Fic: A Distant Wood (chapter 1)
Title: A Distant Wood (chapter 1)
Author: katy_moon_beam
Pairing: Mike/Tina
Rating: R
Summary: AU. A cold day in New York City, a chance meeting.
A/N: For my Maple Leaf.
If Tina's learned two things since moving to New York it's this: very rarely does a peaceful protest remain peaceful, and if people start throwing stuff on fire, you run.
"Shit!" she almost looses her footing on the rain-slick sidewalk, and can hear glass smashing behind her. In the distance she can see a familiar head of pink hair duck into an alleyway, and she tries to run in the same general direction but there's all kinds of chaos and people are screaming. She knows Kurt and Blaine are somewhere - they'd come to the protest with her ("You think I'm going to stand back why they try and overturn Gay Marriage?") - but she hasn't seen them since everything went to hell.
"Tina!" she can hear her name being shouted over the melee but when she tries to crane her neck over the jostling crowds she can't see any familiar faces. "Tina!"
She curses again, trying to fight her way towards the sounds, through the throngs of people and through the storm, but as she's pushing past a guy with long dreadlocked hair a surge seems to storm her way and she gets shoulder-checked - hard - and thrown to the floor. Her hand hits the curb with a bang that makes her yelp and clutch it to her chest, and she curls up her body to protect herself from the clattering footsteps. She feels a heavy boot (damn those steel toe-caps) collide with the side of her head and it makes her feel instantly nauseous as she pushes herself back towards the edge of the building, looking for some kind - anykindof shelter. Collapsing against the cold brick, she brings a hand up to her forehead, and when she pulls it back her fingers are bright red and sticky and her vision swims.
"F-fuck," she stammers, and just about manages to push herself up right, clutching to the smooth wall with her one good hand. Hunched over - wary of projectiles and flying fists - she creeps along the wall, blinking blood out of her eyes and wondering how her supposedly 'peaceful protest' of an afternoon had turned into this.
She really should never listen to Quinn Fabray.
Xxx
"I'm f-fine," she insists as the two strong pairs of arms wrap around her torso, stopping her swaying from the dimly lit platform and falling onto the subway lines. Electrocution wouldn't be a great end to her day.
Her roommate frowns at her, his brow furrowed and his normally pristine hair rumpled, and his tone laced with frustration and worry. "Tina, when you're missing looking me in the eye by practically a foot,you're not fine. And you're still bleeding all over Blaine."
Tina just scoffs. "It's b-barely a scratch. H-heads always b-bleed a lot."
Blaine doesn't look particularly perturbed as he dabs at Tina's temple with his handkerchief, but his words make her frown at him. "I think Kurt's right. You took a pretty good knock and you might need stitches."
She practically growls at him, and even though it's mostly drowned out by the rattling of the oncoming train, it makes him shrug his shoulders, squeezing her tighter. "Better safe than sorry."
"Settled," Kurt insists as he drags Tina onto the train, forcing her into a seat and then sandwiching her between his own body and his boyfriend's. "We're taking you to the ER."
"I don't n-need the ER," she argues, trying to smack him in the thigh, but it makes her wrist throb and she hisses in pain. Kurt and Blaine share an 'I-told-you-so' look over the top of her turquoise-streaked head and she pretends not to notice, instead settling into her seat with a scowl.
Kurt just elbows her in the ribs. "Stop slouching. It makes you look homeless."
Xxx
The ER is busy and crowded; a baby is crying in the row behind Tina and two older women are having a rapid, loud conversation in heated Spanish with a nurse at the desk as one of them waves a printed sheet of paper around and the other clutches her heart and moans, dramatically. Tina feels about five minutes away from throwing up on her favourite Dr. Marten boots and all the noise is making her head *ache*. Her wrist throbs in time to her heartbeat and she clutches it closer to her chest, trying to be subtle about the shift because otherwise she knows Kurt is going to give her his 'I told you so' look again, and she's just not sure she can handle that much snark right now.
Tina can just feel herself slipping into a doze against Blaine's shoulder when suddenly 'Last of the American Girls' begins blaring out from her pocket and she jolts upright with a curse.
She's half-fumbled the phone to her ear - irritated with herself for shoving it into her left pocket now she has to try and reach across her own body to pull it out - when a voice cuts through the noise.
"Hey, excuse me? Ma'am? You can't use that in here."
As Tina looks up she sees the same Latina nurse - high ponytail, cocked hip, purple scrubs somehow made to look flattering and chic on a tanned and toned body - pointing at the large sign plastered on the wall. An obvious cell phone with a bright red cross through it. Tina's kind of amazed she didn't notice it earlier.
"I'll t-take this outside," Tina begins, trying to pull herself to standing, but she barely makes it halfway up before her knees buckle and her head spins and she finds herself pitching forwards. "Whoa…"
One strong pair of hands wraps around her upper arms and she closes her eyes tightly to stop the walls moving around her; Blaine's maroon sweater just feels really nice against her cheek so she thinks maybe she'll just rest her head there for a minute. She feels the phone being plucked out of her fingers. "You're not going anywhere," Kurt orders, his tone bossy but concerned. "Not until a doctor has made sure you didn't lose too many brain cells back there, okay?"
She's vaguely nodding - ow,that isn't the best idea right now - and Blaine's hand is running up and down her back and she can feel his chuckle against her cheek more than hear it when her phone starts ringing again. Tina cracks open one eye, and pulls her lip between her teeth. "Sh-she'll be w-worried," she stammers, feeling guilt bubbling inside her, and it must show on her face because Kurt heaves a sigh and picks up his jacket from where he had spread it out on the uncomfortable plastic waiting room seats.
"Fine," he huffs, pointing towards the exit. "I will take this call and tell that friend of yours exactly where her protest has left you. But you - " he pokes Tina's shoulder gently, making her pout. "Don't move until the doctor calls you, and you - " he leans over and presses a chaste kiss against Blaine's cheek. "Don't let her."
Blaine responds with a cheeky salute as he continues to hold Tina upright, and then Kurt's disappearing out the doors and there's still somuchnoise; Tina's trying to bury her head in Blaine's chest (careful of her wound because fuckthat hurts) and she can feel his lips press against the top of her hair. "Poor Soldier Girl," he teases, his voice gently amused and crooning in the same way it does when she's woken up by him singing Tom Jones in the shower. "Should have known you'd get broken at one of these things sooner or later."
Her only response is to pinch his side, which makes him yelp and laugh and squeeze her tighter, and she's about to form a witty retort (she's sure it doesn't usually take so much effort) when finally she hears her name being called.
"Tina Cohen?"
"Cohen-Chang," Blaine automatically corrects for Tina as he helps her move through the crowds and towards the same pony-tailed nurse who had called her name. The nurse holds a clipboard in her hands and arches a perfectly plucked eyebrow towards her hairline.
"My mistake," she says almost curtly, but with a slightly quirked smile that seems to soften the words. "Let me get you set up over here and the doctor'll be right in, okay?" Something about the woman screams to Tina that she could cut her to ribbons with only the scantest of effort, but when she reaches out and cups Tina's elbow - helping her towards the curtained area, and then up onto one of the ubiquitous exam beds - her touch is soft and gentle and caring. "You think you're going to be sick?"
Tina's not honestly sure, because her stomach's rolling, but as long as she keeps one eye screwed shut the nausea isn't quite as overwhelming. "I'm okay," she half shrugs, one shoulder up, but even that movement makes the acrid taste of bile creep up her throat.
The nurse seems to recognise this though, because she just reaches over - knowingly - and passes Blaine an emesis basin. "Just in case," she tells him with a wink. "I'll be right back so we can get some information before the doctor comes. Hang tight and if you need anything just yell for Nurse Lopez, okay?"
XxX
Tina's not sure she's ever answered so many questions about her inner organs or childhood diseases in her whole life, and she feels frustration building because it's not like this is an episode of Houseand they're trying to figure out some hidden, mystery virus - she has a three inch cut to her head and a wrist slowly turning black and blue. Blaine is sitting next to her, forever patient and polite, his hand rubbing over her back in slow, rhythmic circles the same way she sees him do for Kurt when a deadline looms and stress begins to mount. It's sweet, even if it is making her feel seasick.
She breathes in through her nose and out, steadily, through her mouth. Her fingers pick at her turquoise pantyhose that ripped when she fell, trying to avoid the blossoming bruise underneath.
She's kind of glad in a way that it's Blaine with her instead of Kurt, because if Kurt was there he'd be worried and pacing, and talking a mile a minute because she knowshow much he hates hospitals. Between his Mom's illness and death, and then his Dad's heart attack, and then everything when they were in High School, it just brings back too many bad memories. And if he was there with her he'd be bitching and snarking just to cover up his unease. Blaine, on the other hand, is quite happy to wait quietly, save the soft humming under his breath that she's honestly not sure he even realises he's doing. It's oddly comforting.
Tina's just being lulled again into a gentle sleepiness when the curtain around her bed is pulled back with a swish. "Miss Cohen-Chang?"
If Tina hadn't seen Blaine's jaw dropping open then she would have felt embarrassed knowing hers did exactly the same. She's not one for traditional kinks, and has never really understood the 'guys in uniform' thing, but the man that stands across from her is perhaps the most inhumanly beautiful person she's ever actually seen in real life. Light blue scrubs stretch across broad, muscular shoulders, and his hair is spiked and tousled and Tina's fingers just itch to smooth it down. She shoves her working hand under her thigh and curses in her head trying not to stare at the biceps that peek out from underneath the scrub sleeves. The doctor looks at her with a curious expression, and it's then that she realises she hasn't answered. "Yeah," she replies, cursing the breathy quality of her voice. Clearing her throat, she tries again. "T-tina."
She can see a frown take over his face as he takes in her bloody scalp and hears the hesitancy in her voice. "Tina," he echoes, tone calm despite his expression. "I'm Doctor Chang." Stepping up towards the bed, he's practically between her knees when his hands reach up to touch her chin, fleetingly. " I hear you tried to stop a work boot with your face?"
"N-not one of my b-better ideas," she agrees with a grumble, letting him move her chin to the left and to the right with only the lightest of touches. He probes the area around the wound gently, but it's still enough to make her wince, and then shines a small penlight into her eyes one and a time. She blinks heavily against the brightness.
"Any nausea?"
"Trying not to p-puke on you right now."
She's being flippant, but it makes Dr Chang laugh. His voice when he speaks is low and warm, and his laugh is the same. It makes something in her stomach flip.
"Dizziness?"
Tina lifts one shoulder in a shrug, and is about to answer when Blaine scoffs next to her. "She almost fell off a subway platform and then very nearly took out a row of patients in your waiting room," he confesses before she has the chance to deny it. She shoots him a glare but he just responds with a widening of his eyes and a flicked glance towards the doctor that is waytoo obvious, and Tina's completely grateful that when she looks up again the doctor's eyes are fixed on her chart.
He clears his voice, lifting his chin to look at her. His eyes are dark and she can't help but stare at his chiselled jaw as he speaks. "Miss Cohen-Chang - "
"Tina."
"Tina. Sometimes when people have head injuries it can result in speech and language problems, so I just wanted to know -"
Tina feels Blaine's hand slide into her good one, and he answers before she's even figured out the question. "She's always stuttered," he states, and his tone is almost defensive. He pulls his body so he's sitting up straight and Tina recognises his 'lawyer' voice. She can't help but squeeze his hand because, really, she isn't offended by the question and so it's a little bit absurd that he is on her behalf.
"Since sixth grade," she corrects, because there was a time before,even if Blaine hadn't known her then. "D-don't worry, they d-didn't loosen any screws up there." She taps the side of her head with her injured hand, and then curses in a hiss.
Instantly, Dr Chang is reaching out and taking hold of her arm, and his hands are surprisingly soft and warm. And large. He turns her hand over, manipulating it gently, and Tina can feel her cheeks flare at his proximity. She stares down at her chipped red nail polish and bites her bottom lip.
"Sorry about that," he apologises, mistaking her discomfort for pain. Returning her arm to her knee he picks up the chart again, scribbling some notes. "It doesn't look broken, just a good sprain. I'm going to wrap it and I want you to rest it and keep it elevated when you get home, okay?"
She nods her head, holding her arm out gingerly as he reaches over to the cupboard next to him and pulls out a roll of bandage. He carefully begins winding it around her skin, pressure just enough to be supportive instead of painful, tucking and pinning the material like carefully crafted origami. Once finished, he again reaches out to touch her cheek. "Now, as for this head, I think you'll be fine with just some butterfly stitches. So I'm going to flush this out, and then fix you up, okay?" Picking up the chart, he turns to look between Tina and Blaine. "It looks like a minor concussion, so you should be fine with just a few days rest and no wild parties." He waggles his index finger at her, and she can't help but laugh. Ridiculously attractive but still a total dork. Somehow that makes her heart quicken even more. "Now I'd prefer it if she was still woken up every few hours tonight," the doctor orders Blaine, who looks momentarily startled at being addressed, but nods, serious.
"Of course," he agrees. "Whatever we need to do."
"And bring her back immediately if she blacks out or the nausea gets worse."
"Th-there goes my weekend," Tina jokes, and even though Blaine is looking at her with a concerned frown it makes Dr Chang crack a smile.
"Sorry about that," he apologises with a gentle grin, flicking his eyes up to meet hers. "I'm sure your friends will understand."
"I d-doubt it," she counters with a small shake of her head, and her dark curls go tumbling over her shoulder. "They're fifteen and I p-promised them we c-could b-break out the ch-charcoals this week." Off of the doctor's confused glance, she clarifies, "I spend most w-weekends at the d-drop in centre on West 14th. I t-teach art classes to the k-kids there."
The doctor looks like he's about to ask another question when Blaine pipes up from his position next to Tina. In truth, she'd almost forgotten he was there. "I'm going to go find Kurt," he tells her, leaning in and pressing a swift kiss against her temple. "He's been gone awhile and he's either lost or still berating Quinn so…"
Tina laughs and nods her head. "I'm n-not going anywhere."
He hops off the bed and towards the curtain, and as the doctor turns his back Blaine does a complicated pointing/waggling eyebrows/thrusting hip combination that has Tina sputtering and glaring at him and wishing she could curse him out right there. Instead she just flips him off with her good hand and can hear him laughing all the way down the hall.
She fairly certain her cheeks are still bright pink when Dr Chang turns back to face her. "So you're a teacher?"
Her mind is still on Blaine and his inappropriate pelvic thrusts so she doesn't catch his words the first time. "Sorry?"
"You're a teacher?"
Tugging on a loose curl, she shakes her head. "No, an artist. I j-just volunteer at the Centre."
"Is that how this happened? Some kind of stampede for paintbrushes?" His smile is small and quirked at one corner of his mouth as he writes on her chart, looking up from under his eyelashes (and God, Tina can't help but notice his eyelashes). His tone is light and teasing. "Must be dangerous work."
She can't help but laugh at that, and shake her head, carefully. "P-protest in support of G-gay marriage," she admits. "Outside the Senator's offices." She tries to sit still as he takes a small square of gauze, placing it over her wound and carefully securing it against the skin of her forehead, but her booted feet sway beneath her. "There's always a hater who has to ruin it f-for everybody."
He's just opened his mouth to reply when the curtain swishes open again, and Blaine's face peers through looking completely apologetic. He clears his throat and toys with the cuff of his sweater. "Apparently Jacob Ben-Israel was filming the riots and caught you going down. And it looked bad. Kurt says Quinn won't let him off the phone until she's talked to you and knows you're okay. Sorry."
Dr Chang nods his head. "Well, we're all done here anyways. Just take it easy for a couple days and keep your wrist elevated, and take ibuprofen for any pain."
Tina nods her head, and jumps down from the bed as she usually would, without remembering her impaired balance. She topples forwards, pretty much landing smack square against her doctor's chest. His firm, warm, muscular chest. His reactions are quick as a whip and he reaches up and grabs her before she can fall any further. "Whoa," he chuckles softly, holding her steady by her biceps until she regains her footing. "Didn't I say take it easy?"
Tina can feel her cheeks flare scarlet as she plants her feet firmly on the floor. Blaine is silent but she can practically hear the snickering that she knows is going on in his head right now. "S-sorry," she apologises, taking a half-step back, avoiding looking him in the eye because he's *so* close and damn, the smell of antiseptic and generic laundry detergent shouldn't be so sexy. She's pretty sure her whole body is blushing. "God. Klutz."
He finally lets go of her arms, but keeps his hands up, ghosting her frame, as though not sure if she'll stay steady on her feet. "No harm done," he assures her. Then, as though remembering Blaine is there, he turns his head towards the curtain. "She might need a hand out?"
"Of course," Blaine throws himself through the curtain, wrapping his arm around Tina's waist and letting her lean against him. "Alright?" he asks. "Ready?"
She nods her head. "Ready." Then, looking up at the tall, dark-haired man, she can't help but smile and give a jaunty salute (and really she has to stop hanging out with Kurt and Blaine if these are going to be the kind of affectations she picks up from them). "Thank you D-doctor Chang."
He smiles back, tucking her chart under his arm. "Take care of yourself Tina. And if you see anymore boots flying at your face, my medical advice is to duck."
"T-taken under advisement."
Blaine tugs her just slightly forward then, prompting her feet to move, and she does so, carefully and with purpose. Out of the curtain, down the hall, and out the automatic doors into the cool Autumn air.
Dr Chang walks over to the admit desk and replaces her chart in the stack, watching every step until she's out of sight. He's shaking his head, lost in thought until he feels a hand slam down on his shoulder.
He notices the mess of streaky blond hair first, and then recognises the grin on the face of the guy confident enough to wear his own purple scrubs. When he speaks it's with a soft tinge of a Tennessee drawl. "Come on bro, you and me, Curtain Two. Five-year-old with a fever and he's already puked on Matt and Leanna."
Dr Chang runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he nods his head, pushing away any stray thoughts running through his brain and returning his mind to the task at hand. "Let's go."
XxX
"You should have given him your number!"
Blaine's crowing from where he sits pressed against Tina's side in the cab (because Kurt had insisted - "You get taken to the ER you deserve a cab ride home. Plus if we get the subway one of us is basically going to have to carry you. And it's rush hour."), his head thrown back in a laugh.
Tina on the other hand, just scoffs and fiddles with the hem of her skirt, glaring at him with an arched eyebrow. "He's my d-doctor! It would have been so inappropriate. Besides, he could have been m-married, or gay! It shocks me that you'd m-make such heteronormative assumptions Blaine Anderson."
Instead of deterring him, this only makes Blaine laugh harder. "Tina if you could have seen the way he was looking at you…he most certain isn't gay. And if he *is* married then he's a bad, bad man. But no ring!"
"Of course you checked," Tina rolls her eyes.
Kurt, sitting on the other side of Tina, his legs crossed demurely, raises an eyebrow. "Do I need to be concerned here or what?"
Reaching over Tina, Blaine squeezes his boyfriend's knee. "Only on the days that don't have a 'y'," he promises with a soft smile that Kurt echoes. "But seriously, Tina…when you were pressed up against him - "
"Wait, what!"
"I f-fell!" Tina cries out, smacking Blaine hard in the thigh because the last thing she needs is for Kurt to get his gossipy teeth into that idea. "And he caught me. God, Blaine, seriously,he was doing his j-job."
Blaine crosses his arms over his chest. "You didn't see his face. I mean, I'm sure he's a consummate professional but Tina…don't try and tell me you didn't feel a little something."
Kurt covers his eyes with his hand and groans. "Oh God, tell me that wasn't supposed to be an innuendo, Blaine, please."
Tina laughs then, leaning her head against the headrest as the cab bumps along the Manhattan streets. Car horns blare around them; Blaine laughs too waving his hands like a mad man on acid. "No! I just meant…he made you smile, Tina, and it was…I don't know, it was nice to see okay? Also, it didn't hurt that he was extremely good looking and looking at you like he wished he could give you a full physical. And that wasan innuendo."
There's more laughter, and then Tina rests her head against Kurt's shoulder as the traffic once again grinds to a halt. For a moment there's silence, and Kurt rests his cheek against the top of her hair. "He really made you smile?"
Tina doesn't answer; she turns her head so her face is buried in his shoulder and grumbles her frustrations. It doesn't make her miss Blaine's reply, however.
"Like a kid in a candy store. At Christmas. With kittens, puppies and a private performance by Gaga."
"Oh God, Tina, you should have given him your number!"
XxX
It's been a long day. In fact, it's been a series of long days with him covering shifts left, right and centre, and his body feels like it's running on empty. As soon as the clock chimed on the end of his shift, Mike had bolted to the locker room, not wanting to get caught and asked to stay or cover again. As he prepares to leave, all he can think about is three things: shower, alcohol and his bed. He's just pulling his jacket on over his scrubs and trying to figure out how many beers it will take to remove the memory of disimpacting Mr Himmelstein when a flash of something over at the admit desk catches his eye. A white gauze patch under turquoise streaked locks, wind-pinked cheeks on pale skin, dark eyes, and ruby red lips. Collar of her black jacket turned up against the cold and heavy boots worn under a red plaid skirt.
His feet still and the words are out of his mouth before he remembers thinking them. "In another fight already?"
She whips around at the sound of his voice, and he can see how much she's recovered even in a couple of days; she stays steady on her feet through the pivot and pins him with a smile that's wide and bright and wow - he'd wondered if maybe he'd over-exaggerated her attractiveness in his memory, but seeing her again…he totally hasn't. "No f-fighting," she promises with a shy smile, and waves a fingerless-gloved hand in the general direction of the desk. "I forgot to sign one of the insurance d-documents or something. So they c-called me in."
"They certainly won't let you forget the insurance."
"I'm j-just thankful I have it," she replies, pushing her long hair behind her shoulder.
Seeing the flash of her pale arm beneath the sleeve of her sweater makes him ask, "How's the wrist?" and he's surprised and a little concerned when her face is suddenly overtaken by a guilty expression.
He watches as she holds it out in front of her, pulling her sleeve up. The bandage isn't the same one he put on her and it's loosely wrapped and looks like she tied the knot off with her teeth. "I g-got paint on the other one," she admits. "And my r-roommate wasn't home so I had to d-do it myself."
He can't help the smile that takes over his face, despite his exhaustion. "You couldn't ask your boyfriend to help you?"
She looks legitimately confused at that question. "B-boyfriend?" she echoes, brow knotted.
He slides his hands into his jacket pockets, rocking back on his heels and ignoring the way that makes his sneakers squeak on the linoleum flooring. "The guy you were with?"
The laugh that spills from her lips is bright and amused and makes her shoulders shake up and down. "Not my b-boyfriend," she corrects, and the words make a strange feeling shoot through his body. "M-my roommate's b-boyfriend."
"Oh." Mike curses inwardly, not knowing whether he should be embarrassed by his mistake or just completely ecstatic that the well-dressed, objectively attractive guy that had been holding her hand and kissing her head apparently belonged to someone else. "Sorry. He just seemed like a nice guy."
Tina cocks her head then, curiously, and he swears he can almost hear cogs in her head turning. Her smile drops and her eyes seem to shadow, and she breaks their eye contact with a one-shouldered shrug. "Well, I'd g-give you his number but he's kind of t-taken," she shrugs her shoulders. "Sorry."
It takes him a moment - a beat - to understand her response, and then he screamscurses inside his head. "I didn't mean it like that," he back pedals, because damn he's sure he isn't imagining the disappointment on her face. "I wasn't trying to pick him up. I'm not gay."
"Oh," her mouth falls open, and she goldfishes for a second, and when her cheeks colour again he's fairly certain it's not to do with the temperature. When she speaks again her voice is kind of thin. "Okay."
Rubbing his forehead with his hand, he coughs out a small laugh, and is pleased that when he looks up she at least has a small smile on her lips. "Can we start again?" he asks, reaching out and ghosting her elbow. "Let me re-wrap that wrist for you. You look like someone's tried to patch you up at the Somme."
She allows him to lead her down the hallway towards an empty exam room where he sits on a spinning stool and wheels himself across the room to grab the right supplies. "Hop up," he tells her with a cock of his head. "Unless you need me to lift you up there?"
He's teasing and she just rolls her eyes and pulls herself onto the bed with a slight bounce. Her skirt flutters around her knees - God bless the perv who invented knee socks - and he can't believehe just thought that so he stares hard at the bandage as he starts unwrapping it, and then at the poor purpling skin underneath. "You've been resting it?" he asks, focusing on doctoring - on medical questions - because it stops his mind from wandering to her smooth skin or the fact that she smells like lemons and still has a streak of blue paint winding up her forearm towards her elbow.
Nodding her head, she licks her lips slowly, pink tongue running along her ruby-painted mouth. He runs his hand over her wrist, checking the bruising and tenderness, and her dexterity. "Kurt won't let me c-carry anything heavier than a soda."
"Kurt?"
His question seems to startle her, and she looks up, eyes wide. "My roommate. My b-best friend. The actual b-boyfriend of m-my not boyfriend." There's a gentle tease in her words that he acknowledges with a small smile as he once again wraps the bandages around her small wrist. It's finished quickly, and he pins it with a flourish.
"All better."
Tina twists her wrist left and right as though to test the validity of his work. "You're g-good at this. You should c-consider making a career out of it."
Spinning on the stool, he packs the scissors and bandages back into their cupboard. "It's secretly my dream to be a professional gift-wrapper," he smiles, joking.
She grins in reply. "D-does that mean I can get a ribbon on t-top next time?"
"Only if you're good."
He's finished, and she's still sitting there with her legs swinging; they're both grinning at each other, and Mike knows deep in his heart of hearts that this isn't like every other day at work. That something else is going on.
He's about to open his mouth and say something - just gofor it, just try,because Lord only knows he doesn't feel like this with most women that he meets - when the door to the room crashes open and Matt walks in with an intubation kit in one hand and his pager in the other, and he's squinting down at the screen and doesn't seem to notice they're there until he's standing right in front of them and finally looks up.
"Do I actually have to throw your ass out of this hospital?" Matt frowns, seeing his friend still sitting there in his scrubs, despite being technically off work for over 30 minutes. "I thought you were gonna' go home, catch the game, actually sleep for more than an hour in a row." He folds his arms over his chest, and Mike can tell he is about to launch into another rant when he realises there's another person in the room. Matt's dark eyes grow wide with comprehension, and Mike's inordinately pleased that they've known each other since Med School because just one change in expression tells him he doesn't have to explain anything right then.
"I'm just leaving," Mike promises, standing up and zipping up his jacket. He looks over at Tina. "Can I walk you out?"
He can tell she's thrown off-guard by the surprise interruption, and so just nods her head and lets him take her arm and help her down from the bed. "Careful," he teases, his voice soft and low and he's rewarded with a shy smile as her feet hit the ground.
Mike can feel Matt's eyes on his back, boring into him, but he straightens up and ignores the feel of all the unspoken questions that he knows Matt is storing up for later. "Get some rest Changster," Matt speaks, and his words are laced with so much meaning that all Mike can do is nod his head.
"See you later bro."
Mike halfway down the hall before he realises he's still got his hand on Tina's elbow. And she isn't moving away. They stay in silence until the automatic doors slide open and they exit into the bracing wind. Tina clutches her coat around her and bounces on the balls of her feet. "C-cold," she complains with a wrinkle of her nose.
"Makes me miss California."
"That's where you're f-from?" she asks, curiously, and he's sort of amazed because they're both standing there, freezing and just looking at each other, and her breath is coming in little bursts of fog from between her lips.
"Mmhmm," he answers with a firm nod. "You?"
"Ohio," she responds with a shrug but it's softened with a smile. "So I'm used to hard w-winters."
He nods his head and then they're just standing, staring at each other, both wearing small, silly smiles. And neither one is moving to go. Mike feels like this is the moment, like he should grow a pair and say something now because otherwise she's going to walk away and get on the subway and be gone from his life and he will have wasted his second chance. He's literally opening his mouth to speak when he's interrupted again.
"You m-maybe want to get a c-coffee some time?" Tina asks, her cheeks pink (whether from the wind or nerves, he's not sure) and her face hopeful but calm. "I know you m-must be p-pretty busy b-but - "
"I'd love to," he interrupts, because he can't help but, and he can tell she doesn't mind because her face lights up and she grins, cheeks dimpling and teeth straight and white and joyous.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out her iphone and laughs when he pulls the same out of his pocket. "Snap," she laughs, and then they trade and there's a moment of silence as they program their own numbers into the opposite phone. Then, handing his back to him, she smiles at him shyly. "So…I should go," she cocks her head towards the street, away from the harsh lights of the hospital behind them.
"You're okay getting home?"
Asking the question is completely automatic, and the amused look she gives him tells him that it's kind of stupid because she's a grown woman and has clearly been getting around the city without his worry pretty well up 'til now.
"It's only a couple b-blocks," she assures him, sliding her phone into her coat pocket. "Thanks."
"I'll call you," he promises, fleetingly touching her arm - somewhere between elbow and shoulder - before remembering something. "Oh, and if you get paint on your bandage again just call me okay? Even if your roommate is back. Or his boyfriend. I'd feel remiss in my duties if I let you walk around like that."
She nods her head, smiling shyly. "What about charcoal?"
"Charcoal?"
"I m-might get charcoal on it. Could I call you then?"
He pretends to consider it, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I don't know…charcoal can be pretty serious. It might need immediate attention."
She grins at that, ducking her chin to her chest. "I'll k-keep that in m-mind," she replies, and then finally - with what looks like effort - steps off the curb and out of the reach of his touch. "Have a good n-night Doctor Chang."
"Mike," he calls after her as she begins to walk away.
Stopping her feet, she turns. "What?"
"My name…it's Mike."
She just grins in reply.
Author: katy_moon_beam
Pairing: Mike/Tina
Rating: R
Summary: AU. A cold day in New York City, a chance meeting.
A/N: For my Maple Leaf.
If Tina's learned two things since moving to New York it's this: very rarely does a peaceful protest remain peaceful, and if people start throwing stuff on fire, you run.
"Shit!" she almost looses her footing on the rain-slick sidewalk, and can hear glass smashing behind her. In the distance she can see a familiar head of pink hair duck into an alleyway, and she tries to run in the same general direction but there's all kinds of chaos and people are screaming. She knows Kurt and Blaine are somewhere - they'd come to the protest with her ("You think I'm going to stand back why they try and overturn Gay Marriage?") - but she hasn't seen them since everything went to hell.
"Tina!" she can hear her name being shouted over the melee but when she tries to crane her neck over the jostling crowds she can't see any familiar faces. "Tina!"
She curses again, trying to fight her way towards the sounds, through the throngs of people and through the storm, but as she's pushing past a guy with long dreadlocked hair a surge seems to storm her way and she gets shoulder-checked - hard - and thrown to the floor. Her hand hits the curb with a bang that makes her yelp and clutch it to her chest, and she curls up her body to protect herself from the clattering footsteps. She feels a heavy boot (damn those steel toe-caps) collide with the side of her head and it makes her feel instantly nauseous as she pushes herself back towards the edge of the building, looking for some kind - anykindof shelter. Collapsing against the cold brick, she brings a hand up to her forehead, and when she pulls it back her fingers are bright red and sticky and her vision swims.
"F-fuck," she stammers, and just about manages to push herself up right, clutching to the smooth wall with her one good hand. Hunched over - wary of projectiles and flying fists - she creeps along the wall, blinking blood out of her eyes and wondering how her supposedly 'peaceful protest' of an afternoon had turned into this.
She really should never listen to Quinn Fabray.
Xxx
"I'm f-fine," she insists as the two strong pairs of arms wrap around her torso, stopping her swaying from the dimly lit platform and falling onto the subway lines. Electrocution wouldn't be a great end to her day.
Her roommate frowns at her, his brow furrowed and his normally pristine hair rumpled, and his tone laced with frustration and worry. "Tina, when you're missing looking me in the eye by practically a foot,you're not fine. And you're still bleeding all over Blaine."
Tina just scoffs. "It's b-barely a scratch. H-heads always b-bleed a lot."
Blaine doesn't look particularly perturbed as he dabs at Tina's temple with his handkerchief, but his words make her frown at him. "I think Kurt's right. You took a pretty good knock and you might need stitches."
She practically growls at him, and even though it's mostly drowned out by the rattling of the oncoming train, it makes him shrug his shoulders, squeezing her tighter. "Better safe than sorry."
"Settled," Kurt insists as he drags Tina onto the train, forcing her into a seat and then sandwiching her between his own body and his boyfriend's. "We're taking you to the ER."
"I don't n-need the ER," she argues, trying to smack him in the thigh, but it makes her wrist throb and she hisses in pain. Kurt and Blaine share an 'I-told-you-so' look over the top of her turquoise-streaked head and she pretends not to notice, instead settling into her seat with a scowl.
Kurt just elbows her in the ribs. "Stop slouching. It makes you look homeless."
Xxx
The ER is busy and crowded; a baby is crying in the row behind Tina and two older women are having a rapid, loud conversation in heated Spanish with a nurse at the desk as one of them waves a printed sheet of paper around and the other clutches her heart and moans, dramatically. Tina feels about five minutes away from throwing up on her favourite Dr. Marten boots and all the noise is making her head *ache*. Her wrist throbs in time to her heartbeat and she clutches it closer to her chest, trying to be subtle about the shift because otherwise she knows Kurt is going to give her his 'I told you so' look again, and she's just not sure she can handle that much snark right now.
Tina can just feel herself slipping into a doze against Blaine's shoulder when suddenly 'Last of the American Girls' begins blaring out from her pocket and she jolts upright with a curse.
She's half-fumbled the phone to her ear - irritated with herself for shoving it into her left pocket now she has to try and reach across her own body to pull it out - when a voice cuts through the noise.
"Hey, excuse me? Ma'am? You can't use that in here."
As Tina looks up she sees the same Latina nurse - high ponytail, cocked hip, purple scrubs somehow made to look flattering and chic on a tanned and toned body - pointing at the large sign plastered on the wall. An obvious cell phone with a bright red cross through it. Tina's kind of amazed she didn't notice it earlier.
"I'll t-take this outside," Tina begins, trying to pull herself to standing, but she barely makes it halfway up before her knees buckle and her head spins and she finds herself pitching forwards. "Whoa…"
One strong pair of hands wraps around her upper arms and she closes her eyes tightly to stop the walls moving around her; Blaine's maroon sweater just feels really nice against her cheek so she thinks maybe she'll just rest her head there for a minute. She feels the phone being plucked out of her fingers. "You're not going anywhere," Kurt orders, his tone bossy but concerned. "Not until a doctor has made sure you didn't lose too many brain cells back there, okay?"
She's vaguely nodding - ow,that isn't the best idea right now - and Blaine's hand is running up and down her back and she can feel his chuckle against her cheek more than hear it when her phone starts ringing again. Tina cracks open one eye, and pulls her lip between her teeth. "Sh-she'll be w-worried," she stammers, feeling guilt bubbling inside her, and it must show on her face because Kurt heaves a sigh and picks up his jacket from where he had spread it out on the uncomfortable plastic waiting room seats.
"Fine," he huffs, pointing towards the exit. "I will take this call and tell that friend of yours exactly where her protest has left you. But you - " he pokes Tina's shoulder gently, making her pout. "Don't move until the doctor calls you, and you - " he leans over and presses a chaste kiss against Blaine's cheek. "Don't let her."
Blaine responds with a cheeky salute as he continues to hold Tina upright, and then Kurt's disappearing out the doors and there's still somuchnoise; Tina's trying to bury her head in Blaine's chest (careful of her wound because fuckthat hurts) and she can feel his lips press against the top of her hair. "Poor Soldier Girl," he teases, his voice gently amused and crooning in the same way it does when she's woken up by him singing Tom Jones in the shower. "Should have known you'd get broken at one of these things sooner or later."
Her only response is to pinch his side, which makes him yelp and laugh and squeeze her tighter, and she's about to form a witty retort (she's sure it doesn't usually take so much effort) when finally she hears her name being called.
"Tina Cohen?"
"Cohen-Chang," Blaine automatically corrects for Tina as he helps her move through the crowds and towards the same pony-tailed nurse who had called her name. The nurse holds a clipboard in her hands and arches a perfectly plucked eyebrow towards her hairline.
"My mistake," she says almost curtly, but with a slightly quirked smile that seems to soften the words. "Let me get you set up over here and the doctor'll be right in, okay?" Something about the woman screams to Tina that she could cut her to ribbons with only the scantest of effort, but when she reaches out and cups Tina's elbow - helping her towards the curtained area, and then up onto one of the ubiquitous exam beds - her touch is soft and gentle and caring. "You think you're going to be sick?"
Tina's not honestly sure, because her stomach's rolling, but as long as she keeps one eye screwed shut the nausea isn't quite as overwhelming. "I'm okay," she half shrugs, one shoulder up, but even that movement makes the acrid taste of bile creep up her throat.
The nurse seems to recognise this though, because she just reaches over - knowingly - and passes Blaine an emesis basin. "Just in case," she tells him with a wink. "I'll be right back so we can get some information before the doctor comes. Hang tight and if you need anything just yell for Nurse Lopez, okay?"
XxX
Tina's not sure she's ever answered so many questions about her inner organs or childhood diseases in her whole life, and she feels frustration building because it's not like this is an episode of Houseand they're trying to figure out some hidden, mystery virus - she has a three inch cut to her head and a wrist slowly turning black and blue. Blaine is sitting next to her, forever patient and polite, his hand rubbing over her back in slow, rhythmic circles the same way she sees him do for Kurt when a deadline looms and stress begins to mount. It's sweet, even if it is making her feel seasick.
She breathes in through her nose and out, steadily, through her mouth. Her fingers pick at her turquoise pantyhose that ripped when she fell, trying to avoid the blossoming bruise underneath.
She's kind of glad in a way that it's Blaine with her instead of Kurt, because if Kurt was there he'd be worried and pacing, and talking a mile a minute because she knowshow much he hates hospitals. Between his Mom's illness and death, and then his Dad's heart attack, and then everything when they were in High School, it just brings back too many bad memories. And if he was there with her he'd be bitching and snarking just to cover up his unease. Blaine, on the other hand, is quite happy to wait quietly, save the soft humming under his breath that she's honestly not sure he even realises he's doing. It's oddly comforting.
Tina's just being lulled again into a gentle sleepiness when the curtain around her bed is pulled back with a swish. "Miss Cohen-Chang?"
If Tina hadn't seen Blaine's jaw dropping open then she would have felt embarrassed knowing hers did exactly the same. She's not one for traditional kinks, and has never really understood the 'guys in uniform' thing, but the man that stands across from her is perhaps the most inhumanly beautiful person she's ever actually seen in real life. Light blue scrubs stretch across broad, muscular shoulders, and his hair is spiked and tousled and Tina's fingers just itch to smooth it down. She shoves her working hand under her thigh and curses in her head trying not to stare at the biceps that peek out from underneath the scrub sleeves. The doctor looks at her with a curious expression, and it's then that she realises she hasn't answered. "Yeah," she replies, cursing the breathy quality of her voice. Clearing her throat, she tries again. "T-tina."
She can see a frown take over his face as he takes in her bloody scalp and hears the hesitancy in her voice. "Tina," he echoes, tone calm despite his expression. "I'm Doctor Chang." Stepping up towards the bed, he's practically between her knees when his hands reach up to touch her chin, fleetingly. " I hear you tried to stop a work boot with your face?"
"N-not one of my b-better ideas," she agrees with a grumble, letting him move her chin to the left and to the right with only the lightest of touches. He probes the area around the wound gently, but it's still enough to make her wince, and then shines a small penlight into her eyes one and a time. She blinks heavily against the brightness.
"Any nausea?"
"Trying not to p-puke on you right now."
She's being flippant, but it makes Dr Chang laugh. His voice when he speaks is low and warm, and his laugh is the same. It makes something in her stomach flip.
"Dizziness?"
Tina lifts one shoulder in a shrug, and is about to answer when Blaine scoffs next to her. "She almost fell off a subway platform and then very nearly took out a row of patients in your waiting room," he confesses before she has the chance to deny it. She shoots him a glare but he just responds with a widening of his eyes and a flicked glance towards the doctor that is waytoo obvious, and Tina's completely grateful that when she looks up again the doctor's eyes are fixed on her chart.
He clears his voice, lifting his chin to look at her. His eyes are dark and she can't help but stare at his chiselled jaw as he speaks. "Miss Cohen-Chang - "
"Tina."
"Tina. Sometimes when people have head injuries it can result in speech and language problems, so I just wanted to know -"
Tina feels Blaine's hand slide into her good one, and he answers before she's even figured out the question. "She's always stuttered," he states, and his tone is almost defensive. He pulls his body so he's sitting up straight and Tina recognises his 'lawyer' voice. She can't help but squeeze his hand because, really, she isn't offended by the question and so it's a little bit absurd that he is on her behalf.
"Since sixth grade," she corrects, because there was a time before,even if Blaine hadn't known her then. "D-don't worry, they d-didn't loosen any screws up there." She taps the side of her head with her injured hand, and then curses in a hiss.
Instantly, Dr Chang is reaching out and taking hold of her arm, and his hands are surprisingly soft and warm. And large. He turns her hand over, manipulating it gently, and Tina can feel her cheeks flare at his proximity. She stares down at her chipped red nail polish and bites her bottom lip.
"Sorry about that," he apologises, mistaking her discomfort for pain. Returning her arm to her knee he picks up the chart again, scribbling some notes. "It doesn't look broken, just a good sprain. I'm going to wrap it and I want you to rest it and keep it elevated when you get home, okay?"
She nods her head, holding her arm out gingerly as he reaches over to the cupboard next to him and pulls out a roll of bandage. He carefully begins winding it around her skin, pressure just enough to be supportive instead of painful, tucking and pinning the material like carefully crafted origami. Once finished, he again reaches out to touch her cheek. "Now, as for this head, I think you'll be fine with just some butterfly stitches. So I'm going to flush this out, and then fix you up, okay?" Picking up the chart, he turns to look between Tina and Blaine. "It looks like a minor concussion, so you should be fine with just a few days rest and no wild parties." He waggles his index finger at her, and she can't help but laugh. Ridiculously attractive but still a total dork. Somehow that makes her heart quicken even more. "Now I'd prefer it if she was still woken up every few hours tonight," the doctor orders Blaine, who looks momentarily startled at being addressed, but nods, serious.
"Of course," he agrees. "Whatever we need to do."
"And bring her back immediately if she blacks out or the nausea gets worse."
"Th-there goes my weekend," Tina jokes, and even though Blaine is looking at her with a concerned frown it makes Dr Chang crack a smile.
"Sorry about that," he apologises with a gentle grin, flicking his eyes up to meet hers. "I'm sure your friends will understand."
"I d-doubt it," she counters with a small shake of her head, and her dark curls go tumbling over her shoulder. "They're fifteen and I p-promised them we c-could b-break out the ch-charcoals this week." Off of the doctor's confused glance, she clarifies, "I spend most w-weekends at the d-drop in centre on West 14th. I t-teach art classes to the k-kids there."
The doctor looks like he's about to ask another question when Blaine pipes up from his position next to Tina. In truth, she'd almost forgotten he was there. "I'm going to go find Kurt," he tells her, leaning in and pressing a swift kiss against her temple. "He's been gone awhile and he's either lost or still berating Quinn so…"
Tina laughs and nods her head. "I'm n-not going anywhere."
He hops off the bed and towards the curtain, and as the doctor turns his back Blaine does a complicated pointing/waggling eyebrows/thrusting hip combination that has Tina sputtering and glaring at him and wishing she could curse him out right there. Instead she just flips him off with her good hand and can hear him laughing all the way down the hall.
She fairly certain her cheeks are still bright pink when Dr Chang turns back to face her. "So you're a teacher?"
Her mind is still on Blaine and his inappropriate pelvic thrusts so she doesn't catch his words the first time. "Sorry?"
"You're a teacher?"
Tugging on a loose curl, she shakes her head. "No, an artist. I j-just volunteer at the Centre."
"Is that how this happened? Some kind of stampede for paintbrushes?" His smile is small and quirked at one corner of his mouth as he writes on her chart, looking up from under his eyelashes (and God, Tina can't help but notice his eyelashes). His tone is light and teasing. "Must be dangerous work."
She can't help but laugh at that, and shake her head, carefully. "P-protest in support of G-gay marriage," she admits. "Outside the Senator's offices." She tries to sit still as he takes a small square of gauze, placing it over her wound and carefully securing it against the skin of her forehead, but her booted feet sway beneath her. "There's always a hater who has to ruin it f-for everybody."
He's just opened his mouth to reply when the curtain swishes open again, and Blaine's face peers through looking completely apologetic. He clears his throat and toys with the cuff of his sweater. "Apparently Jacob Ben-Israel was filming the riots and caught you going down. And it looked bad. Kurt says Quinn won't let him off the phone until she's talked to you and knows you're okay. Sorry."
Dr Chang nods his head. "Well, we're all done here anyways. Just take it easy for a couple days and keep your wrist elevated, and take ibuprofen for any pain."
Tina nods her head, and jumps down from the bed as she usually would, without remembering her impaired balance. She topples forwards, pretty much landing smack square against her doctor's chest. His firm, warm, muscular chest. His reactions are quick as a whip and he reaches up and grabs her before she can fall any further. "Whoa," he chuckles softly, holding her steady by her biceps until she regains her footing. "Didn't I say take it easy?"
Tina can feel her cheeks flare scarlet as she plants her feet firmly on the floor. Blaine is silent but she can practically hear the snickering that she knows is going on in his head right now. "S-sorry," she apologises, taking a half-step back, avoiding looking him in the eye because he's *so* close and damn, the smell of antiseptic and generic laundry detergent shouldn't be so sexy. She's pretty sure her whole body is blushing. "God. Klutz."
He finally lets go of her arms, but keeps his hands up, ghosting her frame, as though not sure if she'll stay steady on her feet. "No harm done," he assures her. Then, as though remembering Blaine is there, he turns his head towards the curtain. "She might need a hand out?"
"Of course," Blaine throws himself through the curtain, wrapping his arm around Tina's waist and letting her lean against him. "Alright?" he asks. "Ready?"
She nods her head. "Ready." Then, looking up at the tall, dark-haired man, she can't help but smile and give a jaunty salute (and really she has to stop hanging out with Kurt and Blaine if these are going to be the kind of affectations she picks up from them). "Thank you D-doctor Chang."
He smiles back, tucking her chart under his arm. "Take care of yourself Tina. And if you see anymore boots flying at your face, my medical advice is to duck."
"T-taken under advisement."
Blaine tugs her just slightly forward then, prompting her feet to move, and she does so, carefully and with purpose. Out of the curtain, down the hall, and out the automatic doors into the cool Autumn air.
Dr Chang walks over to the admit desk and replaces her chart in the stack, watching every step until she's out of sight. He's shaking his head, lost in thought until he feels a hand slam down on his shoulder.
He notices the mess of streaky blond hair first, and then recognises the grin on the face of the guy confident enough to wear his own purple scrubs. When he speaks it's with a soft tinge of a Tennessee drawl. "Come on bro, you and me, Curtain Two. Five-year-old with a fever and he's already puked on Matt and Leanna."
Dr Chang runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he nods his head, pushing away any stray thoughts running through his brain and returning his mind to the task at hand. "Let's go."
XxX
"You should have given him your number!"
Blaine's crowing from where he sits pressed against Tina's side in the cab (because Kurt had insisted - "You get taken to the ER you deserve a cab ride home. Plus if we get the subway one of us is basically going to have to carry you. And it's rush hour."), his head thrown back in a laugh.
Tina on the other hand, just scoffs and fiddles with the hem of her skirt, glaring at him with an arched eyebrow. "He's my d-doctor! It would have been so inappropriate. Besides, he could have been m-married, or gay! It shocks me that you'd m-make such heteronormative assumptions Blaine Anderson."
Instead of deterring him, this only makes Blaine laugh harder. "Tina if you could have seen the way he was looking at you…he most certain isn't gay. And if he *is* married then he's a bad, bad man. But no ring!"
"Of course you checked," Tina rolls her eyes.
Kurt, sitting on the other side of Tina, his legs crossed demurely, raises an eyebrow. "Do I need to be concerned here or what?"
Reaching over Tina, Blaine squeezes his boyfriend's knee. "Only on the days that don't have a 'y'," he promises with a soft smile that Kurt echoes. "But seriously, Tina…when you were pressed up against him - "
"Wait, what!"
"I f-fell!" Tina cries out, smacking Blaine hard in the thigh because the last thing she needs is for Kurt to get his gossipy teeth into that idea. "And he caught me. God, Blaine, seriously,he was doing his j-job."
Blaine crosses his arms over his chest. "You didn't see his face. I mean, I'm sure he's a consummate professional but Tina…don't try and tell me you didn't feel a little something."
Kurt covers his eyes with his hand and groans. "Oh God, tell me that wasn't supposed to be an innuendo, Blaine, please."
Tina laughs then, leaning her head against the headrest as the cab bumps along the Manhattan streets. Car horns blare around them; Blaine laughs too waving his hands like a mad man on acid. "No! I just meant…he made you smile, Tina, and it was…I don't know, it was nice to see okay? Also, it didn't hurt that he was extremely good looking and looking at you like he wished he could give you a full physical. And that wasan innuendo."
There's more laughter, and then Tina rests her head against Kurt's shoulder as the traffic once again grinds to a halt. For a moment there's silence, and Kurt rests his cheek against the top of her hair. "He really made you smile?"
Tina doesn't answer; she turns her head so her face is buried in his shoulder and grumbles her frustrations. It doesn't make her miss Blaine's reply, however.
"Like a kid in a candy store. At Christmas. With kittens, puppies and a private performance by Gaga."
"Oh God, Tina, you should have given him your number!"
XxX
It's been a long day. In fact, it's been a series of long days with him covering shifts left, right and centre, and his body feels like it's running on empty. As soon as the clock chimed on the end of his shift, Mike had bolted to the locker room, not wanting to get caught and asked to stay or cover again. As he prepares to leave, all he can think about is three things: shower, alcohol and his bed. He's just pulling his jacket on over his scrubs and trying to figure out how many beers it will take to remove the memory of disimpacting Mr Himmelstein when a flash of something over at the admit desk catches his eye. A white gauze patch under turquoise streaked locks, wind-pinked cheeks on pale skin, dark eyes, and ruby red lips. Collar of her black jacket turned up against the cold and heavy boots worn under a red plaid skirt.
His feet still and the words are out of his mouth before he remembers thinking them. "In another fight already?"
She whips around at the sound of his voice, and he can see how much she's recovered even in a couple of days; she stays steady on her feet through the pivot and pins him with a smile that's wide and bright and wow - he'd wondered if maybe he'd over-exaggerated her attractiveness in his memory, but seeing her again…he totally hasn't. "No f-fighting," she promises with a shy smile, and waves a fingerless-gloved hand in the general direction of the desk. "I forgot to sign one of the insurance d-documents or something. So they c-called me in."
"They certainly won't let you forget the insurance."
"I'm j-just thankful I have it," she replies, pushing her long hair behind her shoulder.
Seeing the flash of her pale arm beneath the sleeve of her sweater makes him ask, "How's the wrist?" and he's surprised and a little concerned when her face is suddenly overtaken by a guilty expression.
He watches as she holds it out in front of her, pulling her sleeve up. The bandage isn't the same one he put on her and it's loosely wrapped and looks like she tied the knot off with her teeth. "I g-got paint on the other one," she admits. "And my r-roommate wasn't home so I had to d-do it myself."
He can't help the smile that takes over his face, despite his exhaustion. "You couldn't ask your boyfriend to help you?"
She looks legitimately confused at that question. "B-boyfriend?" she echoes, brow knotted.
He slides his hands into his jacket pockets, rocking back on his heels and ignoring the way that makes his sneakers squeak on the linoleum flooring. "The guy you were with?"
The laugh that spills from her lips is bright and amused and makes her shoulders shake up and down. "Not my b-boyfriend," she corrects, and the words make a strange feeling shoot through his body. "M-my roommate's b-boyfriend."
"Oh." Mike curses inwardly, not knowing whether he should be embarrassed by his mistake or just completely ecstatic that the well-dressed, objectively attractive guy that had been holding her hand and kissing her head apparently belonged to someone else. "Sorry. He just seemed like a nice guy."
Tina cocks her head then, curiously, and he swears he can almost hear cogs in her head turning. Her smile drops and her eyes seem to shadow, and she breaks their eye contact with a one-shouldered shrug. "Well, I'd g-give you his number but he's kind of t-taken," she shrugs her shoulders. "Sorry."
It takes him a moment - a beat - to understand her response, and then he screamscurses inside his head. "I didn't mean it like that," he back pedals, because damn he's sure he isn't imagining the disappointment on her face. "I wasn't trying to pick him up. I'm not gay."
"Oh," her mouth falls open, and she goldfishes for a second, and when her cheeks colour again he's fairly certain it's not to do with the temperature. When she speaks again her voice is kind of thin. "Okay."
Rubbing his forehead with his hand, he coughs out a small laugh, and is pleased that when he looks up she at least has a small smile on her lips. "Can we start again?" he asks, reaching out and ghosting her elbow. "Let me re-wrap that wrist for you. You look like someone's tried to patch you up at the Somme."
She allows him to lead her down the hallway towards an empty exam room where he sits on a spinning stool and wheels himself across the room to grab the right supplies. "Hop up," he tells her with a cock of his head. "Unless you need me to lift you up there?"
He's teasing and she just rolls her eyes and pulls herself onto the bed with a slight bounce. Her skirt flutters around her knees - God bless the perv who invented knee socks - and he can't believehe just thought that so he stares hard at the bandage as he starts unwrapping it, and then at the poor purpling skin underneath. "You've been resting it?" he asks, focusing on doctoring - on medical questions - because it stops his mind from wandering to her smooth skin or the fact that she smells like lemons and still has a streak of blue paint winding up her forearm towards her elbow.
Nodding her head, she licks her lips slowly, pink tongue running along her ruby-painted mouth. He runs his hand over her wrist, checking the bruising and tenderness, and her dexterity. "Kurt won't let me c-carry anything heavier than a soda."
"Kurt?"
His question seems to startle her, and she looks up, eyes wide. "My roommate. My b-best friend. The actual b-boyfriend of m-my not boyfriend." There's a gentle tease in her words that he acknowledges with a small smile as he once again wraps the bandages around her small wrist. It's finished quickly, and he pins it with a flourish.
"All better."
Tina twists her wrist left and right as though to test the validity of his work. "You're g-good at this. You should c-consider making a career out of it."
Spinning on the stool, he packs the scissors and bandages back into their cupboard. "It's secretly my dream to be a professional gift-wrapper," he smiles, joking.
She grins in reply. "D-does that mean I can get a ribbon on t-top next time?"
"Only if you're good."
He's finished, and she's still sitting there with her legs swinging; they're both grinning at each other, and Mike knows deep in his heart of hearts that this isn't like every other day at work. That something else is going on.
He's about to open his mouth and say something - just gofor it, just try,because Lord only knows he doesn't feel like this with most women that he meets - when the door to the room crashes open and Matt walks in with an intubation kit in one hand and his pager in the other, and he's squinting down at the screen and doesn't seem to notice they're there until he's standing right in front of them and finally looks up.
"Do I actually have to throw your ass out of this hospital?" Matt frowns, seeing his friend still sitting there in his scrubs, despite being technically off work for over 30 minutes. "I thought you were gonna' go home, catch the game, actually sleep for more than an hour in a row." He folds his arms over his chest, and Mike can tell he is about to launch into another rant when he realises there's another person in the room. Matt's dark eyes grow wide with comprehension, and Mike's inordinately pleased that they've known each other since Med School because just one change in expression tells him he doesn't have to explain anything right then.
"I'm just leaving," Mike promises, standing up and zipping up his jacket. He looks over at Tina. "Can I walk you out?"
He can tell she's thrown off-guard by the surprise interruption, and so just nods her head and lets him take her arm and help her down from the bed. "Careful," he teases, his voice soft and low and he's rewarded with a shy smile as her feet hit the ground.
Mike can feel Matt's eyes on his back, boring into him, but he straightens up and ignores the feel of all the unspoken questions that he knows Matt is storing up for later. "Get some rest Changster," Matt speaks, and his words are laced with so much meaning that all Mike can do is nod his head.
"See you later bro."
Mike halfway down the hall before he realises he's still got his hand on Tina's elbow. And she isn't moving away. They stay in silence until the automatic doors slide open and they exit into the bracing wind. Tina clutches her coat around her and bounces on the balls of her feet. "C-cold," she complains with a wrinkle of her nose.
"Makes me miss California."
"That's where you're f-from?" she asks, curiously, and he's sort of amazed because they're both standing there, freezing and just looking at each other, and her breath is coming in little bursts of fog from between her lips.
"Mmhmm," he answers with a firm nod. "You?"
"Ohio," she responds with a shrug but it's softened with a smile. "So I'm used to hard w-winters."
He nods his head and then they're just standing, staring at each other, both wearing small, silly smiles. And neither one is moving to go. Mike feels like this is the moment, like he should grow a pair and say something now because otherwise she's going to walk away and get on the subway and be gone from his life and he will have wasted his second chance. He's literally opening his mouth to speak when he's interrupted again.
"You m-maybe want to get a c-coffee some time?" Tina asks, her cheeks pink (whether from the wind or nerves, he's not sure) and her face hopeful but calm. "I know you m-must be p-pretty busy b-but - "
"I'd love to," he interrupts, because he can't help but, and he can tell she doesn't mind because her face lights up and she grins, cheeks dimpling and teeth straight and white and joyous.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out her iphone and laughs when he pulls the same out of his pocket. "Snap," she laughs, and then they trade and there's a moment of silence as they program their own numbers into the opposite phone. Then, handing his back to him, she smiles at him shyly. "So…I should go," she cocks her head towards the street, away from the harsh lights of the hospital behind them.
"You're okay getting home?"
Asking the question is completely automatic, and the amused look she gives him tells him that it's kind of stupid because she's a grown woman and has clearly been getting around the city without his worry pretty well up 'til now.
"It's only a couple b-blocks," she assures him, sliding her phone into her coat pocket. "Thanks."
"I'll call you," he promises, fleetingly touching her arm - somewhere between elbow and shoulder - before remembering something. "Oh, and if you get paint on your bandage again just call me okay? Even if your roommate is back. Or his boyfriend. I'd feel remiss in my duties if I let you walk around like that."
She nods her head, smiling shyly. "What about charcoal?"
"Charcoal?"
"I m-might get charcoal on it. Could I call you then?"
He pretends to consider it, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I don't know…charcoal can be pretty serious. It might need immediate attention."
She grins at that, ducking her chin to her chest. "I'll k-keep that in m-mind," she replies, and then finally - with what looks like effort - steps off the curb and out of the reach of his touch. "Have a good n-night Doctor Chang."
"Mike," he calls after her as she begins to walk away.
Stopping her feet, she turns. "What?"
"My name…it's Mike."
She just grins in reply.