Lensherr M.D. Introducing a Stranger (3)
The lights had been turned low on the ward, the hum down to the static call of the monitors and the computer a young nurse was tapping, her face tight like drying paint. Erik rolled his sleeves and scrubbed his hand with a pulse of anti-bacterial wash, cleaning to the line of his elbow. Hygiene had always been rigorously observed in the field; the threat of a court marshal sharpening the doctor’s eyes to dirt under their fingernails and stains on their clothing. In the conditions the measures had often seemed like an exercise in futility, worrying over sterilized scalpels when the men were packed two to a bed, blood and fluid drying on each others bodies.
It had been a brutal place, their Gehinnam. There was no space to spare the medics from the killing hours. Everyone had a gun. Everyone had shifts. Everyone murdered.
But the doctors - when they were in role - were clean and bare armed. It was strange how much younger a man looked when you could see the skin at his wrists.
Even now, Erik found short nails kept a better hold on memory.
-
The blue-eyed man - Xavier - was sitting on a low seat in the waiting room, methodically taking apart a custard cream. Erik felt inappropriate, standing so far above the other doctor that he was staring at the scarring of auburn highlights in the man’s hair and the jagged run of his parting. He crushed the dislocated awkwardness beneath his irritation and spoke.
“She’s mine.”
Xavier didn’t respond, eating the creamy half of the biscuit that he pulled off, dropping the leftover into the rubbish bin at his side. Erik’s eyes followed it like an animal’s before snapping back to Xavier and the absent motions of his mouth as he finished his morsel, face angled up to meet Erik’s gaze.
“Can’t we work together?” His voice was the same as it had been in the lift: sad and easy, like the beginning of a tune he would have caught in his head for hours.
“I’m not interested. And that’s a waste of resources besides.” Unconsciously his arms folded themselves across his chest, guarding him against open palms or men with olive branches. When Erik registered what he had done he hesitated - he wasn’t the one who should be in the defensive.
Xavier brushed the crumbs off his trousers, his knees nearly at the height of his chest, and stood up. “Whatever happened to the principle of ‘two heads are better than one’?” He smiled and Erik felt the expression put roots into his chest, “I miss idioms. Science is such a poor replacement for common sense.”
Erik said nothing in reply, his silence reflecting Xavier’s words back to the consultant.
“Even if you don’t want my help we can wait together. There isn’t anything more to be done until Sean rejoins us.” Xavier smiled again, though the first had never left his face, and Erik missed the transition from ‘you’ to ‘us’. Avoiding the new depth of the man’s expression, Erik looked around.
The waiting room was like waiting rooms everywhere - a meaningless space. He could still be in the airport in Chicago for all of the different it made: reefs of plastic chairs lined the walls, magazines rippling under the tense volume of the air conditioning.
“Do you always wait for news here?”
The words left him quickly.
Xavier cocked his head, a lock of hair pitching falling across his cheek. “When it isn’t busy, yes.” He paused, and then continued, “Why do you ask?”
“This is where the families wait isn’t it?” Their questions glanced off each other, but Erik pushed forward, “Is that how you see your patients?”
Xavier paused. He blinked unnaturally slowly, Erik noted.
“I think it would be a very frightening thing, to have someone administer your body who didn’t care about you.”
A/N: Not happy with this one, may alter it. Crit please gents and gems - you were wonderful last time.
It had been a brutal place, their Gehinnam. There was no space to spare the medics from the killing hours. Everyone had a gun. Everyone had shifts. Everyone murdered.
But the doctors - when they were in role - were clean and bare armed. It was strange how much younger a man looked when you could see the skin at his wrists.
Even now, Erik found short nails kept a better hold on memory.
-
The blue-eyed man - Xavier - was sitting on a low seat in the waiting room, methodically taking apart a custard cream. Erik felt inappropriate, standing so far above the other doctor that he was staring at the scarring of auburn highlights in the man’s hair and the jagged run of his parting. He crushed the dislocated awkwardness beneath his irritation and spoke.
“She’s mine.”
Xavier didn’t respond, eating the creamy half of the biscuit that he pulled off, dropping the leftover into the rubbish bin at his side. Erik’s eyes followed it like an animal’s before snapping back to Xavier and the absent motions of his mouth as he finished his morsel, face angled up to meet Erik’s gaze.
“Can’t we work together?” His voice was the same as it had been in the lift: sad and easy, like the beginning of a tune he would have caught in his head for hours.
“I’m not interested. And that’s a waste of resources besides.” Unconsciously his arms folded themselves across his chest, guarding him against open palms or men with olive branches. When Erik registered what he had done he hesitated - he wasn’t the one who should be in the defensive.
Xavier brushed the crumbs off his trousers, his knees nearly at the height of his chest, and stood up. “Whatever happened to the principle of ‘two heads are better than one’?” He smiled and Erik felt the expression put roots into his chest, “I miss idioms. Science is such a poor replacement for common sense.”
Erik said nothing in reply, his silence reflecting Xavier’s words back to the consultant.
“Even if you don’t want my help we can wait together. There isn’t anything more to be done until Sean rejoins us.” Xavier smiled again, though the first had never left his face, and Erik missed the transition from ‘you’ to ‘us’. Avoiding the new depth of the man’s expression, Erik looked around.
The waiting room was like waiting rooms everywhere - a meaningless space. He could still be in the airport in Chicago for all of the different it made: reefs of plastic chairs lined the walls, magazines rippling under the tense volume of the air conditioning.
“Do you always wait for news here?”
The words left him quickly.
Xavier cocked his head, a lock of hair pitching falling across his cheek. “When it isn’t busy, yes.” He paused, and then continued, “Why do you ask?”
“This is where the families wait isn’t it?” Their questions glanced off each other, but Erik pushed forward, “Is that how you see your patients?”
Xavier paused. He blinked unnaturally slowly, Erik noted.
“I think it would be a very frightening thing, to have someone administer your body who didn’t care about you.”
A/N: Not happy with this one, may alter it. Crit please gents and gems - you were wonderful last time.