing his name with unabashed glee.

Bleeding christ.

You meet his gaze with an avalanche of anxiety, worry, fear, stress… all the things you carry on your shoulders, all those things breaking your back, all of it swirling together into a storm you can't escape.

But there’s something else too. A break in the clouds that almost slows his steps, warms his blood.

Relief.

There’s relief just barely beneath the frozen surface, a small current running under the iced over lake.

You’re relieved to see him.

“Hey Doctor Riley.” Ava gives him a sly grin, all feline and knowing, before rubbing Riley’s back and leaning into you for a half hug. “See? Problem solved. Call me later.”

“Ava, wait, I-” she’s gone. You look around for an escape, an excuse, but there’s nothing. Nothing but him.

“Let me take her.” Your mouth drops open and you stare at him like he’s grown two heads.

“I’m really okay, she’s-”

“A third grader asleep in your arms. I can see the way you’re shifting your weight, she’s too heavy and you’re uncomfortable. Let me take her.” He uses the firm guidance you’re growing accustomed to from him. You swallow, and he settles his palm on your back, coaxing your trust. When you don't pull away, he relishes the victory like some addled prehistoric possessive caveman. “I’ve got her Daisy, I promise. She’s safe with me.” Your inhale sticks to your ribs for a moment like it wants to stay there, and then you release it. Release her.

“Okay.” You shuffle her into his waiting arms and let go. Proud of you, he wants to soothe, I know it’s hard but I’ve got you. I’ve got you both. Instead, he swallows his tongue and moves on.

“How are you getting home?”

“It’s a transition. I’m learning as fast as I can.”

“You need to figure out if this is the place for you before I do.”

“It is. I can do it.” The tiny sliver of emotion that slips through surprises him, and guilt pinches in his heart. He didn’t want this, this reprimand, this conversation, but these things can't be brushed under a rug, and if you were anyone else, it would be formal documentation. He's giving you a pass, technically. Unheard of.

You are good at your job. You're smart, your critical thinking skills are sharp, sharper than most, you ask the why behind things, and you care. Deeply. There's no questioning of your skill or ability, but the learning curve in the NICU is steep.

"I can do it.” He tamps down the urge to reassure you, to tell you this is one thing in a sea of things you’re doing well, but this unexpected crack, the slip of your control, keeps him from offering comfort.

If this is what it takes.

He gives you a nod. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“You have a booster seat.” You give him a disbelieving look, voice flat.

“Yeah. My nephew is here, I keep one in the car for when they come over.” You’re ready to bolt, but at the same time you seem to know you wouldn’t make it very far, never mind that he still has a sleeping Riley in his arms.

“Oh, okay.” You hesitate, glancing at the backseat again. “Is that who came to the NICU the other day? Your uh, your nephew? And his mom?”

“Yeah, they live in Manchester, where I’m from.” He motions to the door, but you don’t budge.

“Is she your sister then?”

“My brother’s widow.” You lock up. There’s an uncertainty in it, hesitance, and your eyes linger on Riley as you clear your throat.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t share the rest, keeps it close for now. There will be time for all of it, but this moment is about you, and Riley, and making sure you’re both taken care of. “Are you ready to go then?”

“Doc- Simon. You really don’t have to do this.” It’s cute, the way you’re trying to put your foot down, how you think you’re in control now.

“How are you getting home?” He has you cornered, and can’t even pretend to feel bad. You glare and cross your arms, try to mount a frosty offensive, the mournful grief from a moment ago already forgotten.

“I can figure it out.” He has no doubt you would after a while, but he’s using this to his full advantage. His voice dips low, lingers in soft spaces between his accent and his tone, and as soon as he says your name, your throat bobs with a swallow.

“Daisy, just let me get you home safe.” Riley snuffles against his shirt and presses her nose into him, lips pushing out in a pout. You take one look at her and retreat.

“Okay, okay.” The first is for him, but the second is for yourself, some sort of resigned approval for your agreement. He stands by as you get her buckled in and settled, watching as you gently arrange her, make her comfortable. You're perfectly in rhythm, slowing when her lashes flutter, soothing her when she whines, the two of you so in sync.

“Ready?” You nod.

“Yeah. Ready.”

The truck is running.

You’re rarely, if ever, still here when leaves.

But you seemed off today. Less icy, more despondent, and now you’re practically catatonic behind the wheel with the engine running. Here, but not really, staring out the windshield at the silver of sunset shining through the floors of the parking garage.

You don’t even blink when he knocks, only when he tugs on the handle, and even then, barely register him.

The power locks click, and he pulls the door open, reaching to turn off the truck and take the keys. As his arm moves across your body you turn with the momentum, facing him, sitting still as a statue.

“What is it?” You shake your head and keep the air in your lungs trapped. Tucked up in your fortress behind too many walls to count, sitting in a tower, roped ladder pulled up behind you. No way for anyone to reach you, no way for anyone to get it.

You think you’re a match for him. You’re wrong.

“Daisy, let it out.” He steels the blade of his voice, wields it in a way he knows will cut, just enough. You rally, ready to refuse him again but he knows better, and when his hand finds your thigh, your lungs deflate in reaction. The contact burns through your scrubs, your skin, his, and your pupils dilate.

Good girl. There she is.

“That’s it, good.” He counts them in his mind, one inhale, one exhale, then two, each deeper than before. “You’re doing great.” A barely noticeable shudder shakes up your spine through your shoulders, and you straighten.

“Doctor Ri-”

“Simon.” He stays even, firm, and squeezes your thigh. “Outside of work, that’s who I am to you. Simon. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“I had a bad day, that’s all.” He takes his own deep breath, reigns in the long lash of impatience. It’s not the right time to try to pull you out of yourself.

Still, he has to push. A little bit.

“You had a bad day, so you’ve been sitting in the garage for a half an hour with your truck running, staring into space,” he takes a chance and skates his thumb along your cheekbone, your sharp inhale leaving a little clue. You’re not immune to him, and your resolve is wavering.

“I… yeah, that’s all.” He grits his teeth. He swallows snap confessions.

Let me in Daisy, I’m here. You can fall, baby, I’ll catch you. I’ll take care of you. I’ll fix it.

You’re not ready, but he’s impatient.

“You should get home.” And he should leave, but he can’t without one more thing. A souvenir, an indulgence. The memory of your face in his hands. He cups your cheek, and your lips part, eyes wide as you look up at him.

“Right. Yeah.” It stings to let you go.

“Goodnight Daisy.”

“Goodnight Simon.”

“Hey ladybug, we’re home.” You shuffle her free from the backseat, and as he moves to help, you evade him, turning away.

He sighs. And we’re back.

“Thanks… Simon.” Small steps bring you closer to the front porch, wary and ready to bolt. “I appreciate your help, we uh… we appreciate it. For everything I mean, I know we haven’t really talked-” Definitely not.

“We can talk about everything another time.” It’s dusty out here. The American west is different, is what Price told them all, how he cajoled them, it’s a different type of life. You take the good with the bad, but there's a lot of good.

He was skeptical, but that’s changed.

You’re guarded now, and tense. Internally, he sighs. “You should go in, get her in bed. Get some sleep yourself.”

“Yeah, right.” You stop at the front door and turn, eyes heavy with the weight of a million emotions, a million pounds of pressure. “Simon…” He cocks his head.

“What is it?”

“Just… thank you. For everything, for her.” Sweet girl.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything, Daisy.” He hides his own emotions, his own heart, and gives you a gentle nod. “Go on in, lock up. We’ll talk soon.”

“Okay… goodnight then.” He hates it ending it all on a goodnight again and again, but each one is another piece of the puzzle, another building block in a road you’ll walk.

“Goodnight Daisy.”